American fiction -- 19th century; Dime novels; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Upper class -- Fiction
“Yes I do not quite know how it is, or why papa never told me of them;
some family quarrel most likely,” Reinette continued. “He tried to tell
me when he was dying. He said there was something he must explain;
something he ought to have told me, and this was it. My mother was
American and not English, as I supposed, and these are her relatives and
mine, and it’s nice to find friends where one did not expect them.”
“Yes, mademoiselle, very nice,” Pierre said with a nod of assent,
though, knowing the proud little lady as he did, he knew perfectly well
how hotly she was rebelling against these new friends, and how it was
her great pride which prompted her to exalt them in his estimation if
possible.
But it was not for him to express any opinion, so he remained silent,
while Reinette went on:
“Mother’s own blood relations, who can tell me all about her, though I
mean to find Christine Bodine just the same, and hear what she has to
say of mamma. Pierre, there was another cousin at the station—a young
man, with such a fair, winning face and perfect manners. He was at the
grave, too. You must have seen him. He was a gentleman, I am sure.”
“Yes, mademoiselle,” and Pierre brightened at once. “He is quite the
gentleman, the nobility, the aristocracy, like Monsieur Hetherton. He
rode with Monsieur Beresford and myself, and spoke to me in my own
tongue; not as you talk it, but fair, very fair, though he did not
understand me so well.”
Pierre was growing eloquent on the subject of Phil, and Reinette was
greatly interested, and asked numberless questions concerning him.
“What was his name? What did Mr. Beresford call him, and what did he
say?”
“He asked much of you,” Pierre replied, “and once there was something
like tears in his eyes when I told him how sad you were, but seems like
he was ashamed to have the other one see him, for he pulled his hat down
over his eyes, and said something about it in English which made them
both laugh, he and the other gentleman who called him _Pill_.”
“_Pill!_” Reinette repeated. “What a name. You could not have
understood.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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