"
His voice vibrated. What was to be done with Mr. Briggs? She
could of course stay in her room the whole time, say she was ill, not
appear at dinner; but again, the tyranny of this . . .
"I'm very comfortable indeed," said Scrap.
"If I had dreamed you were coming--" he began.
"It's a wonderful old place," said Scrap, doing her utmost to
sound detached and forbidding, but with little hope of success.
The kitchen was on this floor, and passing its door, which was
open a crack, they were observed by the servants, whose thoughts,
communicated to each other by looks, may be roughly reproduced by such
rude symbols as Aha and Oho--symbols which represented and included
their appreciation of the inevitable, their foreknowledge of the
inevitable, and their complete understanding and approval.
"Are you going upstairs?" asked Briggs, as she paused at the foot
of them.
"Yes."
"Which room do you sit in? The drawing-room, or the small yellow
room?"
"In my own room."
So then he couldn't go up with her; so then all he could do was
to wait till she came out again.
He longed to ask her which was her own room--it thrilled him to
hear her call any room in his house her own room--that he might picture
her in it. He longed to know if by any happy chance it was his room,
for ever after to be filled with her wonder; but he didn't dare.
Pages:
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292