Читать книгу Kitty - Warwick Deeping - Страница 16

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Mrs Sarah, knowing men as she did, could sum a man up by the way he rose from a sofa, and when Alex St. George got up rather hurriedly, and stood with a slight stoop of shy courtesy, Mrs Sarah had him catalogued. Having a dignity of her own she liked a lad who had breed and good manners, and if he were shy so much the better. Bull-headed youth is both dull and tiresome. She smiled at Kitty’s protégé, and held out a hand.

“I’m Mrs Greenwood. Kitty has gone to put on a hat.”

Astonishing situation! But was any situation astonishing during the war? Alex met Mrs Sarah’s hand, to find its grasp firm and reassuring. He was aware of her as a solid person in black who smiled, and who appeared to accept his presence in the red and white room as the most natural of happenings. He had a moment of self-questioning panic. Was he making a fool of himself, going out with a girl who was a complete stranger, a girl whose mother kept a shop? Would not his own mother regard the incident as an alternative to too much whisky?

Mrs Sarah sat down.

“Smoke—if you like—.”

He too sat down, but on the very edge of the sofa. He looked at Mrs Sarah with his wide, dark eyes.

“It’s awfully good of—Miss—Greenwood—.”

“Kitty—is—good,” said her mother.

“I hope I’m not—.”

He found his words arrested by Mrs Sarah’s inevitable smile.

“O, you are what we call a gentleman, Mr St. George. And although we keep a shop—.”

“Yes, of course.—I—.”

“Everything is a little unusual—these days, my dear. The thing is not to worry too much.”

He stared at her. He had a sudden feeling that his panic mood of a moment ago had been both caddish and a little ridiculous. He liked Mrs Sarah, and liked her at once, and immensely, without being able to say why. Was it her solidity? She looked so alive and real and compact. She gave you a sense of cohesion and continuity; she made you feel that—after all, life was a solid business, full of heart and courage; she looked as indestructible as London; when she smiled you knew that there must be things worth smiling at. Alex was not old enough to explain his impression by saying that both Mrs Sarah and her daughter were strong animals, little women of superb vitality who could emit from their vigorous entities wholesome and potent suggestions.

Deprecatingly he said—“I think I worry too much.”

She accepted the statement.

“The way one’s made, Mr St. George. Plum pudding or jelly. Don’t quarrel with yourself—.”

He laughed.

“Jelly! That’s good. But so long as the jelly keeps its shape—even if it quakes—?”

“Exactly. Here’s Kitty. Well, you two young things know how to spend the day,—I suppose.”

Kitty looked up at the man.

“I dare say we shall find out.”