England -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction; Health resorts -- Fiction
"Your toe?" inquired the other with great earnestness. The question of
disputed property which seemed imminent was quashed by the widow's
interruption:
"'Tis too early for argument. Come, neighbours, let us make our
promenade. Where is Phyllida?"
But Phyllida was making her promenade at a careful distance behind her
mother. Phyllida was taking the demurest little steps with an arm in her
beloved Betty's arm and with a swansdown muff held against her cheek to
ward off the shrewd Easterly wind, while almost level with the two maids
walked a stately gentleman of a pale complexion. And every time the
gentleman stopped to survey the promenaders over the tortoise-shell
handle of his ebony walking-stick, Phyllida and Betty stopped to see if
it was truly a quarter-past nine o'clock by St. Simon's church tower.
And every time the gentleman stopped to flick a speck of dust from his
purple sattin sleeve, by a very odd coincidence Miss Courteen always
stopped to see if her shoe had really become unbuckled. This tends to
show that in spite of all the precautions of Beau Ripple, the innermost
fane of AEsculapius had been invaded by a strange god. I doubt Miss
Courteen, considered by her mother too young for Chalybeate, was
learning to drink of that deep well whose waters will never run dry so
long as maids and men frequent its precincts.
The Exquisite Mob continued to circle round the Pump Room because the
ritual of the Cure prescribed an hour's steady promenade before
breakfast. The scarlet heels of innumerable shoes clicked in unison and
the drowsy hum of morning small talk rose and fell upon the February
air. All agreed it was a monstrous fine day for the season of the year.
All expressed the opinion that by no stretch of imagination could such
weather be expected to last. All wished it would indeed, and everybody
asked his neighbour whether he intended to grace the next Assembly, and
the neighbour invariably replied he had every intention of doing so.
Everybody bowed or curtseyed very low to Mr. Ripple and Mr. Ripple had a
delightfully well-turned sentence for each of his subjects, as if he
would reward their energy in rising so early. Occasionally the Great
little Man would condescend to take a pinch of the best Rappee with an
elderly gentleman. But as he never took snuff with anybody under the
rank of Viscount in the peerage of England and as the peer thus honoured
was bound to be above the age of five-and-forty, it happened that the
elderly gentleman was always old Lord Vanity, the only individual
present who satisfied the double requirement.
"How different this scene is from Hampshire to be sure, though for my
part I shall ever protest that those who have eyes to see, let them see,
and people who accuse us of wasting our time forget how persistently
they look for the arrival of the carrier."
Whether or not Major Tarry and Mr. Moon understood this remark of Mrs.
Courteen's, they certainly both agreed with her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account