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Meredith, George, 1828-1909

"The Tale of Chloe"

The title he had
disguised Duchess Susan in, he confessed to rueing as the principal cause
of the agitation of his principality. 'She is courted,' he said, 'less
like a citadel waving a flag than a hostelry where the demand is for
sitting room and a tankard! These be our manners. Yet, I must own, a
Duchess of Dewlap is a provocation, and my exclusive desire to protect
the name of my lord stands corrected by the perils environing his lady.
She is other than I supposed her; she is, we will hope, an excellent good
creature, but too attractive for most and drawbridge and the customary
defences to be neglected.
Chloe met his interrogatory with a ready report of the young duchess's
innocence and good nature that pacified Mr. Beamish.
'And you?' said he.
She smiled for answer.
That smile was not the common smile; it was one of an eager exultingness,
producing as he gazed the twitch of an inquisitive reflection of it on
his lips. Such a smile bids us guess and quickens us to guess, warns us
we burn and speeds our burning, and so, like an angel wafting us to some
heaven-feasting promontory, lifts us out of ourselves to see in the
universe of colour what the mouth has but pallid speech to tell. That is
the very heart's language; the years are in a look, as mount and vale of
the dark land spring up in lightning.
He checked himself: he scarce dared to say it.
She nodded.


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