Mrs. Radigan: Her Biography, with that of Miss Pearl Veal, and the Memoirs of J. Madison MudisonLloyd, Nelson
General
Mrs. Radigan: Her Biography, with that of Miss Pearl Veal, and the Memoirs of J. Madison Mudison
Lloyd, Nelson
New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Satire; Social classes -- Fiction; Women -- Conduct of life -- Fiction
She came in a hansom. Standing at the window, smoking a cigarette, I
was listlessly watching the almost deserted street, when a two-wheeler
bowled up to the curb, and the scene offering nothing better--only a
few delivery wagons and antiquated traps full of families parkward
bound--I noted every movement of the horse, the vehicle, the cabby,
and the fare. The horse went down on one leg, forward, resting easily
and drooping his head to dodge the sun. As Mr. Howells or Mr. James
would say in describing such an event, his right eyelid closed and his
skin shivered as he shook from him an insistent fly. The jehu opened
the roof-window and bawled something. A parasol, a white, filmy thing,
shot out in front, opened, and came toward me with a woman appended.
I could not see her face for the sunshade. I saw only her figure, a
large figure clad in summery things, gauzy, fluffy, in colors bright
and cheery, yet subdued and blending with the day, a paradox of some
Parisian modiste. The clothes, the carriage, the delicate parasol spoke
of means, and instinctively I tossed aside my cigarette and, to be
frank, posed in my revolving chair, for I knew that this could not be
for the tailor overhead or the music-college still a story higher.
The door creaked behind me, but I was absorbed in papers. Then the
office-boy spoke, and I wheeled to find her towering over me.
"Scorching, isn't it?" she said, when I had fetched a chair, and she
sat fanning herself with a tiny handkerchief.
While she fanned, I observed. She was a large woman, not fat nor merely
heavy, but strong and well-knit--masterful, I said at once when I saw
her face and could consider all. There was health in that face, color
and life, but not beauty as we judge it. The nose was too broad and
tilted up, the mouth was too large, the chin inclined to corpulence;
the eyes were small, but there was in them a twinkle of good-humor.
Altogether I liked her immensely.
"Well," she went on after a minute, "now that I have my breath again, I
shall explain. I am Mrs. John Radigan."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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