First harvests : $b An episode in the life of Mrs. Levison Gower : A satire without a moralStimson, Frederic Jesup
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First harvests : $b An episode in the life of Mrs. Levison Gower : A satire without a moral
Stimson, Frederic Jesup
American fiction -- 19th century
“’Pon my word, I think you’re very insulting,” broke in Mrs. Hay,
savagely. No one could exactly see why; whereupon Van Kull, with much
social dexterity, looked upon Mrs. Hay and sighed. Further comment was
checked by the arrival of Miss Farnum herself, who bore her fine face
quite as unconsciously, a shade more coldly, than usual. And then the
finer emotions gave place to food.
Arthur was honored by a seat on Mrs. Gower’s left; but he was silent
through the meal, a fact which was maliciously attributed to the events
of the afternoon. “Don’t look upset, Mr. Holyoke, please!” cried Miss
Duval. “We have quite regained our composure.” Arthur had not been
thinking of the accident at all; but he did color again, to be reminded
of it. “It was a soft spot in the road, you know,” said he.
“A soft spot in your heart, I much suspect,” laughed Mrs. Gower. “Miss
Farnum, you should not have sat with him.”
“Who?” said the beauty, bringing her gaze to a focus. “Oh,” she added,
indifferently. “I?”
“’Pon my word,” screamed Mrs. Wilton Hay. “You two are too delicious!
But you’re positively too absent-minded to be trusted together. Aren’t
they Mrs. Gower? They might not have presence of mind enough not to
elope, you know.”
Soon after this Miss Farnum left the table; and when Arthur followed,
he found her out upon the doorstep, talking with Lionel Derwent. The
sun had gone down now, and its last radiance came down upon them from
some scarlet clouds. Miss Farnum went in almost immediately, leaving
him with Derwent alone.
“A lovely evening,” said he. “Will you take a tramp?”
Arthur hesitated. Then he spoke with decision. “Yes. I have a call
to make--won’t you come with me? Miss Livingstone, you know, and my
cousin, Miss Holyoke, are here--do you know them?”
“No,” said the other; “but I shall like to.”
“Come along, then,” said Arthur. And they went up the long village
street until the road began to twist among the apple-orchards and they
got into the dusk that was already at the base of the wooded hills.
Derwent pulled out a brierwood pipe and smoked it, and they walked in
silence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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