Homepage
Login
Profile
BookClubs
dmBox
Read Ebook: Broken to Harness: A Story of English Domestic Life by Yates Edmund
Font size:
Background color:
Text color:
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page
Ebook has 1720 lines and 154312 words, and 35 pages
Her Ladyship's
Elephant
D. D. Wells
London William Heinemann 1912
HEINEMANN'S
Sevenpenny Novels
The Bondman The Scapegoat
The Ebb-Tide
The Call of the Wild
The War of the Worlds
Flames
Soldiers of Fortune
The Gadfly
The Last Sentence
Her Ladyship's Elephant
IN WHICH THE SAME QUESTION IS ANSWERED IN TWO WAYS
Harold Stanley Malcolm St. Hubart Scarsdale, Esq., of "The Towers," Sussex, sat uncomfortably on a very comfortable chair. His patent-leather boots were manifestly new, his trousers fresh from the presser, his waistcoat immaculate, while his frock coat with its white gardenia, and his delicate grey suede gloves, completed an admirable toilet. He was, in short, got up for the occasion, a thoroughly healthy, muscular, well-groomed animal; good-natured too, fond in his big-hearted boyish way of most other animals, and enough of a sportsman to find no pleasure in winging tame or driven grouse and pheasants. He was possessed, moreover, of sufficient brains to pass with credit an examination which gave him a post in the War Office, and had recently become, owing to the interposition of Providence and a restive mare, the eldest son.
In spite of all this, he was very much out of his depth as he sat there; for he was face to face with a crisis in his life, and that crisis was embodied in a woman. And such a woman!--quite unlike anything his conservative British brain had ever seen or imagined before the present London season: a mixture of Parisian daintiness and coquetry, nicely tempered by Anglo-Saxon breeding and common sense--in a word, an American.
He had come to propose to her, or rather she had sent for him, to what end he hardly knew. Of this only was he certain, that she had turned his world topsy-turvy; cast down his conventional gods; admired him for what he considered his fallings-off from the established order of things; laughed at his great coups; cared not a whit for his most valued possessions; and become, in short, the most incomprehensible, bewitching, lovable woman on earth.
He had talked to her about the weather, the opera, the Court Ball, and now--now he must speak to her of his love, unless, blessed reprieve! she spoke first--which she did.
"Now, Mr. Scarsdale," she remarked, "I have not sent for you to talk amiable society nonsense: I want an explanation."
"Yes, Miss Vernon," he replied, nerving himself for the ordeal.
"Why did you propose to Aunt Eliza at the Andersons' crush last night?"
"Really! Why don't you propose to Miss Somebody Else in person, then?"
"Oh, bother! Excuse me, I didn't mean to be rude, but really, you know, any girl who was old enough to marry would be quite capable of giving you your--answer." The last word, after a pause for consideration, was accompanied by a bewitching, if ambiguous, smile.
"I--I hope you are not offended," he floundered on, in desperate straits by this time.
"Oh dear, no," she returned serenely, "I'm only grieved for Aunt Eliza. You shouldn't have done it, really; it must have upset her dreadfully; she's too old for that sort of thing. Do tell me what she said to you."
"She said I must propose on my own account," he blurted out, "and that she could not pretend to advise me."
"Clever Aunt Eliza!" murmured Miss Vernon.
"So you see," continued her lover, determined to have it over and know the worst, "I came to you."
"For more advice?" she queried, and, receiving no answer, continued demurely: "Of course I haven't the remotest idea whom you mean to honour, but it does seem to me that the wives of Englishmen allow themselves to be treated shamefully, and I once made out a list of objections which I always said I would present to any Englishman who proposed to me. Of course," she hastened to add, "you will probably marry an English girl, who won't mind."
"I haven't said so!" he interjected.
"No," she said meditatively, "you haven't. I'll tell you what they are if you wish."
"Do," he begged.
"Well, in the first place," she continued, "I should refuse to be a 'chattel.'"
"Then my husband couldn't beat me, not even once, though the law allows it."
"What do you take us for?" he exclaimed.
"Then," she proceeded, "he would have to love me better than his horses and his dogs."
"Oh," she replied, "I wouldn't have married you if you had had one; quite enough of my countrywomen have made fools of themselves on that account."
"Then you will marry me!" he cried, and sprang towards her.
She saw her slip and tried to correct it.
Robert Allingford, United States Consul at Christchurch, England, and Marion, youngest daughter of Sir Peter and Lady Steele, were seated on the balcony of the Hyde Park Club one hot afternoon. Everybody had gone down to the races at Goodwood, and the season was drawing its last gasp. The "Row," which they overlooked, was almost deserted, save for an occasional depressed brougham, while the stretches of the Park beyond were given over to nursemaids and their attendant "Tommies" and "Bobbies."
Mamma was there, of course. One must be conventional in London, even in July; but she was talking to the other man, Jack Carrington, who had been invited especially for that purpose, and was doing his duty nobly.
The afternoon tea had been cleared away, and the balcony was deserted. In another week Marion would go into the country, and he would return to his consulate. He might never have such another chance. Opportunities for a proposal are so rare in London that it does not do to miss them. A ball affords almost the only opening, and when one remembers the offers to which one has been a third party, on the other side of a thin paper screen--well, it makes a man cautious.
Robert Allingford had planned and worked up this tea with patience and success. Jack was to be best man, in consideration of his devotion to mamma--provided, of course, that the services of a best man should be required. On this point Allingford was doubtful. He was sure that Lady Steele understood; he knew that Sir Peter had smiled on him indulgently for the past fortnight; his friends chaffed him about it openly at dinners and at the club; but Marion--he was very far from certain if she comprehended the state of affairs in the slightest degree.
He had given her river-parties, box-parties, dinners, flowers, candy--in short, paid her every possible attention; but then she expected Americans to do so; it was "just their way," and "didn't mean anything."
He greatly feared that his proposal would be a shock to her, and English girls, he had been told, did not like shocks. He wondered if it would have been better to ask Lady Steele for her daughter's hand, but this he felt was beyond him. Proposing was bad enough anyway, but to attempt a declaration in cold blood--he simply couldn't. Moreover he felt that it must be now or never. Jack had been giving him the field for five minutes already, and he had not even made a beginning. He would go in and get it over.
"You are leaving town next week," he said. "I shall miss you."
"You have been very good to me," she replied simply.
"Good to myself, you mean. It is the greatest pleasure I have in life to give you pleasure, Marion."
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page