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The Floating Press - Anthony Hope

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71 pages

English

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We can't always choose the object of our affections, and often, Cupid's arrow causes people to fall in love with the most unsuitable candidates. That's a theme that surfaces time and time again in the collection Frivolous Cupid from British writer Anthony Hope. Bringing together one novella and a series of short stories, this delectable delight will enchant romance fans.

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Short story

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juillet 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776583539
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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FRIVOLOUS CUPID
* * *
ANTHONY HOPE

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Frivolous Cupid First published in 1896 Epub ISBN 978-1-77658-353-9 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77658-354-6 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Frivolous Cupid I - Reluctance II - Why Men Don't Marry III - A Change of Heart IV - A Repentant Sinner V - 'Twixt Will and Will Not VI - Which Shall it Be? VII - Marriage by Compulsion VIII - All's Well that Ends Well
Frivolous Cupid
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Cupid, I met thee yesterday With an empty quiver, Coming from Clarinda's house By the reedy river.
And I saw Clarinda stand Near the pansies, weeping, With her hands upon her breast All thine arrows keeping.
I - Reluctance
*
I
Neither life nor the lawn-tennis club was so full at Natterley that thenews of Harry Sterling's return had not some importance.
He came back, moreover, to assume a position very different from hisold one. He had left Harrow now, departing in the sweet aroma of along score against Eton at Lord's, and was to go up to Oxford inOctober. Now between a schoolboy and a University man there is a gulf,indicated unmistakably by the cigarette which adorned Harry's mouth ashe walked down the street with a newly acquiescent father, andthoroughly realized by his old playmates. The young men greeted him asan equal, the boys grudgingly accepted his superiority, and the girlsreceived him much as though they had never met him before in theirlives and were pressingly in need of an introduction. These featuresof his reappearance amused Mrs. Mortimer; she recollected him as anuntidy, shy, pretty boy; but mind, working on matter, had sotransformed him that she was doubtful enough about him to ask herhusband if that were really Harry Sterling.
Mr. Mortimer, mopping his bald head after one of his energetic failuresat lawn tennis, grunted assent, and remarked that a few years morewould see a like development in their elder son, a remark whichbordered on absurdity; for Johnny was but eight, and ten years are nota few years to a lady of twenty-eight, whatever they may seem to a manof forty-four.
Presently Harry, shaking himself free from an entangling group of theVicarage girls, joined his father, and the two came across to Mrs.Mortimer.
She was a favorite of old Sterling's, and he was proud to present hishandsome son to her. She listened graciously to his jocosities,stealing a glance at Harry when his father called him "a good boy."Harry blushed and assumed an air of indifference, tossing his hair backfrom his smooth forehead, and swinging his racket carelessly in hishand. The lady addressed some words of patronizing kindness to him,seeking to put him at his ease. She seemed to succeed to some extent,for he let his father and her husband go off together, and sat down byher on the bench, regardless of the fact that the Vicarage girls werewaiting for him to make a fourth.
He said nothing, and Mrs. Mortimer looked at him from under her longlashes; in so doing she discovered that he was looking at her.
"Aren't you going to play any more, Mr. Sterling?" she asked.
"Why aren't you playing?" he rejoined.
"My husband says I play too badly."
"Oh, play with me! We shall make a good pair."
"Then you must be very good."
"Well, no one can play a hang here, you know. Besides I'm sure you'reall right, really."
"You forget my weight of years."
He opened his blue eyes a little, and laughed. He was, in fact,astonished to find that she was quite a young woman. Remembering oldMortimer and the babies, he had thought of her as full middle-aged.But she was not; nor had she that likeness to a suet pudding, which hisnewborn critical faculty cruelly detected in his old friends, theVicarage girls.
There was one of them—Maudie—with whom he had flirted in hisholidays; he wondered at that, especially when a relentless memory toldhim that Mrs. Mortimer must have been at the parties where the thingwent on. He felt very much older, so much older that Mrs. Mortimerbecame at once a contemporary. Why, then, should she begin, as she nowdid, to talk to him, in quasi maternal fashion, about his prospects?Men don't have prospects, or, anyhow, are spared questionings thereon.
Either from impatience of this topic, or because, after all, tennis wasnot to be neglected, he left her, and she sat alone for a little while,watching him play. She was glad that she had not played; she could nothave rivaled the activity of the Vicarage girls. She got up and joinedMrs. Sterling, who was presiding over the club teapot. The good ladyexpected compliments on her son, but for some reason Mrs. Mortimer gaveher none. Very soon, indeed, she took Johnnie away with her, leavingher husband to follow at his leisure.
In comparing Maudie Sinclair to a suet pudding, Harry had looked at thedark side of the matter.
The suggestion, though indisputable, was only occasionally obtrusive,and as a rule hushed almost to silence by the pleasant good naturewhich redeemed shapeless features. Mrs. Mortimer had always likedMaudie, who ran in and out of her house continually, and had made ofherself a vice-mother to the little children.
The very next day she came, and, in the intervals of playing cricketwith Johnnie, took occasion to inform Mrs. Mortimer that in her opinionHarry Sterling was by no means improved by his new status and dignity.She went so far as to use the term "stuck-up." "He didn't use to belike that," she said, shaking her head; "he used to be very jolly."Mrs. Mortimer was relieved to note an entire absence of romance eitherin the regretted past or the condemned present. Maudie mourned afriend spoiled, not an admirer lost; the tone of her criticisms left nodoubt of it, and Mrs. Mortimer, with a laugh, announced her intentionof asking the Sterlings to dinner and having Maudie to meet them. "Youwill be able to make it up then," said she.
"Why, I see him every day at the tennis club," cried Maudie in surprise.
The faintest of blushes tinged Mrs. Mortimer's cheek as she chidherself for forgetting this obvious fact.
The situation now developed rapidly. The absurd thing happened: HarrySterling began to take a serious view of his attachment to Mrs.Mortimer. The one thing more absurd, that she should take a seriousview of it, had not happened yet, and, indeed, would never happen; soshe told herself with a nervous little laugh. Harry gave her noopportunity of saying so to him, for you cannot reprove glances ordiscourage pressings of your hand in fashion so blunt.
And he was very discreet: he never made her look foolish. In public hetreated her with just the degree of attention that gained his mother'sfond eulogium, and his father's approving smile; while Mr. Mortimer,who went to London at nine o'clock every morning and did not returntill seven, was very seldom bothered by finding the young fellowhanging about the house. Certainly he came pretty frequently betweenthe hours named, but it was, as the children could have witnessed, toplay with them. And, through his comings and goings, Mrs. Mortimermoved with pleasure, vexation, self-contempt, and eagerness.
One night she and her husband went to dine with the Sterlings. Afterdinner Mr. Mortimer accepted his host's invitation to stay for a smoke.He saw no difficulty in his wife walking home alone; it was but half amile, and the night was fine and moonlit. Mrs. Mortimer made nodifficulty either, but Mrs. Sterling was sure that Harry would bedelighted to see Mrs. Mortimer to her house.
She liked the boy to learn habits of politeness, she said, and hisfather eagerly proffered his escort, waving aside Mrs. Mortimer'sprotest that she would not think of troubling Mr. Harry; throughoutwhich conversation Harry said nothing at all, but stood smiling, withhis hat in his hand, the picture of an obedient, well-mannered youth.There are generally two ways anywhere, and there were two from theSterlings' to the Mortimers': the short one through the village, andthe long one round by the lane and across the Church meadow. The pathdiverging to the latter route comes very soon after you leave theSterlings', and not a word had passed when Mrs. Mortimer and Harryreached it. Still without a word, Harry turned off to follow the path.Mrs. Mortimer glanced at him; Harry smiled.
"It's much longer," she said.
"There's lots of time," rejoined Harry, "and it's such a jolly night."The better to enjoy the night's beauty, he slackened his pace to a verycrawl.
"It's rather dark; won't you take my arm?" he said.
"What nonsense! Why, I could see to read!"
"But I'm sure you're tired."
"How absurd you are! Was it a great bore?"
"What?"
"Why, coming."
"No," said Harry.
In such affairs monosyllables are danger signals. A long protestationmight have meant nothing: in this short, sufficient negative Mrs.Mortimer recognized the boy's sincerity. A little thrill of pride andshame, and perhaps something else, ran through her. The night was hotand she unfastened the clasp of her cloak, breathing a trifle quickly.To relieve the silence, she said, with a laugh:
"You see we poor married women have to depend on charity. Our husbandsdon't care to walk home with us. Your father was bent on your coming."
Harry laughed a short laugh; the utter darkness of Mr. Sterling'scondition struck through his agitation down to his sense of humor.Mrs. Mortimer smiled at him; she could not help it: the secret betweenthem was so pleasant to her, even while she hated herself for its