Short Fiction - Arthur Machen (books suggested by elon musk TXT) 📗
- Author: Arthur Machen
Book online «Short Fiction - Arthur Machen (books suggested by elon musk TXT) 📗». Author Arthur Machen
“I see,” said Darnell; “and the upshot of it all is, I suppose, that the girl is thoroughly dissatisfied?”
“Yes, she is so young and silly. I talked to her, and reminded her of how nasty old Mrs. Murry had been, and told her that she might change her place and change for the worse. I think I have persuaded her to think it over quietly, at all events. Do you know what it is, Edward? I have an idea. I believe that wicked old woman is trying to get Alice to leave us, that she may tell her son how changeable she is; and I suppose she would make up some of her stupid old proverbs: ‘A changeable wife, a troublesome life,’ or some nonsense of the kind. Horrid old thing!”
“Well, well,” said Darnell, “I hope she won’t go, for your sake. It would be such a bother for you, hunting for a fresh servant.”
He refilled his pipe and smoked placidly, refreshed somewhat after the emptiness and the burden of the day. The French window was wide open, and now at last there came a breath of quickening air, distilled by the night from such trees as still wore green in that arid valley. The song to which Darnell had listened in rapture, and now the breeze, which even in that dry, grim suburb still bore the word of the woodland, had summoned the dream to his eyes, and he meditated over matters that his lips could not express.
“She must, indeed, be a villainous old woman,” he said at length.
“Old Mrs. Murry? Of course she is; the mischievous old thing! Trying to take the girl from a comfortable place where she is happy.”
“Yes; and not to like Hampton Court! That shows how bad she must be, more than anything.”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“I shall never forget the first time I saw it. It was soon after I went into the City; the first year. I had my holidays in July, and I was getting such a small salary that I couldn’t think of going away to the seaside, or anything like that. I remember one of the other men wanted me to come with him on a walking tour in Kent. I should have liked that, but the money wouldn’t run to it. And do you know what I did? I lived in Great College Street then, and the first day I was off, I stayed in bed till past dinnertime, and lounged about in an armchair with a pipe all the afternoon. I had got a new kind of tobacco—one and four for the two-ounce packet—much dearer than I could afford to smoke, and I was enjoying it immensely. It was awfully hot, and when I shut the window and drew down the red blind it grew hotter; at five o’clock the room was like an oven. But I was so pleased at not having to go into the City, that I didn’t mind anything, and now and again I read bits from a queer old book that had belonged to my poor dad. I couldn’t make out what a lot of it meant, but it fitted in somehow, and I read and smoked till teatime. Then I went out for a walk, thinking I should be better for a little fresh air before I went to bed; and I went wandering away, not much noticing where I was going, turning here and there as the fancy took me. I must have gone miles and miles, and a good many of them round and round, as they say they do in Australia if they lose their way in the bush; and I am sure I couldn’t have gone exactly the same way all over again for any money. Anyhow, I was still in the streets when the twilight came on, and the lamplighters were trotting round from one lamp to another. It was a wonderful night: I wish you had been there, my dear.”
“I was quite a little girl then.”
“Yes, I suppose you were. Well, it was a wonderful night. I remember, I was walking in a little street of little grey houses all alike, with stucco
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