The Invader: A NovelWoods, Margaret L. (Margaret Louisa)
General
The Invader: A Novel
Woods, Margaret L. (Margaret Louisa)
Multiple personality -- Fiction
"Some one's been misreporting me, I see," he returned. "But anyhow, on
the ice, Miss Flaxman, it's you who are the Professor; I who am the
pupil. So I offer you a fair revenge."
Accordingly, Mildred soon found herself placed at a due distance from
the orange, with Stewart equally distant from it on the other side.
After a few minutes of extreme uneasiness, she discovered that although
she had to halt at each fresh call, she had a kind of mechanical
familiarity with the simple figures which he gave her.
Stewart, though learned, was human; and to sweep now at the opposite
pole to his companion, now with a swing of clasping hands at the centre
of their delightful dance, his eyes always perforce on his charming
partner, and her eyes on him, undeniably raised the pleasure of skating
to a higher power than if he had circled the orange in company with mere
man.
So they fleeted the too-short time in the sparkling blue and white
world, drinking the air like celestial wine.
The Festival of the Frost had fallen in the Christmas Vacation, and
Oxford society in vacation is essentially different from that of
Term-time, when it is overflowed by men who are but birds of passage,
coming no one inquires whence, and flitting few know whither. The party
that picnicked, played hockey, danced and figured on their skates
through the weeks of the frost, was in those days almost like a family
party. So it happened that Ian Stewart met the new Miss Flaxman in an
atmosphere of friendly ease that years of term-time society would not
have afforded him. How new she was he did not guess, but supposed the
change to be in his own eyes. Other people, however, saw it. Her very
skating was different. It had gained in grace and vigor, but she was
seldom seen wooing the serious and lonely orange around which Milly had
acquired the skill that Mildred now enjoyed. On the contrary, she
initiated an epidemic of frivolity on the ice in the shape of waltzing
and hand-in-hand figures in general.
Ian Stewart, too, neglected the orange and went in for hand-in-hand
figures that season. Other things, too, he neglected; work, which he had
never before allowed to suffer measurably from causes within his
control; and far from blushing for his idleness, he rejoiced in it, as
the surest sign of all that for him the Festival of Spring had come in
the time of nature's frost.
It was not only the crisp air, the frequent sun, the joyous flights over
the ringing ice that made his blood run faster through his veins and
laughter come more easily to his lips; that aroused him in the morning
with a strange sense of delight, as though some spirit had awakened him
with a glad reveille at the window of his soul. He, too, was in Arcady.
That in itself should be sufficient joy; he knew he must restrain his
impatience for more. Not till the summer, when the lady of his heart had
ceased to be also his pupil, must he make avowal of his love.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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