The Painted Veil. Уильям Сомерсет МоэмЧитать онлайн книгу.
resist it."
"You dear."
She leaned a little towards him, her dark and shining eyes gazing passionately into his, her mouth a little open with desire, and he put his arms round her. She abandoned herself with a sigh of ecstasy to their shelter.
"You know you can always count on me," he said.
"I'm so happy with you. I wish I could make you as happy as you make me."
"You're not frightened any more?"
"I hate Walter," she answered.
He did not quite know what to say to this, so he kissed her. Her face was very soft against his.
But he took her wrist on which was a little gold watch and looked at the time.
"Do you know what I must do now?"
"Bolt?" she smiled.
He nodded. For one instant she clung to him more closely, but she felt his desire to go, and she released him.
"It's shameful the way you neglect your work. Be off with you."
He could never resist the temptation to flirt.
"You seem in a devil of a hurry to get rid of me," he said lightly.
"You know that I hate to let you go."
Her answer was low and deep and serious. He gave a flattered laugh.
"Don't worry your pretty little head about our mysterious visitor. I'm quite sure it was the amah. And if there's any trouble I guarantee to get you out of it."
"Have you had a lot of experience?"
His smile was amused and complacent.
"No, but I flatter myself that I've got a head screwed on my shoulders."
III
She went out on to the veranda and watched him leave the house. He waved his hand to her. It gave her a little thrill as she looked at him; he was forty-one, but he had the lithe figure and the springing step of a boy.
The veranda was in shadow; and lazily, her heart at ease with satisfied love, she lingered. Their house stood in the Pleasant Vale, on the side of the hill, for they could not afford to live on the more eligible but expensive Mount. But her abstracted gaze scarcely noticed the blue sea and the crowded shipping in the harbour. She could think only of her lover.
Of course it was stupid to behave as they had done that afternoon, but if he wanted her how could she be prudent? He had come two or three times after tiffin, when in the heat of the day no one thought of stirring out, and not even the boys had seen him come and go. It was very difficult at Tching-Yen. She hated the Chinese city and it made her nervous to go into the filthy little house off the Victoria Road in which they were in the habit of meeting. It was a curio dealer's; and the Chinese who were sitting about stared at her unpleasantly; she hated the ingratiating smile of the old man who took her to the back of the shop and then up a dark flight of stairs. The room into which he led her was frowsy and the large wooden bed against the wall made her shudder.
"This is dreadfully sordid, isn't it?" she said to Charlie the first time she met him there.
"It was till you came in," he answered.
Of course the moment he took her in his arms she forgot everything.
Oh, how hateful it was that she wasn't free, that they both weren't free! She didn't like his wife. Kitty's wandering thoughts dwelt now for a moment on Dorothy Townsend. How unfortunate to be called Dorothy! It dated you. She was thirty-eight at least. But Charlie never spoke of her. Of course he didn't care for her; she bored him to death. But he was a gentleman. Kitty smiled with affectionate irony: it was just like him, silly old thing; he might be unfaithful to her, but he would never allow a word in disparagement of her to cross his lips. She was a tallish woman, taller than Kitty, neither stout nor thin, with a good deal of pale brown hair; she could never have been pretty with anything but the prettiness of youth; her features were good enough without being remarkable and her blue eyes were cold. She had a skin that you would never look at twice and no colour in her cheeks. And she dressed like—well, like what she was, the wife of the Assistant Colonial Secretary at Tching-Yen. Kitty smiled and gave her shoulders a faint shrug.
Of course no one could deny that Dorothy Townsend had a pleasant voice. She was a wonderful mother, Charlie always said that of her, and she was what Kitty's mother called a gentlewoman. But Kitty did not like her. She did not like her casual manner; and the politeness with which she treated you when you went there, to tea or dinner, was exasperating because you could not but feel how little interest she took in you. The fact was, Kitty supposed, that she cared for nothing but her children: there were two boys at school in England, and another boy of six whom she was going to take home next year. Her face was a mask. She smiled and in her pleasant, well-mannered way said the things that were expected of her; but for all her cordiality held you at a distance. She had a few intimate friends in the Colony and they greatly admired her. Kitty wondered whether Mrs. Townsend thought her a little common. She flushed. After all there was no reason for her to put on airs. It was true that her father had been a Colonial Governor and of course it was very grand while it lasted—every one stood up when you entered a room and men took off their hats to you as you passed in your car—but what could be more insignificant than a Colonial Governor when he had retired? Dorothy Townsend's father lived on a pension in a small house at Earl's Court. Kitty's mother would think it a dreadful bore if she asked her to call. Kitty's father, Bernard Garstin, was a K.C., and there was no reason why he should not be made a judge one of these days. Anyhow they lived in South Kensington.
IV
Kitty, coming to Tching-Yen on her marriage, had found it hard to reconcile herself to the fact that her social position was determined by her husband's occupation. Of course every one had been very kind and for two or three months they had gone out to parties almost every night; when they dined at Government House the Governor took her in as a bride; but she had understood quickly that as the wife of the Government bacteriologist she was of no particular consequence. It made her angry.
"It's too absurd," she told her husband. "Why, there's hardly any one here that one would bother about for five minutes at home. Mother wouldn't dream of asking any of them to dine at our house."
"You mustn't let it worry you," he answered. "It doesn't really matter, you know."
"Of course it doesn't matter, it only shows how stupid they are, but it is rather funny when you think of all the people who used to come to our house at home that here we should be treated like dirt."
"From a social standpoint the man of science does not exist," he smiled.
She knew that now, but she had not known it when she married him.
"I don't know that it exactly amuses me to be taken in to dinner by the agent of the P. and O.," she said, laughing in order that what she said might not seem snobbish.
Perhaps he saw the reproach behind her lightness of manner, for he took her hand and shyly pressed it.
"I'm awfully sorry, Kitty dear, but don't let it vex you."
"Oh, I'm not going to let it do that."
V
It couldn't have been Walter that afternoon. It must have been one of the servants and after all they didn't matter. Chinese servants knew everything anyway. But they held their