Diary fiction; English fiction -- 20th century; Love stories; Young women -- Fiction
“No!” said Robert. “It would not be the least use, and would look as
if we were pleading. His face had fallen to intense sadness as Lady
Merrenden spoke of his money.
“Darling,” he said, in a broken voice. “No, it is true it would not be
fair to make you a beggar. I should be a cad to ask you. We must think
of some way of softening my brother after all!”
Then I spoke.
“Robert,” I said, “if you were only John Smith I would say I would
willingly go and live with you in a cottage, or even in a slum--but you
are not, and I would not for _anything in the world_ drag you down out
of what is your position in life--that would be a poor sort of love.
Oh! my dear,” and I clasped tight his hand--“if everything fails, then
we must part, and you must forget me.”
He folded me in his arms, and we heard the door shut. Lady Merrenden
had left us alone. Oh! it was anguish and divine bliss at the same time
the next half hour.
“I will never forget you, and never in this world will I take another
woman, I swear to God,” he said at the end of it. “If we must part,
then life is finished for me of all joy.”
“And for me, too, Robert!”
We said the most passionate vows of love to one another, but I will not
write them here, there is another locked book where I keep them--the
book of my soul.
“Would it be any good if Colonel Tom Carden went and spoke to him?” I
asked, presently. “He was best man at papa’s wedding, and knows all
that there is to be known of poor mamma, and do you think that as
mamma’s father was Lord de Brandreth, a very old barony, I believe,
it is--oh! can it make any difference to the children’s actual
breeding, their parents not having been through the marriage ceremony?
I--I--don’t know much of those sort of things!”
“My sweet!” said Robert, and through all our sorrow he smiled and
kissed me, “my sweet, sweet Evangeline.”
“But does the Duke know all the details of the history,” I asked, when
I could speak--one can’t when one is being kissed.
“Every little bit, it seems. He says he will not discuss the matter of
that, I must know it is quite enough, as I have always known his views,
but if they were not sufficient, your wild, wicked beauty is. You would
not be faithful to me for a year, he said. I could hardly keep from
killing him when he hurled that at my head.”
I felt my temper rising. How frightfully unjust--how cruel. I went
over and looked in the glass--a big mirror between the window--drawing
Robert with me.
“Oh! tell me, tell me what is it. Am I so very bad looking? It is a
curse surely that is upon me!”
“Of course you are not bad looking, my darling!” exclaimed
Robert. “You are perfectly beautiful--slender, stately, exquisite
tiger-lily--only--only--you don’t look cold--and it is just your red
hair, and those fascinating green eyes, and your white lovely skin and
black eyelashes that, that--oh! you know, you sweetheart! You don’t
look like bread and butter, you are utterly desirable, and you would
make any one’s heart beat!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account