Читать книгу Mary Wakefield - Mazo de la Roche - Страница 15
“‘No more subtle master under heaven Than is the maiden passion for a maid, Not only to keep down the base in man But teach high thought, and amiable words And courtliness, and the desire of fame And love of truth, and all that makes a man.’”
ОглавлениеHe laid his hand on the page.
“Stop,” he said, “and then read that again.” She was confused. “That ... which?” she stammered.
“You know.” He took his hand from the page and repeated the first line.
“Was I reading too fast?” she asked.
“No. I just wanted to hear it again.”
“Do you like it? Shall I go on?”
“Please, do.”
She re-read the passage and continued but less clearly. Her composure was shaken. Philip had picked up a small switch and was gently beating the ground with it as though to the rhythm of the poetry.
Neither saw Dr. Ramsey descending the opposite slope and he did not see them till he stood on the rustic bridge. If Mary’s composure had been shaken, his now suffered a tremor, as of an approaching earthquake. He could scarcely believe his eyes. Philip prone on the ground, at Miss Wakefield’s feet! She dressed, not as he had heretofore seen her but in some filmy garment, with elbow sleeves! Her body curved in a languishing attitude.
“Dear God!” muttered the doctor. “Has it come to this?”
He strode on across the bridge and mounted the path toward them with a sharp crackling of twigs. His foot dislodged a stone and it bounded down the slope and splashed into the stream. Now Philip and Mary became aware of his approach.
He was panting a little as he spoke. “I would not dream of interrupting you,” he said, “especially in such a pleasant occupation, but I had brought the volume of Robert Burns’ poems, I promised you, Miss Wakefield. Twice before I brought them but could not find you. Ah, I see you have other poetry to engross you. Never mind. I will take it away again.”
“Please, don’t,” cried Mary. “I want them very much.”
He all but threw the book into her lap.
Philip got to his feet. “Hot, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes. It is exceedingly hot driving along dusty country roads on my rounds. You are fortunate, you and Miss Wakefield, in having no duties to perform.”
He strode up the path and left them.
“You’d never think he was seventy, would you?” remarked Philip looking after him.
