Bildungsromans; Domestic fiction; Middle West -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
She now took her place by the side of their host, and thought, looking
at his outdoor aspect, that her guess at what to wear had been better
than Aunt Victoria's or Molly's. For the question of what to wear had
been a burning one. Pressure had been put on her to don just a lacy,
garden-party toilette of lawn and net as now automatically barred both
Aunt Victoria and Molly from the proposed expedition to the woods.
Nobody had had the least idea what was to be the color of the
entertainment offered them, for the great significance of the affair
was that it was the first time that Page had ever invited any one to
the spot for which he evidently felt such an unaccountable affection.
Aunt Victoria had explained to Sylvia, "It's always at the big Page
estate in Lenox that he entertains, or rather that he gets his mother
to do the absolutely indispensable entertaining for him." Morrison
said laughingly: "Isn't it the very quintessence of quaintness to
visit him there! To watch his detached, whimsical air of not being
in the least a part of all the magnificence which bears his name. He
insists, you know, that he doesn't begin to know his way around that
huge house!" "It was his father who built the Lenox place," commented
Mrs. Marshall-Smith. "It suited _his_ taste to perfection. Austin
seems to have a sort of Marie-Antoinette reaction towards a somewhat
painfully achieved simplicity. He's not the man to take any sort of
pose. If he were, it would be impossible not to suspect him of
a little pose in his fondness for going back to his farmer
great-grandfather's setting." Guided by this conversation, and by
shrewd observations of her own, Sylvia had insisted, even to the point
of strenuousness, upon wearing to this first housewarming a cloth
skirt and coat, tempering the severity of this costume with a
sufficiently feminine and beruffled blouse of silk. As their car had
swung up before the plain, square, big-chimneyed old house, and Page
had come to meet them, dressed in khaki-colored forester's garb,
with puttees, Aunt Victoria had been generous enough to admit by an
eye-flash to Sylvia that the girl knew her business very well. There
was not, of course, Sylvia reflected, the slightest pretense of
obscurity between them as to what, under the circumstances, her
business was.
All this lay back of the fact that, as Sylvia, her face bright with
spontaneous interest in pine plantations and lumbering operations,
stepped to the side of the man in puttees, her costume exactly suited
his own.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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