Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XVIII

           Therewasreallysomethingcomicallyincongruousinthisboyishsurrendertoimpulseonthepartofayoungmansoeagertoassumetheresponsibilitiesoflife.Shelookedathimwithafaintlyveiledamusement.

           “YouaskedmetohelpyouandIpromisedyouIwould.Itwashardlyworthwhiletoworkoutsuchanelaborateplanofactionifyouintendedtotakethematteroutofmyhandswithouttellingme.”

           “Oh,don’ttakethattonewithme!”hebrokeout,almostangrily.

           “Thattone?Whattone?”Shestaredathisquiveringface.“Imight,”shepursued,stillhalf-laughing,“moreproperlymakethatrequestofyou!”

           Owenreddenedandhisvehemencesuddenlysubsided.

           “ImeantthatIhadtospeak—that’sall.Youdon’tgivemeachancetoexplain...”

           Shelookedathimgently,wonderingalittleatherownimpatience.

           “Owen!Don’tIalwayswanttogiveyoueverychance?It’sbecauseIdothatIwantedtotalktoyourgrandmotherfirst—thatIwaswaitingandwatchingfortherightmoment...”

           “Therightmoment?SowasI.That’swhyI’vespoken.”Hisvoiceroseagainandtookthesharpedgeithadinmomentsofhighpressure.

           Hisstep-motherturnedawayandseatedherselfinhersofa-corner.“Oh,mydear,it’snotaprivilegetoquarrelover!You’vetakenaloadoffmyshoulders.Sitdownandtellmeallaboutit.”

           Hestoodbeforeher,irresolute.“Ican’tsitdown,”hesaid.

           “Walkabout,then.Onlytellme:I’mimpatient.

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