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Contents (80)
  1. CONTENTS
  2. ACTING ON IMPULSE
  3. CONTENTS
  4. INTRODUCTION
  5. “A PROPOSAL TO CICELY”
  6. INTRODUCTION
  7. A PROPOSAL TO CICELY
  8. THE END
  9. READING “A PROPOSAL TO CICELY”
  10. “THE LITTLE LADY”
  11. INTRODUCTION
  12. THE LITTLE LADY
  13. I.
  14. II.
  15. III.
  16. THE END
  17. READING “THE LITTLE LADY”
  18. “LINCKES’ GREAT CASE”
  19. INTRODUCTION
  20. LINCKES’ GREAT CASE
  21. I.
  22. II.
  23. III.
  24. IV.
  25. V.
  26. VI.
  27. VII.
  28. THE END
  29. READING “LINCKES’ GREAT CASE”
  30. “THE BULLDOG AND THE BEAST”
  31. INTRODUCTION
  32. THE BULLDOG AND THE BEAST
  33. THE END
  34. READING “THE BULLDOG AND THE BEAST”
  35. “ACTING ON IMPULSE”
  36. INTRODUCTION
  37. ACTING ON IMPULSE
  38. I.
  39. II.
  40. III.
  41. IV.
  42. THE END
  43. READING “ACTING ON IMPULSE”
  44. “WHOSE FAULT WAS IT?”
  45. INTRODUCTION
  46. WHOSE FAULT WAS IT?
  47. THE END
  48. READING “WHOSE FAULT WAS IT?”
  49. “THE CHINESE SHAWL”
  50. INTRODUCTION
  51. CONT
  52. THE CHINESE SHAWL
  53. I.
  54. II.
  55. III.
  56. IV.
  57. V.
  58. VI.
  59. VII.
  60. VIII.
  61. THE END
  62. READING “THE CHINESE SHAWL”
  63. “THE OLD MAID”
  64. INTRODUCTION
  65. THE OLD MAID
  66. THE END
  67. READING “THE OLD MAID”
  68. “LOVE”
  69. INTRODUCTION
  70. LOVE
  71. I.
  72. II.
  73. III.
  74. THE END
  75. READING “LOVE”
  76. THE SEARCH FOR “ON SUCH A NIGHT”
  77. GEORGETTE HEYER’S BIBLIOGRAPHY
  78. FURTHER READING
  79. COMING SOON!
  80. OCTOBER 29, 2019

“I c-can’t help it! You’re s-so idiotic!”

“Not a bit of it. I’m talking sound sense. There have been many too many ‘I won’ts’ from you. You’re going to do as you’re told—aren’t you?”

“I can’t—”

Bill bent his head to kiss her.

“Aren’t you?”

“I—”

He kissed her again.

“Aren’t you?”

“Yes, Bill,” she said weakly.

VIII.

WHEN Mary returned to her lodgings it was late that night, and she, too, was wearing a ring on her third finger. Also she was carrying the Chinese shawl over her arm. Janet sat up in bed and stared.

“You’ve got it back? But—whatever’s happened, Mary?”

Mary danced to the bed.

“Oh, Janet, it’s a wonderful shawl, and it did bring me luck, after all, because I’m engaged to be married, and, oh, Janet, everything's too wonderful for words!”

“Engaged! The shawl! Sit down at once, Mary, and tell me what you’ve been doing!”

Thus adjured, Mary perched on the edge of the bed and told Janet the whole story.

“And then Bill insisted on buying the shawl back again, and Mrs. Mellowe was awfully good about it. And after that Bill made me go with him to the Chalmers, and it was so glorious to see them again! I’m to be married next month. Oh, and I’ve got to give notice at the office, because I’m to go and stay with the Chalmers until the wedding!”

“It’s—it’s like a fairy tale!” said Janet, hugging her. “I am so glad!”

Mary slid off the bed and began to undress.

“To think that I was sore with Aunt Felicia for sending me the shawl,” she marvelled. “If she hadn’t sent it I should never have gone to the Corinthian, and if I hadn’t gone to the Corinthian I shouldn't have met Bill. And if I hadn’t sold the shawl to Mrs. Mellowe Bill would never have found me. I’ll never part with it again. I love it!”

One of the crimson birds smiled sagely in the candlelight.

THE END

READING “THE CHINESE SHAWL”

So, you’re a hopeful gentleman in love with a much-admired young woman. She comes from money, and you don’t feel you can support her in the style to which she has become accustomed. You hope you can strike it rich and be worthy of her, so you leave the country… and three years later, without a letter or a phone call or (considering the times) telegram, with merely a bare suggestion of your feelings before your departure, you return home and, fortuitously finding her still single, expect her to immediately wish to marry you.

What an odd time it was for romance, the 1920s.

Also a very odd time for selling things. Can you imagine sending your goods off to a complete stranger on spec nowadays? eBay doesn’t even give that as an option—funnily enough. How trusting – or perhaps just how honourable – were the people of the past. It’s like that story of how P. G. Wodehouse used to just throw his letters, stamped, out the window to save himself a trek to the local post box. He was so certain of his fellow man’s noble nature that he believed not a one of them would hesitate to post his letters for him, should they find one on a London street. (Cheek, I call it.)