DOI article:
Sharp, Evelyn: A new poster
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27805#0161
By Evelyn Sharp 157
you any more now ; you’ll like to think it over a bit—women like
to think things over, eh ? ”
And he really went that time, without the farewell greeting she
was dreading and yet longed for ; and she sat up and listened to
his retreating footstep on the stairs, and felt she would have done
anything in her power to make him come back and scold and com-
fort her all at once for her foolishness. Yet she did not make an
effort to recall him, but sat on the floor instead and wept hot
tears of shame and disappointment over his stick and gloves. And
Willis walked away down the street with his arms swinging and
his hat at the back of his head.
How he spent the day never transpired, but to Cynthia it was
the longest day of her life. She rang for the maid to clear up the
confusion of the drawing-room, and went upstairs to put powder
on her face.
Then she gave herself up to the consideration of her misfor-
tunes, and went without her lunch. She countermanded the
carriage and issued the mandate of “ Not at home,” passed the
afternoon in her bedroom where she persuaded herself she was
going to be very ill, and took anti-pyrine, which she had heard was
a preventive against something. About five o’clock she changed
her dress, and made rather a substantial tea on finding to her dis-
gust that she was healthily hungry, and then she sat on the balcony
without a vestige of a headache left, and envied the cheerful people
who passed in their carriages, and wished somebody would call.
Somebody did call about an hour before dinner-time, but he sent
his card up first with a pencilled message upon it.
“You can show Mr. Ruthven up, and tell cook not to make a
second entree to-night,” she said, making herself effective on a
couch near the window. She had decided that her attitude was to
be smiling indifference, but she never thought of it again when
Willis
you any more now ; you’ll like to think it over a bit—women like
to think things over, eh ? ”
And he really went that time, without the farewell greeting she
was dreading and yet longed for ; and she sat up and listened to
his retreating footstep on the stairs, and felt she would have done
anything in her power to make him come back and scold and com-
fort her all at once for her foolishness. Yet she did not make an
effort to recall him, but sat on the floor instead and wept hot
tears of shame and disappointment over his stick and gloves. And
Willis walked away down the street with his arms swinging and
his hat at the back of his head.
How he spent the day never transpired, but to Cynthia it was
the longest day of her life. She rang for the maid to clear up the
confusion of the drawing-room, and went upstairs to put powder
on her face.
Then she gave herself up to the consideration of her misfor-
tunes, and went without her lunch. She countermanded the
carriage and issued the mandate of “ Not at home,” passed the
afternoon in her bedroom where she persuaded herself she was
going to be very ill, and took anti-pyrine, which she had heard was
a preventive against something. About five o’clock she changed
her dress, and made rather a substantial tea on finding to her dis-
gust that she was healthily hungry, and then she sat on the balcony
without a vestige of a headache left, and envied the cheerful people
who passed in their carriages, and wished somebody would call.
Somebody did call about an hour before dinner-time, but he sent
his card up first with a pencilled message upon it.
“You can show Mr. Ruthven up, and tell cook not to make a
second entree to-night,” she said, making herself effective on a
couch near the window. She had decided that her attitude was to
be smiling indifference, but she never thought of it again when
Willis