The Days of My Life: An AutobiographyOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
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The Days of My Life: An Autobiography
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret), 1828-1897
I was obliged to be content with this, satirical as it was, and began to
occupy myself immediately with the prints on the table. The old
gentleman fell back a step, and began conversing with some one else. The
youth still stood opposite, holding an engraving in his hands and going
over it minutely. It was very strange--I cannot tell how it came
about--but in this crowded room, and among all these echoes of
conversation, I felt myself in some extraordinary way alone with this
young stranger. I never lifted my eyes from the picture before me, yet I
was aware of every motion he made--and though he did not once look up, I
felt his eye upon me. We did not exchange a single word, but we remained
opposite each other perfectly still, watching each other with a sort of
fascination. I do not know how the time went for those few moments--I
know it looked like an hour to me before Mrs. Boulder came back; yet
when she did come back, she exclaimed at having lost sight of me for
full ten minutes, and began to overpower me with an account of the
unknown lion, and the clever things he said--and to pull about and turn
over the prints which had been passing so slowly and so unwittingly
through my hands.
Mrs. Boulder had not been seated by our table for five minutes when she
had a ring of potent people round her, whom she had called out of the
crowd. I sat by her timidly on a stool, which some one brought me when I
gave up my easy chair to the great lady--and bent my head, half with
awkwardness and half to find breathing room, oppressed as I was by the
bulky figure of the Professor leaning over me in earnest discussion with
another pillar of learning. Mr. Osborne was not far off; but though this
might be pleasant enough for Mrs. Boulder, who was the centre of the
group, it was very much the reverse for me, stifled and overwhelmed by
half-a-dozen people pressing over me to pay their court to the eminent
woman, who had taken charge of a bewildered and shy girl to her own
inconvenience, and who, if she ever thought of me at all, thought no
doubt that I was only too greatly privileged, had I been entirely,
instead of only half, stifled with the pressure of this learned crowd.
But the young stranger whom I followed, not with my eyes, but with my
attention, remained still very near us, and still I felt strongly that
though our eyes had only met once, we had been observing each other all
the time.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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