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
It was a very pleasant morning altogether. There was a strangely mingled
feeling of satisfaction and annoyance in Roland Lansdell's mind as he
strolled beside Isabel, and listened, or appeared to listen, to Mr.
Raymond's talk. He would like to have had Isabel's little hand lying
lightly on his arm; he would like to have seen those wondering black
eyes lifted to his face; he would like her to have heard the romantic
legends belonging to the ruined walls and roofless banquet-chambers from
him. And yet, perhaps, it was better as it was. He was going away very
soon--immediately, indeed; he was going where that simple pleasure would
be impossible to him, and it was better not to lull himself in soft
delights that were so soon to be taken away from his barren life. Yes,
his barren life. He had come to think of his fate with bitter repining,
and to look upon himself as, somehow or other, cruelly ill-used by
Providence.
But, in spite of Mr. Raymond, he contrived to sit next Isabel at dinner,
which was served by-and-by in a lovely sheltered nook under the walls,
where there was no chance of the salt being blown into the greengage
tart, or the custard spilt over the lobster-salad. Mr. Lansdell had sent
a couple of servants to arrange matters; and the picnic was not a bit
like an ordinary picnic, where things are lost and forgotten, and where
there is generally confusion by reason of everybody's desire to assist
in the preparations. This was altogether a _recherché_ banquet; but
scarcely so pleasant as those more rural feasts, in which there is a
paucity of tumblers, and no forks to speak of. The champagne was iced,
the jellies quivered in the sunlight, everything was in perfect order;
and if Mr. Raymond had not insisted upon sending away the two men, who
wanted to wait at table, with the gloomy solemnity of every-day life, it
would scarcely have been worthy the name of picnic. But with the two
solemn servants out of the way, and with Sigismund, very red and dusty
and noisy, to act as butler, matters were considerably improved.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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