The Doctor's Wife: A NovelBraddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
General
The Doctor's Wife: A Novel
Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
Adultery -- Fiction; Great Britain -- Fiction; Middle class -- Fiction; Physicians' spouses -- Fiction
And this was all; no rapture, no spark of enthusiasm. To tell the truth,
the surgeon was hungry, and wanted his dinner. It came in presently,
smelling very savoury,--but, oh, so vulgar! It was Irish stew,--a
horrible, plebeian dinner, such as Hibernian labourers might devour
after a day's bricklaying. Isabel ate very little, and picked out all
the bits of onion and put them aside on her plate. Come what might, she
would never, never eat onions again. _That_ degradation, at least, it
was in her own power to avoid.
After dinner, while George was busy in the surgery, Mrs. Gilbert set to
work to compose her letter to Mr. Lansdell. She was to write to him--to
him! It was to be only a ceremonious letter, very brief and commonplace:
"Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert present their compliments to Mr. Lansdell, and
will be happy to," &c, &c. But even such a letter as this was a critical
composition. In that sublime region in which Mr. Lansdell lived, there
might be certain words and phrases that were indispensable,--there might
be some arbitrary mode of expression, not to know which would argue
yourself unknown. Isabel looked into "Dombey," but there was no help for
her there. She would have been very glad if she could have found "Mrs.
Grainger presents her compliments to Mr. Dombey," or "Miss F. Dombey has
the pleasure to inform Mr. Gay--" or something of that kind, anywhere
amongst those familiar pages. However, she was obliged to write her
letter as best she might, on a sheet of paper that was very thick and
slippery, and strongly impregnated with patchouli; and she sealed the
envelope with a profile of Lord Byron imprinted upon white wax, the only
stick that was to be had in Graybridge, and to find which good-natured
Mr. Jeffson scoured the town, while Isabel was writing her letter.
_Roland Lansdell, Esqre.,_
_Mordred Priory._
To write such an address was in itself a pleasure. It was dark by the
time Mrs. Gilbert had finished her letter, and then she began to think
of her dress,--her dress for Tuesday,--the Tuesday which was henceforth
to stand out from amongst all the other days in her life.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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