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قراءة كتاب At Bay
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
from grass, and flowers, and shrubs, as they proceeded along the avenue which, skirting the bois, led to the river-side. It was longer than Miss Lambert thought, and the moon had risen before they reached the Seine. At first they had kept all together, but gradually Glynn contrived to separate himself and Miss Lambert from the rest. "And so you had not courage enough for the stage," he said, after a short pause in their conversation.
"No; I suppose it is want of courage that holds me back—a sort of constitutional dislike to such a calling. Though I greatly admire actresses and singers, I could not be one. I love quietness, stillness,—being with a few people I like."
"Then you cannot like Paris?"
"Oh, yes! I am very happy here. I enjoy music and pictures, and my father gives me everything I can want or wish. I am a most fortunate girl, but——"
"There are 'buts' in every life," said Glynn, as she paused. He wanted her to speak on.
"There is scarcely a 'but' in mine. I was going to say that I seem to want a few months in the country every year to make life complete."
"Have you been accustomed to the country, then?"
"Yes. When we came first from Australia I was rather delicate, and I used to live with the kind woman who took care of me after my mother's death at her brother's farm in a beautiful country on the borders of Wales. It was a delightful place. Then when I was about twelve my father thought I ought to learn something, and he put me to school in the convent. I have never been in England since; still I always fancy I am English."
"And I feel as if you were; but Mr. Lambert is American?"
"Not by birth. Tell me, did you know my father very well long ago?"
"Yes; that is, we ran some risks together. Why do you ask?"
"Because you are so unlike all his other friends."
"Indeed! Am I too English?"
"No; I cannot exactly say what the difference is, but it is very great."
Somehow these few simple words elated Glynn as though they contained the highest compliment. He restrained the reply which sprang to his lips, and changed the subject by exclaiming, "There is the river; how fine it looks in the moonlight."
"Yes, there is real harmony there."
"You are right, Elsie," exclaimed her father. "It gives one the feeling of being in church when the organ is playing."
"And you and your delightful singing give me the feeling of silvery light upon a still, smooth lake," said Glynn, in a low tone to his companion. "You will be forever associated in my memory with moonlight and music."
Elsie smiled a thoughtful smile.
"I am not sure that such an association of ideas is a good omen. There is something mournful and mystic in the moon."
"I could never bring anything but good to you," whispered Glynn, who was strangely stirred by the charm of his companion, the beauty of the scene, the curious fatality which had brought him into contact with Lambert after having lost sight of him for so many years.
"Dieu!" cried Mademoiselle Davilliers, "I am expiring with fatigue, and I have all that long way to walk back!"
"Not at all, my dear young lady," said Lambert, with a superior air. "I made a few inquiries before we started, and told them to send on one of the carriages after us. There, I think I hear it coming."
The drive back was a fitting end to a delightful day. Glynn secured a seat next Elsie, and though neither of them spoke many words, he at least felt that the electric communication of unuttered sympathy was complete and sufficient.
"Thank you for a delightful day, Mr. Lambert."
"My dear boy"—it had been "my dear sir" the day before—"it is a real pleasure to meet you. Look in on us now and again. I am sure my daughter will be delighted. Elsie! Where is she?"
"Miss Lambert is rather tired; I think she has gone in. Good-night,—thanks, I have a cigar."
CHAPTER II.
PLAYING WITH FIRE.
When Glynn woke next morning to broad day, the noise of the busy street, and the consciousness of an early business appointment, last night, with its music and moonlight, seemed to him dream-like and unreal. It was all very pleasant while it lasted, but in a few days he would quit Paris, and probably never see Lambert or that wonderfully charming daughter of his again. What would be the destiny of such a woman so placed? Not happiness, he feared, if she were all she seemed. Yet how devoted that queer fish Lambert was to her. So far as he could take care of her he would; but what perceptions could he have of what was right and suitable for a delicate, sensitive girl!
However, Glynn had other things to think of just then, and soon hastened away to hold high council on money matters with a sharp but soft-spoken German Jew, whose oiliness had not a soothing effect on the cool, clear-sighted Englishman.
Business hours are earlier in Paris than in London. Glynn found himself on the Boulevard des Italiens, and free, while it was still early enough to pay a visit. With a vague curiosity, arising from very mixed motives, he directed his steps to the hotel where Mr. and Lady Frances Deering lodged, and found that lady at tea with her son—a pale, delicate, deformed boy—and a gentleman of middle height, with a frank, sun-burnt face, and a certain easy looseness about his well-made clothes.
"You are just in time for tea, Mr. Glynn," said Lady Frances, in a soft but monotonous voice. "Do you know my cousin, Captain Verner?"
Yes, the gentlemen had met before, and they exchanged a few civil words.
"Is this your first visit to Paris?" asked Glynn, kindly, as he drew his chair beside the sofa on which the boy was lying.
"Yes, the very first."
"And how do you like it?"
"Oh, so much! It is so beautiful and bright. I should like to stay here always."
"Bertie is much better and stronger since we came here, which partly accounts for his wish to stay," said his mother, with a slight sigh.
"I wish I could take you to sea, my boy," cried Captain Verner; "a cruise with me would make you all right."
Lady Frances turned her pale eyes on the speaker, and Glynn noticed that they darkened with a look of intense pain only for an instant, while she said with her usual composure, "I have no doubt that Herbert will be quite fortified by Dr. Lemaire's treatment. Then the summer is before him, and he will have gathered strength before winter. Winter is very severe and dreary at Denham."
"You should winter at Palermo," observed Glynn. "It is a delightful spot—a sort of place to make you forget troubles."
"I wish you would," said Verner, earnestly.
"Say could," returned Lady Frances, and she rose to ring the bell.
She was very tall and slight, exceedingly dignified and deliberate in her movements, and would have been rather handsome but for her extreme stillness, coldness, and want of color. A pale blonde sounds like insipidity, but Lady Frances was not insipid; she was a great lady to the tips of her fingers, yet simple in dress and manner to a degree that bewildered those gorgeous dames, the wives of her husband's wealthier constituents, on the rare occasions when they were admitted within the sacred portals of Denham Castle.
"Why are you hurrying away to London?" asked Verner. "There is nothing to call Deering back, as he has lost his seat."
"He is not happy out of club-land, I suppose," said Lady Frances, sitting down beside her son. "I must say I am very sorry he lost the election. He deserved better at the hands of the Denham men, but it was the radical mining people that turned him out."
"Do you leave soon?" asked Glynn.
"On Thursday; I suppose you will not come back quite so soon? You are fond of Paris, I think?"
"My movements are rather uncertain; I may go on to Berlin."
"I wish you would come as far as Genoa with me," cried Verner, "I am just