"If the frost holds," says the young man, suggestively--taking the
small black hand which she has timidly proffered, not being by any
means sure that it is etiquette for a "companion" to shake hands with
lords' eldest sons--"If the frost holds, will you be inclined for
another lesson or two? There is nothing like making hay when the sun
shines--say _to-morrow?_"
Her face brightens for a moment; it is so pleasant to talk gaily, and
be admired, and made much of, and reminded that there are other things
besides death and poverty and servitude; then her countenance falls.
"To-day has been very pleasant," she says, naïvely, "but I cannot
answer for to-morrow."
"Are you so changeable," he asks, with a laudable though unsuccessful
endeavour to fashion his jolly little dog-face into an expression of
reproachful sentiment, "as not to know to-day what you will like or
not like to-morrow?"
"I know what _I_ shall like," she answers, gently, "but I don't know
what other people will. Would not you think it very odd if your
valet were to make engagements without consulting you? _I_ am Mrs.
Blessington's valet."
She evidently thinks this argument so conclusive, and that it so
decidedly closes the question, that he has no choice but to loose her
hand; and she, having no other farewells to make, turns and passes
homewards through the crisply rustling sedges.
"_Very_ clean about the fetlock!" ejaculates the laconic youth, unable
to raise his mind from her legs; following them with his eyes, as she
climbs the grassy slope.
"Yes, but what howible boots! Whoever could have had the atwocity to
fwame such beetle-cwushers?"
CHAPTER XXXVI.
The frost goes, but so does not St. John. He hunts all day, and all the
long evenings lounges sedulously on the sofa beside Constance, trying
to feel affectionate: trying to make her talk--trying, metaphorically,
to pull the string at his fine wax-doll's side, to make her say
"Pap-pa" and "Mam-ma" prettily. "Since I am to spend my life with this
woman," he says to himself, heavily, "I must try and make the best of
her."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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