Біла пташка
The Dedication
InsuchcircumstancesImightaswellhavetriedtostingasand-bank,soIsaid,ratheroffmywatch,“IfIhavedoneallthisforyou,whydidIdoit?”
Shemadenoanswerinwords,butseemedtogrowtallerinthechair,sothatIcouldseehershoulders,andIknewfromthisthatshewasnowholdingherselfconceitedlyandtryingtolookmodest.“Notabitofit,ma’am,”saidIsharply,“thatwasnotthereasonatall.”
Iwaspleasedtoseeherwhiskround,ratherindignantatlast.
“Ineversaiditwas,”sheretortedwithspirit,“Ineverthoughtforamomentthatitwas.”Sheadded,atrifletoolateinthestory,“Besides,Idon’tknowwhatyouaretalkingof.”
IthinkImusthavesmiledhere,forsheturnedfrommequickly,andbecamequitelittleinthechairagain.
“David,”saidImercilessly,“didyoueverseeyourmotherblush?”
“Whatisblush?”
“Shegoesabeautifulpinkcolour.”
David,whohadbythistimebrokenmyconnectionwiththeheadoffice,crossedtohismotherexpectantly.
“Idon’t,David,”shecried.
“Ithink,”saidI,“shewilldoitnow,”andwiththeinstinctofagentlemanIlookedaway.ThusIcannottellwhathappened,butpresentlyDavidexclaimedadmiringly,“Oh,mother,doitagain!”
Asshewouldnot,hestoodonthefendertoseeinthemantel-glasswhetherhecoulddoithimself,andthenMaryturnedamostcandidfaceonme,inwhichwasmaternityratherthanreproach.Perhapsnolookgivenbywomantomanaffectshimquitesomuch.
