The Price of Things | Page 8

of in demonstrating when they fell in love. Indeed, she had
seen emotion upon the faces of quite two or three young men, for all
her secluded life and restricted means, since she had left the school in
Dresden, where a worldly maiden aunt had pinched to send her,
German officers had looked at her there with interest in the street, and
the clergyman's three sons and the Squire's two, when she returned
home. Indeed, Tom Clarke had gone further than this! He had kissed
her cheek coming out of the door in the dark one evening, and had
received a severe rebuff for his pains.
She had read quantities of novels, ancient and modern. She knew that
love was a wonderful thing; she knew also that modern life and its
exigencies had created a new and far more matter-of-fact point of view
about it than that which was obtained in most books. She did not expect
much, and had indulged in none of those visions of romantic bliss
which girls were once supposed to spend their time in constructing. But
she did expect something, and here was nothing--just nothing!

The day John had asked her to marry him he had not been much moved.
He had put the question to her simply and calmly, and she had not
dreamed of refusing him. It was obviously her duty, and it had always
been her intention to marry well, if the chance came her way, and so
leave a not too congenial home.
She had been to a few London balls with the maiden aunt, a personage
of some prestige and character. But invitations do not flow to a
penniless young woman from the country, nor do partners flock to be
presented to strangers in those days, and Amaryllis had spent many
humiliating hours as a wall-flower and had grown to hate balls. She
was not expansive in herself and did not make friends easily, and pretty
as she was, as a girl, luck did not come her way.
When she had said "Yes" in as matter-of-fact a voice as the proposal of
marriage had been made to her, Sir John had replied: "You are a dear,"
and that had seemed to her a most ordinary remark. He had leaned
over--they were climbing a steep pitch in search of a fugitive golf
ball--and had taken her hand respectfully, and then he had kissed her
forehead--or her ear--she forgot which--nothing which mattered much,
or gave her any thrill!
"I hope I shall make you happy," he had added. "I am a dull sort of a
fellow, but I will try."
Then they had talked of the usual things that they talked about, the
most every-day,--and they had returned to the house, and by the
evening every one knew of the engagement, and she was congratulated
on all sides, and petted by the hostess, and she and John were left
ostentatiously alone in a smaller drawing-room after dinner, and there
was not a grain of excitement in the whole conventional thing!
There was always a shadow, too, in John's blue eyes. He was the most
reserved creature in this world, she supposed. That might be all very
well, but what was the good of being so reserved with the woman you
liked well enough to make your wife, if it made you never able to get
beyond talking on general subjects!

This she had asked herself many times and had determined to break
down the reserve. But John never changed and he was always
considerate and polite and perfectly at ease. He would talk quietly and
with commonsense to whoever he was placed next, and very seldom a
look of interest flickered in his eyes. Indeed, Amaryllis had never seen
him really interested until he spoke of Ardayre--then his very voice
altered.
He spoke of his home often to her during their engagement, and she
grew to know that it was something sacred to him, and that the Family
and its honour, and its traditions, meant more to him than any
individual person could ever do.
She almost became jealous of it all.
Her trousseau was quite nice--the maiden aunt had seen to that. Her
niece had done well and she did not grudge her pinchings.
Amaryllis felt triumphant as she walked up the aisle of St. George's,
Hanover Square, on the arm of a scapegrace sailor uncle--she would
not allow her stepfather to give her away.
Every one was so pleased about the wedding! An Ardayre married to
an Ardayre! Good blood on both sides and everything suitable and rich
and prosperous, and just as it should be! And there stood her handsome,
stolid bridegroom, serenely calm--and the white flowers, and the
Bishop--and her silver brocade train--and the pages, and the
bridesmaids. Oh! yes,