A Question of Marriage. Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey
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Название: A Question of Marriage
Автор: Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 4064066159894
isbn:
“You look quite scared. I hope I haven’t depressed you with my reminiscences. It was an uncanny experience, but you said you were interested.”
“And I am. Immensely. Thank you so much for telling me. I only hope your fulfilment, when it comes, may be as satisfactory as your barrister friend’s. Are you sorry to leave India and settle at home? Most men seem to find it difficult to get back into the old ways.”
Mr. Gloucester shrugged carelessly.
“Oh, I don’t mind. It doesn’t trouble me. One does one’s work; one is tired; one rests. What does it matter what country one does it in? They both have their points. I can be happy in either.”
A glance at his face proved the truth of his words. His was one of the unexacting, sweet-tempered natures, which was content to take life as it was; enjoying each good which came, and troubling nothing for sorrows ahead.
“If he were in my place he would not be sad! His life has not gone too smoothly; he has not found success, but he is content. I must learn his lesson,” Vanna told herself mentally.
“Go on talking!” she said dreamily. “Do you mind? Tell me about things that have happened. I have lived all my life in a little English hamlet, and it’s so good to hear. I could listen for hours.”
He gave her a bright, pleased look, and without question or protest went on talking easily and pleasantly about Indian customs, peculiarities, and rites. He had lived in the great cities and in the wilds; had worked and played, hunted elephants and climbed Himalayan peaks; had come through hair-breadth dangers, had drunk Bass’s beer on a steaming plain, and, as he himself expressed it, “come out smiling every time.”
“I’m as strong as a horse,” he added. “A fellow has no right to grumble when he doesn’t know the meaning of pain.”
“I should not think you ever grumbled,” replied Vanna, smiling. The next moment she started as the chime of a distant clock struck on her ear. “What time was that? The half-hour, wasn’t it—half-past one? Have we been here nearly an hour? It seems impossible. It is a great compliment to your powers of conversation, Mr. Gloucester, for before we met I was feeling terribly tired and bored; but I am afraid I must run away now. I arranged to leave at one o’clock, and I must be already in disgrace.”
“I’m awfully grateful to you for having listened to me so kindly. I hope we shall meet again, and continue the conversation. I am staying with these people for a few weeks. They are old family friends. It’s the nearest approach to a home I have left.”
“Thank you. I hope we may meet. I am only a guest in town like yourself, but I am making a longish stay.” Vanna led the way through the conservatory, walking with somewhat rapid footsteps, her eyes looking forward through the door leading into the ballroom. She had reached the centre of the floor when she was arrested by the sound of a laugh, and a light, flute-like voice breaking across the crash and clatter of the band.
“Well!” cried the voice. “Have you come at last? I am waiting for you. How long must I wait?”
Vanna wheeled round. Beneath the shade of a great palm tree, whose leaves swept the glass roof, stood Jean in her rose draperies, a wreath of roses crowning her dark head.
“I am waiting!” she said once more, and her eyes, passing by Vanna, rested on Robert Gloucester’s face. Vanna looking at him, saw his teeth clench, and his cheeks pale beneath their tan.
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