Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XXI

           

           “MadamedeChantelleseemstoimagine,”shepursued,“thatayoungAmericangirloughttohaveadossier—apolice-record,orwhateveryoucallit:whatthoseawfulwomeninthestreetshavehere.Inourcountryit’senoughtoknowthatayounggirl’spureandlovely:peopledon’timmediatelyaskhertoshowherbank-accountandhervisiting-list.”

           MadamedeChantellelookedplaintivelyathersturdymonitress.“Youdon’texpectmenottoaskifshe’sgotafamily?”

           “No;nortothinktheworseofherifshehasn’t.Thefactthatshe’sanorphanought,withyourideas,tobeamerit.Youwon’thavetoinviteherfatherandmothertoGivre!”

           “Adelaide—Adelaide!”themistressofGivrelamented.

           “LucretiaMary,”theotherreturned—andDarrowsparedaninstant’samusementtothequaintincongruityofthename—“youknowyousentforMr.Darrowtorefuteme;andhowcanhe,tillheknowswhatIthink?”

           “Youthinkit’sperfectlysimpletoletOwenmarryagirlweknownothingabout?”

           “No;butIdon’tthinkit’sperfectlysimpletopreventhim.”

           TheshrewdnessoftheanswerincreasedDarrow’sinterestinMissPainter.Shehadnothithertostruckhimasbeingapersonofmuchpenetration,buthenowfeltsurethathergimletgazemightboretotheheartofanypracticalproblem.

           MadamedeChantellesighedoutherrecognitionofthedifficulty.

           “Ihaven’tawordtosayagainstMissViner;butshe’sknockedaboutso,asit’scalled,thatshemusthavebeenmixedupwithsomeratherdreadfulpeople.

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