Market Harborough, and Inside the BarWhyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
General
Market Harborough, and Inside the Bar
Whyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
Country life -- England -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; Fox hunting -- Fiction
My curiosity—more, my interest, was strongly aroused. Miss Merlin was
evidently no common character. Brave, reserved, studious, and simple in
her attire, she must be a _lusus naturæ_, a flower like the aloe,
blooming but once in a century; and here she was at Soakington;—how to
obtain an introduction was the difficulty. Had I been sound again,
nothing, I thought, could be easier: a large fence out hunting; an
appropriate compliment to her horse, and implied flattering of herself;
a gate opened at the right moment, and then a bow out-of-doors, which
could not but ripen to a familiar greeting within. After that, it would
be all plain-sailing. When I got thus far, I was perfectly astonished at
myself. “Softly,” said I, “is it possible—you, who have been a shy man
and a diffident all your life; who have never been willing to burn your
fingers at the shrine of Cupid, much less scorch yourself up, body and
bones and all; you, who have had warnings innumerable among your
friends, and beacons untold in your own family—can _you_ be such an ass?
Did not your cousin Harry, helping a comparative stranger to put on her
goloshes at a picnic, become involved in a series of dilemmas which came
eventually under the notice of Sir Cresswell Cresswell, in reviewing
whose decision a weekly paper was good enough to remark that the
co-respondent, meaning Cousin Harry, had behaved with the blackest
villainy throughout? Was not your brother John, accidentally offering an
unknown damsel his umbrella in the street, compelled by an Amazonian
mother to marry her within six weeks? Has not the Amazonion taken up her
abode with him for life, and has not Mrs. John Softly borne twins to her
lord on two successive occasions? Are these hideous examples
insufficient, and must you in your own person furnish another deplorable
instance of the inevitable result when—
“‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread’?”
“Let it alone,” cried Caution. “But may I not at least take a look at my
danger?” whispered Curiosity. “Better bandage your eyes,” answered
Caution. “Perhaps she is not good-looking after all,” urged Curiosity.
“Don’t go near her for your life!” threatened Cau. “I’ll be d—d if I
don’t!” thundered Q.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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