Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XII

           Thehalldoorstoodwide,andthroughthewindowsopeningontheterracethesunslantedacrosstheblackandwhitefloor,thefadedtapestrychairs,andDarrow’stravellingcoatandcap,whichlayamongthecloaksandrugspiledonabenchagainstthewall.

           Thesightofthesegarments,lyingamongherownwraps,gaveherasenseofhomelyintimacy.Itwasasifherhappinesscamedownfromtheskiesandtookontheplaindressofdailythings.Atlastsheseemedtoholditinherhand.

           Astheyenteredthehallhereyelitonanunstampednoteconspicuouslyplacedonthetable.

           “FromOwen!Hemusthaverushedoffsomewhereinthemotor.”

           ShefeltasecretstirofpleasureattheimmediateinferencethatsheandDarrowwouldprobablylunchalone.Thensheopenedthenoteandstaredatitinwonder.

           “Dear,”Owenwrote,“afterwhatyousaidyesterdayIcan’twaitanotherhour,andI’mofftoFrancheuil,tocatchtheDijonexpressandtravelbackwiththem.Don’tbefrightened;Iwon’tspeakunlessit’ssafeto.Trustmeforthat—butIhadtogo.”

           Shelookedupslowly.

           “He’sgonetoDijontomeethisgrandmother.Oh,IhopeIhaven’tmadeamistake!”

           “You?Why,whathaveyoutodowithhisgoingtoDijon?”

           Shehesitated.“ThedaybeforeyesterdayItoldhim,forthefirsttime,thatImeanttoseehimthrough,nomatterwhathappened.AndI’mafraidhe’slosthishead,andwillbeimprudentandspoilthings.Yousee,Ihadn’tmeanttosayawordtohimtillI’dhadtimetoprepareMadamedeChantelle.

Настройки
Фон страницы
Размер шрифта
Межстрочный интервал
Фразовые глаголы
Показать / Скрыть меню
Шрифт
Roboto Lora
Уведомления
Страница 126 из 369