The Masterfolk : $b wherein is attempted the unravelling of the strange affair of my Lord Wyntwarde of Cavil and Miss Betty ModeyneMacfall, Haldane
General
The Masterfolk : $b wherein is attempted the unravelling of the strange affair of my Lord Wyntwarde of Cavil and Miss Betty Modeyne
Macfall, Haldane
Bohemianism -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction
Betty, sitting in the window in the waning light, learnt from the
precious volume that the poet’s name was Cartel de Maungy; and opening
the book she found written upon every leaf in tuneful verse the
self-revelation of the man, the poet of faded ideals, as his race
had been before him--his grandsire had gone to the guillotine for a
well-turned sonnet about something that did not matter. On every page
was the tale of his placid devotion; his adoration of his Flora--always
from a seemly distance; his vows that they should ever move in the
ideal; that the touch of his lips upon her fingers is sweet marriage
enough for him; in his measured singing of jewelled queens and sapphire
nights and pearly dusk he holds her finger-tips reverently and but
for the moment, and that only in the distant and proper measure of
the gavotte or the like stately trippings to the whispered music
of viol and lute and harpsichord--throughout was no coarse bucolic
love-embrace. Thus the slender verse sounded its tender music until
there was almost shame in the kiss that is kissed upon the mouth.
The little old faded lady was possessed of an academic and dainty
old-world Papist faith that æsthetically touched Betty’s sense of
beauty.
The child had grown up without any kind of formal religious
instruction--had picked up from the air, and from straying truths in
the air, her sweet concept of life. The pure metal of her quick, alert
and vigorous understanding required but little hammering. Only with the
lad Noll had come unrest and questioning.
Major Modeyne had drifted from his Church--indeed, Betty remembered
well a very severe fit of coughing that had overcome him in answer
to an early childish demand of hers during a thunderstorm as to
what God could find to do all day in heaven--coughing which became
almost an apoplectic fit when, being unanswered, she concluded airily
that the drab intercourse with pious people and the lack of good
wholesome entertainment excused these outbursts of anger and violence,
and no doubt led to the making of these noises and other suchlike
unpleasantnesses.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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