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Oldrieve in entire happiness, and her daughter in discontent. And this was through no peevish or disagreeable traits in Zora's nature. If we hear Guy Fawkes was fretful in the Little-Ease, we are not pained by Guy Fawkes's lack of Christian resignation. When the Vicar and the Literary Man from London had gone, Zora threw open the window and let the soft autumn air flood the room. Mrs.
You can explain all this and tell them that the marriage has been a dreadful mistake on poor Emmy's side, and that we've decided to live apart. You will do this for me, won't you?" "I can't say I'll do it with pleasure," said Sypher, "for I'm more than sorry to hear your news. I suspected as much when I met you in Paris. But I'll see Mrs. Oldrieve as soon as possible and explain."
She was small and colorless. Her husband, a wild explorer, a tornado of a man, had been killed by a buffalo. She was afraid that Zora took after her father. Her younger daughter Emmy had also inherited some of the Oldrieve restlessness and had gone on the stage. She was playing now in musical comedy in London.
"Those whom God had joined together " "He didn't," snapped Cousin Jane. "They were joined together by a scrubby man in a registry office." This is the wild and unjust way in which women talk. For aught Cousin Jane knew the Chelsea Registrar might have been an Antinous for beauty. Mrs. Oldrieve shook her head sadly. She had known how it would be.
"They must come back, dear, and be married properly. Do make them," urged Mrs. Oldrieve. "The Vicar will be so shocked and hurt and what Cousin Jane will say when she hears of it " She raised her mittened hands and let them fall into her lap. The awfulness of Cousin Jane's indignation transcended the poor lady's powers of description.
Cousin Jane threw up her hands. "Oh, for goodness' sake, don't let him come here! I couldn't bear the sight of him." Sypher looked inquiringly at Mrs. Oldrieve. "It has been a great shock to me," said the gentle lady. "It will take time to get over it. Perhaps he had better wait a little." Sypher walked home in a wrathful mood. Ostracism was to be added to Septimus's crown of martyrdom.
She had no desire to pet the Vicar, but he was less unbearable than the Literary Man from London whom he had brought to call on his parishioners. Zora disliked to be called a parishioner. She disliked many things in Nunsmere. Her mother, Mrs. Oldrieve, however, loved Nunsmere, adored the Vicar, and found awe-inspiring in his cleverness the Literary Man from London.
"How am I to know that? How could anyone have told that he was what he was? For heaven's sake don't talk of it. I had almost forgotten it all in this place." She shuddered and, turning to the window, stared into the sunset. "Lavender has its uses," said Mrs. Oldrieve. Here again it must be urged on Zora's behalf that she had reason for her misanthropy.
Oldrieve's drawing-room, he made such unearthly and terrific noises that Mrs. Oldrieve grew pale and Zora politely but firmly took it from his hands and deposited it in the umbrella-stand in the hall. "I hope you don't mind," she said. "Oh, dear, no," said Septimus mildly. "I could never make out why anybody liked it."
She plucked a great white chrysanthemum bloom from a bunch she was carrying, flicked it laughingly in his face, and stuck it in his buttonhole. "What a good thing it would be for Emmy," said Mrs. Oldrieve, with a sigh. "To marry Septimus? Oh, mother!" She laughed merrily; then all at once she became serious. "Why not?" she cried, and kissed her mother. Mrs. Oldrieve settled her cap.
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