England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
"Of course it has. I believe, I do believe you never would have known
it was a fine day at all, if I had not come to see you!"
"I can hardly believe that you did come to see me for the purpose of
telling me it was a fine day," said Paul.
Katharine leaned over the back of her chair, and nodded at him.
"Guess why I did come," she said. He shook his head lazily. She
imparted the rest of her news in little instalments, to give it more
emphasis. "It's my half-term holiday," she said again, and paused to
watch the effect of her words.
"I think I heard you say that before," he observed.
"And I'm going into the country for the whole day."
"Yes?" said Paul, who did not seem impressed.
"And I want you to come too. There! don't you think it was worth a
visit?" Her laugh rang out, and filled the little room. Paul was
stroking his beard reflectively, but he did not seem vexed.
"Really, Katharine," he said once more.
"Oh, now, don't be musty," she pleaded, resting her chin on her hands.
"I just want to do something jolly to-day; and I've never asked you
anything before, have I? Do, _please_, Mr. Wilton. I won't bother you
again for ever so long; I promise you I won't."
"Are you aware," said Paul, frowning, "that it is not customary to
come and visit a man in his chambers in this uninvited manner?"
"You know quite well," retorted Katharine, "that nothing ever matters,
if I do it."
"Of course I know that you are beyond the taint of scandal, or the--"
She started up impatiently, and came over to the side of his
arm-chair.
"Don't begin to be sarcastic. I never can think of the word I want,
when you get sarcastic. I am not beyond anything, and I am certainly
not above asking you a favour. Now, if you were to stop being superior
for a few minutes--"
"And if you were to stop standing on one leg, and swinging the other
about in that juvenile manner, a catastrophe might be--"
She seized a cushion and tried to smother him with it; but he was too
quick for her, and the cushion went spinning to the other end of the
room, and she found herself pulled on to his knee.
"You dreadful child! It is too hot, and I am too old for romping in
this fashion," he observed lazily.
"Are you coming?" she asked abruptly. She was playing with his watch
chain, and he did not quite know what to make of her face.
"Do you want me to?" he asked gently.
"Of course I do," she said, in a swift little whisper; and her fingers
strayed up to his scarf pin, and touched his beard.
"I am being dreadfully improper," she said.
"You are being very nice," he replied, and weakly kissed her fingers.
She did not move, and he gave her a little shake.
"What a solemn child you are," he complained. "It is impossible to
play with you, because you always take one so seriously."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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