American fiction -- 19th century; California -- Fiction; Short stories
During this speech the consul could not help noticing that, although her
attitude was playfully confidential to him, her voice really was pitched
high enough to reach the ears of smaller groups around her, who were not
only following her with the intensest admiration, but had shamelessly
abandoned their own conversation, and had even faced towards her. Was
she really posing in her naivete? There was a certain mischievous,
even aggressive, consciousness in her pretty eyelids. Then she suddenly
dropped both eyes and voice, and said to the consul in a genuine aside,
“I like this sort of thing much better.”
The consul looked puzzled. “What sort of thing?”
“Why, all these swell people, don't you see? those pictures on the
walls! this elegant room! everything that has come down from the past,
all ready and settled for you, you know--ages ago! Something you haven't
to pick up for yourself and worry over.”
But here the consul pointed out that the place itself was not
“ancestral” as regarded the present earl, and that even the original
title of his predecessors had passed away from it. “In fact, it came
into the family by one of those 'outsiders' you deprecate. But I dare
say you'd find the place quite as comfortable with Lord Beverdale for a
host as you would if you had found out he were a cousin,” he added.
“Better,” said the young lady frankly.
“I suppose your mother participates in these preferences?” said the
consul, with a smile.
“No,” said Miss Desborough, with the same frankness, “I think maw's
rather cut up at not finding a Desborough. She was invited down here,
but SHE'S rather independent, you know, so she allowed I could take care
of myself, while she went off to stay with the old Dowager Lady Mistowe,
who thinks maw a very proper womanly person. I made maw mad by telling
her that's just what old Lady Mistowe would say of her cook--for I can't
stand these people's patronage. However, I shouldn't wonder if I was
invited here as a 'most original person.'”
But here Lord Algernon came up to implore her to sing them one of “those
plantation songs;” and Miss Desborough, with scarcely a change of voice
or manner, allowed herself to be led to the piano. The consul had
little chance to speak with her again, but he saw enough that evening to
convince him not only that Lord Algernon was very much in love with
her, but that the fact had been equally and complacently accepted by the
family and guests. That her present visit was only an opportunity for a
formal engagement was clear to every woman in the house--not excepting,
I fear, even the fair subject of gossip herself. Yet she seemed so
unconcerned and self-contained that the consul wondered if she really
cared for Lord Algernon. And having thus wondered, he came to the
conclusion that it didn't much matter, for the happiness of so
practically organized a young lady, if she loved him or not.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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