Holly: The Romance of a Southern GirlBarbour, Ralph Henry
General
Holly: The Romance of a Southern Girl
Barbour, Ralph Henry
Courtship -- Fiction; Love stories; Southern States -- Fiction
“I wonder,” he asked, with intense diffidence, “I wonder――if I’m
included among the quite nice ones?”
“What do you think, Mr. Winthrop?”
“Well, I’ve always thought rather well of myself until I came to
Corunna. But now that I have learned just how poor a lot Northerners
are, I find myself rather more modest.”
Winthrop sighed depressedly.
“I’ll change it,” said Holly, her eyes dancing. “I’ll say instead that
_one_ Northerner is very nice.”
“You said ‘quite nice’ before.”
“That just shows that I like you better every minute,” laughed the girl.
Winthrop sighed.
“It’s a dangerous course you’re pursuing, Miss Holly,” he said, sadly.
“If you aren’t awfully careful you’ll lose a good slave and find a poor
admirer.”
“My admirers must be my slaves, too,” answered Holly.
“I am warned. I thank you. I could never play a dual rôle, I fear.”
Holly pouted.
“Then which do you choose?” she asked, aggrievedly.
“To be your slave, my dear young lady; I fancy that rôle would be more
becoming to middle-age and, at all events, far less hazardous.”
“But if I command you to admire me you’ll have to, you see; slaves must
obey.”
“I haven’t waited for the command,” replied Winthrop.
“You blow hot and cold, sir. First you refuse to be my admirer and then
you declare that you do admire me. What am I to believe?”
“That my heart and brain are at war, Miss Holly. My heart says: ‘Down
on your knees!’ but my brain says: ‘Don’t you do it, my boy; she’ll
lead you a dance that your aged limbs won’t take kindly to, and in the
end she’ll run out of your sight, laughing, leaving you to sorrow and
liniment!”
“You have as good as called me a coquette, Mr. Winthrop,” charged
Holly, severely.
“Have I? And, pray, what have you been doing for the last ten minutes
but coquetting with me, young lady? Tell me that.”
“Have I?” asked Holly, with a soft little laugh. “Do you mind?”
“Mind? On the contrary, do you know, I rather like it? So go right
ahead; you are keeping your hand in, and at the same time flattering
the vanity of one who has reached the age when to be used even for
target practice is flattering.”
“Your age troubles you a great deal, doesn’t it?” asked Holly,
ironically. “Please, why do you always remind me of it? Are you afraid
that I’ll lose my heart to you and that you’ll have to refuse me?”
“Well, you have seen me for a week,” answered Winthrop, modestly, “and
know my irresistible charm.”
Holly was silent a moment, her brown eyes fixed speculatively on the
man’s smiling face. Then――――
“You must feel awfully safe,” she said, with conviction, “to talk the
way you do. And I reckon I know why.”
“And may I know, too?”
“No; that is, you do know already, and I’m not going to tell you. Oh,
what time is it, please?”
Winthrop drew out his watch and then, with a shrug, dropped it back
into his pocket.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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