You are here

قراءة كتاب Cynthia With an Introduction by Maurice Hewlett

تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"

‏اللغة: English
Cynthia
With an Introduction by Maurice Hewlett

Cynthia With an Introduction by Maurice Hewlett

تقييمك:
0
No votes yet
المؤلف:
دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 5

moon.'"

"Shall we find chairs again?" said Kent quickly, noting the frown that darkened the girl's brow. "It's rather an awkward spot to stand still, isn't it?"

She agreed that it was, and a waiter brought them ices, and Mrs. Walford was giddy over a liqueur. They remained at the table until she said that it was time to return to their hotel. Parting from them at its gates, the two men turned away together. Both felt in their pockets, filled their pipes, and, smoking silently, drifted through the rugged little streets to the café where they had had their conversation after dinner.

"'Thank you for a very pleasant evening,'" said Turquand, breaking a long pause.

It was the only criticism that he permitted himself, and Kent did not care to inquire if it was to be regarded as ironical.


CHAPTER III

After his friend's departure, the mother and daughter became the pivot round which the author's movements revolved. Primarily his own companionship and the novelty of Dieppe had been enough; but now he found it dreary to roam about the harbour, or to sit sipping mazagrans, alone. Reviewing the weeks before Turquand joined him, he wondered what he had done with himself in various hours of the day. Solitude hung so unfamiliarly on his hands that Miss Walford's society was indispensable.

Soon after the chocolate and rolls, he went with the ladies to the Casino, and spent the morning beside them under the awning. Mrs. Walford did not bathe: while people could have comfortable baths in the vicinity of their toilet-tables, she considered that recourse to tents and the sea was making an unnecessary confidence—and she disliked to see Cynthia swim, "with a lot of Frenchmen in the water." Whether it was their sex, or only their nationality, that was the objection was not clear. She usually destroyed a copy of a novel while Mr. Kent and her daughter talked. Considering the speed with which she read it, indeed, it was constantly astonishing to him that she could contrive to do a book so much damage. In the evening they strolled out again, and but for the afternoon he would have had small cause for complaint. Even this gained a spice of excitement, however, from the fact that it was uncertain how long Miss Walford's siesta would last, and there was always the chance, as he lounged about the hotel, smoking to support the tedium, that a door would open and cause heart-leaps.

Mrs. Walford thought that the visit to Arques would be "very jolly," and the excursion was made about a week later. Kent found the girl's concurrence in his enthusiasm as pretty as he had promised himself it would be, and when they had escaped from the information of the gardien and wandered where they chose to go, the chaperon was the only blot upon perfection.

Perhaps she realised the influence of the scene, though her choice of adjectives was not happy—the explorations "made her tired" before long. Since the others were so indefatigable, they "might explore while she rested!"

It was, as Kent had said, intensely still. The practical obtruding itself for a moment, he thought how blessed it would be to work here, where doors could never slam and the yells of children were unknown. They mounted a hillock and looked across the endless landscape silently. In the dungeons under their feet lay dead men's bones, but such facts concerned him little now. Far away some cattle—or were they deer?—browsed sleepily under the ponderous trees. Of what consequence if they were cattle or deer? Still further, where the blue sky dipped and the woodland rose, a line of light glinted like water. Perhaps it was water, and if not, what matter? It was the kingdom of imagination; deer, water, fame, or love—the Earth was what he pleased! Among the crumbling walls the girl's frock fluttered charmingly; his eyes left the landscape and sought her face.

"It's divine!" she said.

He could not disguise from himself that life without her would be unendurable.

"I knew you'd like it," he said unsteadily.

She regarded the questionable cattle again; his tone had said much more.

Kent stood beside her in a pause in which he believed that he struggled. He felt that she was unattainable; but there was an intoxication in the moment that he was not strong enough to resist. He touched her hand, and, his hear! pounding, met her gaze as she turned.

"Cynthia!" he said in his throat. The colour left her cheeks, and her head drooped. "Are you angry with me?" She was eminently graceful in the attitude. "I love you," he said—"I love you. What shall I say besides? I love you!"

She looked slowly up, and blinded him with a smile. Its newness jumped and quivered through his nerves.

"Cynthia! Can you care for me?"

"Perhaps," she whispered.

He was alone with her in Elysium; Adam and Eve were not more secure from human observation when they kissed under the apple tree. He drew nearer to her—her eyes permitted. In a miracle he had clasped a goddess, and he would not have been aware of it if all the pins of Birmingham had been concealed about her toilette to protest.

Presently she said:

"We must go back to mamma!"

He had forgotten that she had one, and the recollection was a descent.

"What will she say?" he asked. "I'm not a millionaire, dearest; I am afraid she won't be pleased."

"I'll tell her when we get home. Oh, mamma likes you!"

"And you have a father?" he added, feeling vaguely that the ideal marriage would be one between orphans, whose surviving relatives were abroad and afraid of a voyage. "Do you think they will give you to me?"

"After I've spoken to them," she said deliciously. "Yes—oh, they will be nice, I am sure, Mr. Kent!... There, then! But one can't shorten it, and it sounds a disagreeable sort of person."

"Not as you said it."

"It was very wrong of you to make me say it so soon. Are you a tyrant?... We must really go back to mamma!"

"Did you know I was fond of you?" asked Kent.

"I—wandered."

"Why?"

"Why did I wonder?"

"Yes."

"I don't know."

"No; tell me! Was it because—you liked me?"

"You're vain enough already."

"Haven't I an excuse for vanity?"

"Am I an excuse?"

Language failed him.

"Tell me why you wondered," he begged.

"Because——You're wickedly persistent!"

"I am everything that is awful. Cynthia?"

"Yes?"

"Because you liked me?"

"Perhaps; the weeniest scrap in the world. Oh, you are horrid! What things you make me say! And we are only just——"

"Engaged! It's a glorious word; don't be afraid of it."

"I shall be afraid of you in a minute. How do you think of your—your proposals in your books?"

"I've only written one book."

"Did you make it up? He didn't talk as you talk to me?

"He wasn't so madly in love with her."

"But he said the very sweetest things!"

"That's why."

"You are horrid!" she declared again. "I don't know what you mean a bit.... Mr. Kent—-"

"Who is he?"

"Humphrey—-"

"Yes—sweetheart?"

"Now you've put it out of my head." She laughed softly. "I was going to say something."

"Let me look at you till you think what it was."

"Perhaps that wouldn't help me."

"Oh, you're an angel!" he exclaimed. "Cynthia, we shall always remember Arques?"

She breathed assent. "Was this Joan of Arc's Arques?"

"No—Noah's."

"Whose?" she said.

He was penitent; he made haste to add:

"Not hers; it is spelt differently, besides."

"I believe you're being silly," she said, in a puzzled tone. "I don't understand. Oh, we must go back to mamma; she'll think we're lost!"

Mrs. Walford didn't evince any signs of perturbation, however, when they rejoined her, nor did she ask for particulars of what they had seen. She seemed to think it likely

Pages