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The Crimson Tide: A Novel
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“I’m merely wondering who that girl was who lunched with him at Delmonico’s–three times– last week,” mused his wife.
“Why–she’s probably all right, Helen. A man doesn’t take the other sort there.”
“So I’ve heard,” she said drily.
“Well, then?”
“Nothing… She’s very pretty, I understand… And wears mourning.”
“What of it?” he asked, amused. She smiled at him, but there was a trace of annoyance in her voice.
“Don’t you think it very natural that I should wonder who any girl is who lunches with my son three times in one week?.. And is remarkably pretty, besides?”
The girl in question looked remarkably pretty at that very moment, where she sat at her desk, the telephone transmitter tilted toward her, the receiver at her ear, and her dark eyes full of gayest malice.
“Miss Dumont, please?” came a distant and familiar voice over the wire. The girl laughed aloud; and he heard her.
“You said you were not going to call me up.”
“Is it you, Palla?”
“How subtle of you!”
He said anxiously. “Are you doing anything this evening–by any unhappy chance–”
“I am.”
“Oh, hang it! What are you doing?”
“How impertinent!”
“You know I don’t mean it that way–”
“I’m not sure. However, I’ll be kind enough to tell you what I’m doing. I’m sitting here at my desk, listening to an irritable young man–”
“That’s wonderful luck!” he exclaimed joyously.
“Wonderful luck for a girl to sit at a desk and listen to an irritable young man?”
“If you’ll stop talking bally nonsense for a moment–”
“If you bully me, I shall stop talking altogether!”
“For heaven’s sake–”
“I hear you, kind sir; you need not shout!”
He said humbly: “Palla, would you let me drop in–”
“Drop into what? Into poetry? Please do!”
“For the love of–”
“Jim! You told me last evening that you expected to be at the opera to-night.”
“I’m not going.”
“–So I didn’t expect you to call me!”
“Can’t I see you?” he asked.
“I’m sorry–”
“The deuce!”
“I’m expecting some people, Jim. It’s your own fault; I didn’t expect a tête-à-tête with you this evening.”
“Is it a party you’re giving?”
“Two or three people. But my place is full of flowers and as pretty as a garden. Too bad you can’t see it.”
“Couldn’t I come to your garden-party?” he asked humbly.
“You mean just to see my garden for a moment?”
“Yes; let me come around for a moment, anyway–if you’re dressed. Are you?”
“Certainly I’m dressed. Did you think it was to be a garden-of-Eden party?”
Her gay, mischievous laughter came distinctly to him over the wire. Then her mood changed abruptly:
“You funny boy,” she said, “don’t you understand that I want you to come?”
“You enchanting girl!” he exclaimed. “Do you really mean it?”
“Of course! And if you come at once we’ll have nearly an hour together before anybody arrives.”
She had that sweet, unguarded way with her at moments, and it always sent a faint shock of surprise and delight through him.
Her smiling maid admitted him and took his hat, coat and stick as though accustomed to these particular articles.
Palla was alone in the living-room when he was announced, and as soon as the maid disappeared she gave him both hands in swift welcome–an impulsive, unconsidered greeting entirely new to them both.
“You didn’t mind my tormenting you. Did you, Jim? I was so happy that you did call me up, after all. Because you know you did tell me yesterday that you were going to the opera to-night. But all the same, when the ’phone rang, somehow I knew it was you–I knew it–somehow–”
She loosened one hand from his and swung him with the other toward the piano: “Do you like my flower garden? Isn’t the room attractive?”
“Charming,” he said. “And you are distractingly pretty to-night!”
“Why–she’s probably all right, Helen. A man doesn’t take the other sort there.”
“So I’ve heard,” she said drily.
“Well, then?”
“Nothing… She’s very pretty, I understand… And wears mourning.”
“What of it?” he asked, amused. She smiled at him, but there was a trace of annoyance in her voice.
“Don’t you think it very natural that I should wonder who any girl is who lunches with my son three times in one week?.. And is remarkably pretty, besides?”
The girl in question looked remarkably pretty at that very moment, where she sat at her desk, the telephone transmitter tilted toward her, the receiver at her ear, and her dark eyes full of gayest malice.
“Miss Dumont, please?” came a distant and familiar voice over the wire. The girl laughed aloud; and he heard her.
“You said you were not going to call me up.”
“Is it you, Palla?”
“How subtle of you!”
He said anxiously. “Are you doing anything this evening–by any unhappy chance–”
“I am.”
“Oh, hang it! What are you doing?”
“How impertinent!”
“You know I don’t mean it that way–”
“I’m not sure. However, I’ll be kind enough to tell you what I’m doing. I’m sitting here at my desk, listening to an irritable young man–”
“That’s wonderful luck!” he exclaimed joyously.
“Wonderful luck for a girl to sit at a desk and listen to an irritable young man?”
“If you’ll stop talking bally nonsense for a moment–”
“If you bully me, I shall stop talking altogether!”
“For heaven’s sake–”
“I hear you, kind sir; you need not shout!”
He said humbly: “Palla, would you let me drop in–”
“Drop into what? Into poetry? Please do!”
“For the love of–”
“Jim! You told me last evening that you expected to be at the opera to-night.”
“I’m not going.”
“–So I didn’t expect you to call me!”
“Can’t I see you?” he asked.
“I’m sorry–”
“The deuce!”
“I’m expecting some people, Jim. It’s your own fault; I didn’t expect a tête-à-tête with you this evening.”
“Is it a party you’re giving?”
“Two or three people. But my place is full of flowers and as pretty as a garden. Too bad you can’t see it.”
“Couldn’t I come to your garden-party?” he asked humbly.
“You mean just to see my garden for a moment?”
“Yes; let me come around for a moment, anyway–if you’re dressed. Are you?”
“Certainly I’m dressed. Did you think it was to be a garden-of-Eden party?”
Her gay, mischievous laughter came distinctly to him over the wire. Then her mood changed abruptly:
“You funny boy,” she said, “don’t you understand that I want you to come?”
“You enchanting girl!” he exclaimed. “Do you really mean it?”
“Of course! And if you come at once we’ll have nearly an hour together before anybody arrives.”
She had that sweet, unguarded way with her at moments, and it always sent a faint shock of surprise and delight through him.
Her smiling maid admitted him and took his hat, coat and stick as though accustomed to these particular articles.
Palla was alone in the living-room when he was announced, and as soon as the maid disappeared she gave him both hands in swift welcome–an impulsive, unconsidered greeting entirely new to them both.
“You didn’t mind my tormenting you. Did you, Jim? I was so happy that you did call me up, after all. Because you know you did tell me yesterday that you were going to the opera to-night. But all the same, when the ’phone rang, somehow I knew it was you–I knew it–somehow–”
She loosened one hand from his and swung him with the other toward the piano: “Do you like my flower garden? Isn’t the room attractive?”
“Charming,” he said. “And you are distractingly pretty to-night!”
Другие электронные книги автора Robert Chambers
Другие аудиокниги автора Robert Chambers
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Классная книга. Очень многое объясняет, что скрытое реально происходит в человеке