Her chattering along at a clip has more or less dictated the pace of their going, their footfalls a steady pulse under the swift staccato of her recitation, and his reply, and whatever subsequent monologue she followed after with. She ought to simply maintain that patter. She has practice trampling over what Mister Ellis considers stubbornness, and they are almost to the ferry slip besides. Why, she can see the boat there in the distance lingering at the end of the quay. If they carry along at this clip they're all be guaranteed to find their seats before the ferryman starts grousing about slipping the cable.
But that morning she had spent a good deal of time fussing with the clasp on the chain of that pretty little necklace, trying at first to contrive to open it between her first three fingers and then to unlatch it with the help of a fork's tine, and then despairing when the length of the chain was too short to simply fit the damned thing on over her head. She had not cried. That would have been stupid. Instead she had thrown her little hand mirror and blamed its shattering on the spirit, and had furiously arranged all her tools on her work table to decide which were to be added to the chatelaine. And once all that had been done, Wysteria had decided once more to not feel at all sorry for herself, and that was that.
(Tak, tak, tak go the heels of her field boots along the stairs very like the click, click, click of a clasp which could be either opened or manipulated in relation to its mate but not both at once.)
She stops abruptly halfway down this last flight of stairs much to the consternation of some light foot traffic behind them which is forced to zag abruptly in either direction to pass. She is still smiling when she looks at Ellis, but some of the good humor has gone out from the expression, and the effect is quite stern in the way laughing women women can sometimes accomplish when they're making light of something they find very serious indeed.
"Really, Mister Ellis! You must continue dancing, or every time I see you not doing so I will only think of why you aren't. And I refuse to be at all self pitying, you see. I find it a very aggravating state for anyone to be in, much less myself. For there is no company quite so miserable as a person who feels their circumstances are so dire that they can't be improved. So I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you must help me for otherwise I may become intractably gloomy."
no subject
But that morning she had spent a good deal of time fussing with the clasp on the chain of that pretty little necklace, trying at first to contrive to open it between her first three fingers and then to unlatch it with the help of a fork's tine, and then despairing when the length of the chain was too short to simply fit the damned thing on over her head. She had not cried. That would have been stupid. Instead she had thrown her little hand mirror and blamed its shattering on the spirit, and had furiously arranged all her tools on her work table to decide which were to be added to the chatelaine. And once all that had been done, Wysteria had decided once more to not feel at all sorry for herself, and that was that.
(Tak, tak, tak go the heels of her field boots along the stairs very like the click, click, click of a clasp which could be either opened or manipulated in relation to its mate but not both at once.)
She stops abruptly halfway down this last flight of stairs much to the consternation of some light foot traffic behind them which is forced to zag abruptly in either direction to pass. She is still smiling when she looks at Ellis, but some of the good humor has gone out from the expression, and the effect is quite stern in the way laughing women women can sometimes accomplish when they're making light of something they find very serious indeed.
"Really, Mister Ellis! You must continue dancing, or every time I see you not doing so I will only think of why you aren't. And I refuse to be at all self pitying, you see. I find it a very aggravating state for anyone to be in, much less myself. For there is no company quite so miserable as a person who feels their circumstances are so dire that they can't be improved. So I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you must help me for otherwise I may become intractably gloomy."