[lit-ideas] Re: The Sweet Secret of their Miss of One Another
- From: David Ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Sun, 23 Apr 2006 13:04:40 -0700
On Apr 23, 2006, at 10:47 AM, Teemu Pyyluoma wrote:
The above paragraph is an indication of the fact that
I have been reading some pretty bad lit lately.
I bet it was the chapter in, "The Rosary" by Florence L. Barclay,
titled, "Lady Ingleby's House Party." Lest you think of Florence L.
Barclay as some kind of fly-by-night author, I should mention that
according to an unusually complete publishing history page, "The
Rosary," first published in November 1909, was reprinted in December
1909, in January 1910, in February 1910 (three times), in March 1910,
in May 1910 (three times), in June 1910 (twice) , in July 1910
((twice), in August 1910 (twice), in September 1910 (three times), in
October 1910 (three times) and in November 1910 (once).
We come to the scene following an important tennis match:
Garth stood his racket against the arm of her chair and deposited
himself full length on the grass beside her, leaning on his elbow.
"Was anything wrong with London?" he asked, rather low, not looking up
at her, but at the smart brown shoe, planted firmly on the grass so
near his hand.
"Nothing wrong with London," replied Jane frankly; "it was hot and
dusty of course, but delightful as usual. Something was wrong with
*me*; and you will be ashamed of me, Dal, if I confess what it was."
Garth did not look up, but assiduously picked little blades of grass
and laid them in a pattern on Jane's shoe. This conversation would
have been exactly to the point had they been alone. But was Jane
really going to announce to the assembled company, in that dear
resonant, carrying voice of hers, the sweet secret of their miss of one
another?
"Liver?" inquired Mrs. Parker Bangs suddenly.
"Muffins!" exclaimed Billy instantly, and, rushing for them, almost
shot them into her lap in the haste with which he handed them,
stumbling headlong over Garth's legs at the same moment.
Jane stared at Mrs. Parker Bangs and her muffins...
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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