Artists -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Love stories; Rich people -- Fiction
"Oh, you dear boy!" she said. "What an artist you are! And how
difficult it is for us commonplace, matter-of-fact people to understand
the artistic temperament. Here you go, almost turning my steady old
head by your rapture over what seemed to you perfection of sound which
has reached you through the ear; just as, again and again, you worship
at the shrine of perfection of form, which reaches you through the eye.
I begin to understand how it is you turn the heads of women when you
paint them. However, you are very delightful in your delight, and I
want to go up to bed. So I promise to sing all you want and as much as
you wish to-morrow. Now keep your promise and don't bother me any more
to-night. Don't spend the whole night in the park, and try not to
frighten the deer. No, I do not need any assistance with my candle, and
I am quite used to going upstairs by myself, thank you. Can't you hear
what personal and appropriate remarks Tommy is making down there? Now
do run away, Master Garthie, and count your pearls. And if you suddenly
come upon a cross--remember, the cross can, in all probability, be
persuaded to return to Chicago!"
Jane was still smiling as she entered her room and placed her
candlestick on the dressing-table.
Overdene was lighted solely by lamps and candles. The duchess refused
to modernise it by the installation of electric light. But candles
abounded, and Jane, who liked a brilliant illumination, proceeded to
light both candles in the branches on either side of the dressing-table
mirror, and in the sconces on the wall beside the mantelpiece, and in
the tall silver candlesticks upon the writing-table. Then she seated
herself in a comfortable arm-chair, reached for her writing-case, took
out her diary and a fountain pen, and prepared to finish the day's
entry. She wrote, "SANG 'THE ROSARY' AT AUNT 'GINA'S CONCERT IN PLACE
OF VELMA, FAILED (LARYNGITIS)," and came to a full stop.
Somehow the scene with Garth was difficult to record, and the
sensations which still remained therefrom, absolutely unwritable. Jane
sat and pondered the situation, content to allow the page to remain
blank.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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