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.

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