The Three Miss Kings: An Australian StoryCambridge, Ada
History
The Three Miss Kings: An Australian Story
Cambridge, Ada
Australia -- History -- 1788-1900 -- Fiction; Sisters -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
There was a sound at this moment in the adjoining room, on hearing
which Patty abruptly departed; and the bride stood listening to her
lord's footsteps, and still looking at herself in the glass. He
entered her room, and she did not turn or raise her eyes, but a soft
smile spread over her face as if a sun had risen and covered her with
sudden light and warmth. She tried to see if the waist of her gown was
wrinkled, or the set of it awry, but it was no use. When he came close
to her and stooped to kiss her white neck, she lost all recollection of
details.
"You want," he said, about ten minutes afterwards, when he had himself
turned her round and round, and fingered the thick brocade and the lace
critically, "you want diamonds with such a stately dress."
"Oh, no," she said; "I won't have any diamonds."
"You _won't_, did you say? This language to _me_, Elizabeth!"
"The diamonds shall go in beer and tobacco, Kingscote."
"My dear, they can't."
"Why not?"
"Because the Yelverton diamonds are heirlooms."
"Oh, dear me! Are there Yelverton diamonds too?"
"There are, I grieve to say. They have been laid up under lock and key
for about forty years, and they must be very old-fashioned. But they
are considered rather fine, and they are yours for the present, and as
you can't make any use of them they may as well fulfil their purpose of
being ornamental. You must wear them by-and-by, you know, when you go
to Court."
"To Court?" reproachfully. "Is that the kind of life we are going to
lead?"
"Just occasionally. We are going to combine things, and our duties to
ourselves and to society. It is not going to be all Buckingham Palace,
nor yet all Whitechapel, but a judicious blending of the two."
"And Yelverton?"
"And Yelverton of course. Yelverton is to be always there--our place of
rest--our base of operations--our workshop--our fortress--our home with
a capital H."
"Oh," she said, "we seem to have the shares of so many poor people
besides our own. It overwhelms me to think of it."
"Don't think of it," he said, as she laid her head on his shoulder, and
he smoothed her fine brown hair with his big palm. "Don't be afraid
that we are destined to be too happy. We shall be handicapped yet."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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