"
He bit into one, but got no further with it. Her back was turned to him,
and he threw the berry out of the window. She felt rather than saw what
he had done. She saw that he was fagged. She instantly thought of a
cordial she had in the house, the gift of a nun from the Ursuline
Convent in Quebec; a precious little bottle which she had kept for the
anniversary of her wedding day. If she had been told in the morning that
she would open that bottle now, and for a stranger, she probably would
have resented the idea with scorn.
His disguised weariness still exciting her sympathy, she offered him a
chair.
"You will sit down, m'sieu'?" she asked. "It is very warm."
She did not say: "You look very tired." She instinctively felt that it
would suggest the delicate state of his health.
The chair was inviting enough, with its chintz cover and wicker seat, but
he would never admit fatigue. He threw his leg half jauntily over the
end of the table and said:
"No--no, thanks; I'd rather not sit."
His forehead was dripping with perspiration. He took out his
handkerchief and dried it. His eyes were a little heavy, but his
complexion was a delicate and unnatural pink and white-like a piece of
fine porcelain.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25