Mary of Marion Isle. Генри Райдер ХаггардЧитать онлайн книгу.
I dare say he hypnotized the examiners and made them take a great deal for granted. Anyhow, he hasn’t touched a knife for twenty years. Not but that he does know a great deal in his own way.»
«I suppose that he is really very rich, Father?» said Rose.
«I believe about the richest man in the profession, though he did not make it all out of doctoring. They say that the Jews who come to consult him, give him information and opportunities of investing in all their best things on what is called the ‘ground floor.’ He cannot have inherited his wealth, as I believe his origin was quite humble, and he has no one to leave it to except one peevish daughter who suffers from hypochondria and is as unlike him as possible. She bores him so much that he told me some time ago he really thought of marrying again if only to get the comfort of a home.»
Rose looked as though she would like to ask whether the lady had been selected, but if so, thought better of it and asked nothing. Then, glancing at his watch, the doctor rose and went away, leaving the two alone.
Rose murmured something about clearing away the tea things, but Andrew came and stood beside her and said:
«No, don’t go away, I want to speak to you.»
In his voice there was some note of command such as a man uses towards a woman whom he believes to be his, and Rose was of the class that is susceptible to such exercise of authority, whether justified or not. Also, she was curious, for her instinct told her what was coming and she wished to know whether this attractive young man was in love with her, and if so, how much. A proposal, if he meant to propose, had not come her way before, and it was only natural that she should not wish to nip it in the bud. Lastly, life at Whitechapel was dull and here was a new excitement. So she remained seated and looked up at him through the shadows of the gloaming, like an angel out of mist.
For a moment or two Andrew played with the rose in his buttonhole, and looked down at her with a strange fire in his dark eyes. At last he spoke in a broken, uncertain voice:
«Rose, just before that troublesome man came in I told you that I loved you. Then there was the crash, a rather ill-omened crash,» he added with a little laugh as though uttering a thought aloud, and paused.
She made no answer, unless a sigh could be so described.
«Now I repeat it,» he went on, «in case you should have forgotten in the interval.»
Still she made no answer, being one of those women who feel that their greatest strength lies in silence and forget that it is generally taken to mean consent. Her tender beauty, the grace of her form, the scent that rose from her rippling hair, the loveliness of her eyes into which the twilight seemed to have crept, in their sum intoxicated him who for the first time had passed beneath the yoke of passion. He fell to his knees before her; he cast his arms about her slender waist; he kissed her dress, her hands and then, growing reckless or unknowing, drew her down towards him and pressed his lips upon her face, her eyes, her hair; yes, and on her lips also.
She did not resist him, she let him have his way, only she never kissed him back. While she refrained from that, according to her peculiar code, the rest did not matter. Gently she pushed him away from her and rose. He also rose and stood trembling, ashamed of what he had done.
«I love you! I love you!» he repeated. «You are my angel and my star.»
She smiled a little. Somehow it had never occurred to her to think of herself as either an angel or as a star. Nor did she particularly wish to fill those parts however figuratively, who was quite content to remain just a beautiful young woman in the flesh.
«I know,» she murmured indefinitely, then paused.
«Oh! say more than that,» he went on with passion. «Say that you love me also.»
«I don’t know,» she replied still more indefinitely.
«But you must; you must. It is impossible that I can love so much and not be loved back again. You must love me. You must marry me, Rose.»
At these words she looked up quickly. So he was going all the way – he meant marriage.
«I have never thought much of love, Andrew, and you are very young to talk of marriage. Also, how could we marry when we have nothing to live on?»
«I have something,» he answered, «a couple of hundred a year or so, and my profession.»
«I’m afraid that won’t be worth much to you for a long while, especially as you have made up your mind to work in Whitechapel where everybody expects to be doctored for nothing.»
Now an idea occurred to Andrew, namely, to tell her that he had other prospects of a sort. He rejected it, however, first because they could not materialize except through the death of others, on which it seemed mean and unworthy to speculate, and secondly for the reason that he shared Dr. Watson’s prejudices about rank – to a certain extent his contempt for it, and in short held the whole business sordid, not mete for discussion with this divine and adorable creature. Perhaps it was the greatest mistake of his life, or the wisest act. It depends in what light it is regarded in view of all that was to come. What could such things matter, he reflected, when love, holy, unalterable love and nothing less was at stake? So of those prospects he said nothing.
«Besides,» went on Rose, who had employed the interval in marshalling her arguments, «there is my father to be considered. If I married, he would be quite alone, and I promised my mother that I would always look after him. I could never break that promise, Andrew, just to please myself.»
«You might look after us both,» he suggested.
She shook her delicate head, and said:
«Three in a house would never agree, especially when both had such claims. You would grow jealous and he would be sore, and what would a poor woman do between you?»
«Then do you refuse me?» he asked bluntly. «Oh! don’t tell me that you refuse me.»
«I never said so,» she replied, looking down. «I must have time to think.»
«Oh! take it then,» he answered. «I can come back to- morrow.»
«You silly, Andrew! I mean a long time, at least a year. So many things happen in a year and by then I should know – my own heart. In a year, too, you would know if you really cared about me. You must remember that in a way I am the first girl you have met, and doubtless you will see others whom you may think more suitable for many reasons and – better- looking.»
«I shall see no others,» he replied sternly.
«Well, even if you do not, surely you would not wish to take advantage of my weakness and inexperience to press me to an irrevocable decision. It would not be like you to do so, because you know that a girl who is openly engaged is always tarnished if after all it should come to nothing – whatever the reason.»
As it happened no argument could have been used more likely to appeal to Andrew. He tarnish Rose? Perish the thought! Sooner would he die.
«I see,» he said. «I never looked at it in that light. Take your year. At the end of it I shall claim you, and you will give me the answer that I want.»
She smiled in a dazzling fashion and avoiding that issue, said:
«Very well, so it is agreed. Meanwhile we will be the dearest of friends and you will say nothing as to an engagement, and I will say nothing even to my father. And now, dear Andrew, good night. I hope you will always think of me as I think of you and come to see me whenever you can. Oh! I never said that you might kiss me again, but after all, one more makes no difference.»
Chapter IV
Somerville Black
It is doubtful whether all London held a happier man than was Andrew that night. Of course he was not finally and openly engaged, but then how good were Rose’s reasons against such a course. How noble and unselfish! She thought of her father as a loving daughter should; she thought of him, Andrew, believing – though what put such a mad idea into her head he could not conceive – that he might wish to change his mind; she thought of what he would feel if by any chance their open betrothal came to an end, and he knew that