Queenie's whim, Volume 1 (of 3) : $b A novelCarey, Rosa Nouchette
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Queenie's whim, Volume 1 (of 3) : $b A novel
Carey, Rosa Nouchette
English fiction -- 19th century
Here there was plenty without profusion, comfort without pretension;
a happy family circle, rich in individuality, characteristic, strong
in will, with a fount of pure native humor evidently engrained in the
blood; and yet there were fewer jars and less dissensions than
ordinarily occur in domestic life.
Ted was evidently the malcontent of the household; but even his
grumbling, incessant as it was, had no root of bitterness in it. He
was only a lazy, sweet-tempered fellow, who had not yet fitted
himself to his niche in life, and who was young enough to quarrel
with the monotony of his existence. "Look here! I can't stand this
much longer; I shall have to cut it, after all, and take to office
work in Carlisle," he would say, when he had secured the two girls as
listeners, and had extended himself after his usual fashion on the
long, narrow couch, with his arms under his head, and his light hair
standing on end. "Do you think a fellow of any spirit can endure
life in a hole like this?"
"Oh, Ted, do be quiet; we are so tired of this sort of talk,"
remonstrated his sister.
"I am not talking to you; I am talking to Miss Marriott. She is a
girl of sense, and knows what a fellow means when he says he is
hipped, and all that. Do you think a place like Hepshaw is meant for
anything but a refuge for old maids?"
"Oh, Teddie, you rude boy!"
"Don't interfere, Catherine; I am speaking to your betters."
"Your brother seems perfectly content with his surroundings; I should
advise you to follow his example," returned Queenie demurely, trying
hard not to laugh, and not unmindful of the boyish kicks that were
being administered to the end of the sofa.
"Garth! Oh, he is different; he is a confirmed old bachelor, a sort
of philosopher on a small scale. I don't believe Garth would trouble
himself if he never saw a fresh face from one year's end to another.
A man with a hobby is always to be envied," sighed the poor victim of
circumstance.
"Get a hobby, then," snapped Cathy.
"Oh, it is all very easy to talk."
"I know it is, or you would not lie railing there, like the
melancholy Jacques, against fate. 'I met a fool,' quoth he, 'a
motley fool.'"
"'Call me not fool till heaven has sent me fortune,'" growled Ted,
with the spirit of reviving fun in his eyes.
"There, he is better now; when he begins to quote we may safely leave
him, Queenie. I want you to come with me and call on the Cardinal
Virtues; it is such a wet afternoon that they will be in strong
force. Never mind Ted's grumbling, he cannot expect you to stay at
home and talk to him; besides, he has 'David Copperfield' to amuse
him."
"I'll pay you out for this," returned her brother, viciously. "Just
as Miss Marriott and I had found out we were kindred spirits, and all
that sort of thing.
'Oh, woman! in your hour of ease
A wretched bore, or else a tease;
When pain and sickness wring the brow
A downright duffer then art thou.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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