The Wizard's Daughter, and Other Stories. Graham Margaret Collier
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу The Wizard's Daughter, and Other Stories - Graham Margaret Collier страница 7
Название: The Wizard's Daughter, and Other Stories
Автор: Graham Margaret Collier
Издательство: Public Domain
Жанр: Рассказы
isbn:
isbn:
Miss Brownell had moved a table outside the tent, and was bending over a map fastened to it by thumb-tacks.
"I am trying to find out what my father is doing," she said, looking straight into Palmerston's eyes without a word of greeting. "I suppose you know they are about to begin work on the tunnel."
The young man was beginning to be a trifle tired of the tunnel. "Dysart mentioned it yesterday," he said. "May I sit down, Miss Brownell?"
She gave a little start, and went into the tent for another chair. When she reappeared, Palmerston met her at the tent door and took the camp-chair from her hand.
"I want to sit here," he said willfully, turning his back toward the table. "I don't want to talk about the tunnel; I want to turn the conversation upon agreeable things – myself, for instance."
She frowned upon him smilingly, and put her hand to her cheek with a puzzled gesture.
"Have I talked too much about the tunnel?" she asked. "I thought something might be done to stop it."
Palmerston shook his head. "You have done everything in your power. Dysart has been fairly warned. Besides, who knows?" he added rather flippantly. "They may strike a hundred inches of water, as your father predicts."
"I have not been objecting merely to rid myself of responsibility; I have never felt any. I only wanted – I hoped" – She stopped, aware of the unresponsive chill that always came at mention of her father. "I know he is honest."
"Of course," protested Palmerston, with artificial warmth; "and, really, I think the place for the work is well selected. I am not much of an engineer, but I went up the other day and looked about, and there are certainly indications of water. I" – he stopped suddenly, aware of his mistake.
The girl had not noticed it. "I wish I could make people over," she said, curling her fingers about her thumb, and striking the arm of her chair with the soft side of the resultant fist, after the manner of women.
Her companion laughed.
"Not every person, I hope; not this one, at least." He drew the photograph from his breast pocket and held it toward her. She took it from him, and looked at it absently an instant.
"What a pretty girl!" she said, handing it back to him. "Your sister?"
The young man flushed. "No; my fiancée."
She held out her hand and took the card again, looking at it with fresh eyes.
"A very pretty girl," she said. "What is her name?"
"Elizabeth Arnold."
"Where does she live?"
Palmerston mentioned a village in Michigan. His companion gave another glance at the picture, and laid it upon the arm of the chair. The young man rescued it from her indifference with a little irritable jerk. She was gazing unconsciously toward the horizon.
"Don't you intend to congratulate me?" he inquired with a nettled laugh.
She turned quickly, flushing to her forehead. "Pardon me. I said she was very pretty – I thought young men found that quite sufficient. I have never heard them talk much of girls in any other way. But perhaps I should have told you: I care very little about photographs, especially of women. They never look like them. They always make me think of paper dolls."
She halted between her sentences with an ungirlish embarrassment which Palmerston was beginning to find dangerously attractive.
"But the women themselves – you find them interesting?"
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.