A cool grotto on a really hot day, the
house was an ice-pit on any other; or so Mrs. Woodgate fancied, fresh
from the cosey Vicarage, and warm from her rapid walk, as she stepped
into another temperature, across polished marble that struck a chill
through the soles of her natty brown shoes, and so into the lofty
drawing-room with pilasters and elaborate architraves to the doors. What
a place for a sane man to build in bleak old Delverton, even before
there was any Northborough to blacken and foul the north-east wind on
its way from the sea! What a place for a sane man to buy; and yet, in
its cool white smoothness, its glaring individuality, its alien air--how
like the buyer!
Though it was May, and warm enough for the month and place, Morna got up
when the footman had left her, and thrust one brown shoe after the other
as near as she could to the wood fire that glimmered underneath the
great, ornate, marble mantelpiece. Then she sat down again, and wondered
what to say; for Morna was at once above and below the conversational
average of her kind. Soon she was framing a self-conscious apology for
premature intrusion--Mrs.
Pages:
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129