DOI article:
D'Arcy, Ella: A marriage
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.38746#0319
By Ella D’Arcy 315
the door opened, and a very little woman, in a dark woollen gown,
stood within the threshold.
The nurse, the landlady, the servant, perhaps ? West told
himself that this could not be Nettie Hooper, this plain little
creature, who was surely so much older than the girl Catterson
had described.
But the next instant Catterson said, “Nettie, this is my great
friend, West,” and the little woman had given him a lifeless hand,
while she welcomed him in curious, drawling tones, “ I’m so glad
to see you ; Jack is always talking about you ; do come in.”
He was certain she was plain, but he had no time to localise her
plainness—to decide whether it lay in feature, complexion, or
expression, for her back was towards him ; he was following her
into the sitting-room, and he looked down upon a dark head of
hair, a meagre figure, a dowdy home-made gown.
“ I hope you’ve got a good dinner for us,” Catterson began at
once, stammering over every consonant. “I don’t know how
West may be feeling, but I’m uncommonly hungry myself.”
“You didn’t give me much time,” she answered ; “your wire
only came at four. I’ve got you some fish, and a steak.”
“ And a salad ? good ! Nettie’s steaks are ripping, West,
you’ll see.”
“ Oh, but Mrs. Baker is going to cook the dinner to-night ; I
didn’t think you’d wish me to leave you and Mr. West, like that.”
During these not very illuminating remarks, West was revising
his first impressions. He confessed that the girl had nice features,
regular, well-proportioned ; that, though she lacked colour, her
complexion was of a healthy paleness ; that her expression could
hardly be called disagreeable, for the difficulty lay in deciding
whether she had any expression at all. All the same, she was
plain ; flat-chested, undeveloped, with clumsy feet and hands.
“You
the door opened, and a very little woman, in a dark woollen gown,
stood within the threshold.
The nurse, the landlady, the servant, perhaps ? West told
himself that this could not be Nettie Hooper, this plain little
creature, who was surely so much older than the girl Catterson
had described.
But the next instant Catterson said, “Nettie, this is my great
friend, West,” and the little woman had given him a lifeless hand,
while she welcomed him in curious, drawling tones, “ I’m so glad
to see you ; Jack is always talking about you ; do come in.”
He was certain she was plain, but he had no time to localise her
plainness—to decide whether it lay in feature, complexion, or
expression, for her back was towards him ; he was following her
into the sitting-room, and he looked down upon a dark head of
hair, a meagre figure, a dowdy home-made gown.
“ I hope you’ve got a good dinner for us,” Catterson began at
once, stammering over every consonant. “I don’t know how
West may be feeling, but I’m uncommonly hungry myself.”
“You didn’t give me much time,” she answered ; “your wire
only came at four. I’ve got you some fish, and a steak.”
“ And a salad ? good ! Nettie’s steaks are ripping, West,
you’ll see.”
“ Oh, but Mrs. Baker is going to cook the dinner to-night ; I
didn’t think you’d wish me to leave you and Mr. West, like that.”
During these not very illuminating remarks, West was revising
his first impressions. He confessed that the girl had nice features,
regular, well-proportioned ; that, though she lacked colour, her
complexion was of a healthy paleness ; that her expression could
hardly be called disagreeable, for the difficulty lay in deciding
whether she had any expression at all. All the same, she was
plain ; flat-chested, undeveloped, with clumsy feet and hands.
“You