The Garden Party, and Other StoriesMansfield, Katherine
General
The Garden Party, and Other Stories
Mansfield, Katherine
New Zealand -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, New Zealand
Behind the rotunda the slender trees with yellow leaves down drooping,
and through them just a line of sea, and beyond the blue sky with
gold-veined clouds.
Tum-tum-tum tiddle-um! tiddle-um! tum tiddley-um tum ta! blew the band.
Two young girls in red came by and two young soldiers in blue met them,
and they laughed and paired and went off arm-in-arm. Two peasant women
with funny straw hats passed, gravely, leading beautiful smoke-coloured
donkeys. A cold, pale nun hurried by. A beautiful woman came along and
dropped her bunch of violets, and a little boy ran after to hand them
to her, and she took them and threw them away as if they’d been
poisoned. Dear me! Miss Brill didn’t know whether to admire that or
not! And now an ermine toque and a gentleman in grey met just in front
of her. He was tall, stiff, dignified, and she was wearing the ermine
toque she’d bought when her hair was yellow. Now everything, her hair,
her face, even her eyes, was the same colour as the shabby ermine, and
her hand, in its cleaned glove, lifted to dab her lips, was a tiny
yellowish paw. Oh, she was so pleased to see him—delighted! She rather
thought they were going to meet that afternoon. She described where
she’d been—everywhere, here, there, along by the sea. The day was so
charming—didn’t he agree? And wouldn’t he, perhaps?... But he shook his
head, lighted a cigarette, slowly breathed a great deep puff into her
face, and even while she was still talking and laughing, flicked the
match away and walked on. The ermine toque was alone; she smiled more
brightly than ever. But even the band seemed to know what she was
feeling and played more softly, played tenderly, and the drum beat,
“The Brute! The Brute!” over and over. What would she do? What was
going to happen now? But as Miss Brill wondered, the ermine toque
turned, raised her hand as though she’d seen some one else, much nicer,
just over there, and pattered away. And the band changed again and
played more quickly, more gayly than ever, and the old couple on Miss
Brill’s seat got up and marched away, and such a funny old man with
long whiskers hobbled along in time to the music and was nearly knocked
over by four girls walking abreast.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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