Great Britain -- History -- 19th century -- Juvenile fiction
"One evening--some months after my ramble round the manor--the maids
went out to tea, and I lay in peaceful silence watching the shadows
which crept noiselessly about the room as the fire blazed, and wishing
Sarah and her colleagues nothing less than a month of uninterrupted
tea-parties. I was almost asleep when Aunt Harriet came into the room.
She brought a candle, put up my screen (the red screen again!), and
went to the work-table. She had not been rustling with the work things
for many minutes when my grandmother followed her, and shut the door
with an air which seemed to promise a long stay. She also gave a
shove to my screen, and then the following conversation began:
"'I have been to Lady Sutfield's to-day, Harriet.'
"'Indeed, ma'am.' But my aunt respectfully continued her work, as I
could hear by the scraping of the scissors along the table.
"'I heard some news there. The manor is let.'
"I almost jumped in my bed, and Aunt Harriet's scissors paused.
"'Let, ma'am! To whom!'
"'To a Mrs. Moss. You must have heard me speak of her. I knew her
years ago, when we were both young women. Anastatia Eden, she was
then.'
"I could hear my aunt move to the fire, and sit down.
"'The beautiful Miss Eden? Whom did she marry at last? Was there not
some love-affair of hers that you knew about?'
"'Her love-affairs were endless. But you mean Mr. Sandford. She
treated him very ill--very ill.'
"There was a pause, while the fire crackled in the silence; and then,
to the infinite satisfaction of my curiosity, Aunt Harriet said:
"'I've forgotten the story, ma'am. He was poor, was he not?'
"'He had quite enough to marry on,' my grandmother answered,
energetically; 'but he was not a great match. It was an old story, my
dear. The world! The world! The world! I remember sitting up with
Anastatia after a ball, where he had been at her side all the evening.
We sipped hot posset, and talked of our partners. Ah, dear!' and here
my grandmother heaved a sigh; partly, perhaps, because of the follies
of youth, and partly, perhaps, because youth had gone, and could come
back no more.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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