edwindvinas/testdataset · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 72
here on the public road!”

Cousin Georgiana choked back the tears and gave a little moan of
despair instead.

“Oh, Doss, _what_ have you done? What _have_ you done?”

“I’ve just been telling you. I’ve got married,” said Valancy, calmly
and patiently.

“To that—that—aw—that—_Barney Snaith_. Why, they say he’s had a dozen
wives already.”

“I’m the only one round at present,” said Valancy.

“What will your poor mother say?” moaned Cousin Georgiana.

“Come along with me and hear, if you want to know,” said Valancy. “I’m
on my way to tell her now.”

Cousin Georgiana let go the gate-post cautiously and found that she
could stand alone. She meekly trotted on beside Valancy—who suddenly
seemed quite a different person in her eyes. Cousin Georgiana had a
tremendous respect for a married woman. But it was terrible to think of
what the poor girl had done. So rash. So reckless. Of course Valancy
must be stark mad. But she seemed so happy in her madness that Cousin
Georgiana had a momentary conviction that it would be a pity if the
clan tried to scold her back to sanity. She had never seen that look in
Valancy’s eyes before. But what _would_ Amelia say? And Ben?

“To marry a man you know nothing about,” thought Cousin Georgiana
aloud.

“I know more about him than I know of Edward Beck,” said Valancy.

“Edward Beck _goes to church_,” said Cousin Georgiana. “Does Bar—does
your husband?”

“He has promised that he will go with me on fine Sundays,” said
Valancy.

When they turned in at the Stirling gate Valancy gave an exclamation of
surprise.

“Look at my rosebush! Why, it’s blooming!”

It was. Covered with blossoms. Great, crimson, velvety blossoms.
Fragrant. Glowing. Wonderful.

“My cutting it to pieces must have done it good,” said Valancy,
laughing. She gathered a handful of the blossoms—they would look well
on the supper-table of the verandah at Mistawis—and went, still
laughing, up the walk, conscious that Olive was standing on the steps,
Olive, goddess-like in loveliness, looking down with a slight frown on
her forehead. Olive, beautiful, insolent. Her full form voluptuous in
its swathings of rose silk and lace. Her golden-brown hair curling
richly under her big, white-frilled hat. Her colour ripe and melting.

“Beautiful,” thought Valancy coolly, “but”—as if she suddenly saw her
cousin through new eyes—“without the slightest touch of distinction.”

So Valancy had come home, thank goodness, thought Olive. But Valancy
was not looking like a repentant, returned prodigal. This was the cause
of Olive’s frown. She was looking triumphant—graceless! That outlandish
dress—that queer hat—those hands full of blood-red roses. Yet there was
something about both dress and hat, as Olive instantly felt, that was
entirely lacking in her own attire. This deepened the frown. She put
out a condescending hand.

“So you’re back, Doss? Very warm day, isn’t it? Did you walk in?”

“Yes. Coming in?”

“Oh, no. I’ve just been in. I’ve come often to comfort poor Aunty.
She’s been so lonesome. I’m going to Mrs. Bartlett’s tea. I have to
help pour. She’s giving it for her cousin from Toronto. Such a charming
girl. You’d have loved meeting her, Doss. I think Mrs. Bartlett did
send you a card. Perhaps you’ll drop in later on.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Valancy indifferently. “I’ll have to be
home to get Barney’s supper. We’re going for a moonlit canoe ride
around Mistawis tonight.”

“Barney? Supper?” gasped Olive. “What _do_ you mean, Valancy Stirling?”

“Valancy Snaith, by the grace of God.”

Valancy flaunted her wedding-ring in Olive’s stricken face. Then she
nimbly stepped past her and into the house. Cousin Georgiana followed.
She would not miss a moment of the great scene, even though Olive did
look as if she were going to faint.

Olive did not faint. She went stupidly down the street to Mrs.
Bartlett’s. _What_ did Doss mean? She couldn’t have—that ring—oh, what
fresh scandal was that wretched girl bringing on her defenceless family
now? She should have been—shut up—long ago.

Valancy opened the sitting-room door and stepped unexpectedly right
into a grim assemblage of Stirlings. They had not come together of
malice prepense. Aunt Wellington and Cousin Gladys and Aunt Mildred and

here on the public road!”

Cousin Georgiana choked back the tears and gave a little moan of

despair instead.

“Oh, Doss, _what_ have you done? What _have_ you done?”

“I’ve just been telling you. I’ve got married,” said Valancy, calmly

and patiently.

“To that—that—aw—that—_Barney Snaith_. Why, they say he’s had a dozen

wives already.”

“I’m the only one round at present,” said Valancy.

“What will your poor mother say?” moaned Cousin Georgiana.

“Come along with me and hear, if you want to know,” said Valancy. “I’m

on my way to tell her now.”

Cousin Georgiana let go the gate-post cautiously and found that she

could stand alone. She meekly trotted on beside Valancy—who suddenly

seemed quite a different person in her eyes. Cousin Georgiana had a

tremendous respect for a married woman. But it was terrible to think of

what the poor girl had done. So rash. So reckless. Of course Valancy

must be stark mad. But she seemed so happy in her madness that Cousin

Georgiana had a momentary conviction that it would be a pity if the

clan tried to scold her back to sanity. She had never seen that look in

Valancy’s eyes before. But what _would_ Amelia say? And Ben?

“To marry a man you know nothing about,” thought Cousin Georgiana

aloud.

“I know more about him than I know of Edward Beck,” said Valancy.

“Edward Beck _goes to church_,” said Cousin Georgiana. “Does Bar—does

your husband?”

“He has promised that he will go with me on fine Sundays,” said

Valancy.

When they turned in at the Stirling gate Valancy gave an exclamation of

surprise.

“Look at my rosebush! Why, it’s blooming!”

It was. Covered with blossoms. Great, crimson, velvety blossoms.

Fragrant. Glowing. Wonderful.

“My cutting it to pieces must have done it good,” said Valancy,

laughing. She gathered a handful of the blossoms—they would look well

on the supper-table of the verandah at Mistawis—and went, still

laughing, up the walk, conscious that Olive was standing on the steps,

Olive, goddess-like in loveliness, looking down with a slight frown on

her forehead. Olive, beautiful, insolent. Her full form voluptuous in

its swathings of rose silk and lace. Her golden-brown hair curling

richly under her big, white-frilled hat. Her colour ripe and melting.

“Beautiful,” thought Valancy coolly, “but”—as if she suddenly saw her

cousin through new eyes—“without the slightest touch of distinction.”

So Valancy had come home, thank goodness, thought Olive. But Valancy

was not looking like a repentant, returned prodigal. This was the cause

of Olive’s frown. She was looking triumphant—graceless! That outlandish

dress—that queer hat—those hands full of blood-red roses. Yet there was

something about both dress and hat, as Olive instantly felt, that was

entirely lacking in her own attire. This deepened the frown. She put

out a condescending hand.

“So you’re back, Doss? Very warm day, isn’t it? Did you walk in?”

“Yes. Coming in?”

“Oh, no. I’ve just been in. I’ve come often to comfort poor Aunty.

She’s been so lonesome. I’m going to Mrs. Bartlett’s tea. I have to

help pour. She’s giving it for her cousin from Toronto. Such a charming

girl. You’d have loved meeting her, Doss. I think Mrs. Bartlett did

send you a card. Perhaps you’ll drop in later on.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Valancy indifferently. “I’ll have to be

home to get Barney’s supper. We’re going for a moonlit canoe ride

around Mistawis tonight.”

“Barney? Supper?” gasped Olive. “What _do_ you mean, Valancy Stirling?”

“Valancy Snaith, by the grace of God.”

Valancy flaunted her wedding-ring in Olive’s stricken face. Then she

nimbly stepped past her and into the house. Cousin Georgiana followed.

She would not miss a moment of the great scene, even though Olive did

look as if she were going to faint.

Olive did not faint. She went stupidly down the street to Mrs.

Bartlett’s. _What_ did Doss mean? She couldn’t have—that ring—oh, what

fresh scandal was that wretched girl bringing on her defenceless family

now? She should have been—shut up—long ago.

Valancy opened the sitting-room door and stepped unexpectedly right

into a grim assemblage of Stirlings. They had not come together of

malice prepense. Aunt Wellington and Cousin Gladys and Aunt Mildred and