Artists -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Love stories; Rich people -- Fiction
The hero of Jane's childhood, the chum of her girlhood and the close
friend of her maturer years, was Deryck Brand, only son of the rector
of the parish, and her senior by nearly ten years. But even in their
friendship, close though it was, she had never felt herself first to
him. As a medical student, at home during vacations, his mother and his
profession took precedence in his mind of the lonely child, whose
devotion pleased him and whose strong character and original mental
development interested him. Later on he married a lovely girl, as
unlike Jane as one woman could possibly be to another; but still their
friendship held and deepened; and now, when he was rapidly advancing to
the very front rank of his profession, her appreciation of his work,
and sympathetic understanding of his aims and efforts, meant more to
him than even the signal mark of royal favour, of which he had lately
been the recipient.
Jane Champion had no close friends amongst the women of her set. Her
lonely girlhood had bred in her an absolute frankness towards herself
and other people which made it difficult for her to understand or
tolerate the little artificialities of society, or the trivial
weaknesses of her own sex. Women to whom she had shown special
kindness--and they were many--maintained an attitude of grateful
admiration in her presence, and of cowardly silence in her absence when
she chanced to be under discussion.
But of men friends she had many, especially among a set of young
fellows just through college, of whom she made particular chums; nice
lads, who wrote to her of their college and mess-room scrapes, as they
would never have dreamed of doing to their own mothers. She knew
perfectly well that they called her "old Jane" and "pretty Jane" and
"dearest Jane" amongst themselves, but she believed in the harmlessness
of their fun and the genuineness of their affection, and gave them a
generous amount of her own in return.
Jane Champion happened just now to be paying one of her long visits to
Overdene, and was playing golf with a boy for whom she had long had a
rod in pickle on this summer afternoon when the duchess went to cut
blooms in her rose-garden. Only, as Jane found out, you cannot
decorously lead up to a scolding if you are very keen on golf, and go
golfing with a person who is equally enthusiastic, and who all the way
to the links explains exactly how he played every hole the last time he
went round, and all the way back gloats over, in retrospection, the way
you and he have played every hole this time.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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