The Story of Valentine and His BrotherOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
The Story of Valentine and His Brother
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Brothers -- Fiction
It was thus that under pressure of personal anxiety a man maundered and
hesitated who could give very sound advice to his clients, and could
speak very much to the purpose before the Lords of Session. Mrs Pringle
knew all this, and did not despise her husband. She felt that she
herself was wiser in their own practical concerns than he was, but gave
him full credit for all his other advantages, and for that ability in
his profession which did not always make itself apparent at home. And
she had a great many things to do on this particular afternoon, and was
driven nearly out of her senses, she allowed afterwards, by this eternal
discussion about Dick Boss’s children and the succession to Eskside.
“Do you remember,” she said, exercising her ingenuity, with as little
waste of words as possible--for the mother of seven sons, not to speak
of one little daughter besides, who is not rich enough to keep a great
many servants, has not much time to waste in talk--“that little cottage
at the Hewan, which I was always so fond of? The children are fond of it
too. As you are off your match, and have the afternoon to spare, go away
down and see if the Hewan is let, and whether we can have it for the
summer.”
“But, my dear, it is not half big enough for us,” Mr Pringle began.
His wife turned upon him a momentary look of impatience. “What does it
matter whether it’s big or little, when you want to see what is going
on?” she said. “Take the child with you, and ask about it. It would be
fine to have such a place, to send Vi when the heat gets too much for
her.” These last words were spoken in perfect good faith, for people in
Edinburgh keep up a fiction of believing that the heat is too much for
them--as if they were in London or Paris, or anywhere else, where people
love a yearly change.
“So it would,” said Mr Pringle; “and you could go out yourself sometimes
and spend a long day. It would do you good, my dear. I think I will go.”
“Run and tell nurse to put on your best hat, Violet,” said her mother;
“and you may have your kid gloves, if you will be sure not to lose them.
You are going out to the country with papa.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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