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Chapter 6
”
CharlesGouldwalkedrapidlyroundthetable,and,seizingherhands,bentdown,pressingthembothtohislips.Beforehestraightenedhimselfupagaintohisfullheightshehaddisengagedonetosmoothhischeekwithalighttouch,asifhewerealittleboy.
“Trytogetsomerestforacoupleofhours,”shemurmured,withaglanceatahammockstretchedinadistantpartoftheroom.Herlongtrainswishedsoftlyafterherontheredtiles.Atthedoorshelookedback.
Twobiglampswithunpolishedglassglobesbathedinasoftandabundantlightthefourwhitewallsoftheroom,withaglasscaseofarms,thebrasshiltofHenryGould’scavalrysabreonitssquareofvelvet,andthewater-coloursketchoftheSanTomegorge.AndMrs.Gould,gazingatthelastinitsblackwoodenframe,sighedout—
“Ah,ifwehadleftitalone,Charley!”
“No,”CharlesGouldsaid,moodily;“itwasimpossibletoleaveitalone.”
“Perhapsitwasimpossible,”Mrs.Gouldadmitted,slowly.Herlipsquiveredalittle,butshesmiledwithanairofdaintybravado.“WehavedisturbedagoodmanysnakesinthatParadise,Charley,haven’twe?”
“Yes,Iremember,”saidCharlesGould,“itwasDonPepewhocalledthegorgetheParadiseofsnakes.Nodoubtwehavedisturbedagreatmany.Butremember,mydear,thatitisnotnowasitwaswhenyoumadethatsketch.
