Read Online Love Bade Me Welcome by Joan Smith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joan Smith
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thing to destroy,” Jarvis said.
“As to that, if you call ten thousand tons of iron and twenty-five acres of glass beautiful, then it is beautiful,” Bulow said. “I doubt the fellow who bought it will ever make a penny. It costs sixty thousand a year to keep up, and at that the glass is covered in dust half the time.”
“Wouldn’t I love to get hold of it,” Millie Dennison said, her eyes flashing. “What herbs I would have room to grow, under all those acres of glass. Do they have herbs in the plant collection, Bulow?”
“Very likely. I shall take you with me next time, Millie, and you can explain to me what we are looking at. You will enjoy to see the new fashions, too. I saw a female in bloomers, I swear. I thought we had heard the last of Mrs. Bloomer and her ridiculous outfits.”
“No, you won’t take me,” Millie said, undeceived. “You never take me. No one ever takes me anywhere. I should like to see these bloomers you speak of. They sound practical.”
“Practical, for a woman?” Bulow asked, staring.
“If God had wanted us to wear bloomers, he would have given us two legs, Miss Dennison,” I told her, with a jeering look at Bulow.
She found no amusement in this view. “I shall make myself up a pair. They sound practical—just the contraption for my gardening,” she declared.
“Did you get your business settled up satisfactorily?” Jarvis asked in a discreetly vague way, giving no idea what the business was.
“Yes, it was no problem,” Bulow told him with equal discretion.
The older gentleman tried to engage Bulow in some more serious discussion but had no success. He and Homer talked about the cotton famine, caused by the Civil War in America. Had Cousin Bulow noticed much distress due to the two million thrown out of work? “Yes, there were a deuced lot of beggars in the streets, and crime was up too, but old Gladstone and Cobden would get them back to work with the new free trade policy with France.”
We went in to dinner, where I found myself seated between Homer and Bulow, giving me an opportunity to compare them. They were two extremes of types. Homer was so firmly rooted to the earth, he spoke of little but crops and farm animals. Bulow soared high above the ground, hardly aware that such mundane things as corn and cows existed, though he was a farmer too. Chopin and Liszt were spoken of in terms of high praise. He ventured also into the realms of art and literature, soon discovering it was only in the latter that I had much knowledge, and even there my taste was for native novels—Dickens and Trollope and Austen, while he lauded the French writers.
Millie and I retired from the table after dinner to leave the men to their port. I expected she would dart off to her laboratory, but she sat with me, explaining that she didn’t want to hurt Bulow’s feelings by leaving early.
“Jarvis showed me your herb garden this morning,” I said, to pass the time.
“He knows nothing about it. I shall show you, when the time is right. Things are hardly sprouting yet.”
“When am I to see your laboratory?” I asked, wondering if she even had one.
“There’s nothing stopping you,” she answered bluntly. “I have been ready and waiting ever since you got here. It’s always the same: I am the one left last to have a private visit with company. But Homer says you are not company, you’re family, so my turn is bound to come.”
“It will be difficult tonight.”
“I can’t invite you tonight. I want to listen to Bulow. He’s such a dashing scoundrel I want to sit and watch and listen to him. He don’t come near often enough to suit me. I think we’ll be seeing more of him now,” she added, with a shake of her head in my direction.
“He is lively,” I agreed, ignoring the hint that I was the temptress who would draw him hither.
“Lively? He’s a handsome lad, and don’t bother pretending you ain’t mad for him, for you are. I saw you looking at him out of
“As to that, if you call ten thousand tons of iron and twenty-five acres of glass beautiful, then it is beautiful,” Bulow said. “I doubt the fellow who bought it will ever make a penny. It costs sixty thousand a year to keep up, and at that the glass is covered in dust half the time.”
“Wouldn’t I love to get hold of it,” Millie Dennison said, her eyes flashing. “What herbs I would have room to grow, under all those acres of glass. Do they have herbs in the plant collection, Bulow?”
“Very likely. I shall take you with me next time, Millie, and you can explain to me what we are looking at. You will enjoy to see the new fashions, too. I saw a female in bloomers, I swear. I thought we had heard the last of Mrs. Bloomer and her ridiculous outfits.”
“No, you won’t take me,” Millie said, undeceived. “You never take me. No one ever takes me anywhere. I should like to see these bloomers you speak of. They sound practical.”
“Practical, for a woman?” Bulow asked, staring.
“If God had wanted us to wear bloomers, he would have given us two legs, Miss Dennison,” I told her, with a jeering look at Bulow.
She found no amusement in this view. “I shall make myself up a pair. They sound practical—just the contraption for my gardening,” she declared.
“Did you get your business settled up satisfactorily?” Jarvis asked in a discreetly vague way, giving no idea what the business was.
“Yes, it was no problem,” Bulow told him with equal discretion.
The older gentleman tried to engage Bulow in some more serious discussion but had no success. He and Homer talked about the cotton famine, caused by the Civil War in America. Had Cousin Bulow noticed much distress due to the two million thrown out of work? “Yes, there were a deuced lot of beggars in the streets, and crime was up too, but old Gladstone and Cobden would get them back to work with the new free trade policy with France.”
We went in to dinner, where I found myself seated between Homer and Bulow, giving me an opportunity to compare them. They were two extremes of types. Homer was so firmly rooted to the earth, he spoke of little but crops and farm animals. Bulow soared high above the ground, hardly aware that such mundane things as corn and cows existed, though he was a farmer too. Chopin and Liszt were spoken of in terms of high praise. He ventured also into the realms of art and literature, soon discovering it was only in the latter that I had much knowledge, and even there my taste was for native novels—Dickens and Trollope and Austen, while he lauded the French writers.
Millie and I retired from the table after dinner to leave the men to their port. I expected she would dart off to her laboratory, but she sat with me, explaining that she didn’t want to hurt Bulow’s feelings by leaving early.
“Jarvis showed me your herb garden this morning,” I said, to pass the time.
“He knows nothing about it. I shall show you, when the time is right. Things are hardly sprouting yet.”
“When am I to see your laboratory?” I asked, wondering if she even had one.
“There’s nothing stopping you,” she answered bluntly. “I have been ready and waiting ever since you got here. It’s always the same: I am the one left last to have a private visit with company. But Homer says you are not company, you’re family, so my turn is bound to come.”
“It will be difficult tonight.”
“I can’t invite you tonight. I want to listen to Bulow. He’s such a dashing scoundrel I want to sit and watch and listen to him. He don’t come near often enough to suit me. I think we’ll be seeing more of him now,” she added, with a shake of her head in my direction.
“He is lively,” I agreed, ignoring the hint that I was the temptress who would draw him hither.
“Lively? He’s a handsome lad, and don’t bother pretending you ain’t mad for him, for you are. I saw you looking at him out of
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