Kate Coventry: An AutobiographyWhyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
General
Kate Coventry: An Autobiography
Whyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
I don't think I ever saw a man so freckled in my life. Even the backs
of his hands (for he wore no gloves--I should think didn't even know
_his number_!) were studded with spots till you could have hardly put
a pin's point on a place free from this horrid disfigurement. His
face, too, was like a plum-pudding on which the fruit had been
showered with a most liberal hand; but the features were good, and had
it not been for his red hair, a little grizzled, and his stiff red
whiskers, the bright-blue eyes and white teeth would almost have
entitled him to be considered "handsome." He had a strong, stiff-built
figure, about the middle size, well made for everything but dancing,
and large, _useful_ feet encased in the stoutest double-soled shooting
shoes. The latter articles of costume proved him at once to be a
country gentleman. Every one must have remarked this peculiarity in
that enviable class. Their attire, particularly as regards the lower
man, is invariably of a nature to defy the utmost inclemency of the
weather, and is worn totally irrespective of the season or the pursuit
in which the owner may chance to be engaged at the time. But even
independent of these tell-tales the stranger's social position was
easily enough discerned by the deference with which he was treated
"along the line," and the title of "Squire," which greeted him from
guards, porters, and book-keepers at every station we passed.
So humane a master of dumb animals, or one so fidgety as to their
welfare, I never came across; and this, I confess, prepossessed me in
his favour. Every time the train stopped out jumped our
fellow-traveller, and off he went to a certain van containing his
treasures, from which he emerged with a very red face and a
constantly-repeated apology for disturbing me on his return to his
seat. Despite of his thick shoes and his freckles, I could see the man
was a gentleman; but, dear me, what a contrast to the smart gentlemen
I had lately been accustomed to meet! Beyond a "Beg your pardon; I
fear I'm very much in your way," accompanied by such a vivid blush as
can be performed only by a red-haired man, the Squire did not venture
on any communication either with me or my aunt; and with the latter's
lecture fresh in my mind I did not, as may be supposed, dare to take
the initiative by dropping my gloves, or pretending I couldn't pull up
the window, or any other little lady-like manoeuvre which lays the
foundation of a temporary intimacy, and often furnishes one with an
agreeable hour's conversation. I can _not_ see why one should sit
"mum" opposite the same person for miles, merely because one has never
been introduced.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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