Читать книгу The Game and the Candle - Eleanor M. Ingram - Страница 5

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"Robert is not up?" Theodora queried presently, too fine to insist on the suggested confidence.

"No. Are you sorry, Theo?"

Surprised at the tone, she glanced up, but the shadows were heavy where he sat.

"Why, yes, of course." And recovering herself, "Certainly; how could we exist without him?"

"How, indeed?" he echoed, rather too quietly for naturalness. "Suppose he were to go away?"

"I should expire immediately of ennui. You see, he and I have a bond of frivolity; while against you we all lean for support. You are very supporting, John; now, this tea," she laughed gleefully. "Robert probably would have pressed champagne upon me, because it is less trouble to get."

"You might have made tea yourself," he suggested, drawing a branch of the wistaria to shade his face more completely.

"I hate to do things for myself. I hope that I never will have to."

"I hope not. But I promised to tell you something. I am going on a trip to South America; part business, part restlessness."

"You!"

"Why not? I can not play all the time, you know, not being a girl myself. I may be away only a few months, or—much longer. But let me be quite frank; surely you are aware Robert loves you, Theo. If I should not be home before you are married, still you will understand how much good I wish you both, and remember that I said this now. Forgive me for speaking of this; it is ventured because I start to-morrow."

She sat very still, and he heard her hurried breathing in the hush.

"I did not know you meant that," she said at last, her accents unsure.

"Or you would not have confessed? Never mind my blundering interference, little cousin; I have no wish so dear as that you two should care for each other. You are not angry?"

She rose abruptly to set down the cup, the shadows now a cloak for her.

"Angry? Oh, no; I have never learned to be angry with you. I—It is damp out here; I must go in. Good night, John."

"Good night, Theo," he responded with all gentleness. It was so wonderful, this exquisite timidity, this virginal shyness that only Robert should have seen. He saw her quivering as she passed him in the moonlight, her head averted.

But in the doorway she turned back.

"John, as we entered the avenue to-night, there was a man standing near the olive-trees. Mr. Preston stopped the car and called to ask what he did there. The man answered that he was waiting to see you about some gardening work, but it was so late that you must have forgotten. He sounded honest, but Mr. Preston bade me warn you, saying that a man, once your father's servant, had just been released from prison, and might use a knowledge of Sun-Kist to attempt burglary. You will be careful?"

"I will be careful," he answered calmly. "Thank you, dear."

She slipped hurriedly across the threshold, as if in escape, ruthlessly tearing her thin gown upon the door-latch. Allard wearily rested his head against the column behind him, and so remained.

At the end of an hour he rose and went down across the moon-blanched lawns, walking steadily and directly toward the group of olive-trees. He knew for what Desmond was waiting, knew what answer would be given, and it seemed to him that he had already severed the connection between the present and the future. It seemed to him that not to-morrow, but to-night, he was taking leave of all things; that the unblazed trail led straight on from behind those dark trees just beyond him.

The white statues stirred with the wavering shadows as he passed; the rich scent of the tuberoses called as a familiar voice; like a patter of tiny footsteps the ripple of the fountain followed.