Сестра Керри

Chapter XV. The Irk Of The Old Ties: The Magic Of Youth

           Herememberedthelightspiritinwhichheoncelookedafterthegirls—howhehaddanced,escortedthemhome,hungovertheirgates.Healmostwishedhewasbackthereagain—hereinthispleasantscenehefeltasifhewerewhollyfree.

           AttwoCarriecametrippingalongthewalktowardhim,rosyandclean.Shehadjustrecentlydonnedasailorhatfortheseasonwithabandofprettywhite-dottedbluesilk.Herskirtwasofarichbluematerial,andhershirtwaistmatchedit,withathin-stripeofblueuponasnow-whiteground—stripesthatwereasfineashairs.Herbrownshoespeepedoccasionallyfrombeneathherskirt.Shecarriedherglovesinherhand.

           Hurstwoodlookedupatherwithdelight.

           “Youcame,dearest,”hesaideagerly,standingtomeetherandtakingherhand.

           “Ofcourse,”shesaid,smiling;“didyouthinkIwouldn’t?”

           “Ididn’tknow,”hereplied.

           Helookedatherforehead,whichwasmoistfromherbriskwalk.Thenhetookoutoneofhisownsoft,scentedsilkhandkerchiefsandtouchedherfacehereandthere.

           “Now,”hesaidaffectionately,“you’reallright.”

           Theywerehappyinbeingnearoneanother—inlookingintoeachother’seyes.Finally,whenthelongflushofdelighthadsubsided,hesaid:

           “WhenisCharliegoingawayagain?”

           “Idon’tknow,”sheanswered.“Hesayshehassomethingstodoforthehouseherenow.”

           Hurstwoodgrewserious,andhelapsedintoquietthought.Helookedupafteratimetosay:

           “Comeawayandleavehim.”

           Heturnedhiseyestotheboyswiththeboats,asiftherequestwereoflittleimportance.

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