Біла пташка
Her Marriage, Her Clothes, Her Appetite, and an Inventory of Her Furniture
Ihavenospace(inthatlittleroom)tocatalogueallthewhim-whamswithwhichshehadmadeitbeautiful,fromthehand-sewnbell-ropewhichpullednobelltothehand-paintedcigar-boxthatcontainednocigars.Thefloorwasofadeliciousgreenwithexquisiteorientalrugs;greenandwhite,Ithink,wasthelady’sschemeofcolour,somethingcool,youobserve,tokeepthesununder.Thewindow-curtainswereofsomerarematerialandthecolourofthepurpleclematis;theysweptthefloorgrandlyandsuggestedapictureofMaryreceivingvisitors.Thepianowemayignore,forIknewittobehired,butthereweremanydaintypieces,mostlyingreenwood,asofa,acornercupboard,andamostcaptivatingdesk,whichwassolikeitsownerthatitcouldhavesatdownatheranddashedoffanote.ThewritingpaperonthisdeskhadthewordMaryprintedonit,implyingthatiftherewereotherMarystheydidn’tcount.Thereweremanyoil-paintingsonthewalls,mostlywithoutframes,andImustmentionthechandelier,whichwasobviouslyoffabulousworth,forshehadencaseditinahollandbag.
“Iperceive,ma’am,”saidItothestoutmaid,“thatyourmasterisinaffluentcircumstances.”
Sheshookherheademphatically,andsaidsomethingthatIfailedtocatch.
“Youwishtoindicate,”Ihazarded,“thathemarriedafortune.”
ThistimeIcaughtthewords.Theywere“Tinnedmeats,”andhavingutteredthemshelapsedintogloomysilence.
“Nevertheless,”Isaid,“thisroommusthavecostaprettypenny.”
“Shedoneitallherself,”repliedmynewfriend,withconcentratedscorn.
