Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 2
—You’dthinkbutterwouldn’tmeltinyourmouthsaidHeron.ButI’mafraidyou’reaslydog.
—MightIaskyouwhatyouaretalkingabout?saidStephenurbanely.
—Indeedyoumight,answeredHeron.Wesawher,Wallis,didn’twe?Anddeucedlyprettysheistoo.Andinquisitive!ANDWHATPARTDOESSTEPHENTAKE,MRDEDALUS?ANDWILLSTEPHENNOTSING,MRDEDALUS?YourgovernorwasstaringatherthroughthateyeglassofhisforallhewasworthsothatIthinktheoldmanhasfoundyououttoo.Iwouldn’tcareabit,byJove.She’sripping,isn’tshe,Wallis?
—Nothalfbad,answeredWallisquietlyasheplacedhisholderoncemoreinacornerofhismouth.
AshaftofmomentaryangerflewthroughStephen’smindattheseindelicateallusionsinthehearingofastranger.Forhimtherewasnothingamusinginagirl’sinterestandregard.Alldayhehadthoughtofnothingbuttheirleave-takingonthestepsofthetramatHarold’sCross,thestreamofmoodyemotionsithadmadetocoursethroughhimandthepoemhehadwrittenaboutit.Alldayhehadimaginedanewmeetingwithherforheknewthatshewastocometotheplay.Theoldrestlessmoodinesshadagainfilledhisbreastasithaddoneonthenightoftheparty,buthadnotfoundanoutletinverse.
