Artists -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
Margaret did not say very much. She had been lying perfectly tranquil
in Geoffrey's arms; a position which, she said, first gave her
assurance that her new life had indeed begun. She should be able to
realise it more fully, she thought, when she commenced in a home of
her own, and in a fresh atmosphere; and as the prying curiosity of the
Flexors daily increased, and as Little Flotsam Street, with its normal
pavement of refuse and its high grim house-rows scarcely admitting any
light, was an objectionable residence, she could urge no reason for
delay. So a day at the end of the ensuing week was fixed upon; and
no sooner had it been finally determined than Geoff, looking round
at preparations which were absolutely necessary, was amazed at their
number and magnitude.
He should be away a fortnight, he calculated, perhaps longer; and it
was necessary to apprise the families and the one or two "ladies'
colleges" in which he taught drawing of his absence. He would also let
Stompff know that he would not find him in his studio during the next
few days (for it was the habit of this great _entrepreneur_ to pay
frequent visits to his _protégés_, just to "give 'em a look-up," as
he said; but in reality to see that they were not doing work for any
opposition dealer); but he should simply tell Stompff that he was going
out of town for a little change, leaving that worthy to imagine that
he wanted rest after his hard work. And then came a point at which he
hitched up at once, and was metaphorically thrown on his beam-ends.
What was he to say to his mother and sister and to his intimate friends?
To the last, of course, there was no actual necessity to say any thing,
save that he knew he must have some one to "give away" the bride, and
he would have preferred one of his old friends, even at the risk of
an explanation, to Flexor, hired for five shillings, and duly got up
in the costume of the old English gentleman. But to his mother and
sister it was absolutely necessary that some kind of notice should be
given. It was necessary they should know that the little household,
which, despite various small interruptions, had been carried on so
long in amity and affection, would be broken up, so far as he was
concerned; also necessary that they should know that his contribution
to the household income would remain exactly the same as though he
still partook of its benefits. He had to say all this; and he was as
frightened as a child. He thought of writing at first, and of leaving
a letter to be given to his mother after the ceremony was over; of
giving a bare history in a letter, and an amount of affection in the
postscript which would melt the stoniest maternal heart. But a little
reflection caused him to think better of this notion, and determined
him to seek an interview with his mother. It was due to her, and he
would go through with it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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