White Lies by Charles Reade

Author:Charles Reade [Reade, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: France -- History -- Wars of the Vendée, 1793-1832 -- Fiction
Publisher: MOST Publishing
Published: 2006-05-17T04:00:00+00:00

"It's a man's part to try,

And a woman's to deny [for a while?]."

Finding her own resolutions oozing away, Josephine caught at another person.

She said to Camille before Rose,—

"Even if I could bring myself to snatch at happiness in this indelicate way—scarce a month after, oh!" And there ended the lady's sentence. In the absence of a legitimate full stop, she put one hand before her lovely face to hide it, and so no more. But some two minutes after she delivered the rest in the form and with the tone of a distinct remark, "No: my mother would never consent."

"Yes, she would if you could be brought to implore her as earnestly as I implore you."

"Now would she?" asked Josephine, turning quickly to her sister.

"No, never. Our mother would look with horror on such a proposal. A daughter of hers to marry within a twelvemonth of her widowhood!"

"There, you see, Camille."

"And, besides, she loved Raynal so; she has not forgotten him as we have, almost."

"Ungrateful creature that I am!" sighed Josephine!

"She mourns for him every day. Often I see her eyes suddenly fill; that is for him. Josephine's influence with mamma is very great: it is double mine: but if we all went on our knees to her, the doctor and all, she would never consent."

"There you see, Camille: and I could not defy my mother, even for you."

Camille sighed.

"I see everything is against me, even my love: for that love is too much akin to veneration to propose to you a clandestine marriage."

"Oh, thank you! bless you for respecting as well as loving me, dear Camille," said Josephine.

These words, uttered with gentle warmth, were some consolation to Camille, and confirmed him, as they were intended to do, in the above good resolution. He smiled.

"Maladroit!" muttered Rose.

"Why maladroit?" asked Camille, opening his eyes.

"Let us talk of something else," replied Rose, coolly.

Camille turned red. He understood that he had done something very stupid, but he could not conceive what. He looked from one sister to the other alternately. Rose was smiling ironically, Josephine had her eyes bent demurely on a handkerchief she was embroidering.

That evening Camille drew Rose aside, and asked for an explanation of her "maladroit."

"So it was," replied Rose, sharply.

But as this did not make the matter quite clear, Camille begged a little further explanation.

"Was it your part to make difficulties?"

"No, indeed."

"Was it for you to tell her a secret marriage would not be delicate? Do you think she will be behind you in delicacy? or that a love without respect will satisfy her? yet you must go and tell her you respected her too much to ask her to marry you secretly. In other words, situated as she is, you asked her not to marry you at all: she consented to that directly; what else could you expect?"

"Maladroit! indeed," said Camille, "but I would not have said it, only I thought"—

"You thought nothing would induce her to marry secretly, so you said to yourself, 'I will assume a

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