Холодный дом

Chesney Wold

           Iletitdown,andshookitout,andwentuptotheglassuponthedressing-table.Therewasalittlemuslincurtaindrawnacrossit.IdrewitbackandstoodforamomentlookingthroughsuchaveilofmyownhairthatIcouldseenothingelse.ThenIputmyhairasideandlookedatthereflectioninthemirror,encouragedbyseeinghowplacidlyitlookedatme.Iwasverymuchchanged—oh,very,verymuch.AtfirstmyfacewassostrangetomethatIthinkIshouldhaveputmyhandsbeforeitandstartedbackbutfortheencouragementIhavementioned.Verysoonitbecamemorefamiliar,andthenIknewtheextentofthealterationinitbetterthanIhaddoneatfirst.ItwasnotlikewhatIhadexpected,butIhadexpectednothingdefinite,andIdaresayanythingdefinitewouldhavesurprisedme.Ihadneverbeenabeautyandhadneverthoughtmyselfone,butIhadbeenverydifferentfromthis.Itwasallgonenow.HeavenwassogoodtomethatIcouldletitgowithafewnotbittertearsandcouldstandtherearrangingmyhairforthenightquitethankfully.Onethingtroubledme,andIconsidereditforalongtimebeforeIwenttosleep.IhadkeptMr.Woodcourt’sflowers.WhentheywerewitheredIhaddriedthemandputtheminabookthatIwasfondof.Nobodyknewthis,notevenAda.IwasdoubtfulwhetherIhadarighttopreservewhathehadsenttoonesodifferent—whetheritwasgeneroustowardshimtodoit.Iwishedtobegeneroustohim,eveninthesecretdepthsofmyheart,whichhewouldneverknow,becauseIcouldhavelovedhim—couldhavebeendevotedtohim.

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