White Heather: A Novel (Volume 1 of 3)Black, William
General
White Heather: A Novel (Volume 1 of 3)
Black, William
Scotland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
She did not add ’and be at every one’s disposal’—for that might have
seemed a little rude. However, the introduction was over and done with;
and Miss Carry set herself to work to make herself agreeable—which she
could do very easily when she liked. As yet she kept the invitation to
dinner in the background; talked of all kinds of things—the
salmon-fishing, the children’s soirée she had heard of; Ronald; Ronald’s
brother the minister; and her wonder that Ronald should be content with
his present position; and always those bright dark eyes seemed to be
scanning everything in the room with a pleased curiosity, and then again
and again returning to Meenie’s face, and her dress, and her way of
wearing her hair, with a frank scrutiny which made the country mouse not
a little shy in the presence of this ornate town mouse. For Miss Carry,
with her upper wrappings discarded, was not only very prettily attired,
but also she had about her all kinds of nick-nacks and bits of finery
that seemed to have come from many lands, and to add to her foreign
look. Of course, a woman’s glance—even the glance of a shy Highland
girl—takes note of these things; and they seemed but part of the unusual
character and appearance of this stranger, who seemed so delicate and
fragile, and yet was full of an eager vivacity and talkativeness, and
whose soft, large, black eyes, if they seemed to wander quickly and
restlessly from one object to another, were clearly so full of kindness
and a wish to make friends. And very friendly indeed she was; and she
had nothing but praise for the Highlands, and Highland scenery, and
Highland manners, and even the Highland accent.
’I suppose I have an accent myself; but of course I don’t know it,’ she
rattled on. ’Even at home they say our western accent is pretty bad.
Well, I suppose I have got it; but anyway I am not ashamed of it, and I
am not in a hurry to change it. I have heard of American girls in
Europe who were most afraid to speak lest they should be found
out—-found out! Why, I don’t see that English girls try to hide their
accent, or want to copy any one else; and I don’t see why American girls
should be ashamed of having an American accent. Your accent, now; I
have been trying to make out what it is, but I can’t. It is very
pretty; and not the least like the English way of talking; but I can’t
just make out where the difference is.’
For this young lady had a desperately direct way of addressing any one.
She seemed to perceive no atmosphere of conventionality between person
and person; it was brain to brain, direct; and no pausing to judge of
the effect of sentences.
’I know my mother says that I speak in the Highland way,’ Meenie said,
with a smile.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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