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Burning Sands. Weigall Arthur Edward Pearse Brome
Читать онлайн.Название Burning Sands
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Автор произведения Weigall Arthur Edward Pearse Brome
Жанр Зарубежная классика
Издательство Public Domain
“I didn’t know you were coming out here,” said Muriel. “It’s splendid.”
“We only decided on Egypt at the last minute,” explained Mr. Bindane. “Kate was so anxious to go up the Nile.”
“It’s a blinkin’ fine river, I’m told,” remarked his wife, at which he smiled reprovingly.
Her friend’s language was notorious, though actually she seldom approached an oath except in mimicry. She was a woman of five-and-twenty, and for seven years she had delighted London with her pretended vulgarity. Her husband, on the other hand, was more or less unknown to the metropolis, though, as the inheritor from his father of an enormous fortune, his name had lately been heard in Mayfair, while in the City it was well known. People said he was a fool; and everybody supposed that the eccentric Kate had married him for his money. As a matter of fact, she had married him for love.
“Where are you staying?” Muriel asked.
“We’ve got a little paddle-wheeled steamer on the river,” he replied. “We arrived last night.”
“And of course we came round to see you at once,” said Kate. “Benifett’s rather a snob, you know: loves lords and ladies. So do I. How’s your pa?”
“Oh, just the same as always,” Muriel answered. “I don’t seem to see much of him.”
“People say he’s rather a success at running this ’ere country,” the other remarked. “Personally, I detest the man: I think he’s neglected you shamefully all your life.”
“Oh, father’s all right,” said Muriel. “I’m very fond of him.”
“Rot!” muttered her friend.
For some time they exchanged their news, and Muriel gave some account of the quiet life she had spent since her arrival.
“Any decent men?” Mrs. Bindane asked. “What about little Rupert Helsingham?”
“Oh, d’you know him?”
“Lord! yes. He stayed with us once when he and I were kiddies. I saw him when he was on leave last summer: he’s grown into a handsome little fellow.”
She asked if he were on the premises, and whether she might see him. In reply, Muriel rang the bell, and sent a message to the office where Rupert usually spent his mornings in interviewing native dignitaries.
“Here’s a friend of yours,” she said to him as he came into the room, and there ensued a rapid exchange of merry greetings.
“This is what I’ve married,” remarked Mrs. Bindane, taking her husband’s hand in hers and delivering it into Rupert’s friendly grasp.
“How-de-do,” said Mr. Bindane, looking down from his great height at the dapper little man before him.
“Glad to meet you, sir,” said Rupert, looking up at the limp figure, which gave the appearance of being about to fall to pieces at any moment.
“His father’s a lord, dear,” whispered Mrs. Bindane to her husband, in a hoarse aside.
“You’re just as impossible as ever, Kate,” laughed Rupert.
“It’s my common blood,” said she. “One of my ancestors married his cook: she was the woman who cooked that surfeit of lampreys King John died of.”
“Is Lord Blair in?” Mr. Bindane asked, very suddenly.
Mrs. Bindane turned sharply and stared at him. “Now what has Lord Blair to do with you, Benifett?” she asked in surprise. “I didn’t know you knew him.”
Her husband flapped a loose hand. “I’ve met his Lordship,” he said.
“His Lordship,” mimicked the impossible Kate, giving a nod of simulated awe. “Rupert, my lad, go and tell the boss he’s wanted in the shop.”
“I’d like to see him,” murmured Mr. Bindane, quite unmoved.
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