Moths by Ouida — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Biya MOTHS, house, Vere—the Chalet Ludoff. Of course you ought to have one there first: why didn’t you go there first and dress? None ut an idiot would ever have allowed you todo it. The idea! Walk on pray—and as quickly as you can.” ‘‘We went to the house, but they said you were on the beach, and so, mother——” ‘¢Pray don’t call me mother in that way. It makes one feel like What’s-her-name in the ‘ Trovatore,’” said Lady Dolly, with a little laugh, that was very fretful. ‘*‘ And be kind enough not to stand here and stare: everybody is listening.” . ‘“What for should they not listen?” said Fraulein Schroder, stoutly. ‘‘Can there be in nature a sweeter, more soul-inspiring and of-heaven-always-blessed-emotion than the outcoming of filial love and the spontaneous flow of——” ‘* Rubbish!” said Lady Dolly. ‘‘ Vere, oblige me by walking in; I shall be with you in a moment at the house. You'll find Jack there. You remember Jack?” ‘What an angel! any one would give her twenty years at least,” said Princess Helene again. ‘‘ But your German, in her blue glasses, she is a drolesse——” | ‘©A very clever woman; dreadfully blue and conscientious, and all that is intolerable, the old duchess found her for me,” _ replied Lady Dolly, still half willing to faint, and half inclined tocry, and wholly in that state of irritation which Fuseli was wont to say made swearing delicious. ‘*T always fancied—so stupid of me!—that your Vere was quite a little child, always at the Sacre Coeur,” continued the princess, musingly, with her sweetest smile. ‘‘T wish to Heaven we hada Sacre Coeur,” said Lady Dolly, devoutly. ‘‘ We wretched English people have nothing half so sensible; you know that, Helene, as well as I do. Vere is tall, and very like her poor father and the old duke.” ‘‘But Vere—surely that is not the name of a girl?” ‘*Tt was her father’s. That was the old duchess’ doing, too. Of course one will call her Vera. Well, au revoir, ma tres-chere, a ce soir.” ‘‘ With nods and becks and wreathed smiles,” and many good- days and pretty words, poor Lady Dolly got away from her friends and acquaintances, and had the common luxury of hear- ing them all begin laughing again as soon as they imagined she had got out of earshot. Her young courtiers accompanied her, of course, but she dismissed them on the doorstep. ‘1 can’t think of anything but my child to-day!” she said, very charmingly. ‘‘So glad you think her nice-looking. When she is dressed, you know—— ” and she disappeared into her own es with the phrase unfinished, leaving all it suggested to her earers. ‘* Where’s Vere?” she said sharply to her counsellor, entering the breakfast-room, before the empty stove of which, from the wages fireplace club-room habit of his race, that person stood smoking. **Gone to her room,” ke answered. ** You’we made her cry. You were nasty, werem’t you?” \ (E(e) (EO) aA (e ,00 ES