Лето

           Royall’sroom,withthehigh-backedhorsehairchair,thefadedragcarpet,therowofbooksonashelf,theengravingof“TheSurrenderofBurgoyne”overthestove,andthematwithabrownandwhitespanielonamoss-greenborder.AndthenhermindtravelledtoMissHatchard’shouse,whereallwasfreshness,purityandfragrance,andcomparedtowhichtheredhousehadalwaysseemedsopoorandplain.

           “ThisiswhereIbelong—thisiswhereIbelong,”shekeptrepeatingtoherself;butthewordshadnomeaningforher.Everyinstinctandhabitmadeherastrangeramongthesepoorswamp-peoplelivinglikeverminintheirlair.WithallhersoulshewishedshehadnotyieldedtoHarney’scuriosity,andbroughthimthere.

           Therainhaddrenchedher,andshebegantoshiverunderthethinfoldsofherdress.Theyoungerwomanmusthavenoticedit,forshewentoutoftheroomandcamebackwithabrokentea-cupwhichsheofferedtoCharity.Itwashalffullofwhiskey,andCharityshookherhead;butHarneytookthecupandputhislipstoit.WhenhehadsetitdownCharitysawhimfeelinhispocketanddrawoutadollar;hehesitatedamoment,andthenputitback,andsheguessedthathedidnotwishhertoseehimofferingmoneytopeopleshehadspokenofasbeingherkin.

           Thesleepingmanstirred,liftedhisheadandopenedhiseyes.TheyrestedvacantlyforamomentonCharityandHarney,andthenclosedagain,andhisheaddrooped;butalookofanxietycameintothewoman’sface.SheglancedoutofthewindowandthencameuptoHarney.“Iguessyoubettergoalongnow,”shesaid.