Kitabı oku: «Маленькая хозяйка большого дома / The Little Lady Of The Big House», sayfa 4
3
The lunch-time came. Graham took his part in the conversation on breeds and breeding, but the delicate white of Paula on the back of a great horse was before his eyes the entire time.
All the guests drifted into the long dining room. Dick Forrest arrived and precipitated cocktails. And Graham impatiently waited the appearance of the woman who had worried his eyes since noon.
She entered. Graham’s lips gasped apart, and remained apart, his eyes ravished with the beauty and surprise. Here was no a child-woman or boy-girl on a stallion, but agrand lady24.
As she crossed the floor, Graham saw two women: one, the grand lady, the mistress of the Big House; other, the lovely equestrienne beneath the dull-blue, golden-trimmed gown.
She was upon them, among them, and Graham’s hand held hers in the formal introduction. At table, across the corner from her, it was his hostess that mostly filled his eyes and his mind.
It was a company Graham had ever sat down to dinner with. The sheep-buyer, and the correspondent, men, women, and girls, fourteen in total. Graham could not remember their names. They were full of spirits, laughter, and the latest jokes.
“I see right now,” Graham told Paula, “your place is the caravanserai; I can’t even try to remember names and people.”
“I don’t blame you,” she laughed. “But these are neighbors. They visit us in any time.Mrs. Watson25, there, next to Dick, is of the old land-aristocracy. That is her grandfather, and that pretty dark-eyed girl is her daughter …”
And while Paula was describing guests, Graham heard scarce half she said, so occupied was he in trying to understand of her. The pride. That was it! It was in her eye, in the poise of her head, in the curling tendrils of her hair, in her sensitive nostrils, in the mobile lips, in the angle of the rounded chin, in her hands, small, muscular and veined. Pride it was, in every muscle, nerve, and quiver of her—conscious, sentient, stinging pride.
She might be joyous and natural, boy and woman, fun and frolic; but always the pride was there, vibrant, tense, intrinsic. She was a woman, frank, outspoken, straight-looking, plastic, democratic; but she was not a toy.
“Our philosophers can’t fight tonight,” Paula said to Graham.
“Philosophers?” he questioned back. “Who and what are they? I don’t understand.”
“They—” Paula hesitated. “They live here. They call themselves thejungle-birds26. They have a camp in the woods a couple of miles away, where they read and talk. It’s great fun for Dick, and, besides, it saves him time. He’s a dreadfully hard worker, you know.”
