DOI article:
Harland, Henry: Cousin Rosalys
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26392#0043
By Henry Harland 39
remember what the flowers were, but they were pink, and many
of their petals had fallen, and lay scattered on the grey terrace
pavement. At the far end, under an awning brave with red and
yellow stripes, two ladies were seated—a lady in black, presumably
the object of my pious pilgrimage ; and a lady in white, whom,
even from a distance, I discovered to be young and pretty. A
little round table stood between them, with a carafe of water and
some tumblers glistening crisply on it. The lady in black was
fanning herself with a black lace fan. The lady in white held a
book in her hand, from which I think she had been reading aloud.
A tiny imp of a red Pomeranian dog had started forward, and was
barking furiously.
This scene must have made a deeper impression upon my
perceptions than any that I was conscious of at the moment,
because it has always remained as fresh in my memory as you see
it now. It has always been a picture that I could turn to when I
would, and find unfaded : the garden, the blue sky, the warm
September sunshine, the long terrace, and the two ladies seated at
the end of it, looking towards me, an elderly lady in black, and a
young lady in white, with dark hair.
My aunt quieted Sandro (that was the dog’s name), and giving
me her hand, said “ How do you do ? ” rather drily. And then,
for what seemed a terribly long time, though no doubt it was only
a few seconds, she kept me standing before her, while she scruti-
nised me through a double eye-glass, which she held by a
mother-of-pearl handle ; and I was acutely aware of the awkward
figure I must be cutting to the vision of that strange young lady.
At last, w I should never have recognised you. As a child you
were the image of your father. Now you resemble your mother,”
Aunt Elizabeth declared; and lowering her glass, she added, “ this
is your cousin Rosalys.”
I wondered,
remember what the flowers were, but they were pink, and many
of their petals had fallen, and lay scattered on the grey terrace
pavement. At the far end, under an awning brave with red and
yellow stripes, two ladies were seated—a lady in black, presumably
the object of my pious pilgrimage ; and a lady in white, whom,
even from a distance, I discovered to be young and pretty. A
little round table stood between them, with a carafe of water and
some tumblers glistening crisply on it. The lady in black was
fanning herself with a black lace fan. The lady in white held a
book in her hand, from which I think she had been reading aloud.
A tiny imp of a red Pomeranian dog had started forward, and was
barking furiously.
This scene must have made a deeper impression upon my
perceptions than any that I was conscious of at the moment,
because it has always remained as fresh in my memory as you see
it now. It has always been a picture that I could turn to when I
would, and find unfaded : the garden, the blue sky, the warm
September sunshine, the long terrace, and the two ladies seated at
the end of it, looking towards me, an elderly lady in black, and a
young lady in white, with dark hair.
My aunt quieted Sandro (that was the dog’s name), and giving
me her hand, said “ How do you do ? ” rather drily. And then,
for what seemed a terribly long time, though no doubt it was only
a few seconds, she kept me standing before her, while she scruti-
nised me through a double eye-glass, which she held by a
mother-of-pearl handle ; and I was acutely aware of the awkward
figure I must be cutting to the vision of that strange young lady.
At last, w I should never have recognised you. As a child you
were the image of your father. Now you resemble your mother,”
Aunt Elizabeth declared; and lowering her glass, she added, “ this
is your cousin Rosalys.”
I wondered,