she could not easily procure in Glaston; for, always
ready to appreciate the noble, she had not moral discernment
sufficient to protect her from the influence of such
books as paint poor action in noble color. For
a time also she was stinted in her natural nourishment:
her husband had ordered a grand piano from London for
her, but it had not yet arrived; and the first touch
she laid on the tall spinster-looking one that had
stood in the drawing-room for fifty years, with red
silk wrinkles radiating from a gilt center, had made
her shriek. If only Paul would buy a yellow gig,
like his friend Dr. May of Broughill, and take her
with him on his rounds! Or if she had a friend
or two to go and see when he was out!—friends
like what Helen or even Dorothy might have been:
she was not going to be hand-in-glove with any body
that didn’t like her Paul! She missed church
too—not the prayers, much; but she did
like hearing what she counted a good sermon, that is,
a lively one. Her husband wanted her to take up
some science, but if he had considered that, with
all her gift in music, she expressed an utter indifference
to thorough bass, he would hardly have been so foolish.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE PONY-CARRIAGE.
One Saturday morning the doctor was called to a place
a good many miles distant, and Juliet was left with
the prospect of being longer alone than usual.
She felt it almost sultry although so late in the season,
and could not rest in the house. She pretended
to herself she had some shopping to do in Pine Street,
but it was rather a longing for air and motion that
sent her out. Also, certain thoughts which she
did not like, had of late been coming more frequently,
and she found it easier to avoid them in the street.
They were not such as troubled her from being hard
to think out. Properly speaking, she thought
less now than ever. She often said nice things,
but they were mostly the mere gracious movements of
a nature sweet, playful, trusting, fond of all beautiful
things, and quick to see artistic relation where her
perception reached.
As she turned the corner of Mr. Drew’s shop,
the house-door opened, and a lady came out. It
was Mr. Drew’s lodger. Juliet knew nothing
about her, and was not aware that she had ever seen
her; but the lady started as if she recognized her.
To that kind of thing Juliet was accustomed, for her
style of beauty was any thing but common. The
lady’s regard however was so fixed that it drew
hers, and as their eyes met, Juliet felt something,
almost a physical pain, shoot through her heart.
She could not understand it, but presently began to
suspect, and by degrees became quite certain that
she had seen her before, though she could not tell
where. The effect the sight of her had had, indicated
some painful association, which she must recall before
she could be at rest. She turned in the other
direction, and walked straight from the town, that
she might think without eyes upon her.
Copyrights
Paul Faber, Surgeon from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
