The lady of the basement flatVaizey, George de Horne, Mrs.
General
The lady of the basement flat
Vaizey, George de Horne, Mrs.
Irish -- England -- Fiction; Single women -- Fiction
In two minutes' time I had thought out the whole menu, even the
decorations on the table. What fun it would be! How they would all
enjoy it! How little Mrs Manners would revel in the shopping
expeditions! Her present should be a pretty blouse--something pretty,
bought with a view to what is becoming, and not to what will be useful,
and wear for several seasons, and then cut up into dusters. An
occasional extravagance _is_ such a tonic to a feminine mind! As for
the men, Mr Thorold should have a box of cigars. Mr Hallett should
have the same. And in the deadliest secrecy I would commission each to
buy for the other. Then they would be sure to get the right brand.
As for "Pastimes"--our guest tenant would be delighted to have her stay
extended. I wondered if the gardener would pine for Bridget! I
wondered if--_anyone_--would pine for me! Personally the prospect of
occasional "calls" pleased me better than the thought of meetings in the
country, under the Argus eye of village gossips. In the latter case one
would be self-conscious and restrained; in the former, safe from
observation, doubly sheltered behind wig and spectacles, there could be
no doubt as to which position afforded the better opportunity of getting
to know a man's character.
I wrote a letter to Charmion, reassuring her as to Christmas in my
"dreary flat"; I tore up the unfinished note to Delphine, and sent
another, assuring her of my sympathy, repeating my offers of help. Poor
little girl! Her real love for "Jacky" would be in the ascendant now,
and all the pleasure and vanities for which she had pined would seem
trivial things, compared with his dear life.
I did not write to Mr Maplestone. The difficulty of handwriting came
in, and there was no real necessity to answer his note. If I knew
Delphine, she would find it a relief to pour forth her woes on paper. I
waited confidently for a letter to appear.
Two days passed by, three; I was growing anxious, and debating if I
should write again, when there came a loud rat-tat at the door, and a
reply-paid telegram was handed in, addressed to Miss Wastneys:--
"Letter received. Need urgent. Unable to leave. Can you come
to-morrow. Beg you not to refuse. Delphine."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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