DOI article:
Sharp, Evelyn: A new poster
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27805#0164
A New Poster
160
“ As much, possibly, as it will please you to find out how
much pocket-monev I require,” retorted Cynthia.
“To think,” continued Willis, “that I owe all my happiness
to that ridiculous poster-”
“ You don’t,” cried Cynthia ; “ you owe it all to coming in this
morning ! I was writing to Adrian when you arrived. I should
never have listened to him at all if you had not gone out of town.
I am perfectly certain I shouldn’t,” she added firmly, in the hope
of convincing herself of this comfortable conclusion. Willis had
always been convinced of it, and kissed her with a proud sense of
victory.
“ Do you want me to go and finish him off, or anything r ” he
asked cheerfully.
Cvnthia was alarmed at the vision of her late lover being
murdered in his studio by one blow from a heavy walking-
stick, and said she thought she would be meeting him herself at
Ladv Houghton’s dance that evening. And she wondered
vaguely at the same moment why he had not been to see her all
day.
The reason for his absence was quite simple. He had woke up
in the morning in a mood that strangely resembled Cynthia’s,
though it probably showed itself differently in him, and arose from
another cause. He stayed in bed and blamed himself until mid-
day ; and he tried to paint and blamed his model until sunset. He
called himself a fool in no measured terms for having allowed his
feelings to run away with him, and he considered carefully every
possible way of extricating himself from his predicament. The
day wore on, and he arrived at no satisfactory solution of the
difficulty. A letter did not commend itself to him because he
could not write letters ; women always had the best of it, he
reflected, when it came to letter-writing. Besides, what had he
to
160
“ As much, possibly, as it will please you to find out how
much pocket-monev I require,” retorted Cynthia.
“To think,” continued Willis, “that I owe all my happiness
to that ridiculous poster-”
“ You don’t,” cried Cynthia ; “ you owe it all to coming in this
morning ! I was writing to Adrian when you arrived. I should
never have listened to him at all if you had not gone out of town.
I am perfectly certain I shouldn’t,” she added firmly, in the hope
of convincing herself of this comfortable conclusion. Willis had
always been convinced of it, and kissed her with a proud sense of
victory.
“ Do you want me to go and finish him off, or anything r ” he
asked cheerfully.
Cvnthia was alarmed at the vision of her late lover being
murdered in his studio by one blow from a heavy walking-
stick, and said she thought she would be meeting him herself at
Ladv Houghton’s dance that evening. And she wondered
vaguely at the same moment why he had not been to see her all
day.
The reason for his absence was quite simple. He had woke up
in the morning in a mood that strangely resembled Cynthia’s,
though it probably showed itself differently in him, and arose from
another cause. He stayed in bed and blamed himself until mid-
day ; and he tried to paint and blamed his model until sunset. He
called himself a fool in no measured terms for having allowed his
feelings to run away with him, and he considered carefully every
possible way of extricating himself from his predicament. The
day wore on, and he arrived at no satisfactory solution of the
difficulty. A letter did not commend itself to him because he
could not write letters ; women always had the best of it, he
reflected, when it came to letter-writing. Besides, what had he
to