Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XV

           

           Shestoodirresolute,andheadded:“Iwaswritinginthere—won’tyoucomeandhavealittletalk?Everyone’sout.”

           Thelastwordsstruckhimasnotwell-chosen,buttherewasnotimetochoose.Shepausedasecondlongerandthencrossedthethresholdofthestudy.Atluncheonshehadsatwithherbacktothewindow,andbeyondnotingthatshehadgrownalittlethinner,andhadlesscolourandvivacity,hehadseennochangeinher;butnow,asthelamplightfellonherface,itswhitenessstartledhim.

           “Poorthing...poorthing...whatinheaven’snamecanshesuppose?”hewondered.

           “Dositdown—Iwanttotalktoyou,”hesaidandpushedachairtowardher.

           Shedidnotseemtoseeit,or,ifshedid,shedeliberatelychoseanotherseat.Hecamebacktohisownchairandleanedhiselbowsontheblotter.Shefacedhimfromthefarthersideofthetable.

           “Youpromisedtoletmehearfromyounowandthen,”hebeganawkwardly,andwithasharpsenseofhisawkwardness.

           Afaintsmilemadeherfacemoretragic.“DidI?Therewasnothingtotell.I’vehadnohistory—likethehappycountries...”

           Hewaitedamomentbeforeasking:“Youarehappyhere?”

           “Iwas,”shesaidwithafaintemphasis.

           “Whydoyousay‘was’?You’resurelynotthinkingofgoing?Therecan’tbekinderpeopleanywhere.”Darrowhardlyknewwhathewassaying;butheranswercametohimwithdeadlydefiniteness.

           “IsupposeitdependsonyouwhetherIgoorstay.”

           “Onme?”HestaredatheracrossOwen’sscatteredpapers.

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