till ten years later. That son was Richard. Charles left Richard all his property and Vernons on the condition that I always lived here—till I died, and that’s how it is. I’m not Richard’s aunt, it’s only a name he gives me—I’m only just an old piece of furniture left with the house to him. I’m so fond of the place, it would kill me to leave it; places grow like that round one, though I’m sure I don’t know why.” 96 “I don’t wonder at you loving Vernons,” said Phyl. “I was just the same about our place in Ireland, 97 Kilgobbin—I thought it would kill me to leave it.” 97 “Tell me about it,” said Miss Pinckney. Phyl told, or tried to tell. Looking back, she found between herself and Ireland the sunlight of Charleston, the garden with the magnolia trees where the red bird was singing and the jessamine casting its perfume. Ireland looked very far away and gloomy, desolate as Kilgobbin without its master and with the mist of winter among the trees. All that was part of the Past gone forever, and so great was the magic of this new place that she found herself recognising with a little chill that this Past had separated itself from her, that her feeling towards it was faintly tinged by something not unlike indifference. “Well,” said Miss Pinckney, when she had finished, “it must be a beautiful old place, though I can’t seem to see it— You see, I’ve never been in Ireland and I can’t picture it any more than the new Jerusalem. Now Dinah knows all about the new Jerusalem, from the golden slippers right up she sees it—I can’t. Haven’t got the gift of seeing things, and it seems strange that the A’mighty should shower it on a coloured girl and leave a white woman wanting; but it appears to be the A’mighty knows his own business, so I don’t grumble. Now I’m going to show you the house and your room. I’ve given you a room looking right on the garden, this side. You’ve noticed how all our houses here are built with their sides facing the street and their fronts 98 facing the garden, or maybe you haven’t noticed it yet, but you will. ’Pears to me our ancestors had some sense in their heads, even though they didn’t invent telegraphs to send bad news in a hurry and railway cars to smash people to bits, and telephones to let strangers talk right into one’s house just by ringing a bell. Not that I’d let one into Vernons. You may hunt high or low, garret or basement, you won’t find one of those boxes of impudence in Vernons—not while I have servants to go my
Prev.
Back
Top