The Painted Veil. W. Somerset Maugham
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу The Painted Veil - W. Somerset Maugham страница 8
Название: The Painted Veil
Автор: W. Somerset Maugham
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Зарубежная классика
isbn: 9781420972252
isbn:
“It appears he’s stationed in Tching-Yen. The Chief Justice is an old friend of mine at the Bar. He seems an unusually intelligent young man.”
She knew that her father was as a rule bored to death by the young people whom for her sake and now her sister’s he had been forced for years to entertain.
“It’s not often you like any of my young men, father,” she said.
His kind, tired eyes rested upon her.
“Are you going to marry him by any chance?”
“Certainly not.”
“Is he in love with you?”
“He shows no sign of it.”
“Do you like him?”
“I don’t think I do very much. He irritates me a little.”
He was not her type at all. He was short, but not thick-set, slight rather and thin; dark and clean-shaven, with very regular, clear-cut features. His eyes were almost black, but not large, they were not very mobile and they rested on objects with a singular persistence; they were curious, but not very pleasant eyes. With his straight, delicate nose, his fine brow and well-shaped mouth he ought to have been good-looking. But surprisingly enough he was not. When Kitty began to think of him at all she was surprised that he should have such good features when you took them one by one and yet be so far from handsome. His face was cold. His expression was slightly sarcastic and now that Kitty knew him better she realised that she was not quite at ease with him. He had no gaiety.
By the time the season drew to its end they had seen a good deal of one another, but he had remained as aloof and impenetrable as ever. He was not exactly shy with her, but embarrassed; his conversation remained strangely impersonal. Kitty came to the conclusion that he was not in the least in love with her. He liked her and found her easy to talk to, but when he returned to Tching-Yen in November he would not think of her again. She thought it not impossible that he was engaged all the time to some nurse in a hospital at Tching-Yen, the daughter of a clergyman, dull, plain, flat-footed and strenuous; that was the wife that would exactly suit him.
Then came the announcement of Doris’s engagement to Geoffrey Dennison. Doris, at eighteen, was making quite a good marriage, and she was twenty-five and single. Supposing she did not marry at all? That season the only person who had proposed to her was a boy of twenty who was still at Oxford: she couldn’t marry a boy five years younger than herself. She had made a hash of things. Last year she had refused a widowed Knight of the Bath with three children. She almost wished she hadn’t. Mother would be horrible now, and Doris, Doris who had always been sacrificed because she, Kitty, was expected to make the brilliant match, would not fail to crow over her. Kitty’s heart sank.
XI
But one afternoon when she was walking home from Harrod’s she chanced to meet Walter Fane in the Brompton Road. He stopped and talked to her. Then, casually, he asked her if she would not take a turn with him in the Park. She had no particular wish to go home: it was not just then a very agreeable place. They strolled along, talking as they always talked, of casual things, and he asked her where she was going for the summer.
“Oh, we always bury ourselves in the country. You see, father is exhausted after the term’s work and we just go to the quietest place we can find.”
Kitty spoke with her tongue in her cheek, for she knew quite well that her father had not nearly enough work to tire him and even if he had his convenience would never have been consulted in the choice of a holiday. But a quiet place was a cheap place.
“Don’t you think those chairs look rather inviting?” said Walter suddenly.
She followed his eyes and saw two green chairs by themselves under a tree on the grass.
“Let us sit in them,” she said.
But when they were seated he seemed to grow strangely abstracted. He was an odd creature. She chattered on, however, gaily enough and wondered why he had asked her to walk with him in the Park. Perhaps he was going to confide in her his passion for the flat-footed nurse in Tching-Yen. Suddenly he turned to her, interrupting her in the middle of a sentence, so that she could not but see that he had not been listening, and his face was chalk white.
“I want to say something to you.”
She looked at him quickly and she saw that his eyes were filled with a painful anxiety. His voice was strained, low and not quite steady. But before she could ask herself what this agitation meant he spoke again.
“I want to ask you if you’ll marry me.”
“You could knock me down with a feather,” she answered so surprised that she looked at him blankly.
“Didn’t you know I was awfully in love with you?”
“You never showed it.”
“I’m very awkward and clumsy. I always find it more difficult to say the things I mean than the things I don’t.”
Her heart began to beat a little more quickly. She had been proposed to often before, but gaily or sentimentally, and she had answered in the same fashion. No one had ever asked her to marry him in a manner which was so abrupt and yet strangely tragic.
“It’s very kind of you,” she said, doubtfully.
“I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. I wanted to ask you before, but I could never bring myself to it.”
“I’m not sure if that’s very well put,” she chuckled.
She was glad to have an opportunity to laugh a little, for on that fine, sunny day the air about them seemed on a sudden heavy with foreboding. He frowned darkly.
“Oh, you know what I mean. I didn’t want to lose hope. But now you’re going away and in the autumn I have to go back to China.”
“I’ve never thought of you in that way,” she said helplessly.
He said nothing more. He looked down on the grass sullenly. He was a very odd creature. But now that he had told her she felt in some mysterious way that his love was something she had never met before. She was a little frightened, but she was elated also. His impassivity was vaguely impressive.
“You must give me time to think.”
Still he did not say anything. He did not stir. Did he mean to keep her there till she had decided? That was absurd. She must talk it over with her mother. She ought to have got up when she spoke, she had waited thinking he would answer, and now, she did not know why, she found it difficult to make a movement. She did not look at him, but she was conscious of his appearance; she had never seen herself marrying a man so little taller than herself. When you sat close to him you saw how good his features were, and how cold his face. It was strange when you couldn’t help being conscious of the devastating passion which was in his heart.
“I СКАЧАТЬ