Country life -- England -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; Invalids -- Fiction; Women -- Fiction
Well, as she would not take “No,” for an answer, what _could_ I say but
“Yes?” and “very much obliged,” too. It put me quite in a flutter, but a
flutter of pleasurable excitement; for I have come to think the Pevenseys
one of the most interesting families in the whole world. It was very
satisfactory to think that my wardrobe was in fine order; that my best
caps, handkerchiefs, &c., were all beautifully got up, and ready for
immediate packing; that my new black silk dress had not even been worn;
and that I had got rid of the neuralgia just long enough not to be afraid
even of changing my bed.
I am sure the real danger will be in returning to my own house! I have
always considered it sufficiently snug; but the walls are so thin,
compared with these; and there are many chinks and fissures we are
obliged to stop up by ingenious contrivances, similar to what sailors
effect by means of _shakings_. Whereas here, if you want to open a
window, you may, indeed, do so with ease; but if you want it shut, it
really _will_ shut, without admitting a current of air strong enough to
blow out a candle! or making a noise like the roaring of a lion, through
some undetected orifice, as mine occasionally does at home, when least
expected or wished. I determined Phillis should enjoy herself in my
absence, and therefore permitted her to invite her widowed sister with
her small baby, to stay with her till my return, which she took very
pleasantly.
And here I am, in the snuggest of dressing-rooms, on the first floor of
the Stone House, overlooking a charming Italian garden, something in the
Haddon Hall style, that is beautiful even in winter, with bright masses
of evergreens forming backgrounds to its “storied urns and animated
busts.” And this dressing-room opens into a delightful bed-room, and also
into a warm, thickly carpeted gallery, into which, also, open three other
spare bed-rooms, one of which is at present occupied by Miss Pevensey,
another by Arbell; chiefly, I believe, that I may not fancy myself
lonely, as a door at the end of the gallery shuts off this wing from the
rest of the house.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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