Red Hair. Glyn Elinor
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Название: Red Hair
Автор: Glyn Elinor
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 4064066194925
isbn:
"Do you know, you are a very disturbing person," he said, at last, by way of a beginning.
"What is that?" I asked.
"It is a woman who confuses one's thoughts when one looks at her. I do not now seem to have anything to say, or too much——"
"You called me a child."
"I should have called you an enigma."
I assured him I was not the least complex, and that I only wanted everything simple, and to be left in peace, without having to get married or worry to obey people.
We had a nice talk.
"You won't leave here on Saturday," he said, presently, apropos of nothing. "I do not think I shall go myself to-morrow. I want you to show me all over the gardens, and your favorite haunts."
"To-morrow I shall be busy packing," I said, gravely, "and I do not think I want to show you the gardens; there are some corners I rather loved; I believe it will hurt a little to say good-bye."
Just then Mr. Barton came into the room, fussy and ill at ease. Mr. Carruthers's face hardened again, and I rose to say good-night.
As he opened the door for me—"Promise you will come down to give me my coffee in the morning," he said.
"Qui vivra verra," I answered, and sauntered out into the hall. He followed me, and watched as I went up the staircase.
"Good-night!" I called, softly, as I got to the top, and laughed a little—I don't know why.
He bounded up the stairs, three steps at a time, and before I could turn the handle of my door he stood beside me.
"I do not know what there is about you," he said, "but you drive me mad. I shall insist upon carrying out my aunt's wish, after all! I shall marry you, and never let you out of my sight—do you hear?"
Oh, such a strange sense of exaltation crept over me—it is with me still! Of course, he probably will not mean all that to-morrow, but to have made such a stiff block of stone rush up-stairs and say this much now is perfectly delightful!
I looked at him up from under my eyelashes. "No, you will not marry me," I said, calmly, "or do anything else I don't like; and now, really, good-night," and I slipped into my room and closed the door. I could hear he did not stir for some seconds. Then he went off down the stairs again, and I am alone with my thoughts!
My thoughts! I wonder what they mean! What did I do that had this effect upon him? I intended to do something, and I did it, but I am not quite sure what it was. However, that is of no consequence. Sufficient for me to know that my self-respect is restored and I can now go out and see the world with a clear conscience.
He has asked me to marry him—and I have said I won't!
Branches Park, [1] Thursday night, November 3.
Dear Bob—
A quaint thing has happened to me! Came down here to take over the place, and to say decidedly I would not marry Miss Travers, and I find her with red hair and a skin like milk, and a pair of green eyes that look at you from a forest of black eyelashes with a thousand unsaid challenges. I should not wonder if I commit some folly. One has read of women like this in the cinque-cento time in Italy, but up to now I had never met one. She is not in the room ten minutes before one feels a sense of unrest, and desire for one hardly knows what—principally to touch her, I fancy. Good Lord! what a skin! pure milk and rare roses—and the reddest Cupid's bow of a mouth! You had better come down at once (these things are probably in your line) to save me from some sheer idiocy. The situation is exceptional—she and I practically alone in the house, for old Barton does not count. She had nowhere to go, and as far as I can make out has not a friend in the world. I suppose I ought to leave. I will try to on Monday; but come down to-morrow by the 4.00 train.
Yours,
Christopher.
P.S.—'47 port A1, and two or three brands of the old aunt's champagne exceptional, Barton says—we can sample them. Shall send this up by express; you will get it in time for the 4.00 train.
[1] A letter from Mr. Carruthers which came into Evangeline's possession later, and which she put into her journal at this place.—Editor's Note.
Branches,
Friday night, November 4th.
This morning Mr. Carruthers had his coffee alone. Mr. Barton and I breakfasted quite early, before nine o'clock, and just as I was calling the dogs in the hall for a run, with my out-door things already on, Mr. Carruthers came down the great stairs with a frown on his face.
"Up so early!" he said. "Are you not going to pour out my tea for me, then?"
"I thought you said coffee! No, I am going out," and I went on down the corridor, the wolf-hounds following me.
"You are not a kind hostess!" he called after me.
"I am not a hostess at all," I answered back—"only a guest."
He followed me. "Then you are a very casual guest, not consulting the pleasure of your host."
I said nothing. I only looked at him over my shoulder as I went down the marble steps—looked at him and laughed, as on the night before.
He turned back into the house without a word, and I did not see him again until just before luncheon.
There is something unpleasant about saying good-bye to a place, and I found I had all sorts of sensations rising in my throat at various points in my walk. However, all that is ridiculous and must be forgotten. As I was coming round the corner of the terrace, a great gust of wind nearly blew me into Mr. Carruthers's arms. Odious weather we are having this autumn!
"Where have you been all the morning?" he said, when we had recovered ourselves a little. "I have searched for you all over the place."
"You do not know it all yet, or you would have found me," I said, pretending to walk on.
"No, you shall not go now!" he exclaimed, pacing beside me. "Why won't you be amiable, and make me feel at home?"
"I do apologize if I have been unamiable," I said, with great frankness. "Mrs. Carruthers always brought me up to have such good manners."
After that he talked to me for half an hour about the place.
He seemed to have forgotten his vehemence of the night before. He asked all sorts of questions, and showed a sentiment СКАЧАТЬ