Сестра Керри

Chapter XXIII. A Spirit In Travail: One Rung Put Behind

           “Well,”shesaidinnocently,wearyofherownmentaldiscussionandwonderingathishasteandill-concealedexcitement,“whatmakesyouhurryso?”

           Drouethesitated,nowthathewasinherpresence,uncertainastowhatcoursetopursue.Hewasnodiplomat.Hecouldneitherreadnorsee.

           “Whendidyougethome?”heaskedfoolishly.

           “Oh,anhourorsoago.Whatmakesyouaskthat?”

           “Youweren’there,”hesaid,“whenIcamebackthismorning,andIthoughtyouhadgoneout.”

           “SoIdid,”saidCarriesimply.“Iwentforawalk.”

           Drouetlookedatherwonderingly.Forallhislackofdignityinsuchmattershedidnotknowhowtobegin.Hestaredatherinthemostflagrantmanneruntilatlastshesaid:

           “Whatmakesyoustareatmeso?What’sthematter?”

           “Nothing,”heanswered.“Iwasjustthinking.”

           “Justthinkingwhat?”shereturnedsmilingly,puzzledbyhisattitude.

           “Oh,nothing—nothingmuch.”

           “Well,then,whatmakesyoulookso?”

           Drouetwasstandingbythedresser,gazingatherinacomicmanner.Hehadlaidoffhishatandglovesandwasnowfidgetingwiththelittletoiletpieceswhichwerenearesthim.Hehesitatedtobelievethattheprettywomanbeforehimwasinvolvedinanythingsounsatisfactorytohimself.Hewasverymuchinclinedtofeelthatitwasallright,afterall.Yettheknowledgeimpartedtohimbythechambermaidwasranklinginhismind.Hewantedtoplungeinwithastraightremarkofsomesort,butheknewnotwhat.

           “Wheredidyougothismorning?”hefinallyaskedweakly.

           “Why,Iwentforawalk,”saidCarrie.

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