“My Dear Taffy,--No, I am not offended in the least; but very
glad. I do not think you are fitted for the priesthood; but my
doubts have nothing to do with your doubts, which I don’t
understand, though you tried to explain them so carefully.
You will come through _them_, I expect. I don’t know that I
have any reasons that could be put on paper: only, somehow, I
cannot _see_ you in a black coat and clerical hat.”
“You complain that I never write about George. You don’t
deserve to hear, since you refuse to come to our wedding.
But would _you_ talk, if you happened to be in love? There, I
have told you more than ever I told George, whose conceit has
to be kept down. Let this console you.”
“Our new parson, when he comes, is to lodge down in Innis
Village. Your mother--but no doubt she has told you--stays in
the Parsonage while she pleases. She and your grandmother are
both well. I see her every day: I have so much to learn, and
she is so wise. Her beautiful eyes--but oh, Taffy, it must be
terrible to be a widow! She smiles and is always cheerful; but
the _look_ in them! How can I describe it? When I find her
alone with her lace-work, or sometimes (but it is not often)
with her hands in her lap, she seems to come out of her silence
with an effort, as others withdraw themselves from talk.
I wonder if she does talk in those silences of hers.
Another thing, it is only a few weeks now since she put on a
widow’s cap, and yet I cannot remember her--can scarcely
picture her--without it. I am sure that if I happened to call
one day when she had laid it aside, I should begin to talk
quite as if we were strangers.”
“Believe me, yours sincerely,”
“HONORIA.”
But the wedding, after all, did not take place until the beginning of
October, a week before the close of the Long Vacation; and Taffy,
after all, was present. The postponement had been enforced by many
delays in building and furnishing the new wing at Carwithiel; for Sir
Harry insisted that the young couple must live under one roof with
him, and Honoria (as we know) hated the very stones of Tredinnis.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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