Scarlet and Hyssop: A NovelBenson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
General
Scarlet and Hyssop: A Novel
Benson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
London (England) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction
"No, the croquet must be shifted to the right; it gives more margin,"
she was saying. "Just show them, Maud. The piano opposite the French
window from the drawing-room, but it's no use putting it in till you
have the carpets down. The scarlet cushions belong to the other sofa;
no, there's no answer"--this to a footman with a telegram. "Of course,
if there are no nasturtiums out yet it can't be helped. Yes, seven
lanterns at least; the electrician must look to the wires, one on each
of the supports; we shall dine there as well as lunch next Sunday if it
is warm. Bridge-tables? Yes, in the new shelter, two of them, and one in
the corner of the long awning. What's that matting doing? It belongs to
the conservatory; put it back there. I shall want thick common baize
under the rugs; they will get damp otherwise. The big flower-holder in
the corner; no, more in the corner than that. Wolland's will send down
two palms, one to go behind the piano, the other indoors in the
drawing-room."
But out of chaos by such processes of evolution emerged order, and it
was still an hour before sunset when they left again. Mrs. Brereton had
to a high degree that most useful gift of being able to banish any one
subject completely from her mind when she was occupied with another, and
it was not till she was seated with Maud again in the carriage that the
question which had occupied them so exclusively driving down reasserted
itself. Even then she felt it was the better part of wisdom to let
things be. Maud was clearly preoccupied, with what, it was impossible
not to guess, and as she was, her mother knew, one who chose to make
decisions for herself, she bridled her desire to know what was passing
in her daughter's mind. She always found that conversation with Maud was
difficult; to-day it was particularly so. But just as they stopped at
the Grosvenor Square house this desire mastered her.
"And what do you think you intend to do?" she asked.
"I think I intend to refuse him, but I am not sure."
And with such cold comfort her mother had to be content.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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