England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
Henceforward she was all in all to her brother. She was a more spirited
and amusing companion to him than his mother had been, from her greater
activity, and perhaps, also, from her originality of character, which
often prompted her to perform her habitual actions in some new and racy
manner. She was tender to lile Will when she was prompt and sharp with
everybody else—with Michael most of all; for somehow the girl felt
that, unprotected by her mother, she must keep up her own dignity, and
not allow her lover to see how strong a hold he had upon her heart. He
called her hard and cruel, and left her so; and she smiled softly to
herself, when his back was turned, to think how little he guessed how
deeply he was loved. For Susan was merely comely and fine looking;
Michael was strikingly handsome, admired by all the girls for miles
round, and quite enough of a country coxcomb to know it and plume
himself accordingly. He was the second son of his father; the eldest
would have High Beck farm, of course, but there was a good penny in the
Kendal bank in store for Michael. When harvest was over, he went to
Chapel Langdale to learn to dance; and at night, in his merry moods, he
would do his steps on the flag floor of the Yew Nook kitchen, to the
secret admiration of Susan, who had never learned dancing, but who
flouted him perpetually, even while she admired, in accordance with the
rule she seemed to have made for herself about keeping him at a
distance so long as he lived under the same roof with her. One evening
he sulked at some saucy remark of hers; he sitting in the chimney
corner with his arms on his knees, and his head bent forwards, lazily
gazing into the wood-fire on the hearth, and luxuriating in rest after
a hard day’s labour; she sitting among the geraniums on the long, low
window-seat, trying to catch the last slanting rays of the autumnal
light to enable her to finish stitching a shirt-collar for Will, who
lounged full length on the flags at the other side of the hearth to
Michael, poking the burning wood from time to time with a long
hazel-stick to bring out the leap of glittering sparks.
“And if you can dance a threesome reel, what good does it do ye?” asked
Susan, looking askance at Michael, who had just been vaunting his
proficiency. “Does it help you plough, reap, or even climb the rocks to
take a raven’s nest? If I were a man, I’d be ashamed to give in to such
softness.”
“If you were a man, you’d be glad to do anything which made the pretty
girls stand round and admire.”
“As they do to you, eh! Ho, Michael, that would not be my way o’ being
a man!”
“What would then?” asked he, after a pause, during which he had
expected in vain that she would go on with her sentence. No answer.
“I should not like you as a man, Susy; you’d be too hard and
headstrong.”
“Am I hard and headstrong?” asked she, with as indifferent a tone as
she could assume, but which yet had a touch of pique in it. His quick
ear detected the inflexion.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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