Lord Kilgobbin. Lever Charles James
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Название: Lord Kilgobbin

Автор: Lever Charles James

Издательство: Public Domain

Жанр: Зарубежная классика

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СКАЧАТЬ was something almost disdainful in the toss of her head as she heard these words, and she hastily retired from the balcony and entered the room.

      Atlee watched her, by no means certain what her gesture might portend. Was she indignant with him for the liberty he had taken? or was she about to comply with his request, and meet him? He knew too little of her to determine which was the more likely; and he could not help feeling that, had he only known her longer, his doubt might have been just as great. Her mind, thought he, is perhaps like my own: it has many turnings, and she’s never very certain which one of them she will follow. Somehow, this imputed wilfulness gave her, to his eyes, a charm scarcely second to that of her exceeding beauty. And what beauty it was! The very perfection of symmetry in every feature when at rest, while the varied expressions of her face as she spoke, or smiled, or listened, imparted a fascination which only needed the charm of her low liquid voice to be irresistible.

      How she vulgarises that pretty girl, her cousin, by mere contrast! What subtle essence is it, apart from hair and eyes and skin, that spreads an atmosphere of conquest over these natures, and how is it that men have no ascendencies of this sort – nothing that imparts to their superiority the sense that worship of them is in itself an ecstasy?

      ‘Take my message into town,’ said he to a fellow near, ‘and you shall have a sovereign when you come back with the horses’; and with this he strolled away across a little paddock and entered the garden. It was a large, ill-cultivated space, more orchard than garden, with patches of smooth turf, through which daffodils and lilies were scattered, and little clusters of carnations occasionally showed where flower-beds had once existed. ‘What would I not give,’ thought Joe, as he strolled along the velvety sward, over which a clear moonlight had painted the forms of many a straggling branch – ‘What would I not give to be the son of a house like this, with an old and honoured name, with an ancestry strong enough to build upon for future pretensions, and then with an old home, peaceful, tranquil, and unmolested, where, as in such a spot as this, one might dream of great things, perhaps more, might achieve them! What books would I not write! What novels, in which, fashioning the hero out of my own heart, I could tell scores of impressions the world had made upon me in its aspect of religion, or of politics, or of society! What essays could I not compose here – the mind elevated by that buoyancy which comes of the consciousness of being free for a great effort! Free from the vulgar interruptions that cling to poverty like a garment, free from the paltry cares of daily subsistence, free from the damaging incidents of a doubtful position and a station that must be continually asserted. That one disparagement, perhaps, worst of all,’ cried he aloud: ‘how is a man to enjoy his estate if he is “put upon his title” every day of the week? One might as well be a French Emperor, and go every spring to the country for a character.’

      ‘What shocking indignity is this you are dreaming of?’ said a very soft voice near him, and turning he saw Nina, who was moving across the grass, with her dress so draped as to show the most perfect instep and ankle with a very unguarded indifference.

      ‘This is very damp for you; shall we not come out into the walk?’ said he.

      ‘It is very damp,’ said she quickly; ‘but I came because you said you had a message for me: is this true?’

      ‘Do you think I could deceive you?’ said he, with a sort of tender reproachfulness.

      ‘It might not be so very easy, if you were to try,’ replied she, laughing.

      ‘That is not the most gracious way to answer me.’

      ‘Well, I don’t believe we came here to pay compliments; certainly I did not, and my feet are very wet already – look there, and see the ruin of a chaussure I shall never replace in this dear land of coarse leather and hobnails.’

      As she spoke she showed her feet, around which her bronzed shoes hung limp and misshapen.

      ‘Would that I could be permitted to dry them with my kisses,’ said he, as, stooping, he wiped them with his handkerchief, but so deferentially and so respectfully, as though the homage had been tendered to a princess. Nor did she for a moment hesitate to accept the service.

      ‘There, that will do,’ said she haughtily. ‘Now for your message.’

      ‘We are going away, mademoiselle,’ said Atlee, with a melancholy tone.

      ‘And who are “we,” sir?’

      ‘By “we,” mademoiselle, I meant to convey Walpole and myself.’ And now he spoke with the irritation of one who had felt a pull-up.

      ‘Ah, indeed!’ said she, smiling, and showing her pearly teeth. ‘“We” meant Mr. Walpole and Mr. Atlee.’

      ‘You should never have guessed it?’ cried he in question.

      ‘Never – certainly,’ was her cool rejoinder.

      ‘Well! He was less defiant, or mistrustful, or whatever be the name for it. We were only friends of half-an-hour’s growth when he proposed the journey. He asked me to accompany him as a favour; and he did more, mademoiselle: he confided to me a mission – a very delicate and confidential mission – such an office as one does not usually depute to him of whose fidelity or good faith he has a doubt, not to speak of certain smaller qualities, such as tact and good taste.’

      ‘Of whose possession Mr. Atlee is now asserting himself?’ said she quietly.

      He grew crimson at a sarcasm whose impassiveness made it all the more cutting.

      ‘My mission was in this wise, mademoiselle,’ said he, with a forced calm in his manner. ‘I was to learn from Mademoiselle Kostalergi if she should desire to communicate with Mr. Walpole touching certain family interests in which his counsels might be of use; and in this event, I was to place at her disposal an address by which her letters should reach him.’

      ‘No, sir,’ said she quietly, ‘you have totally mistaken any instructions that were given you. Mr. Walpole never pretended that I had written or was likely to write to him; he never said that he was in any way concerned in family questions that pertained to me; least of all did he presume to suppose that if I had occasion to address him by letter, I should do so under cover to another.’

      ‘You discredit my character of envoy, then?’ said he, smiling easily.

      ‘Totally and completely, Mr. Atlee; and I only wait for you yourself to admit that I am right, to hold out my hand to you and say let us be friends.’

      ‘I’d perjure myself twice at such a price. Now for the hand.’

      ‘Not so fast – first the confession,’ said she, with a faint smile.

      ‘Well, on my honour,’ cried he seriously, ‘he told me he hoped you might write to him. I did not clearly understand about what, but it pointed to some matter in which a family interest was mixed up, and that you might like your communication to have the reserve of secrecy.’

      ‘All this is but a modified version of what you were to disavow.’

      ‘Well, I am only repeating it now to show you how far I am going to perjure myself.’

      ‘That is, you see, in fact, that Mr. Walpole could never have presumed to give you such instructions – that gentlemen do not send such messages to young ladies – do not presume to say that they dare do so; and last of all, if they ever should chance upon one whose nice tact and cleverness would have fitted him to be the bearer of such a commission, those same qualities of tact and cleverness would have saved him from undertaking СКАЧАТЬ