The Record of Nicholas Freydon: An AutobiographyDawson, A. J. (Alec John)
General
The Record of Nicholas Freydon: An Autobiography
Dawson, A. J. (Alec John)
Fiction
The young woman had ability; there's not a doubt of that. For, ardent
though I was, she allowed no embarrassing questions. I am free to
suppose that my devotion was not unwelcome or tiresome to her, and
that she enjoyed its innumerable small fruits in the shape of
offerings. But she kept me most accurately balanced at the precise
distance she found most agreeable. My letters--the columns and columns
I must have written!--were most fervid; and a good deal more eloquent,
I fancy, than my oral courtship. But yet I have her own testimony for
it that Mabel approved my declamatory style of love-making; the style
used when actually in the presence.
The end was in this wise: I called, ostensibly to see Mrs. Foster, on
a Saturday afternoon, when I knew, as a matter of fact, that my chief
and his wife were attending a function in Sydney. It was a winter's
day, very blusterous and wet. The servant having told me her mistress
was out, and Miss Mabel in, was about to lead me through the long,
wide hall to the drawing-room, which opened through a conservatory
upon a rear verandah, when some one called her, and I assured her I
could find my own way. So the smiling maid (who doubtless knew my
secret) left me, and I leisurely disposed of coat and umbrella, and
walked through the house. The shadowy drawing-room was empty, but, as
I entered it, these words, spoken in Mabel's voice, reached me from
the conservatory beyond:
'My dear Hester, how perfectly absurd. A little unknown reporter boy,
picked up by father, probably out of charity! And, besides, you know I
should always be true to Tommy, however long he is away. Why, I often
mention my reporter boy to Tommy in writing. And he is delicious, you
know; he really is. I believe you're jealous. He is a pretty boy, I
know. But you'd hardly credit how sweetly he-- Well, romances, you
know. He really is too killingly sweet when he makes love-- Oh, with
the most knightly respect, my dear! Very likely he will come in this
afternoon, and you shall hear for yourself. You shall sit out here,
and I'll keep him in the drawing-room. Then you'll see how well in
hand he is.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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