Boarding school students -- Fiction; College students -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Love stories
Tilly sat bolt upright on a hard chair, staring straight through Lady
Adela at the opposite wall. Occasionally her hand stole to her belt. It
is regrettable to have to add, in the interests of strict veracity, that
the greater part of Lady Adela’s carefully reasoned and studiously
moderate address was flowing in at one ear and out at the other. Tilly
had no clear idea that she was being spoken to; she was only vaguely
conscious that any one was speaking at all. All her thoughts were
concentrated on the last page of Dicky’s letter--all she had read so
far. She sat quite still, occasionally nodding intelligently to put her
visitors at their ease. Once or twice her lips moved, as if repeating
some formula.
"Do not imagine, Miss Welwyn," Lady Adela was saying, "that we are in
any way angry or resentful at what has occurred. We are merely grieved,
but at the same time _relieved_. So far from wishing you ill in
consequence of this attempt upon your part to--to better yourself, my
husband and I are here to offer to do something for you. You must not
think that we want to be unkind or harsh. This is a difficult and
painful interview for both of us--"
"For all of us, Miss Welwyn," murmured Mr. Mainwaring.
"You appreciate that fact, I hope, Miss Welwyn," said Lady Adela in a
slightly louder tone; for the girl made no sign.
Tilly nodded her head absently.
"He loves me! He loves me!" she murmured to herself. "He loves me
still!"
Lady Adela ploughed on. She was a kindly woman, and in her heart she
felt sorry for Tilly. Not that this fact assisted her to understand
Tilly’s point of view, or to remember what Dicky had never forgotten,
namely, that the girl before her was a lady. She laboured, too, under a
grievous disadvantage. Deep feeling was to her a thing unknown. She
had never thrilled with tremulous rapture. The sighing of a wounded
spirit had no meaning for her. Her heart was a well-regulated and
rhythmatic organ, and had always beaten in accordance with the laws of
what its owner called common sense. It had never fluttered or stood
still.
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