United States or Yemen ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
When Patrick Prunty of County Down, Ireland, shook off the shackles of environment, and the mud of the peat-bog, and went across to England, presenting himself at the gates of Saint John's College, Cambridge, asking for admittance, I am glad he handed in his name as Mr. P. Bronte, accent on the last syllable.
"Of course we shall!" cried the elder lady. "Goneril is easily made happy," asserted Miss Hamelyn. "That's a good thing," snapped Miss Prunty, "for there's not much here to make her so!" "O Brigida! I am sure there are many attractions. The air, the view, the historic association! and, more than all, you know there is always a chance of the signorino!"
Miss Prunty came forward; a short, thick-set woman of fifty, with fine dark eyes, and, even in a Florentine summer, with something stiff and masculine in the fashion of her dress. "And have you brought your niece?" she said, turning to Miss Hamelyn. "Yes, she is in the garden." "Well; I hope she understands that she'll have to rough it here." "Goneril is a very simple girl," said Miss Hamelyn.
"That's all stale news!" cried Miss Prunty, jumping up. They walked out on the terrace. The girl was not there; but by the gate into the olive-yard, where there was a lean-to shed for tools, they found her sitting on a cask, whittling a piece of wood and talking to a curly-headed little contadino. Hearing steps, Goneril turned round. "He was asleep," she said. "Fancy, in such beautiful weather!"
It was with very red eyes that Goneril went in to dinner. "So the cousin hasn't come," said Miss Prunty kindly. "No; he had to go home at once for his examination." "I dare say he'll come over again soon, my dear," said that discriminating lady. She had quite taken Goneril back into her good graces. They all sat together in the little parlour after dinner. At eight o'clock the door-bell rang.
"Why?" cried Goneril, quite excited; "were they singers too?" "Madame Petrucci; nevertheless a lady of the highest respectability. Miss Prunty was Madame Lilli's secretary." "How nice!" cried the young girl, "how interesting! Oh, auntie, I'm so glad you found them out." "So am I, child; but please remember it is not an ordinary pension.
Madame Petrucci was beautifully dressed in soft black silk, old lace, and a white Indian shawl. Miss Prunty had on her starchiest collar and most formal tie. Goneril saw it was necessary that she, likewise, should deck herself in her best. She was too young and impressionable not to be influenced by the flutter of excitement and interest which filled the whole of the little cottage.
"I cannot play tonight," he cried. "I am not in the humour. Goneril, will you come and walk with me on the terrace?" Before the girl could reply Miss Prunty had darted an angry glance at Signor Graziano. "Good Lord, what fools men are!" she ejaculated.
"Why!" cried Goneril, quite excited; "were they singers too?" "Madame Petrucci; nevertheless a lady of the highest respectability. Miss Prunty was Madame Lilli's secretary." "How nice!" cried the young girl; "how interesting! O auntie, I'm so glad you found them out." "So am I, child; but please remember it is not an ordinary pension.
Miss Prunty came forward: a short, thick-set woman of fifty, with fine dark eyes, and, even in a Florentine summer, with something stiff and masculine in the fashion of her dress. "And have you brought your niece?" she said, as she turned to Miss Hamelyn. "Yes, she is in the garden." "Well, I hope she understands that she'll have to rough it here."
Word Of The Day