English fiction -- 19th century; Tailors -- Fiction
“I tell her she stands as if she’d been drilled for a soldier,” Polly
quietly continued. “You’re squeezing my arm with your elbow, Mr.
Harrington. It didn’t hurt me. So when I had her nearly undressed, we
were talking about this and that, and you amongst ’em—and I, you know,
rather like you, sir, if you’ll not think me too bold—she started off
by asking me what was the nickname people gave to tailors. It was one
of her whims. I told her they were called snips—I’m off!”
Polly gave a shriek. The horse had reared as if violently stung.
“Go on,” said Evan. “Hold hard, and go on.”
“Snips—Oh! and I told her they were called snips. It is a word that
seems to make you hate the idea. I shouldn’t like to hear my intended
called snip. Oh, he’s going to gallop!”
And off in a gallop Polly was borne.
“Well,” said Evan, “well?”
“I can’t, Mr. Harrington; I have to press you so,” cried Polly; “and
I’m bounced so—I shall bite my tongue.”
After a sharp stretch, the horse fell to a canter, and then trotted
slowly, and allowed Polly to finish.
“So Miss Rose was standing sideways to the glass, and she turned her
neck, and just as I’d said ‘snip,’ I saw her saying it in the glass;
and you never saw anything so funny. It was enough to make anybody
laugh; but Miss Rose, she seemed as if she couldn’t forget how ugly it
had made her look. She covered her face with her hands, and she
shuddered! It is a word—snip! that makes you seem to despise yourself.”
Beckley was now in sight from the edge of the downs, lying in its
foliage dark under the grey sky backed by motionless mounds of vapour.
Miss Wheedle to her great surprise was suddenly though safely dropped;
and on her return to the ground the damsel instantly “knew her place,”
and curtseyed becoming gratitude for his kindness; but he was off in a
fiery gallop, the gall of Demogorgon in his soul.
What’s that the leaves of the proud old trees of Beckley Court hiss as
he sweeps beneath them? What has suddenly cut him short? Is he
diminished in stature? Are the lackeys sneering? The storm that has
passed has marvellously chilled the air.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account