The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 1, April 1894
General
The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 1, April 1894
English literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Great Britain -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
_Lucy._ It may have been her fault. I used to think it might be--just a
little, as you say.
_Agnes._ Well, it sha'n't be mine at all events. I won't give any
cause--besides even if I did----Oh, no, it is utterly impossible to
imagine such a thing!
_Lucy._ I hope it is, for your sake.
_Agnes._ Of course it is; of that I am quite certain. And you don't
think it is very wrong of me to--to----
_Lucy._ To say Yes to a man you love. No, my dear, that can never be
wrong, although it may be foolish.
_Agnes._ From a worldly point of view, perhaps; but I should never have
thought that you----
_Lucy._ I didn't mean that. But love seems to grow so quickly when you
once allow it to do so, that it is sometimes wiser to----but never mind,
bring him to see me, and--and may you be happy. [_A long pause._]
_Agnes._ You are crying now, Auntie! You have nothing----
_Lucy._ Haven't I? What, not at the chance of losing you? So this is
what brought you out so early this morning and occasioned your bright,
rosy cheeks? You didn't only come to see me.
_Agnes._ To see you and talk to you, yes, that was all. No, by-the-by,
it wasn't all. Have you seen a paper this morning? No? I thought it
would interest you so I brought it round. It is bad news, not good news;
your favourite author is dead.
_Lucy._ I am afraid my favourite authors have been dead very many years.
_Agnes._ I should say the author of your favourite book.
_Lucy._ You mean----
_Agnes._ Sir Harold Sekbourne. [Lucy _leans back in her chair_.] He died
last night. Here it is; here is the paragraph. [_Reads._] "We regret to
announce the death of Sir Harold Sekbourne, the well-known novelist,
which occurred at his town house, in Prince's Gate, late last evening."
Shall I read it to you?
_Lucy._ No--no, give me the paper. And--and, Agnes, do you mind going
down to Franklin's room, and telling her that receipt you promised her?
_Agnes._ For the Japanese custard? Of course I will; I quite forgot all
about it. There it is. [_Gives her the paper, indicating the paragraph
with her finger, then goes out._]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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