Description
The Woman Who Did
CHAPTER I
Mrs Dewsbury’s lawn was held by those who knew it the loveliest in
Surrey. The smooth and springy sward that stretched in front of the
house was all composed of a tiny yellow clover. It gave beneath the
foot like the pile on velvet. One’s gaze looked forth from it upon the
endless middle distances of the oak-clad Weald, with the uncertain blue
line of the South Downs in the background. Ridge behind ridge, the
long, low hills of paludina limestone stood out in successive tiers,
each thrown up against its neighbour by the misty haze that broods
eternally over the wooded valley; till, roaming across them all, the
eye rested at last on the rearing scarp of Chanctonbury Ring, faintly
pencilled on the furthest skyline. Shadowy phantoms of dim heights
framed the verge to east and west. Alan Merrick drank it in with
profound satisfaction. After those sharp and clear-cut Italian
outlines, hard as lapis lazuli, the mysterious vagueness, the pregnant
suggestiveness, of our English scenery strikes the imagination; and
Alan was fresh home from an early summer tour among the Peruginesque
solidities of the Umbrian Apennines. “How beautiful it all is, after
all,” he said, turning to his entertainer. “In Italy ’tis the
background the painter dwells upon; in England, we look rather at the
middle distance.”
Mrs Dewsbury darted round her the restless eye of a hostess, to see
upon whom she could socially bestow him. “Oh, come this way,” she said,
sweeping across the lawn towards a girl in a blue dress at the opposite
corner. “You must know our new-comer. I want to introduce you to Miss
Barton, from Cambridge. She’s such a nice girl too—the Dean of
Dunwich’s daughter.”
Product ID: 9781776794256
Sku: 9781776794256
