The History and Remarkable Life of the Truly Honourable Colonel Jacque, Commonly Called Colonel JackDefoe, Daniel
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The History and Remarkable Life of the Truly Honourable Colonel Jacque, Commonly Called Colonel Jack
Defoe, Daniel
Adventure stories, English; England -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction; Picaresque fiction
However, it was a great while before I discovered myself, and I stayed
indeed to find out, if possible, whether this change was real or
counterfeit; for I could not easily believe it was possible the gay
humour she used to appear in could be a counterfeit. It was not,
therefore, till a year and almost a quarter that I came to any
resolution in my thoughts about her, when, on a mere accident, we came
to a little conversation together.
She came to visit at our house as usual, and it happened all the ladies
were gone abroad; but, as it fell out, I was in the passage or entry of
the house, going towards the stairs, when she knocked at the door; so,
stepping back, I opened the door, and she, without any ceremony, came
in, and ran forward into the parlour, supposing the women had been
there. I went in after her, as I could do no less, because she did not
know that the family was abroad.
Upon my coming in she asked for the ladies. I told her I hoped she came
to visit me now, for that the ladies were all gone abroad. “Are they?”
said she, as if surprised—though I understood afterwards she knew it
before, as also that I was at home—and then rises up to be gone. “No,
madam,” said I, “pray do not go; when ladies come to visit me, I do not
use to tire them of my company so soon.” “That’s as ill-natured,” says
she, “as you could possibly talk. Pray don’t pretend I came to visit
you. I am satisfied who I came to visit, and satisfied that you know
it.” “Yes, madam,” said I; “but if I happen to be all of the family
that’s left at home, then you came to visit me.”
Jacque and lady
COLONEL JACQUE AND THE LADY
“I never receive visits from those that I hate,” says she.
“You have me there, indeed,” said I; “but you never gave me leave to
tell you why I hated you. I hated you because you would never give me
an opportunity to tell you I loved you. Sure, you took me for some
frightful creature, that you would never come near enough so much as to
let me whisper to you that I love you.”
“I never care to hear anything so disagreeable,” says she, “though it
be spoken ever so softly.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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