A Question of Marriage. Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

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      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066159894

Table of Contents

       Chapter Two.

       Chapter Three.

       Chapter Four.

       Chapter Five.

       Chapter Six.

       Chapter Seven.

       Chapter Eight.

       Chapter Nine.

       Chapter Ten.

       Chapter Eleven.

       Chapter Twelve.

       Chapter Thirteen.

       Chapter Fourteen.

       Chapter Fifteen.

       Chapter Sixteen.

       Chapter Seventeen.

       Chapter Eighteen.

       Chapter Nineteen.

       Chapter Twenty.

       Chapter Twenty One.

       Chapter Twenty Two.

       Chapter Twenty Three.

       Chapter Twenty Four.

       Chapter Twenty Five.

       Chapter Twenty Six.

Chapter Two.

       Table of Contents

      Facing the Music.

      Jean Goring sat in her boudoir, awaiting the return of her friend and guest, Sunblinds were drawn over the windows, the chairs and sofas were covered with linen, the cushions with dainty muslins; the carpet was a stretch of dull, moss-like green; the only bright notes of colour in the room were to be found in the masses of freshly cut roses which adorned the various tables, and in that most radiant flower of all, Jean Goring’s face.

      The laces of the white peignoir, the muslin of the frilled cushion showed out in almost startling beauty the dark mist of hair; the exquisitely flushed cheeks, dark brows, and curling lashes gave a deepened shade to the violet blue of the eyes. The rich brunette colouring had a somewhat un-English aspect, yet there was not a drop of foreign blood in the girl’s veins—she was Irish “all through, except my mother, who was Scotch,” as she herself was accustomed to describe her lineage. The contour of her face was oval, the profile showed the delicate fineness of a cameo. Happy Jean! her beauty was no light gift to pass away with her loss of youth; beautiful she was now, beautiful she must always remain. Age, sorrow, suffering might do their worst; those who looked on would ever find her the perfection of her type. If she lived to be eighty she would be as essentially an artist’s model as she was now at twenty-two.

      The clock struck four. Jean put down her book and raised her head from the cushion to listen to the sound of an approaching footstep. The door opened, and she beheld Vanna Strangeways’ white, strained face. The horrid doctor had given a depressing verdict. So much was evident at a glance; but Jean had too much tact to allow her knowledge to betray itself at this moment.

      “Well, my dearie, back again! I was longing for you. Sit down in that nice low chair, and let me be lady’s-maid. The streets must be a grill this afternoon, but you’ll soon cool down up here. There; you’ll feel better without that hat. Your hair looks charming—don’t worry. It couldn’t look untidy if it tried. Now your gloves. I shall peel them right off. It will be occupation for an idle hour to turn out the fingers. If I were a queen I’d never, never wear gloves a second time. Now those dusty little shoes. Your slippers are here all ready. Sit still. I’m going to undo them. I love to do it.”

      Her white, ringed fingers untied the laces, and pulled off one shoe after another so deftly and daintily that they hardly seemed to touch the surface. Then, bending still lower, she gave a deft little pull to the tip of each stocking, thereby altering its position, and giving a wonderful sense of comfort to the tired feet, Vanna Strangeways had sat silent and unresponsive till that moment, but something in the simple thoughtfulness of that last action melted the ice. She laid her hands on her friend’s shoulders and spoke in a quivering voice:

      “Jean, I’ve had a blow.”

      “Yes, dear,” said Jean softly. She knelt by Vanna’s side, caressing her face with her lovely eyes. “I saw. Would you rather tell me now, or wait till later on? You are tired, you know, and after a rest, and some tea. Later on—”

      “Jean, it’s not what you expected—what I expected myself. I’m СКАЧАТЬ