England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction
'I will not leave you longer than I can help,' he replied, earnestly,
distressed at her evident pain at losing him, but steadfast in his
purpose to leave her unfettered by his presence. 'Now, sweet one, you
must not detain me any longer, as to-night I am Roy's nurse,' and with
that she let him leave her.
There was a bright fire in the room where Mildred and she were to sleep.
When Mrs. Madison had lighted the tall candle-sticks on the mantelpiece,
and left her to finish her unpacking, Polly tried to amuse herself by
imagining what Olive would think of it all.
It was a long, low room, with a corner cut off. All the rooms at The
Hollies were low and oddly shaped, but the great four-post bed, with the
moreen hangings, half filled it.
As far as curiosities went, it might have resembled either the upper
half of a pawnbroker's window, or a mediæval corner in some shop in
Wardour Street--such a medley of odds and ends were never found in one
room. A great, black, carved wardrobe, which Roy was much given to rave
about in his letters home, occupied one side; two or three
spindle-legged and much dilapidated chairs, dating from Queen Anne's
time, with an oaken chest, filled up all available space; but wardrobe,
mantelpiece, and even washstand, served as receptacles for the more
ornamental objects.
Peacocks' feathers and an Indian canoe were suspended over the dim
little oblong glass. Underneath, a Japanese idol smiled fiendishly; the
five senses, and sundry china shepherdesses, danced round him like
wood-nymphs round a satyr; a teapot, a hunting-watch, and an emu's egg
garnished the toilet-table; over which hung a sampler, worked by Mrs.
Madison's grandmother; two little girls in wide sashes, with a
long-eared dog, simpered in wool-work; a portrait of some Madison
deceased, in a short-waisted tartan satin, and a velvet hat and
feathers, hung over them.
The face attracted Polly in spite of the grotesque dress and ridiculous
headgear--the feathers would have enriched a hearse; under the funeral
plumes smiled a face still young and pleasant--it gave one the
impression of a fresh healthy nature; the ruddy cheeks and buxom arms,
with plenty of soft muscle, would have become a dairymaid.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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