DOI Artikel:
Harland, Henry: Cousin Rosalys
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26392#0055
By Henry Harland 51
the dessert a great cake was brought in and set before me. A
number of little red candles were burning round it, and embossed
upon it in frosting was this device :
A birthday-piece
From Rosalys,
Wishing birthdays more in plenty
To her cousin “ nearly twenty.”
And counting the candles, I perceived they were nineteen.
Probably my joy was somewhat tempered by confusion, to think
that my little equivocation on the subject of my age had been dis-
covered. As I looked up from the cake to its giver, I met a pair
of eyes that were gleaming with mischievous raillery ; and she
shook her head at me, and murmured, “ Oh, you fibber ! ”
“ How on earth did you find out ? ” I wondered.
cc Oh—a little bird,” laughed she.
“ I don’t think it’s at all respectful of you to call Aunt Elizabeth
a little bird,” said I.
After dinner we went out upon the terrace. It was a warm
night, and there was a moon. A moonlit night in Italy—dark
velvet shot with silver. And the air was intoxicant with the
scent of hyacinths. We were in March ; the garden had become
a wilderness of spring flowers, narcissi and jonquils, crocusses,
anemones, tulips, and hyacinths ; hyacinths, everywhere hyacinths.
Rosalys had thrown a bit of white lace over her hair. Oh, I
assure you, in the moonlight, with the white lace over her hair,
with her pale face, and her eyes, her shining, mysterious eyes—oh,
I promise you, she was lovely.
“ How beautiful the garden is, in the moonlight, isn’t it ? ” she
said. “The shadows, and the statues, and the fountains. And
how sweet the air is. They’re the hyacinths that smell so sweet.
The
the dessert a great cake was brought in and set before me. A
number of little red candles were burning round it, and embossed
upon it in frosting was this device :
A birthday-piece
From Rosalys,
Wishing birthdays more in plenty
To her cousin “ nearly twenty.”
And counting the candles, I perceived they were nineteen.
Probably my joy was somewhat tempered by confusion, to think
that my little equivocation on the subject of my age had been dis-
covered. As I looked up from the cake to its giver, I met a pair
of eyes that were gleaming with mischievous raillery ; and she
shook her head at me, and murmured, “ Oh, you fibber ! ”
“ How on earth did you find out ? ” I wondered.
cc Oh—a little bird,” laughed she.
“ I don’t think it’s at all respectful of you to call Aunt Elizabeth
a little bird,” said I.
After dinner we went out upon the terrace. It was a warm
night, and there was a moon. A moonlit night in Italy—dark
velvet shot with silver. And the air was intoxicant with the
scent of hyacinths. We were in March ; the garden had become
a wilderness of spring flowers, narcissi and jonquils, crocusses,
anemones, tulips, and hyacinths ; hyacinths, everywhere hyacinths.
Rosalys had thrown a bit of white lace over her hair. Oh, I
assure you, in the moonlight, with the white lace over her hair,
with her pale face, and her eyes, her shining, mysterious eyes—oh,
I promise you, she was lovely.
“ How beautiful the garden is, in the moonlight, isn’t it ? ” she
said. “The shadows, and the statues, and the fountains. And
how sweet the air is. They’re the hyacinths that smell so sweet.
The