Innocent : $b a tale of modern lifeOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
Innocent : $b a tale of modern life
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Fiction
“My dear, none of you are just to poor Mrs. Everard,” said the mother,
driven back upon herself. She dared not grumble ever so little at this
friend of her bosom without giving occasion, so to speak, to the
Adversary to blaspheme. Therefore for the sake of peace she gulped down
a great many of her friend’s opinions without venturing to say how much
she disagreed with them. The two were sitting there, consulting over the
fire, when Frederick came in. There were no lights in the room, the
shutters were not closed, nor even the blinds drawn, and the trees were
dimly discernible like processions of ghosts in the dim air outside.
That still world outside, looking in through the window, was somewhat
eerie and dreary; when it caught Mrs. Eastwood’s eye she was apt to get
nervous, and declare that there was somebody in the grounds, and that
she saw a face looking in. But this evening she had other things to
think of. Frederick, however, as he came in, felt a shadow of his
mother’s superstitions and alarms. The glimmering dark outside seemed to
him full of possible dangers. “Why don’t you have the lamps lighted, and
shut up the windows?” he said. “I can’t understand your liking for the
firelight, mother. One can’t see to do anything, and anybody that
chooses can see in.”
“We don’t want to do anything, and we don’t care who sees us,” said
Nelly, who was sometimes saucy to her elder brother.
“Don’t wrangle, children: we were discussing something which will
startle you very much, Frederick, as it did me. It will make quite a
change in everything. Perhaps Frederick will feel it least, being out
all day; but we must all feel it,” said Mrs. Eastwood. Frederick seated
himself with his face to the window with a certain air of endurance. He
did not like the firelight flashing over him, and revealing what he
might happen to be thinking. Frederick liked to keep his thoughts to
himself; to tell just as much as he liked, and no more. He put his hands
into his pockets, and gave a half perceptible shrug to his shoulders. He
did not expect to be at all startled. “A change in the fashion, I
suppose,” he said to himself. He was supposed to be very fond of home,
and a most domestic young man; and this was one of the ways in which he
indemnified himself for the good character which he took pains to keep
up.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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