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
never forgive me I was well enough acquainted with my own sex to be
assured; but the task required to be done, notwithstanding. Flushed
with my triumph, with heightened colour and flashing eyes, I stalked
off towards my chamber and met Cousin John in the hall.
"Good heavens, Kate, what is the matter? What has happened?" exclaimed
John in obvious perturbation.
"A piece of news!" was my reply; "a conquest, John! What do you think?
Mr. Haycock has just been here, and _proposed_ for me!"
He flushed up all over his face and temples, and then turned deadly
pale; even his lips were quite white and wide apart. How they quivered
as he tried to speak unconcernedly! And after all he got out nothing
but, "Well, Kate?"
"And I have refused him, John," I said quietly, but in a tone that
showed him there was no mistake about it.
"God bless you, Kate!" was all he replied, and turned away muttering
something about "wet things" and his "dressing-room;" but he was going
to the wrong door, and had to turn back, though he took care not to
let me see his face again.
I can't make John out. At dinner he was just as if nothing had
happened; but at all events I'm glad I've refused Mr. Haycock; so I
shall read Frank's note over once more and then go to bed.
CHAPTER XIV.
I need quote no more from my diary, as the next few days offered no
incident worthy of recording to break the monotony of our life at
Dangerfield Hall. Drearier than ever it was, and more especially to
me; for I felt that, although undeclared, there was "war to the knife"
between myself, my aunt, and cousin. The latter scarcely spoke to me
at all; and my aunt, whose defeat was rankling bitterly in her heart,
merely took such sullen notice of me as was absolutely necessitated by
the laws of hospitality and the usages of society. Poor Aunt Deborah
required to be kept very quiet and free from all worries and
annoyances. "The more she slept," the doctor said, "the sooner she
would get well enough to move to London for further advice;" so I had
not even her to talk to--there was no hunting--the frost got harder
and harder--that obstinate weather-cock over the stables kept veering
from north to north-east--the grooms went to exercise wrapped up in
greatcoats and shawl handkerchiefs, and stayed out as short a time as
was compatible with the mildest stable discipline; there would be no
change of the moon for a week, and it was obvious that I should have
but little use for Brilliant and White Stockings before our return to
town.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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