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The Streets of Ascalon
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This time he was looking smilingly and deliberately into her eyes; and she could not ignore his unwarranted freedom.
"Why do you use my first name, Mr. Quarren?" she asked quietly.
"Because I always think of you as Strelsa, not as Mrs. Leeds."
"Is that a reason?" – very gravely.
"You can make it so if you will."
She hesitated, watching his expression. Then:
"You say that you always think of me – that way. But I'm afraid that, even in your thoughts, the repetition of my name has scarcely accustomed you to the use of it."
"You mean that I don't think of you very frequently?"
"Something like that. But please, Mr. Quarren, if you really mean to give me a little of that friendship which I had begun to despair of, don't let our very first reunion degenerate into silly conversation – "
"Strelsa – "
"No! – please."
"When?"
She flushed, then, slightly impatient: "Do you make it a point, Mr. Quarren?"
"Not unless you do."
"I? What do you mean?"
"Will you answer me honestly?"
"Have you ever found me dishonest?"
"Sometimes – with yourself."
Suddenly the colour surged in her cheeks and she turned her head abruptly. After a few moments' silence:
"Ask your question," she said in a calm and indifferent voice.
"Then – do you ever, by any accident, think of me?"
She foresaw at once what was coming, bit her lip, but saw no way to avoid it.
"I think of my friends – and you among them."
"Do you always think of me as 'Mr. Quarren'?"
"I – your friends – people are eternally dinning your name into my ears – "
"Please answer."
"What?" She turned toward him disdainfully: "Would it gratify you to know that I think of you as Rix, Ricky, Dick – whatever they call you?"
"Which?" he insisted, laughing. And finally she laughed, too, partly in sheer exasperation.
"Rix!" she said: "Now are you satisfied? I don't know why on earth I made such a scene about it. It's the way I think of you – when I happen to remember you. But if you fancy for a moment I am going to call you that, please awake from vain dreams, my airy friend – "
"Won't you?"
"No."
"Some day?"
"Certainly not. Why should I? I don't want to. I don't feel like it. It would be forced, artificial – an effort – and I don't desire – wish – care – "
"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, laughing, "that's enough, you poor child! Do you think I'd permit you to undergo the suffering necessary to the pronunciation of my name?"
Amused yet resentful, perplexed, uncertain of this new phase of the man beside her, she leaned back, head slightly lowered; but her gray eyes were swiftly lifted every few moments to watch him. Suddenly she became acutely conscious of her extended arm where her hand now was lightly in touch with the rough cloth of his sleeve; and she checked a violent impulse to withdraw her hand. Then, once more, and after all these months, the same strange sensation passed through her – a thrilling consciousness of his nearness.
Absolutely motionless, confused yet every instinct alert to his slightest word or movement, she sat there, gray eyes partly lowered.
He neither spoke nor moved; his pleasant glance rested absently on her, then wandered toward the quiet lake; and venturing to raise her eyes she saw him smile to himself and wondered uneasily what his moment's thought might be.
He said, still smiling: "What is it in that curious combination of individualities known as Strelsa Leeds, that rejects one composite specimen known to you as Mister Quarren?"
She smiled, uncertainly:
"But I don't reject you, Mister Quarren."
"Oh, yes, you do. I'm sensible of an occult wall between us."
"How absurd. Of course there is a wall."
"I've got to climb over it then – "
"I don't wish you to!"
"Strelsa?"
"W-what?"
"That wall isn't a golden one, is it?"
"I – I don't know what you mean."
"I mean money," he said; and she blushed from neck to hair.
"Please don't say such things – "
"Why do you use my first name, Mr. Quarren?" she asked quietly.
"Because I always think of you as Strelsa, not as Mrs. Leeds."
"Is that a reason?" – very gravely.
"You can make it so if you will."
She hesitated, watching his expression. Then:
"You say that you always think of me – that way. But I'm afraid that, even in your thoughts, the repetition of my name has scarcely accustomed you to the use of it."
"You mean that I don't think of you very frequently?"
"Something like that. But please, Mr. Quarren, if you really mean to give me a little of that friendship which I had begun to despair of, don't let our very first reunion degenerate into silly conversation – "
"Strelsa – "
"No! – please."
"When?"
She flushed, then, slightly impatient: "Do you make it a point, Mr. Quarren?"
"Not unless you do."
"I? What do you mean?"
"Will you answer me honestly?"
"Have you ever found me dishonest?"
"Sometimes – with yourself."
Suddenly the colour surged in her cheeks and she turned her head abruptly. After a few moments' silence:
"Ask your question," she said in a calm and indifferent voice.
"Then – do you ever, by any accident, think of me?"
She foresaw at once what was coming, bit her lip, but saw no way to avoid it.
"I think of my friends – and you among them."
"Do you always think of me as 'Mr. Quarren'?"
"I – your friends – people are eternally dinning your name into my ears – "
"Please answer."
"What?" She turned toward him disdainfully: "Would it gratify you to know that I think of you as Rix, Ricky, Dick – whatever they call you?"
"Which?" he insisted, laughing. And finally she laughed, too, partly in sheer exasperation.
"Rix!" she said: "Now are you satisfied? I don't know why on earth I made such a scene about it. It's the way I think of you – when I happen to remember you. But if you fancy for a moment I am going to call you that, please awake from vain dreams, my airy friend – "
"Won't you?"
"No."
"Some day?"
"Certainly not. Why should I? I don't want to. I don't feel like it. It would be forced, artificial – an effort – and I don't desire – wish – care – "
"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, laughing, "that's enough, you poor child! Do you think I'd permit you to undergo the suffering necessary to the pronunciation of my name?"
Amused yet resentful, perplexed, uncertain of this new phase of the man beside her, she leaned back, head slightly lowered; but her gray eyes were swiftly lifted every few moments to watch him. Suddenly she became acutely conscious of her extended arm where her hand now was lightly in touch with the rough cloth of his sleeve; and she checked a violent impulse to withdraw her hand. Then, once more, and after all these months, the same strange sensation passed through her – a thrilling consciousness of his nearness.
Absolutely motionless, confused yet every instinct alert to his slightest word or movement, she sat there, gray eyes partly lowered.
He neither spoke nor moved; his pleasant glance rested absently on her, then wandered toward the quiet lake; and venturing to raise her eyes she saw him smile to himself and wondered uneasily what his moment's thought might be.
He said, still smiling: "What is it in that curious combination of individualities known as Strelsa Leeds, that rejects one composite specimen known to you as Mister Quarren?"
She smiled, uncertainly:
"But I don't reject you, Mister Quarren."
"Oh, yes, you do. I'm sensible of an occult wall between us."
"How absurd. Of course there is a wall."
"I've got to climb over it then – "
"I don't wish you to!"
"Strelsa?"
"W-what?"
"That wall isn't a golden one, is it?"
"I – I don't know what you mean."
"I mean money," he said; and she blushed from neck to hair.
"Please don't say such things – "
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Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее