Celine Conway Return of Simon (uc) (pdf)

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the drawing-room and placed her hands upon the edge of
the table, preparatory to standing. "You go to Exeter on
Tuesday, Pat, and make up your mind to have fun. If
Hugh Dyson asks you to marry him don't say no till you've
thought it over very seriously." Her smile lacked spon-
taneity as she finished, "Remember Aunt Ailson's lecture
the other day: it isn't so necessary for a woman to be in
love as to be loved."
Pat knew that Marion believed, as Simon did, that such
a view of marriage might have stood the test half a cen-
tury ago when women had no independence, but that today
a woman did not meekly surrender herself out of mere
gratitude. She couldn't imagine why Marion should echo
Aunt Alison's sentiment, unless . . .
Her heart turned and her skin went cold. Could Marion
possibly have guessed at her love for Simon? Was she
extending a warning, throwing out light advice on the
sanest course when one's case was hopeless? Surely not! She
had been so careful not to give herself away, and besides,
the turbulent emotion she felt for Simon was too new to be
patent to anyone else. Why, she was still breathless and
terrified herself at the very thought of her heart being in
Simon's negligent keeping. Marion must have been jesting,
rather bitterly, perhaps, for just recently the humorous
mood had evaded her.
no
Pat's breathing evened out and she quelled an unhappy
sigh. Never before at Manbury had she felt so benighted.
It was in a steadier frame of mind that she sat beside
Hugh Dyson in the maths, master's modest car the follow-
ing Tuesday. Big douds hung over the countryside but
it was not cold, nor had the atmosphere the ominous feel
of rain. The trees were still, the green wheat leaned the
way the last wind had blown it, and the dover was white
and scented, ready for reaping.
The village gardens were packed with hollyhocks, mari-
golds and snapdragons, and foxgloves stood tall in hedges
where wild strawberries ripened. Low walls dripped with
catmint, high ones were smothered in japonica, and the
indefatigable stonecrop patched the thatched roofs with its
yellow stars; from high up in a cracked cottage wall droop-
ed a duster of red daisies.
"Have you ever painted the country scene, Hugh?" she
asked 'him, as they bumped over a hump-backed bridge.
"I did my share of it a few years ago. I think I tried
everything before admitting the grisly truth."
"There's nothing grisly about teaching art."
"I know that now," He flung her a smile. "But when
you're a bit of an idealist you have a horror of letting your-
self down. It's mudi easier to live with your conscience
once you've got the hang of your limitations. Believe me,
I know!"
"I think it's more praiseworthy to help the next genera-
tion to appredate the technical and aesthetic qualities of art
than to go on striving for a perfection in your pwn work
that you haven't much chance of attaining. After all, the
really great people are so few that only those with definite
signs of genius can hope to enrich the arts. Implanting a
love of beauty is a big and wonderful job. You should
be proud."
"I've never known a girl like you. Pat you make a chap
feel he could move mountains. Some women are so hard
they make you wince."
"You must have been unfortunate."
"Not now . . . not any more. You're far and away She
sweetest person I've ever met."
"You'll have to get about more." Adroitly she managed
8 twist of the conversation. "It's only three weeks to your
holiday, isn't it? For a whole month you'll be wandering
among mountains and lakes, and when you come back the
trees will be turning russet and there'll be blackberry pies
and mushrooms. You'll have still another two weeks' free-
dom before the sdiool reopens. What will you do with
them?"
"I don't know. Some time I must visit my old uncle in
London, but I'd rather stay here. I'm tossing up whether
to invest in a little bus like this one. What do you think
of it?"
The topic served for the rest of the way to Exeter. The
car was parked, they lunched in the dining-room of an hotel
and came out to wander the old, crowded streets and spend
a couple of hours at the cathedral. Hugh sat cross-legged
on the grass and sketched one of the Norman towers and
part of the statue-covered west front. He was absorbed and
contented, and when he 'had finished he handed the sketch-
book to Pat.
She admired the two drawings, flicked back the pages
and saw the familiar walls of Manbury School, a huddle
of cottages in a billow of trees, and a wickedly lifelike [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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