Villette Charlotte BrontĂ« (summer reads .txt) đ
- Author: Charlotte Brontë
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âFor shame, Mr. Graham!â was her indignant cry, âput me down!ââ âand when again on her feet, âI wonder what you would think of me if I were to treat you in that way, lifting you with my handâ (raising that mighty member) âas Warren lifts the little cat.â
So saying, she departed.
III The PlaymatesMr. Home stayed two days. During his visit he could not be prevailed on to go out: he sat all day long by the fireside, sometimes silent, sometimes receiving and answering Mrs. Brettonâs chat, which was just of the proper sort for a man in his morbid moodâ ânot over-sympathetic, yet not too uncongenial, sensible; and even with a touch of the motherlyâ âshe was sufficiently his senior to be permitted this touch.
As to Paulina, the child was at once happy and mute, busy and watchful. Her father frequently lifted her to his knee; she would sit there till she felt or fancied he grew restless; then it wasâ ââPapa, put me down; I shall tire you with my weight.â
And the mighty burden slid to the rug, and establishing itself on carpet or stool just at âpapaâsâ feet, the white work-box and the scarlet-speckled handkerchief came into play. This handkerchief, it seems, was intended as a keepsake for âpapa,â and must be finished before his departure; consequently the demand on the seamstressâs industry (she accomplished about a score of stitches in half-an-hour) was stringent.
The evening, by restoring Graham to the maternal roof (his days were passed at school), brought us an accession of animationâ âa quality not diminished by the nature of the scenes pretty sure to be enacted between him and Miss Paulina.
A distant and haughty demeanour had been the result of the indignity put upon her the first evening of his arrival: her usual answer, when he addressed her, wasâ ââI canât attend to you; I have other things to think about.â Being implored to state what things:
âBusiness.â
Graham would endeavour to seduce her attention by opening his desk and displaying its multifarious contents: seals, bright sticks of wax, penknives, with a miscellany of engravingsâ âsome of them gaily colouredâ âwhich he had amassed from time to time. Nor was this powerful temptation wholly unavailing: her eyes, furtively raised from her work, cast many a peep towards the writing-table, rich in scattered pictures. An etching of a child playing with a Blenheim spaniel happened to flutter to the floor.
âPretty little dog!â said she, delighted.
Graham prudently took no notice. Ere long, stealing from her corner, she approached to examine the treasure more closely. The dogâs great eyes and long ears, and the childâs hat and feathers, were irresistible.
âNice picture!â was her favourable criticism.
âWellâ âyou may have it,â said Graham.
She seemed to hesitate. The wish to possess was strong, but to accept would be a compromise of dignity. No. She put it down and turned away.
âYou wonât have it, then, Polly?â
âI would rather not, thank you.â
âShall I tell you what I will do with the picture if you refuse it?â
She half turned to listen.
âCut it into strips for lighting the taper.â
âNo!â
âBut I shall.â
âPleaseâ âdonât.â
Graham waxed inexorable on hearing the pleading tone; he took the scissors from his motherâs workbasket.
âHere goes!â said he, making a menacing flourish. âRight through Fidoâs head, and splitting little Harryâs nose.â
âNo! No! No!â
âThen come to me. Come quickly, or it is done.â
She hesitated, lingered, but complied.
âNow, will you have it?â he asked, as she stood before him.
âPlease.â
âBut I shall want payment.â
âHow much?â
âA kiss.â
âGive the picture first into my hand.â
Polly, as she said this, looked rather faithless in her turn. Graham gave it. She absconded a debtor, darted to her father, and took refuge on his knee. Graham rose in mimic wrath and followed. She buried her face in Mr. Homeâs waistcoat.
âPapaâ âpapaâ âsend him away!â
âIâll not be sent away,â said Graham.
With face still averted, she held out her hand to keep him off.
âThen, I shall kiss the hand,â said he; but that moment it became a miniature fist, and dealt him payment in a small coin that was not kisses.
Grahamâ ânot failing in his way to be as wily as his little playmateâ âretreated apparently quite discomfited; he flung himself on a sofa, and resting his head against the cushion, lay like one in pain. Polly, finding him silent, presently peeped at him. His eyes and face were covered with his hands. She turned on her fatherâs knee, and gazed at her foe anxiously and long. Graham groaned.
âPapa, what is the matter?â she whispered.
âYou had better ask him, Polly.â
âIs he hurt?â (groan second).
âHe makes a noise as if he were,â said Mr. Home.
âMother,â suggested Graham, feebly, âI think you had better send for the doctor. Oh my eye!â (renewed silence, broken only by sighs from Graham).
âIf I were to become blindâ â?â suggested this last.
His chastiser could not bear the suggestion. She was beside him directly.
âLet me see your eye: I did not mean to touch it, only your mouth; and I did not think I hit so very hard.â
Silence answered her. Her features workedâ ââI am sorry; I am sorry!â
Then succeeded emotion, faltering; weeping.
âHave done trying that child, Graham,â said Mr. Bretton.
âIt is all nonsense, my pet,â cried Mr. Home.
And Graham once more snatched her aloft, and she again punished him; and while she pulled his lionâs locks, termed himâ â
âThe naughtiest, rudest, worst, untruest person that ever was.â
On the morning of Mr. Homeâs departure, he and his daughter had some conversation in a window-recess by themselves; I heard part of it.
âCouldnât I pack my box and go with you, papa?â she whispered earnestly.
He shook his head.
âShould I be a trouble to you?â
âYes, Polly.â
âBecause I am little?â
âBecause you are little and tender. It is only great, strong people that should travel. But donât look sad, my
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