India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
"Which means that it was her father's. Well, but how was I to know
that a daughter of yours and mine would turn out a fool? When she
overwhelms me with a cool proposal to set up schools and I don't know
what for the European women and children, what could I do but tell her
it was the chaplain's business? You won't say that I ought to have
encouraged her? Think of all the unpleasantness it would have caused
in the regiments! And surely it was only natural to turn aside the
matter by pointing out a sphere where her efforts would be more
acceptable? Why, if I had said such a thing to Charlotte, or Eliza, or
Marian, they would have blushed prettily and said, 'Oh, Papa!' and
Marian might have giggled, but would any of them ever have thought of
actually carrying it out?"
For this was the unfortunate result of Sir Arthur's ill-timed
jocularity in advising his daughter to turn her enthusiasm for humanity
to account in reforming some of Colonel Antony's assistants, instancing
Gerrard and Charteris as standing in special need of her services.
Young ladies were scarce, Honour was handsome and had inherited a touch
of her mother's dignity, and when she unbent and displayed a flattering
interest in the moral and spiritual welfare of each young man, the
mischief was done.
"And then, to improve matters, she refuses both of them!" went on Sir
Arthur despairingly. "What does she want? No one seems to please her."
"If we were in Spain, it would be very simple," mused Lady Cinnamond.
"She would go into religion."
Sir Arthur bristled up at once. "What, ma'am! a convent for my
daughter? I'd have you remember----"
His wife laughed, and patted his hand. "Calm yourself, my Arturo. No
well-regulated convent would keep a daughter of yours within its walls
for a day, nor would she care to stay there. Even Honour's romance
would not survive the actual experience. But since we are not in
Spain, we cannot hope to cure her fancies so quickly. Still----"
"Aye, romance--all romance!" growled Sir Arthur. "For your sake and
mine, my dear, I trust it may wear off soon, but I doubt it. What hope
is there of a girl who wears King Charles the First's hair in a locket?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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