Happening upon this fairy tale--as every woman must--had come Sally
Bishop. It would seem a foolish thing to think that Apsley Manor,
in the county of Buckinghamshire, should play a part in so great a
change in the life of any human being; it would seem strange to
believe that out of a two hours' acquaintance could arise the
beginning of a whole life's desire; yet in the fairy story of romance,
all such things are possible; nay, they are even the circumstances
that one expects.
When she walked out along the river-side that evening with Mr. Arthur,
there was an unreasoning content in her mind. The lights from the
bridge danced for her in the black water, reflecting the lightness
of her heart. She was in that pleasant attitude of mind--poised--like
a diver on a summer day, before he plunges into the glittering green
water. A few more days, another meeting, and she knew that she would
be immersed--deeply in love. Now she toyed with it, held the moment
at arm's length, and let her eyes feast on the seeming voluptuous
certainty of it. And when Mr. Arthur began the long preface to the
point towards which his mind was set, it sounded distant, aloof, as
the monotonous voice of a priest, chanting dull prayers in an empty
church, must sound in the ears of one whose whole soul is struggling
to lift to a communion with God Himself.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139