The Red Court Farm: A Novel (Vol. 1 of 2)Wood, Henry, Mrs.
General
The Red Court Farm: A Novel (Vol. 1 of 2)
Wood, Henry, Mrs.
English fiction -- 19th century
He must have known little of workmen, to speak so confidently.
Builders, carpenters, painters, decorators, are not famous for working
themselves thin through over-hurry. The popular saying, "If once you
get them into your house, you never get them out," seemed to be
exemplified in this one instance. Here was October come in, and
Katterley Lodge was as far off being ready for reception as ever.
It would have been a slight grievance, the detention, to Mr. and Mrs.
Lake--not any, in fact, to him--for Mrs. Chester's house was an
agreeable one, and they had no home ties; but Lady Ellis was making
the stay insupportable to Mr. Lake's wife.
Tolerably young, showy, very handsome according to the taste of many,
exacting attention, living but in admiration, and not scrupulous how
she obtained it provided she got it, Lady Ellis had begun to cast her
charming toils on the careless and attractive Robert Lake in the very
first hour of their meeting. Not to eat him up; not intending
certainly to be eaten herself; only to be her temporary slave, pour
faire passer le temps. In that dull country house, where there was no
noise or excitement but what arose from its children, Lady Ellis
wanted something to make the time pass.
Mr. Lake was perfectly ready to meet her halfway. One of those men
who, wife or no wife, consider a flirtation with a pretty woman--and
with one not pretty, for the matter of that--a legitimate occupation
in their idle life, he responded to her advances gallantly. Neither of
them had any idea of plunging into shoals and quicksands; let us so
far give both their due. A rather impressive clasp of the hand; a
prolonged walk in the glowing beauty of the summer's day; an
interchange of confidential talk, meaning nothing--that was the worst,
thought of by either. But then, you see, the mischief is, that when
once these things are fairly embarked in, the course entered upon and
its midway post reached, down you glide, swimmingly, unwittingly; and
it is an exceedingly difficult matter to turn back. Good chance (to
call it so here), generally sends the opportunity, but it is not
always seized upon.
The flirtation began. There were walks in the morning sun, shady
garden chairs for rest at noontide, lingerings in the open air by
twilight, that grateful hour after a sultry day. There were meetings
indoors, meetings out; singing, talking, netting, idling. Mr. Lake
went fishing, his favourite pastime just now, and my Lady Ellis would
carry his luncheon to him; or stroll down later, wait until the day's
sport was at an end, and stroll home with him. One or other of the
children was often with her, serving to satisfy the requisites of
propriety, had friends been difficult.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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