The dying day still flooded the earth with warmth and radiance: the
little coffee-and-cream-coloured calves still frisked in the meadows
that the buttercups turned into fields of the cloth of gold: the
forget-me-nots were still gleaming in the cottage gardens, the lilac was
still peeping over manorial walls, the laburnum still hanging down its
yellow chandeliers, and the horse-chestnut upholding its white
candelabras. But for these twain, obstinately and against the best
canine advice going their separate ways, the colour had been sucked out
of the landscape and the clemency from the air. Before Will, wandering
deviously, had remembered his evening sausages, these also had grown
cold; mist and clouds had turned the moon to a blood-red boat, and the
bats were swooping and the wood-owls shrilling where larks had soared
and sung.
CHAPTER VIII
CUPID AND CATTLE
_Wit she hath without desire_
_To make known how much she hath;_
_And her anger flames no higher_
_Than may fitly sweeten wrath._
_Full of pity as may be,_
_Though perhaps not so to me._
BROWNE, “Britannia’s Pastorals.”
I
IT is to be feared that the sting of Mr. Will Flynt’s offence lay
precisely in Jinny’s ignorance of horses, and that if her old companion
had come to her aid more tactfully, she would have welcomed his
co-operation in the great purchase. But her pride in her work would
hardly allow her to admit even to herself that here was a commission
perhaps beyond her capacities. Had she not enjoyed an almost lifelong
experience of Methusalem? As a monogamist would resent being told he
knew nothing of matrimony, so Jinny repudiated the notion that she knew
nothing of equinity. Besides, the cattle-market was far from seeming so
strange a world to her as Will had imagined. Had her cart not often
conveyed thence or thither a netted calf, had she not marketed even his
own mother’s piglings? A fig for the masculine aura! If Mr. Flippance
exaggerated after his fashion in declaring she would have undertaken to
get him the moon—at any rate it was not the man in it that would have
kept her back.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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