Lesbians -- England -- Social conditions -- Fiction
The house itself is of Georgian red brick, with charming circular
windows near the roof. It has dignity and pride without ostentation,
self-assurance without arrogance, repose without inertia; and a gentle
aloofness that, to those who know its spirit, but adds to its value as a
home. It is indeed like certain lovely women who, now old, belong to a
bygone generation—women who in youth were passionate but seemly;
difficult to win but when won, all-fulfilling. They are passing away,
but their homesteads remain, and such an homestead is Morton.
To Morton Hall came the Lady Anna Gordon as a bride of just over twenty.
She was lovely as only an Irish woman can be, having that in her bearing
that betokened quiet pride, having that in her eyes that betokened great
longing, having that in her body that betokened happy promise—the
archetype of the very perfect woman, whom creating God has found good.
Sir Philip had met her away in County Clare—Anna Molloy, the slim
virgin thing, all chastity, and his weariness had flown to her bosom as
a spent bird will fly to its nest—as indeed such a bird had once flown
to her, she told him, taking refuge from the perils of a storm.
Sir Philip was a tall man and exceedingly well-favoured, but his charm
lay less in feature than in a certain wide expression, a tolerant
expression that might almost be called noble, and in something sad yet
gallant in his deep-set hazel eyes. His chin, which was firm, was very
slightly cleft, his forehead intellectual, his hair tinged with auburn.
His wide-nostrilled nose was indicative of temper, but his lips were
well-modelled and sensitive and ardent—they revealed him as a dreamer
and a lover.
Twenty-nine when they had married, he had sown no few wild oats, yet
Anna’s true instinct made her trust him completely. Her guardian had
disliked him, opposing the engagement, but in the end she had had her
own way. And as things turned out her choice had been happy, for seldom
had two people loved more than they did; they loved with an ardour
undiminished by time; as they ripened, so their love ripened with them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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