Blessing and cursing -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction; Romanies -- Fiction
The touch of spring was upon the Surrey meads and Surrey hills, and a
tender gray-green veil adorned the boughs laid bare by winter winds.
Before an ideal country-house, low and rambling, with plentiful green
lattice-work for the creepers beginning now to bud, and broad terraces
sheltered by verandas overlooking a trim tennis-lawn and a
flower-garden gay with hyacinths and daffodils, in joyous flower, a
comely group was gathered. Two young men, who had been for three days
guests, were taking leave of Mr. and Mrs. Braithwaite, the three
pretty Misses Braithwaite, their still prettier cousin, and the two
young brothers of the family.
A more attractive and typically English group could hardly be
imagined. Father and mother, plump, handsome, and well-fed, surveying,
with excusable pride, their three fair-haired girls, all of whom
possessed wide shoulders, slender waists, fresh complexions, and clear
gray eyes. The Misses Braithwaite and their cousin could all ride,
drive, play lawn tennis and the newest dance music, and they one and
all looked forward to the time when they should marry “well,” and
spend every season in London. Between these four young ladies there
existed a marked and charming likeness; but the two young men, from
one of whom at least they were so regretfully parting, were extremely
dissimilar in appearance, voice, and manner.
The elder was a man of seven-and-twenty, fully six feet four inches in
height, and of massive build and proud, erect carriage, which made him
appear even taller than he really was. His hair, of a golden-brown
color, curled closely over his handsome head, which was set upon his
broad shoulders like that of a young Hercules. His features were well
cut, his brown eyes as clear and beautiful in color as those of a
collie-dog, and a drooping yellow mustache shaded the outlines of a
mouth which at times, when closely shut, gave a look of hardness to
his expression. In a word, he was a superb specimen of young English
manhood, and as if nature had never wearied in her gifts, she united
to a superb frame and handsome face a particularly rich and mellow
voice.
And yet there was but little doubt that if the eyes of the four young
ladies occasionally rested upon him with admiration, their serious
attentions were all reserved for his companion, who could not, by the
grossest flattery, have been termed even ordinarily good-looking.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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