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Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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The Danger Mark
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She came down to the drawing-room, looking the spectre of herself, but her stillness and self-possession kept Bunny at his distance, staring, restless, amazed—all of which very evident symptoms and emotions she ignored.
"I have your message," she said. "Has anything happened to my brother?"
He began: "You mustn't be alarmed, but he is not very well–"
"I am alarmed. Where is he?"
"In the Knickerbocker Hospital."
"Seriously ill?"
"No. He is in a private ward–"
"The—alcoholic?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," he said, flushing with the shame that had not burnt her white face.
"May I go to him?" she asked.
"No!" he exclaimed, horrified.
She seated herself, hands folded loosely on her lap:
"What am I to do, Bunny?"
"Nothing.... I only came to tell you so that you'd know. To-morrow if you care to telephone Bailey–"
"Yes; thank you." She closed her eyes; opened them with an effort.
"If you'll let me, Sylvia, I'll keep you informed," he ventured.
"Would you? I'd be very glad."
"Sure thing!" he said with great animation; "I'll go to the hospital as many times a day as I am allowed, and I'll bring you back a full account of Stuyve's progress after every visit.... May I, Sylvie?"
She said nothing. He sat looking at her. He had no great amount of intellect, but he possessed an undue proportion of heart under the somewhat striking waistcoats which at all times characterised his attire.
"I'm terribly sorry for you," he said, his eyes very wide and round.
She gazed into space, past him.
"Do you—would you prefer to have me go?" he stammered.
There was no reply.
"Because," he said miserably, "I take it that you haven't much use for me."
No word from her.
"Sylvie?"
Silence; but she looked up at him. "I haven't changed," he said, and the healthy colour turned him pink. "I—just—wanted you to know. I thought perhaps you might like to know–"
"Why?" Her voice was utterly unlike her own.
"Why?" he repeated, getting redder. "I don't know—I only thought you might—it might—amuse you—to know that I haven't changed–"
"As others have? Is that what you mean, Bunny?"
"No, no, I didn't think—I didn't mean–"
"Yes, you did. Why not say it to me? You mean that you, and others, have heard rumours. You mean that you, unlike others, are trying to make me understand that you are still loyal to me. Is that it?"
"Y-yes. Good Lord! Loyal! Why, of course I am. Why, you didn't suppose I'd be anything else, did you?"
She opened her pallid lips to speak and could not.
"Loyal!" he repeated indignantly. "There's no merit in that when a man's been in love with a girl all his life and didn't know it until she'd got good and tired of him! You know I'm for you every time, Sylvia; what's the game in pretending you didn't know it?"
"No game.... I didn't—know it."
"Well, you do now, don't you?"
Her face was colourless as marble. She said, looking at him: "Suppose the rumour is true?"
His face flamed: "You don't know what you are saying!" he retorted, horrified.
"Suppose it is true?"
"Sylvia—for Heaven's sake–"
"Suppose it is true," she repeated in a dead, even voice; "how loyal would you remain to me then?"
"As loyal as I am now!" he answered angrily, "if you insist on my answering such a silly question–"
"Is that your answer?"
"Certainly. But–"
"Are you sure?"
He glared at her; something struck coldly through him, checking breath and pulse, then releasing both till the heavy beating of his heart made speech impossible.
"I thought you were not sure," she said.
"I am sure!" he broke out. "Good God, Sylvia, what are you doing to me?"
"Destroying your faith in me."
"I have your message," she said. "Has anything happened to my brother?"
He began: "You mustn't be alarmed, but he is not very well–"
"I am alarmed. Where is he?"
"In the Knickerbocker Hospital."
"Seriously ill?"
"No. He is in a private ward–"
"The—alcoholic?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," he said, flushing with the shame that had not burnt her white face.
"May I go to him?" she asked.
"No!" he exclaimed, horrified.
She seated herself, hands folded loosely on her lap:
"What am I to do, Bunny?"
"Nothing.... I only came to tell you so that you'd know. To-morrow if you care to telephone Bailey–"
"Yes; thank you." She closed her eyes; opened them with an effort.
"If you'll let me, Sylvia, I'll keep you informed," he ventured.
"Would you? I'd be very glad."
"Sure thing!" he said with great animation; "I'll go to the hospital as many times a day as I am allowed, and I'll bring you back a full account of Stuyve's progress after every visit.... May I, Sylvie?"
She said nothing. He sat looking at her. He had no great amount of intellect, but he possessed an undue proportion of heart under the somewhat striking waistcoats which at all times characterised his attire.
"I'm terribly sorry for you," he said, his eyes very wide and round.
She gazed into space, past him.
"Do you—would you prefer to have me go?" he stammered.
There was no reply.
"Because," he said miserably, "I take it that you haven't much use for me."
No word from her.
"Sylvie?"
Silence; but she looked up at him. "I haven't changed," he said, and the healthy colour turned him pink. "I—just—wanted you to know. I thought perhaps you might like to know–"
"Why?" Her voice was utterly unlike her own.
"Why?" he repeated, getting redder. "I don't know—I only thought you might—it might—amuse you—to know that I haven't changed–"
"As others have? Is that what you mean, Bunny?"
"No, no, I didn't think—I didn't mean–"
"Yes, you did. Why not say it to me? You mean that you, and others, have heard rumours. You mean that you, unlike others, are trying to make me understand that you are still loyal to me. Is that it?"
"Y-yes. Good Lord! Loyal! Why, of course I am. Why, you didn't suppose I'd be anything else, did you?"
She opened her pallid lips to speak and could not.
"Loyal!" he repeated indignantly. "There's no merit in that when a man's been in love with a girl all his life and didn't know it until she'd got good and tired of him! You know I'm for you every time, Sylvia; what's the game in pretending you didn't know it?"
"No game.... I didn't—know it."
"Well, you do now, don't you?"
Her face was colourless as marble. She said, looking at him: "Suppose the rumour is true?"
His face flamed: "You don't know what you are saying!" he retorted, horrified.
"Suppose it is true?"
"Sylvia—for Heaven's sake–"
"Suppose it is true," she repeated in a dead, even voice; "how loyal would you remain to me then?"
"As loyal as I am now!" he answered angrily, "if you insist on my answering such a silly question–"
"Is that your answer?"
"Certainly. But–"
"Are you sure?"
He glared at her; something struck coldly through him, checking breath and pulse, then releasing both till the heavy beating of his heart made speech impossible.
"I thought you were not sure," she said.
"I am sure!" he broke out. "Good God, Sylvia, what are you doing to me?"
"Destroying your faith in me."
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Последний отзыв
Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
Далее