Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

           You’venottoldmewhatshemeanstodo.”

           “Oh,shemeanstosendforAdelaidePainter.”

           Thenamedrewafaintnoteofmirthfromhimandrelaxedboththeirfacestoasmile.

           “Perhaps,”Annaadded,“it’sreallythebestthingforusall.”

           Owenshruggedhisshoulders.“It’stoopreposterousandhumiliating.Draggingthatwomanintooursecrets——!”

           “Thiscouldhardlybeasecretmuchlonger.”

           Hehadmovedtothehearth,wherehestoodpushingaboutthesmallornamentsonthemantel-shelf;butatheranswerheturnedbacktoher.

           “Youhaven’t,ofcourse,spokenofittoanyone?”

           “No;butIintendtonow.”

           Shepausedforhisreply,andasitdidnotcomeshecontinued:“IfAdelaidePainter’stobetoldthere’snopossiblereasonwhyIshouldn’ttellMr.Darrow.”Owenabruptlysetdownthelittlestatuettebetweenhisfingers.“Nonewhatever:Iwanteveryonetoknow.”

           Shesmiledalittleathisover-emphasis,andwasabouttomeetitwithawordofbanterwhenhecontinued,facingher:“Youhaven’t,asyet,saidawordtohim?”

           “I’vetoldhimnothing,exceptwhatthediscussionofourownplans—hisandmine—obligedmeto:thatyouwerethinkingofmarrying,andthatIwasn’twillingtoleaveFrancetillI’ddonewhatIcouldtoseeyouthrough.”

           Atherfirstwordsthecolourhadrushedtohisforehead;butasshecontinuedshesawhisfacecomposeitselfandhisbloodsubside.

           “You’reabrick,mydear!”heexclaimed.

           “Youhadmyword,youknow.”

           “Yes;yes—Iknow.”Hisfacehadcloudedagain.