DOI article:
Syrett, Netta: Far above rubies
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.25498#0259
By Netta Syrett 255
turned her head, her quick glance lighting now on one, now on
another part of the room. She regretted she had not bought
a white-and-gold screen she had seen in town, for the corner by
the door, and determined to send for it. She remembered, too, a
wonderful Eastern jar, of green metal, the colour of a peacock’s
neck with the sun upon it ; but there was no place for it.
She satisfied herself that every niche of the room was occupied
before turning with a dissatisfied air to the fire again. There was
absolutely nothing more to be bought for the room, unless she
made a thorough change in its style, and turned out the present
furniture. She entertained the idea for a moment, but it was too
much trouble to think out, and her vague plans drifted aimlessly
for a breathing space, and dissolved, and she yawned again.
Life was a dull affair, and things were only desirable till one
obtained them. How she had longed for pretty rooms and
dainty clothes to wear and delicious things to eat, in the old day,
at home, in the shabby little villa at Wandsworth. Well ! a
miracle had happened, or so it had seemed to her, on her engage-
ment to Jim Gilman, and now she had her heart’s desires.
Were they disappointing? Yes—but they were also well worth
keeping. A hastily summoned vision of the draughty dining-
room at Eglantine Villa, of the roast mutton and boiled rice
puddings at the mid-day dinner, assured her of this. Mrs. Gilman
was always frank with herself. Her material advantages were well
worth keeping, even at the price of playing the part of the
affectionate wife, a role which in itself was irksome. Still, as
she reflected, every one pays in some form or other for cakes and
ale, and Jim, though straightforward and good to the point of
exhaustion, was providentially dense in proportion—and he was out
a great deal, and there were always visits to town, and—Mrs.
Gilman smiled quietly, and twisted the rings on her white fingers,
without
turned her head, her quick glance lighting now on one, now on
another part of the room. She regretted she had not bought
a white-and-gold screen she had seen in town, for the corner by
the door, and determined to send for it. She remembered, too, a
wonderful Eastern jar, of green metal, the colour of a peacock’s
neck with the sun upon it ; but there was no place for it.
She satisfied herself that every niche of the room was occupied
before turning with a dissatisfied air to the fire again. There was
absolutely nothing more to be bought for the room, unless she
made a thorough change in its style, and turned out the present
furniture. She entertained the idea for a moment, but it was too
much trouble to think out, and her vague plans drifted aimlessly
for a breathing space, and dissolved, and she yawned again.
Life was a dull affair, and things were only desirable till one
obtained them. How she had longed for pretty rooms and
dainty clothes to wear and delicious things to eat, in the old day,
at home, in the shabby little villa at Wandsworth. Well ! a
miracle had happened, or so it had seemed to her, on her engage-
ment to Jim Gilman, and now she had her heart’s desires.
Were they disappointing? Yes—but they were also well worth
keeping. A hastily summoned vision of the draughty dining-
room at Eglantine Villa, of the roast mutton and boiled rice
puddings at the mid-day dinner, assured her of this. Mrs. Gilman
was always frank with herself. Her material advantages were well
worth keeping, even at the price of playing the part of the
affectionate wife, a role which in itself was irksome. Still, as
she reflected, every one pays in some form or other for cakes and
ale, and Jim, though straightforward and good to the point of
exhaustion, was providentially dense in proportion—and he was out
a great deal, and there were always visits to town, and—Mrs.
Gilman smiled quietly, and twisted the rings on her white fingers,
without