Kirsteen: The Story of a Scotch Family Seventy Years AgoOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
Kirsteen: The Story of a Scotch Family Seventy Years Ago
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Domestic fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
The gentleman thus appealed to turned round quickly with a glance at the
two girls, who with difficulty, and a little breathless and blushing
with excitement, had emerged out of the crowd behind Miss Eelen, less
skilled in making their way than she. “These young ladies,” he said,
“are with you? they’ll be----”
“Just Drumcarro’s daughters, and the first time they’ve ever been seen
out of their own house. But yonder’s their father making everybody
stand about. For ainy sake, Glendochart.”
“I’ll do your bidding, Miss Eelen.”
The girls both thought, as his look dwelt upon them, that he was a most
kind and pleasant old gentleman, and sighed with a thought that life
would be far easier and everything more practicable if their father was
but such another. But alas, that was past praying for. They had a little
more space now that they had gained this comparative haven at the side
of Miss Eelen’s chair to take breath and look about them, and shake
themselves free of the crowd.
The muslin gowns had been very successful; the skirts fell in a straight
line from the waistband high under their arms to their feet, one with a
little edge of fine white embroidery, the other with a frill scarcely to
be called a flounce round the foot. The bodices were no longer than a
baby’s cut in a modest round with a little tucker of lace against the
warm whiteness of the bosom: the sleeves were formed of little puffs of
muslin also like a baby’s. Mary wore her necklace of cairngorms with
much pride. Kirsteen had nothing upon her milkwhite throat to ornament
or conceal it. Nothing could have been whiter than her throat, with the
soft warmth of life just tinging its purity; her red hair, which goes so
well with that warm whiteness, was done up in what was called a classic
knot at the back of her head, but there were some little curls which
would not be gainsaid about her forehead and behind her ear. Her arms
were covered with long silk gloves drawn up to meet the short sleeves.
She was in a great tremor of excited imagination and expected pleasure.
She was not thinking of partners indeed, nor of performing at all in her
own person. She had come to see the world--to see the fine ladies and
gentlemen, to hear some of their beautiful talk perhaps, and watch the
exquisite way in which they would behave themselves. This was the chief
preoccupation of her mind. She looked round her as if it had been “the
play.” Kirsteen knew nothing at all of the play, and had been brought up
to believe that it was a most depraved and depraving entertainment, but
still there had never been any doubt expressed of its enthralling
character. The ball she had decided from the first day it had been
mentioned, would be as good as going to the play.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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