Читать книгу Mignonette - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 5

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"Rich and free," Barbara repeated to herself. It was hard to accept the meaning of the words. There was no one to thwart her, to scold her, to warn her, to advise her; there was only Mr. Bompast who had no authority over her and whose dry prudence would be ignored.

She could not even be checked if she did anything eccentric.

Her heart glowed at this reflection. She sat at the desk Caroline Atwood had just left and swiftly wrote a note to Sir Timothy Boys thanking him for his civility and asking if they might call at Mirabile on the afternoon of the following day. Then she at once forgot about this, drew a little ivory-covered pocketbook from the net of black silk at her waist, opened it and read with eager eyes a minutely penciled entry:

Madame Falconet, Rue Arques-la-Bataille 8, Paris.

Replacing the diary, she took a sheet of writing paper from the stand, repeated to herself "Rich and free," and began to write, "My dear Aimée."