edwindvinas/testdataset · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 72
was more surprised at it than Valancy herself. Barney had come along in
Lady Jane one dim twilight and told Valancy unceremoniously if she
wanted a drive to hop in.

“I’m going to the Port. Will you go there with me?”

His eyes were teasing and there was a bit of defiance in his voice.
Valancy, who did not conceal from herself that she would have gone
anywhere with him to any place, “hopped in” without more ado. They tore
into and through Deerwood. Mrs. Frederick and Cousin Stickles, taking a
little air on the verandah, saw them whirl by in a cloud of dust and
sought comfort in each other’s eyes. Valancy, who in some dim
pre-existence had been afraid of a car, was hatless and her hair was
blowing wildly round her face. She would certainly come down with
bronchitis—and die at Roaring Abel’s. She wore a low-necked dress and
her arms were bare. That Snaith creature was in his shirt-sleeves,
smoking a pipe. They were going at the rate of forty miles an
hour—sixty, Cousin Stickles averred. Lady Jane could hit the pike when
she wanted to. Valancy waved her hand gaily to her relatives. As for
Mrs. Frederick, she was wishing she knew how to go into hysterics.

“Was it for this,” she demanded in hollow tones, “that I suffered the
pangs of motherhood?”

“I will not believe,” said Cousin Stickles solemnly, “that our prayers
will not yet be answered.”

“Who—_who_ will protect that unfortunate girl when I am gone?” moaned
Mrs. Frederick.

As for Valancy, she was wondering if it could really be only a few
weeks since she had sat there with them on that verandah. Hating the
rubber-plant. Pestered with teasing questions like black flies. Always
thinking of appearances. Cowed because of Aunt Wellington’s teaspoons
and Uncle Benjamin’s money. Poverty-stricken. Afraid of everybody.
Envying Olive. A slave to moth-eaten traditions. Nothing to hope for or
expect.

And now every day was a gay adventure.

Lady Jane flew over the fifteen miles between Deerwood and the
Port—through the Port. The way Barney went past traffic policemen was
not holy. The lights were beginning to twinkle out like stars in the
clear, lemon-hued twilight air. This was the only time Valancy ever
really liked the town, and she was crazy with the delight of speeding.
Was it possible she had ever been afraid of a car? She was perfectly
happy, riding beside Barney. Not that she deluded herself into thinking
it had any significance. She knew quite well that Barney had asked her
to go on the impulse of the moment—an impulse born of a feeling of pity
for her and her starved little dreams. She was looking tired after a
wakeful night with a heart attack, followed by a busy day. She had so
little fun. He’d give her an outing for once. Besides, Abel was in the
kitchen, at the point of drunkenness where he was declaring he did not
believe in God and beginning to sing ribald songs. It was just as well
she should be out of the way for a while. Barney knew Roaring Abel’s
repertoire.

They went to the movie—Valancy had never been to a movie. And then,
finding a nice hunger upon them, they went and had fried
chicken—unbelievably delicious—in the Chinese restaurant. After which
they rattled home again, leaving a devastating trail of scandal behind
them. Mrs. Frederick gave up going to church altogether. She could not
endure her friends’ pitying glances and questions. But Cousin Stickles
went every Sunday. She said they had been given a cross to bear.




CHAPTER XXIII


On one of Cissy’s wakeful nights, she told Valancy her poor little
story. They were sitting by the open window. Cissy could not get her
breath lying down that night. An inglorious gibbous moon was hanging
over the wooded hills and in its spectral light Cissy looked frail and
lovely and incredibly young. A child. It did not seem possible that she
could have lived through all the passion and pain and shame of her
story.

“He was stopping at the hotel across the lake. He used to come over in
his canoe at night—we met in the pines down the shore. He was a young
college student—his father was a rich man in Toronto. Oh, Valancy, I
didn’t mean to be bad—I didn’t, indeed. But I loved him so—I love him
yet—I’ll always love him. And I—didn’t know—some things. I
didn’t—understand. Then his father came and took him away. And—after a
little—I found out—oh, Valancy,—I was so frightened. I didn’t know what
to do. I wrote him—and he came. He—he said he would marry me, Valancy.”

“And why—and why?——”

“Oh, Valancy, he didn’t love me any more. I saw that at a glance. He—he
was just offering to marry me because he thought he ought to—because he
was sorry for me. He wasn’t bad—but he was so young—and what was I that
he should keep on loving me?”

“Never mind making excuses for him,” said Valancy a bit shortly. “So
you wouldn’t marry him?”

“I couldn’t—not when he didn’t love me any more. Somehow—I can’t
explain—it seemed a worse thing to do than—the other. He—he argued a

was more surprised at it than Valancy herself. Barney had come along in

Lady Jane one dim twilight and told Valancy unceremoniously if she

wanted a drive to hop in.

“I’m going to the Port. Will you go there with me?”

His eyes were teasing and there was a bit of defiance in his voice.

Valancy, who did not conceal from herself that she would have gone

anywhere with him to any place, “hopped in” without more ado. They tore

into and through Deerwood. Mrs. Frederick and Cousin Stickles, taking a

little air on the verandah, saw them whirl by in a cloud of dust and

sought comfort in each other’s eyes. Valancy, who in some dim

pre-existence had been afraid of a car, was hatless and her hair was

blowing wildly round her face. She would certainly come down with

bronchitis—and die at Roaring Abel’s. She wore a low-necked dress and

her arms were bare. That Snaith creature was in his shirt-sleeves,

smoking a pipe. They were going at the rate of forty miles an

hour—sixty, Cousin Stickles averred. Lady Jane could hit the pike when

she wanted to. Valancy waved her hand gaily to her relatives. As for

Mrs. Frederick, she was wishing she knew how to go into hysterics.

“Was it for this,” she demanded in hollow tones, “that I suffered the

pangs of motherhood?”

“I will not believe,” said Cousin Stickles solemnly, “that our prayers

will not yet be answered.”

“Who—_who_ will protect that unfortunate girl when I am gone?” moaned

Mrs. Frederick.

As for Valancy, she was wondering if it could really be only a few

weeks since she had sat there with them on that verandah. Hating the

rubber-plant. Pestered with teasing questions like black flies. Always

thinking of appearances. Cowed because of Aunt Wellington’s teaspoons

and Uncle Benjamin’s money. Poverty-stricken. Afraid of everybody.

Envying Olive. A slave to moth-eaten traditions. Nothing to hope for or

expect.

And now every day was a gay adventure.

Lady Jane flew over the fifteen miles between Deerwood and the

Port—through the Port. The way Barney went past traffic policemen was

not holy. The lights were beginning to twinkle out like stars in the

clear, lemon-hued twilight air. This was the only time Valancy ever

really liked the town, and she was crazy with the delight of speeding.

Was it possible she had ever been afraid of a car? She was perfectly

happy, riding beside Barney. Not that she deluded herself into thinking

it had any significance. She knew quite well that Barney had asked her

to go on the impulse of the moment—an impulse born of a feeling of pity

for her and her starved little dreams. She was looking tired after a

wakeful night with a heart attack, followed by a busy day. She had so

little fun. He’d give her an outing for once. Besides, Abel was in the

kitchen, at the point of drunkenness where he was declaring he did not

believe in God and beginning to sing ribald songs. It was just as well

she should be out of the way for a while. Barney knew Roaring Abel’s

repertoire.

They went to the movie—Valancy had never been to a movie. And then,

finding a nice hunger upon them, they went and had fried

chicken—unbelievably delicious—in the Chinese restaurant. After which

they rattled home again, leaving a devastating trail of scandal behind

them. Mrs. Frederick gave up going to church altogether. She could not

endure her friends’ pitying glances and questions. But Cousin Stickles

went every Sunday. She said they had been given a cross to bear.

CHAPTER XXIII

On one of Cissy’s wakeful nights, she told Valancy her poor little

story. They were sitting by the open window. Cissy could not get her

breath lying down that night. An inglorious gibbous moon was hanging

over the wooded hills and in its spectral light Cissy looked frail and

lovely and incredibly young. A child. It did not seem possible that she

could have lived through all the passion and pain and shame of her

story.

“He was stopping at the hotel across the lake. He used to come over in

his canoe at night—we met in the pines down the shore. He was a young

college student—his father was a rich man in Toronto. Oh, Valancy, I

didn’t mean to be bad—I didn’t, indeed. But I loved him so—I love him

yet—I’ll always love him. And I—didn’t know—some things. I

didn’t—understand. Then his father came and took him away. And—after a

little—I found out—oh, Valancy,—I was so frightened. I didn’t know what

to do. I wrote him—and he came. He—he said he would marry me, Valancy.”

“And why—and why?——”

“Oh, Valancy, he didn’t love me any more. I saw that at a glance. He—he

was just offering to marry me because he thought he ought to—because he

was sorry for me. He wasn’t bad—but he was so young—and what was I that

he should keep on loving me?”

“Never mind making excuses for him,” said Valancy a bit shortly. “So

you wouldn’t marry him?”

“I couldn’t—not when he didn’t love me any more. Somehow—I can’t

explain—it seemed a worse thing to do than—the other. He—he argued a