Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XVIII

           

           Upstairsinhersitting-room,thatafternoon,shewasthinkingofthesethings.Themorningmistshadturnedtorain,compellingthepostponementofanexcursioninwhichthewholepartyweretohavejoined.Effie,withhergoverness,hadbeendespatchedinthemotortodosomeshoppingatFrancheuil;andAnnahadpromisedDarrowtojoinhim,laterintheafternoon,foraquickwalkintherain.

           Hehadgonetohisroomafterluncheontogetsomebelatedlettersoffhisconscience;andwhenhehadlefthershehadcontinuedtositinthesameplace,herhandscrossedonherknees,herheadslightlybent,inanattitudeofbroodingretrospection.Asshelookedbackatherpastlife,itseemedtohertohaveconsistedofoneceaselessefforttopackintoeachhourenoughtofilloutitsslackfolds;butnoweachmomentwaslikeamiser’sbagstretchedtoburstingwithpuregold.

           ShewasrousedbythesoundofOwen’sstepinthegalleryoutsideherroom.Itpausedatherdoorandinanswertohisknockshecalledout“Comein!”

           Asthedoorclosedbehindhimshewasstruckbyhislookofpaleexcitement,andanimpulseofcompunctionmadehersay:“You’vecometoaskmewhyIhaven’tspokentoyourgrandmother!”HesentabouthimaglancevaguelyremindingherofthestrangelookwithwhichSophyVinerhadswepttheroomthenightbefore;thenhisbrillianteyescamebacktoher.

           “I’vespokentohermyself,”hesaid.

           Annastartedup,incredulous.

           “You’vespokentoher?When?”

           “Justnow.Ilefthertocomehere.”

           Anna’sfirstfeelingwasoneofannoyance.

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