Lucius Davoren; or, Publicans and sinners, vol. 3Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
General
Lucius Davoren; or, Publicans and sinners, vol. 3
Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
Domestic fiction; Psychological fiction
‘On that condition you may come; but, believe me, your own happiness
would be better secured by your utter forgetfulness of a woman who may
never be free to reward your fidelity. There are so many who would be
proud of such a lover. Amongst them you might surely find one who would
realise your ideal as well as, if not better than, I.’
‘Never!’ protested Geoffrey, with warmth. ‘I never knew what a great
love was till I knew you. I will never open my heart to a lesser love.’
Janet gave a little sigh, half regret, half satisfaction. After all,
a woman does not easily relinquish such devotion. She has a duty to
fulfil, and her little lecture, her few words of wise counsel, to
pronounce; and having done that duty, she is hardly sorry if her
foolish adorer refuses to hear.
So they parted—not briefly, for little Flossie hung about Geoffrey, and
impeded his departure; nay, at his and Flossie’s joint request, Janet
walked half the length of the lane with Geoffrey and the child. They
only parted within sight of the distant towers of Mardenholme.
‘How pleased Lady Baker would be if she knew you were so near!’ said
Geoffrey.
‘Pray, don’t tell her. She was very good to me, and I was fond of
her; but she would want me to go to that great house of hers, full of
strange faces, and sing to her company, and be made a show of. I have
contrived to keep very clear of her pathway so far, near as I am. Pray,
do not betray me.’
‘To hear is to obey. But you really do mean to stay here?’ inquired
Geoffrey anxiously. ‘When I come a month hence to claim that cup of
Pekoe, I sha’n’t find you fled, eh?’
‘I promise that if anything should induce me to leave Foxley—that’s
the name of our little village—I will write you a line to say where I
am going. But my present intention is to stay here till November—just
long enough for a thorough rest—and then go back to my pupils at
Stillmington.’
Geoffrey sighed. The thought of those sol-fa classes, and the hard
labour they involved, always smote him to the quick; and he was rioting
in the Three per cents, as he told himself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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