W. Somerset Maugham: Novels, Short Stories, Plays & Travel Sketches (33 Titles In One Edition). Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

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СКАЧАТЬ because a woman would be a housekeeper of good character than because the divine instincts of Nature irresistibly propelled him.

      James shrugged his shoulders, and turned to look at Mary, who was coming towards him with letters in her hand.

      "Three letters for you, Jamie!"

      "Whom are they from?"

      "Look." She handed him one.

      "That's a bill, I bet," he said. "Open it and see."

      She opened and read out an account for boots.

      "Throw it away."

      Mary opened her eyes.

      "It must be paid, Jamie."

      "Of course it must; but not for a long time yet. Let him send it in a few times more. Now the next one."

      He looked at the envelope, and did not recognise the handwriting.

      "You can open that, too."

      It was from the Larchers, repeating their invitation to go and see them.

      "I wonder if they're still worrying about the death of their boy?"

      "Oh, well, it's six months ago, isn't it?" replied Mary.

      "I suppose in that time one gets over most griefs. I must go over some day. Now the third."

      He reddened slightly, recognising again the handwriting of Mrs. Wallace. But this time it affected him very little; he was too weak to care, and he felt almost indifferent.

      "Shall I open it?" said Mary.

      James hesitated.

      "No," he said; "tear it up." And then in reply to her astonishment, he added, smiling: "It's all right, I'm not off my head. Tear it up, and don't ask questions, there's a dear!"

      "Of course, I'll tear it up if you want me to," said Mary, looking rather perplexed.

      "Now, go to the hedge and throw the pieces in the field."

      She did so, and sat down again.

      "Shall I read to you?"

      "No, I'm sick of the 'Antiquary.' Why the goodness they can't talk English like rational human beings, Heaven only knows!"

      "Well, we must finish it now we've begun."

      "D'you think something dreadful will happen to us if we don't?"

      "If one begins a book I think one should finish it, however dull it is. One is sure to get some good out of it."

      "My dear, you're a perfect monster of conscientiousness."

      "Well, if you don't want me to read, I shall go on with my knitting."

      "I don't want you to knit either. I want you to talk to me."

      Mary looked almost charming in the subdued light of the sun as it broke through the leaves, giving a softness of expression and a richness of colour that James had never seen in her before. And the summer frock she wore made her more girlish and irresponsible than usual.

      "You've been very, very good to me all this time, Mary," said James, suddenly.

      Mary flushed. "I?"

      "I can never thank you enough."

      "Nonsense! Your father has been telling you a lot of rubbish, and he promised he wouldn't."

      "No, he's said nothing. Did you make him promise? That was very nice, and just like you."

      "I was afraid he'd say more than he ought."

      "D'you think I haven't been able to see for myself? I owe my life to you."

      "You owe it to God, Jamie."

      He smiled, and took her hand.

      "I'm very, very grateful!"

      "It's been a pleasure to nurse you, Jamie. I never knew you'd make such a good patient."

      "And for all you've done, I've made you wretched and miserable. Can you ever forgive me?"

      "There's nothing to forgive, dear. You know I always think of you as a brother."

      "Ah, that's what you told the curate!" cried James, laughing.

      Mary reddened.

      "How d'you know?"

      "He told Mrs. Jackson, and she told father."

      "You're not angry with me?"

      "I think you might have made it second cousin," said James, with a smile.

      Mary did not answer, but tried to withdraw her hand. He held it fast.

      "Mary, I've treated you vilely. If you don't hate me, it's only because you're a perfect angel."

      Mary looked down, blushing deep red.

      "I can never hate you," she whispered.

      "Oh, Mary, can you forgive me? Can you forget? It sounds almost impertinent to ask you again—Will you marry me, Mary?"

      She withdrew her hand.

      "It's very kind of you, Jamie. You're only asking me out of gratitude, because I've helped a little to look after you. But I want no gratitude; it was all pleasure. And I'm only too glad that you're getting well."

      "I'm perfectly in earnest, Mary. I wouldn't ask you merely from gratitude. I know I have humiliated you dreadfully, and I have done my best to kill the love you had for me. But I really honestly love you now—with all my heart. If you still care for me a little, I beseech you not to dismiss me."

      "If I still care for you!" cried Mary, hoarsely. "Oh, my God!"

      "Mary, forgive me! I want you to marry me."

      She looked at him distractedly, the fire burning through her heart. He took both her hands and drew her towards him.

      "Mary, say yes."

      She sank helplessly to her knees beside him.

      "It would make me very happy," she murmured, with touching humility.

      Then he bent forward and kissed her tenderly.

      "Let's go and tell them," he said. "They'll be so pleased."

      Mary, smiling and joyful, helped him to his feet, and supporting him as best she could, they went towards the house.

      Colonel Parsons was sitting in the dining-room, twirling his old Panama in a great state of excitement; he had interrupted his wife at her accounts, and she was looking at him good-humouredly over her spectacles.

      "I'm СКАЧАТЬ