LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

second cab and drove to the

      Hotel Astoria--the usual objective of Americans.

      Taking leave of him for the moment, let us follow the lady.

      Her arrangements were very soon made at the hotel, and having removed

      some of the travel-stains from her person and partaken of one cup of

      China tea, respecting the quality whereof she delivered herself of some

      caustic comments, she walked down into the Strand and mounted to the top

      of a Victoria bound 'bus.

      That she was not intimately acquainted with London, was a fact readily

      observable by her fellow passengers; for as the 'bus went rolling

      westward, from the large pocket of her Norfolk jacket she took out a

      guide-book provided with numerous maps, and began composedly to consult

      its complexities.

      When the conductor came to collect her fare, she had made up her mind,

      and was replacing the guidebook in her pocket.

      “Put me down by the Storis, Victoria Street, conductor,” she directed,

      and handed him a penny--the correct fare.

      It chanced that at about the time, within a minute or so, of the

      American lady's leaving the hotel, and just as red rays, the harbingers

      of dusk, came creeping in at the latticed widow of her cozy work-room,

      Helen Cumberly laid down her pen with a sigh. She stood up, mechanically

      rearranging her hair as she did so, and crossed the corridor to her

      bedroom, the window whereof overlooked the Square.

      She peered down into the central garden. A common-looking man sat upon

      a bench, apparently watching the labors of the gardener, which consisted

      at the moment of the spiking of scraps of paper which disfigured the

      green carpet of the lawn.

      Helen returned to her writing-table and reseated herself. Kindly

      twilight veiled her, and a chatty sparrow who perched upon the

      window-ledge pretended that he had not noticed two tears which trembled,

      quivering, upon the girl's lashes. Almost unconsciously, for it was an

      established custom, she sprinkled crumbs from the tea-tray beside her

      upon the ledge, whilst the tears dropped upon a written page and two

      more appeared in turn upon her lashes.

      The sparrow supped enthusiastically, being joined in his repast by two

      talkative companions. As the last fragments dropped from the girl's

      white fingers, she withdrew her hand, and slowly--very slowly--her head

      sank down, pillowed upon her arms.

      For some five minutes she cried silently; the sparrows, unheeded, bade

      her good night, and flew to their nests in the trees of the Square.

      Then, very resolutely, as if inspired by a settled purpose, she stood up

      and recrossed the corridor to her bedroom.

      She turned on the lamp above the dressing-table and rapidly removed the

      traces of her tears, contemplating in dismay a redness of her pretty

      nose which did not prove entirely amenable to treatment with the

      powder-puff. Finally, however, she switched off the light, and, going

      out on to the landing, descended to the door of Henry Leroux's flat.

      In reply to her ring, the maid, Ferris, opened the door. She wore her

      hat and coat, and beside her on the floor stood a tin trunk.

      “Why, Ferris!” cried Helen--“are you leaving?”

      “I am indeed, miss!” said the girl, independently.

      “But why? whatever will Mr. Leroux do?”

      “He'll have to do the best he can. Cook's goin' too!”

      “What! cook is going?”

      “I am!” announced a deep, female voice.

      And the cook appeared beside the maid.

      “But whatever--” began Helen; then, realizing that she could achieve

      no good end by such an attitude: “Tell Mr. Leroux,” she instructed the

      maid, quietly, “that I wish to see him.”

      Ferris glanced rapidly at her companion, as a man appeared on the

      landing, to inquire in an abysmal tone, if “them boxes was ready to be

      took?” Helen Cumberly forestalled an insolent refusal which the cook, by

      furtive wink, counseled to the housemaid.

      “Don't trouble,” she said, with an easy dignity reminiscent of her

      father. “I will announce myself.”

      She passed the servants, crossed the lobby, and rapped upon the study

      door.

      “Come in,” said the voice of Henry Leroux.

      Helen opened the door. The place was in semidarkness, objects being but

      dimly discernible. Leroux sat in his usual seat at the writing-table.

      The room was in the utmost disorder, evidently having received no

      attention since its overhauling by the police. Helen pressed the switch,

      lighting the two lamps.

      Leroux, at last, seemed in his proper element: he exhibited an unhealthy

      pallor, and it was obvious that no razor had touched his chin for at

      least three days. His dark blue eyes the eyes of a dreamer--were heavy

      and dull, with shadows pooled below them. A biscuit-jar, a decanter and

      a syphon stood half buried in papers on the table.

      “Why, Mr. Leroux!” said Helen, with a deep note of sympathy in her

      voice--“you don't mean to say”...

      Leroux rose, forcing a smile to his haggard face.

      “You see--much too good,” he said. “Altogether--too good.”...

      “I thought I should find you here,” continued the girl, firmly; “but

      I did not anticipate”--she indicated the chaos about--“this! The

      insolence, the disgraceful, ungrateful insolence, of those women!”

      “Dear, dear, dear!” murmured Leroux, waving his hand vaguely; “never

      mind--never mind! They--er--they... I don't want them to stop... and,

      believe me, I am--er--perfectly comfortable!”

      “You should not be in--THIS room, at all. In fact, you should go right

      away.”...

      “I cannot... my wife may--return--at any moment.” His voice shook.

      “I--am

Скачать книгу