Glyn, Elinor, 1864-1943 / 2008-09-14 00:00:00

Indeed, she had seen emotion upon
the faces of quite two or three young men, for all her secluded life and
restricted means, since she had left the school in Dresden, where a
worldly maiden aunt had pinched to send her, German officers had looked
at her there with interest in the street, and the clergyman's three sons
and the Squire's two, when she returned home. Indeed, Tom Clarke had gone
further than this! He had kissed her cheek coming out of the door in the
dark one evening, and had received a severe rebuff for his pains.
She had read quantities of novels, ancient and modern. She knew that love
was a wonderful thing; she knew also that modern life and its exigencies
had created a new and far more matter-of-fact point of view about it than
that which was obtained in most books. She did not expect much, and had
indulged in none of those visions of romantic bliss which girls were once
supposed to spend their time in constructing. But she did expect
_something_, and here was nothing--just nothing!
The day John had asked her to marry him he had not been much moved. He
had put the question to her simply and calmly, and she had not dreamed of
refusing him. It was obviously her duty, and it had always been her
intention to marry well, if the chance came her way, and so leave a not
too congenial home.
She had been to a few London balls with the maiden aunt, a personage of
some prestige and character. But invitations do not flow to a penniless
young woman from the country, nor do partners flock to be presented to
strangers in those days, and Amaryllis had spent many humiliating hours
as a wall-flower and had grown to hate balls.
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