And it was
her due! She raised her head and gave her pale profile to the houses
on one side, the trees and the open spaces of green on the other. And
not because she was a Mallett though it was a name honoured in
Radstowe, but because she was herself. Hats would always be touched to
her, and it was the touchers who would feel themselves complimented in
the act. She knew that, but the knowledge was not much to her; she
wished she could offer homage for a change, and the colossal figure of
her imagination loomed up again; a rough man, perhaps; yes, he might
be rough if he were also great; rough and the scandal of her
stepsisters!
As she rode under the flowering trees to the stable where she kept her
horse, she wondered whether she should tell her stepsisters of Francis
Sales's proposal, but she knew she would not do so. She seldom told
them anything they did not know already. They would think it a
reasonable match; they might urge her acceptance; they were anxious
for her to marry, but Caroline, at least, was proud of the inherent
Mallett distaste for the marriage state. 'We're all flirts,' she would
say for the thousandth time. 'We can't settle down, not one of us,'
and holding up a thumb and forefinger and pinching them together, she
would add, 'We like to hold men's hearts like that--and let them go!'
It was great nonsense, Rose thought, but it had the necessary spice of
truth. The Malletts were not easily pleased, and they were not good
givers of anything except gold, the easiest thing to give.
Pages:
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30