|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 36
"It would do a lot of good to look!" retorted Jane. "But if you
wish I'll carry a bell!"
"The thing for you to do," said the red-haired person severely, "is
to go back to bed like a good girl and stay there until morning. The
light is cut off."
"Really!" said Jane. "I thought it had just gone out for a walk. I
daresay I may have a box of matches at least?"
He fumbled in his pockets without success.
"Not a match, of course!" he said disgustedly. "Was any one ever in
such an infernal mess? Can't you get back to your room without
matches?"
"I shan't go back at all unless I have some sort of light,"
maintained Jane. "I'm--horribly frightened!"
The break in her voice caught his attention and he put his hand out
gently and took her arm.
"Now listen," he said. "You've been brave and fine all day, and
don't stop it now. I--I've got all I can manage. Mary O'Shaughnessy
is----" He stopped. "I'm going to be very busy," he said with half a
groan. "I surely do wish you were forty for the next few hours. But
you'll go back and stay in your room, won't you?"
He patted her arm, which Jane particularly hated generally. But Jane
had altered considerably since morning.
"Then you cannot go to the telephone?"
"Not to-night."
"And Higgins?"
"Higgins has gone," he said. "He slipped off an hour ago. We'll have
to manage to-night somehow. Now will you be a good child?"
"I'll go back," she promised meekly. "I'm sorry I'm not forty."
He turned her round and started her in the right direction with a
little push. But she had gone only a step or two when she heard him
coming after her quickly.
"Where are you?"
"Here," quavered Jane, not quite sure of him or of herself perhaps.
But when he stopped beside her he didn't try to touch her arm again.
He only said:
"I wouldn't have you forty for anything in the world. I want you to
be just as you are, very beautiful and young."
Then, as if he was afraid he would say too much, he turned on his
heel, and a moment after he kicked against the fallen pitcher in the
darkness and awoke a thousand echoes. As for Jane, she put her
fingers to her ears and ran to her room, where she slammed the door
and crawled into bed with burning cheeks.
Jane was never sure whether it was five minutes later or five
seconds when somebody in the room spoke--from a chair by the window.
"Do you think," said a mild voice--"do you think you could find me
some bread and butter? Or a glass of milk?"
Jane sat up in bed suddenly. She knew at once that she had made a
mistake, but she was quite dignified about it. She looked over at
the chair, and the convalescent typhoid was sitting in it, wrapped
in a blanket and looking wan and ghostly in the dusk.
"I'm afraid I'm in the wrong room," Jane said very stiffly, trying
to get out of the bed with dignity, which is difficult. "The hall is
dark and all the doors look so alike----"
She made for the door at that and got out into the hall with her
heart going a thousand a minute again.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|