DOI article:
Sharp, Evelyn: The end of an episode
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.21805#0269
265
By Evelyn Sharp
“ Nor the husband,” he rejoined ruthlessly.
They sat down near the top of the hill, and wished for the
Squire’s wife.
“ It’s very odd,” said the novelist.
“ Odd ? I call it dull.”
“ Dull, then, if you like. I wonder who invented the ridicu-
lous idea of two people marrying and living happily ever after.
It must have been the first man who wrote for money.”
“ All the same, I’m rather disappointed,” said Mrs. Withering-
ton, gazing steadily at the three counties.
“ What about ? That you can’t fall in love with me now
that there is nothing against our marrying ? ”
“Oh no, not that,” she said.
“ What then ? ”
“Oh, well, only that I hoped, just a little you know, that you
might still like me enough to—to ask me, so that I could—oh,
bother ! ”
“ So that you could have the intense pleasure of refusing me ?
Sorry I disappointed you.”
“We can go on being chums, though, can’t we ? ” she sug-
gested, pulling up handfuls of moss.
“Oh, don’t,” he groaned, “do be a little more original than
that. Tou are not writing for money, are you ? ”
“Then,” she cried desperately, “there is nothing left but the
sunset ; and what’s the use of that when you can’t see it ? ”
“Can’t I ?” he said in a curious tone, “don’t I know that it
has just got down to the line of fir-trees along the canal, and is
streaking across the cornfield, and making the hills on this side
look warm ? ”
He was sheltering his eyes from the sun with his hand as he
spoke, and Everilde turned and stared at him suddenly.
“ Allan,”
By Evelyn Sharp
“ Nor the husband,” he rejoined ruthlessly.
They sat down near the top of the hill, and wished for the
Squire’s wife.
“ It’s very odd,” said the novelist.
“ Odd ? I call it dull.”
“ Dull, then, if you like. I wonder who invented the ridicu-
lous idea of two people marrying and living happily ever after.
It must have been the first man who wrote for money.”
“ All the same, I’m rather disappointed,” said Mrs. Withering-
ton, gazing steadily at the three counties.
“ What about ? That you can’t fall in love with me now
that there is nothing against our marrying ? ”
“Oh no, not that,” she said.
“ What then ? ”
“Oh, well, only that I hoped, just a little you know, that you
might still like me enough to—to ask me, so that I could—oh,
bother ! ”
“ So that you could have the intense pleasure of refusing me ?
Sorry I disappointed you.”
“We can go on being chums, though, can’t we ? ” she sug-
gested, pulling up handfuls of moss.
“Oh, don’t,” he groaned, “do be a little more original than
that. Tou are not writing for money, are you ? ”
“Then,” she cried desperately, “there is nothing left but the
sunset ; and what’s the use of that when you can’t see it ? ”
“Can’t I ?” he said in a curious tone, “don’t I know that it
has just got down to the line of fir-trees along the canal, and is
streaking across the cornfield, and making the hills on this side
look warm ? ”
He was sheltering his eyes from the sun with his hand as he
spoke, and Everilde turned and stared at him suddenly.
“ Allan,”