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    You Never Know Your Luck; being the story of a matrimonial deserter. Volume 3.
    You Never Know Your Luck; being the story of a matrimonial deserter. Volume 3.
    You Never Know Your Luck; being the story of a matrimonial deserter. Volume 3.
    Ebook124 pages1 hour

    You Never Know Your Luck; being the story of a matrimonial deserter. Volume 3.

    By Gilbert Parker

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    You Never Know Your Luck; being the story of a matrimonial deserter. Volume 3.
    Author

    Gilbert Parker

    Gilbert Parker (1862–1932), also credited as Sir Horatio Gilbert George Parker, 1st Baronet, was a Canadian novelist and British politician. His initial career was in education, working in various schools as a teacher and lecturer. He then traveled abroad to Australia where he became an editor at the Sydney Morning Herald. He expanded his writing to include long-form works such as romance fiction. Some of his most notable titles include Pierre and his People (1892), The Seats of the Mighty and The Battle of the Strong.

    Read more from Gilbert Parker

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      You Never Know Your Luck; being the story of a matrimonial deserter. Volume 3. - Gilbert Parker

      The Project Gutenberg EBook You Never Know Your Luck, Parker, V3 #114 in our series by Gilbert Parker

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      Title: You Never Know Your Luck, Volume 3.

      Author: Gilbert Parker

      Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6287] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on December 5, 2002]

      Edition: 10

      Language: English

      *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK YOU NEVER KNOW YOUR LUCK, V3***

      This eBook was produced by David Widger

      YOU NEVER KNOW YOUR LUCK

      [BEING THE STORY OF A MATRIMONIAL DESERTER]

      By Gilbert Parker

      Volume 3.

      XII. AT THE RECEIPT OF CUSTOM XIII. KITTY SPEAKS HER MIND AGAIN XIV. AWAITING THE VERDICT XV. MALE AND FEMALE CREATED HE THEM XVI. 'TWAS FOR YOUR PLEASURE YOU CAME HERE, YOU GO BACK FOR MINE XVII. WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT IT? EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER XII

      AT THE RECEIPT OF CUSTOM

      What are you laughing at, Kitty? You cackle like a young hen with her first egg. So spoke Mrs. Tynan to her daughter, who alternately swung backwards and forwards in a big rocking-chair, silently gazing into the distant sky, or sat still and cackled as her mother had said.

      A person of real observation and astuteness, however, would have noticed that Kitty's laughter told a story which was not joy and gladness— neither good humour nor the abandonment of a luxurious nature. It was tinged with bitterness and had the smart of the nettle.

      Her mother's question only made her laugh the more, and at last Mrs. Tynan stooped over her and said, I could shake you, Kitty. You'd make a snail fidget, and I've got enough to do to keep my senses steady with all the house-work—and now her in there! She tossed a hand behind her fretfully.

      Quick with love for her mother, as she always was, Kitty caught the other's trembling hand. You've always had too much to do, mother; always been slaving for others. You've never had time to think whether you're happy or not, or whether you've got a problem—that's what people call things, when they're got so much time on their hands that they make a play of their inside feelings and work it up till it sets them crazy.

      Mrs. Tynan's mouth tightened and her brow clouded. I've had my problems too, but I always made quick work of them. They never had a chance to overlay me like a mother overlays her baby and kills it.

      Not 'like a mother overlays,' but 'as a mother overlays,' returned Kitty with a queer note to her voice. That's what they taught me at school. The teacher was always picking us up on that kind of thing. I said a thing worse than that when Mrs. Crozier—her fingers motioned towards another room—came to-day. I don't know what possessed me. I was off my trolley, I suppose, as John Sibley puts it. Well, when Mrs. James Shiel Gathorne Crozier said—oh, so sweetly and kindly—'You are Miss Tynan?' what do you think I replied? I said to her, 'The same'!

      Rather an acidly satisfied smile came to Mrs. Tynan's lips. That was like the Slatterly girls, she replied. Your father would have said it was the vernacular of the rail-head. He was a great man for odd words, but he knew always just what he wanted to say and he said it out. You've got his gift. You always say the right thing, and I don't know why you made that break with her—of all people.

      A meditative look came into Kitty's eyes. Mr. Crozier says every one has an imp that loves to tease us, and trip us up, and make us appear ridiculous before those we don't want to have any advantage over us.

      I don't want Mrs. Crozier to have any advantage over you and me, I can tell you that. Things'll never be the same here again, Kitty dear, and we've all got on so well; with him so considerate of every one, and a good friend always, and just one of us, and his sickness making him seem like our own, and—

      Oh, hush—will you hush, mother! interposed Kitty sharply. He's going away with her back to the old country, and we might just as well think about getting other borders, for I suppose Mr. Bulrush and his bonny bride will set up a little bulrush tabernacle on the banks of the Nile—she nodded in the direction of the river outside—and they'll find a little Moses and will treat it as their very own.

      Kitty, how can you!

      Kitty shrugged a shoulder. It would be ridiculous for that pair to have one of their own. It's only the young mother with a new baby that looks natural to me.

      Don't talk that way, Kitty, rejoined her mother sharply. You aren't fit to judge of such things.

      I will be before long, said her daughter. Anyway, Mrs. Crozier isn't any better able to talk than I am, she added irrelevantly. She never was a mother.

      Don't blame her, said Mrs. Tynan severely. That's God's business. I'd be sorry for her, so far as that was concerned, if I were you. It's not her fault.

      It's an easy way of accounting for good undone, returned Kitty.

      P'r'aps it was God's fault, and p'r'aps if she had loved him more—

      Mrs. Tynan's face flushed with sudden irritation and that fretful look came to her eyes which accompanies a lack of comprehension. Upon my word, well, upon my word, of all the vixens that ever lived, and you looking like a yellow pansy and too sweet for daily use! Such thoughts in your head! Who'd have believed that you—!

      Kitty made a mocking face at her mother. I'm more than a girl, I'm a woman, mother, who sees life all around me, from the insect to the mountain, and I know things without being told. I always did. Just life and living tell me things, and maybe, too, the Irish in me that father was.

      It's so odd. You're such a mixture of fun and fancy, at least you always have been; but there's something new in you these days. Kitty, you make me afraid—yes, you make your mother afraid. After what you said the other day about Mr. Crozier I've had bad nights, and I get nervous thinking.

      Kitty suddenly got up, put her arm round her mother and kissed her. You needn't be afraid of me, mother. If there'd been any real danger, I wouldn't have told you. Mr. Crozier's away, and when he comes back he'll find his wife here, and there's the end of everything. If there'd been danger, it would have been settled the night before he went away. I kissed him that night as he was sleeping out there under the trees.

      Mrs. Tynan sat down weakly and fanned herself with her apron. Oh, oh, oh, dear Lord! she said. I'm not afraid to tell you anything I ever did, mother, declared Kitty firmly; though I'm not prepared to tell you everything I've felt. I kissed him as he slept. He didn't wake, he just lay there sleeping—sleeping. A strange, distant, dreaming look came into her eyes. She smiled like one who saw a happy vision, and an eerie expression stole into her face. I didn't want him to wake, she continued. "I asked God not to let him wake. If he'd waked—oh, I'd have been ashamed enough till the day I died in one way! Still he'd have understood, and he'd have thought no harm. But it wouldn't have been fair to

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