England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Love stories; Social classes -- England -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
Katherine's eyes followed his to the gabled, irregular red brick house,
with its wreath of blue smoke going straight up into the winter sky.
"I have never seen one before," she told him. "You can imagine how
wonderful this appears to me after the place where I have lived. I had
only seen Hampton Court, but somehow all the people there and its being
a museum did not make it have the impression of a house that is
inhabited."
"This pleases you, does it?"
"Naturally. I love everything about it, the space, and people not being
allowed in. It is Her Ladyship's own--she can shut the gates if she
wants to and have it all to herself--that must be good."
"What a strange girl! You would not like to share anything, then? I have
already remarked this deplorably selfish instinct in you, in reference
to your dreamland--and you would keep poor devils out of your park,
too, if you could!"
"Generally--yes."
"Well, I want to be the exception to this exclusiveness. If I come up
one afternoon to the old schoolroom, for instance, and ask you to talk
to me, will you turn me out?"
"It depends what you want me to talk to you about. If it is upon a
subject only to please you--yes--if to please me then I may let you stay
for a little."
"What subjects would please you?"
"I would like to hear all about the pictures in the house, for
instance--you see, before I came to Lady Garribardine I had never
conversed with anyone educated in art. So I have only a very little book
knowledge to go upon."
"We will talk about art then; the house is full of interesting things,
part of it is so old."
For the rest of the way he did his best to entertain his aunt's
insignificant secretary, and they both knew that the walk had been very
charming. When they got into the shrubbery, Katherine took the path
which led to the small rose-garden courtyard, on which the schoolroom
staircase opened.
"Of course, I had forgotten you have a front door all to yourself."
"Yes--our roads divide here. Good morning, Mr. Strobridge."
"Are you going to shake hands with me?"
"No, it is quite unnecessary."
"_Au revoir_, then. To-night I shall dance with you. I have not danced
for ten years."
"Then probably you will not do it well. Recollect I come from Bindon's
Green where we learn the very newest steps. I never have put up with a
bad partner."
"I can't 'turkey trot,' if that is what you mean."
"Then I am afraid you are too old and too old-fashioned for my taste."
And smiling demurely, she walked off to the quaint, wrought-iron gate
which opened into the rose garden.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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