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
That girl at Wimbledon, on the Thursday afternoon, more than justified
my apprehensions. I recognised fully now the cause of the agitation
she had produced in me from the first--the faint foreknowledge that
there was something very stiff I should have to do for her. I felt
more than ever committed to my fate as, standing before her in the big
drawing-room where they had tactfully left us to ourselves, I tried
with a smile to string together the pearls of lucidity which, from her
chair, she successively tossed me. Pale and bright, in her monotonous
mourning, she was an image of intelligent purpose, of the passion of
duty; but I asked myself whether any girl had ever had so charming an
instinct as that which permitted her to laugh out, as if in the joy of
her difficulty, into the _blasée_ old room. This remarkable young
woman could be earnest without being solemn, and at moments when I
ought doubtless to have cursed her obstinacy I found myself watching
the unstudied play of her eyebrows or the recurrence of a singularly
intense whiteness produced by the parting of her lips. These
aberrations, I hasten to add, didn't prevent my learning soon enough
why she had wished to see me. Her reason for this was as distinct as
her beauty: it was to make me explain what I had meant, on the
occasion of our first meeting, by Mr. Saltram's want of dignity. It
wasn't that she couldn't imagine, but she desired it there from my
lips. What she really desired of course was to know whether there was
worse about him than what she had found out for herself. She hadn't
been a month in the house with him, that way, without discovering that
he wasn't a man of starch and whalebone. He was like a jelly without a
mould, he had to be embanked; and that was precisely the source of her
interest in him and the ground of her project. She put her project
boldly before me: there it stood in its preposterous beauty. She was
as willing to take the humorous view of it as I could be: the only
difference was that for her the humorous view of a thing was not
necessarily prohibitive, was not paralysing.
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