The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 2, July 1894
General
The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 2, July 1894
English literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Great Britain -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
"Are you repeating her words?" I inquired. I forgot what else Adelaide
said, but she said she was magnificent. I thought of George Gravener
confronted with such magnificence as that, and I asked what could have
made two such people ever suppose they understood each other. Mrs.
Mulville assured me the girl loved him as such a woman could love and
that she suffered as such a woman could suffer. Nevertheless she
wanted to see me. At this I sprang up with a groan. "Oh, I'm so
sorry!--when?" Small though her sense of humour, I think Adelaide
laughed at my tone. We discussed the day, the nearest, it would be
convenient I should come out; but before she went I asked my visitor
how long she had been acquainted with these prodigies.
"For several weeks, but I was pledged to secrecy."
"And that's why you didn't write?"
"I couldn't very well tell you she was with me without telling you
that no time had even yet been fixed for her marriage. And I couldn't
very well tell you as much as that without telling you what I knew of
the reason for it. It was not till a day or two ago," Mrs. Mulville
went on, "that she asked me to ask you if you wouldn't come and see
her. Then at last she said that you knew about the idea of the
Endowment."
I considered a little. "Why on earth does she want to see me?"
"To talk with you, naturally, about Mr. Saltram."
"As a subject for the prize?" This was hugely obvious, and presently
exclaimed: "I think I'll sail to-morrow for Australia."
"Well then--sail!" said Mrs. Mulville, getting up.
"On Thursday at five, we said?" I frivolously continued. The
appointment was made definite and I inquired how, all this time, the
unconscious candidate had carried himself.
"In perfection, really, by the happiest of chances: he has been a
dear. And then, as to what we revere him for, in the most wonderful
form. His very highest--pure celestial light. You _won't_ do him an
ill turn?" Adelaide pleaded at the door.
"What danger can equal for him the danger to which he is exposed from
himself?" I asked. "Look out sharp, if he has lately been reasonable.
He will presently treat us to some exhibition that will make an
Endowment a scandal."
"A scandal?" Mrs. Mulville dolorously echoed.
"Is Miss Anvoy prepared for that?"
My visitor, for a moment, screwed her parasol into my carpet. "He
grows larger every day."
"So do you!" I laughed as she went off.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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