The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 3, October, 1894 — John Shaqi
The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 3, October, 1894
General
The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 3, October, 1894
English literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Great Britain -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
“Now that we have been properly introduced,” said he courteously,
“allow me to apologise for any inconvenience you have been put to by my
delay. The fault was entirely mine, and these gentlemen are in no way
to blame. Had I known whom I was to have the pleasure of meeting, wings
could not have conveyed me swiftly enough.”
“Do not mention, I pray, the word inconvenience,” replied Jeanne with
that timid grace which so well became her: “I only trust that any
slight discomfort it may be my duty to cause you before we part, will
be as easily pardoned. And now--for the morning, alas! advances--any
little advice or assistance that I can offer is quite at your service;
for the situation is possibly new, and you may have had but little
experience.”
“Faith, none worth mentioning,” said the prisoner, gaily. “Treat me as
a raw beginner. Though our acquaintance has been but brief, I have the
utmost confidence in you.”
“Then, sir,” said Jeanne, blushing, “suppose I were to assist you in
removing this gay doublet, so as to give both of us more freedom and
less responsibility?”
“A perquisite of the office?” queried the prisoner with a smile, as he
slipped one arm out of the sleeve.
A flush came over Jeanne’s fair brow. “That was ungenerous,” she said.
“Nay, pardon me, sweet one,” said he, laughing: “’twas but a poor jest
of mine--in bad taste, I willingly admit.”
“I was sure you did not mean to hurt me,” she replied kindly, while
her fingers were busy in turning back the collar of his shirt. It was
composed, she noticed, of the finest point lace; and she could not
help a feeling of regret that some slight error--as must, from what
she knew, exist somewhere--should compel her to take a course so at
variance with her real feelings. Her only comfort was that the youth
himself seemed entirely satisfied with his situation. He hummed the
last air from Paris during her ministrations, and when she had quite
finished, kissed the pretty fingers with a metropolitan grace.
“And now, sir,” said Jeanne, “if you will kindly come this way: and
please to mind the step--so. Now, if you will have the goodness to
kneel here--nay, the sawdust is perfectly clean; you are my first
client this morning. On the other side of the block you will find a
nick, more or less adapted to the human chin, though a perfect fit
cannot of course be guaranteed in every case. So! Are you pretty
comfortable?”
“A bed of roses,” replied the prisoner. “And what a really admirable
view one gets of the valley and the river, from just this particular
point!”
“Charming, is it not?” replied Jeanne. “I’m so glad you do justice
to it. Some of your predecessors have really quite vexed me by their
inability to appreciate that view. It’s worth coming here to see it.
And now, to return to business for one moment,--would you prefer to
give the word yourself? Some people do; it’s a mere matter of taste. Or
will you leave yourself entirely in my hands?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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