The Legacy of Cain. Уилки Коллинз

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СКАЧАТЬ person who writes Oratorios, and beg him to give the poor music a more generous allowance of words.

      Whenever I looked at Philip, I found him looking at me. Perhaps he saw from the first that the music was wearying music to my ignorant ears. With his usual delicacy he said nothing for some time. But when he caught me yawning (though I did my best to hide it, for it looked like being ungrateful for the tickets), then he could restrain himself no longer. He whispered in my ear:

      “You are getting tired of this. And so am I.”

      “I am trying to like it,” I whispered back.

      “Don’t try,” he answered. “Let’s talk.”

      He meant, of course, talk in whispers. We were a good deal annoyed—especially when the characters were all alone in the wilderness—by bursts of singing and playing which interrupted us at the most interesting moments. Philip persevered with a manly firmness. What could I do but follow his example—at a distance?

      He said: “Is it really true that your visit to Mrs. Staveley is coming to an end?”

      I answered: “It comes to an end the day after to-morrow.”

      “Are you sorry to be leaving your friends in London?”

      What I might have said if he had made that inquiry a day earlier, when I was the most miserable creature living, I would rather not try to guess. Being quite happy as things were, I could honestly tell him I was sorry.

      “You can’t possibly be as sorry as I am, Eunice. May I call you by your pretty name?”

      “Yes, if you please.”

      “Eunice!”

      “Yes.”

      “You will leave a blank in my life when you go away—”

      There another chorus stopped him, just as I was eager for more. It was such a delightfully new sensation to hear a young gentleman telling me that I had left a blank in his life. The next change in the Oratorio brought up a young lady, singing alone. Some people behind us grumbled at the smallness of her voice. We thought her voice perfect. It seemed to lend itself so nicely to our whispers.

      He said: “Will you help me to think of you while you are away? I want to imagine what your life is at home. Do you live in a town or in the country?”

      I told him the name of our town. When we give a person information, I have always heard that we ought to make it complete. So I mentioned our address in the town. But I was troubled by a doubt. Perhaps he preferred the country. Being anxious about this, I said: “Would you rather have heard that I live in the country?”

      “Live where you may, Eunice, the place will be a favorite place of mine. Besides, your town is famous. It has a public attraction which brings visitors to it.”

      I made another of those mistakes which no sensible girl, in my position, would have committed. I asked if he alluded to our new market-place.

      He set me right in the sweetest manner: “I alluded to a building hundreds of years older than your market-place—your beautiful cathedral.”

      Fancy my not having thought of the cathedral! This is what comes of being a Congregationalist. If I had belonged to the Church of England, I should have forgotten the market-place, and remembered the cathedral. Not that I want to belong to the Church of England. Papa’s chapel is good enough for me.

      The song sung by the lady with the small voice was so pretty that the audience encored it. Didn’t Philip and I help them! With the sweetest smiles the lady sang it all over again. The people behind us left the concert.

      He said: “Do you know, I take the greatest interest in cathedrals. I propose to enjoy the privilege and pleasure of seeing your cathedral early next week.”

      I had only to look at him to see that I was the cathedral. It was no surprise to hear next that he thought of “paying his respects to Mr. Gracedieu.” He begged me to tell him what sort of reception he might hope to meet with when he called at our house. I got so excited in doing justice to papa that I quite forgot to whisper when the next question came. Philip wanted to know if Mr. Gracedieu disliked strangers. When I answered, “Oh dear, no!” I said it out loud, so that the people heard me. Cruel, cruel people! They all turned round and stared. One hideous old woman actually said, “Silence!” Miss Staveley looked disgusted. Even kind Mrs. Staveley lifted her eyebrows in astonishment.

      Philip, dear Philip, protected and composed me.

      He held my hand devotedly till the end of the performance. When he put us into the carriage, I was last. He whispered in my ear: “Expect me next week.” Miss Staveley might be as ill-natured as she pleased, on the way home. It didn’t matter what she said. The Eunice of yesterday might have been mortified and offended. The Eunice of to-day was indifferent to the sharpest things that could be said to her.

      … . …

      All through yesterday’s delightful evening, I never once thought of Philip’s father. When I woke this morning, I remembered that old Mr. Dunboyne was a rich man. I could eat no breakfast for thinking of the poor girl who was not allowed to marry her young gentleman, because she had no money.

      Mrs. Staveley waited to speak to me till the rest of them had left us together. I had expected her to notice that I looked dull and dismal. No! her cleverness got at my secret in quite another way.

      She said: “How do you feel after the concert? You must be hard to please indeed if you were not satisfied with the accompaniments last night.”

      “The accompaniments of the Oratorio?”

      “No, my dear. The accompaniments of Philip.”

      I suppose I ought to have laughed. In my miserable state of mind, it was not to be done. I said: “I hope Mr. Dunboyne’s father will not hear how kind he was to me.”

      Mrs. Staveley asked why.

      My bitterness overflowed at my tongue. I said: “Because papa is a poor man.”

      “And Philip’s papa is a rich man,” says Mrs. Staveley, putting my own thought into words for me. “Where do you get these ideas, Eunice? Surely, you are not allowed to read novels?”

      “Oh no!”

      “And you have certainly never seen a play?”

      “Never.”

      “Clear your head, child, of the nonsense that has got into it—I can’t think how. Rich Mr. Dunboyne has taught his heir to despise the base act of marrying for money. He knows that Philip will meet young ladies at my house; and he has written to me on the subject of his son’s choice of a wife. ‘Let Philip find good principles, good temper, and good looks; and I promise beforehand to find the money.’ There is what he says. Are you satisfied with Philip’s father, now?”

      I jumped up in a state of ecstasy. Just as I had thrown my arms round Mrs. Staveley’s neck, the servant came in with a letter, and handed it to me.

      Helena had written again, on this last day of my visit. Her letter СКАЧАТЬ