Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

VII

           Ifshehadgoneondoubtinghimhecouldprobablyhavegoneondeceivingher;butherunhesitatingacceptanceofhiswordmadehimhatetheparthewasplaying.Atthesamemomentadoubtshotupitsserpent-headinhisownbosom.Wasitnotheratherthanshewhowaschildishlytrustful?Wasshenotalmosttooreadytotakehisword,anddismissonceforallthetiresomequestionoftheletter?Consideringwhatherexperiencesmusthavebeen,suchtrustfulnessseemedopentosuspicion.Butthemomenthiseyesfellonherhewasashamedofthethought,andknewitforwhatitreallywas:anotherpretexttolessenhisowndelinquency.

           “Whyshouldourgoodtimebeover?”heasked.“Whyshouldn’titlastalittlelonger?”

           Shelookedup,herlipspartedinsurprise;butbeforeshecouldspeakhewenton:“Iwantyoutostaywithme—Iwantyou,justforafewdays,tohaveallthethingsyou’veneverhad.It’snotalwaysMayandParis—whynotmakethemostofthemnow?Youknowme—we’renotstrangers—whyshouldn’tyoutreatmelikeafriend?”

           Whilehespokeshehaddrawnawayalittle,butherhandstilllayinhis.Shewaspale,andhereyeswerefixedonhiminagazeinwhichtherewasneitherdistrustorresentment,butonlyaningenuouswonder.Hewasextraordinarilytouchedbyherexpression.

           “Oh,do!Youmust.Listen:toprovethatI’msincereI’lltellyou....I’lltellyouIdidn’tpostyourletter....Ididn’tpostitbecauseIwantedsomuchtogiveyouafewgoodhours...andbecauseIcouldn’tbeartohaveyougo.

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