DOI Artikel:
Harland, Henry: Flower o' the Clove
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.25498#0071
By Henry Harland 67
“ There’s undoubtedly a lot in intuitions,” he agreed ; “ and
for the future I shall carefully abstain from telling you there
isn’t.”
“ Those things are gardens, over the way, behind the wall,
aren’t they ? ” she asked, looking out of the window.
“Yes, those things are gardens, the gardens of the Abbey.
The canons and people have their houses there.”
“Very comfortable and nice,” said she. “Plenty of grass.
And the trees aren’t bad, either, for town trees. It must be rather
fun to be a canon. As I live,” she cried, turning back into the
room, “you’ve got a Pleyel. This is the first Pleyel I’ve seen in
England. Let me congratulate you on your taste in pianos.”
And with her gloved hands she struck a chord and made a run or
two. “ You’ll need the tuner soon, though. It’s just the shadow
of a shadow out. I was brought up on Pleyels. Do you know,
I’ve half a mind to make you a confidence ? ”
“ Oh, do make it, I pray you,” he encouraged her.
“ Well, then, I believe, if you were to offer me a chair, I believe
I could bring myself to sit down.”
“I beg your pardon,” he exclaimed ; and she sank rustling into
the chair that he pushed forward.
“Well, now for my business,” said she. “Would you just put
this thing somewhere ? ” She offered him her sunshade, which
he took and handled somewhat gingerly. “ Oh, you needn’t be
afraid. It’s quite tame,” she laughed, “ though I admit it looks
a bit ferocious. What a sweet room you’ve got—so manny, and
smoky, and booky. Are they all real books ?”
“ More or less real,” he answered ; “ as real as any books ever
are that a fellow gets for review.”
“ Oh, you got them for review ? How terribly exciting.
I’ve never seen a book before that’s actually passed through a
reviewer s
“ There’s undoubtedly a lot in intuitions,” he agreed ; “ and
for the future I shall carefully abstain from telling you there
isn’t.”
“ Those things are gardens, over the way, behind the wall,
aren’t they ? ” she asked, looking out of the window.
“Yes, those things are gardens, the gardens of the Abbey.
The canons and people have their houses there.”
“Very comfortable and nice,” said she. “Plenty of grass.
And the trees aren’t bad, either, for town trees. It must be rather
fun to be a canon. As I live,” she cried, turning back into the
room, “you’ve got a Pleyel. This is the first Pleyel I’ve seen in
England. Let me congratulate you on your taste in pianos.”
And with her gloved hands she struck a chord and made a run or
two. “ You’ll need the tuner soon, though. It’s just the shadow
of a shadow out. I was brought up on Pleyels. Do you know,
I’ve half a mind to make you a confidence ? ”
“ Oh, do make it, I pray you,” he encouraged her.
“ Well, then, I believe, if you were to offer me a chair, I believe
I could bring myself to sit down.”
“I beg your pardon,” he exclaimed ; and she sank rustling into
the chair that he pushed forward.
“Well, now for my business,” said she. “Would you just put
this thing somewhere ? ” She offered him her sunshade, which
he took and handled somewhat gingerly. “ Oh, you needn’t be
afraid. It’s quite tame,” she laughed, “ though I admit it looks
a bit ferocious. What a sweet room you’ve got—so manny, and
smoky, and booky. Are they all real books ?”
“ More or less real,” he answered ; “ as real as any books ever
are that a fellow gets for review.”
“ Oh, you got them for review ? How terribly exciting.
I’ve never seen a book before that’s actually passed through a
reviewer s