W. Somerset Maugham: Novels, Short Stories, Plays & Travel Sketches (33 Titles In One Edition). Уильям Сомерсет Моэм. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Уильям Сомерсет Моэм
Издательство: Bookwire
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Жанр произведения: Языкознание
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isbn: 9788027219452
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overcast and sombre; on the even surface of the sky floated little ragged black clouds, like the fragments cast to the wind of some widowed, ample garment. It had grown cold, and James, accustomed to a warmer air, shivered a little. The country suddenly appeared cramped and circumscribed; in the fading light a dulness of colour came over tree and hedgerow which was singularly depressing. They walked in silence, while James looked for words. All day he had been trying to find some manner to express himself, but his mind, perplexed and weary, refused to help him. The walk to Mary's house could not take more than five minutes, and he saw the distance slipping away rapidly. If he meant to say anything it must be said at once; and his mouth was dry, he felt almost a physical inability to speak. He did not know how to prepare the way, how to approach the subject; and he was doubly tormented by the absolute necessity of breaking the silence.

      But it was Mary who spoke first.

      "D'you know, I've been worrying a little about you, Jamie."

      "Why?"

      "I'm afraid I hurt your feelings yesterday. Don't you remember, when we were visiting my patients—I think I spoke rather harshly. I didn't mean to. I'm very sorry."

      "I had forgotten all about it," he said, looking at her. "I have no notion what you said to offend me."

      "I'm glad of that," she answered, smiling, "but it does me good to apologise. Will you think me very silly if I say something to you?"

      "Of course not!"

      "Well, I want to say that if I ever do anything you don't like, or don't approve of, I wish you would tell me."

      After that, how could he say immediately that he no longer loved her, and wished to be released from his engagement?

      "I'm afraid you think I'm a very terrifying person," answered James.

      Her words had made his announcement impossible; another day had gone, and weakly he had let it pass.

      "What shall I do?" he murmured under his breath. "What a coward I am!"

      They came to the door of the Clibborns' house and Mary turned to say good-bye. She bent forward, smiling and blushing, and he quickly kissed her.

       In the evening, James was sitting by the fire in the dining-room, thinking of that one subject which occupied all his thoughts. Colonel Parsons and his wife were at the table, engaged upon the game of backgammon which invariably filled the interval between supper and prayers. The rattle of dice came to James indistinctly, as in a dream, and he imagined fantastically that unseen powers were playing for his life. He sat with his head between his hands, staring at the flames as though to find in them a solution to his difficulty; but mockingly they spoke only of Mrs. Wallace and the caress of her limpid eyes. He turned away with a gesture of impatience. The game was just finished, and Mrs. Parsons, catching the expression on his face, asked:

      "What are you thinking of, Jamie?"

      "I?" he answered, looking up quickly, as though afraid that his secret had been divined. "Nothing!"

      Mrs. Parsons put the backgammon board away, making up her mind to speak, for she too suffered from a shyness which made the subjects she had nearest at heart precisely those that she could least bear to talk about.

      "When do you think of getting married, Jamie?"

      James started.

      "Why, you asked me that yesterday," He tried to make a joke of it. "Upon my word, you're very anxious to get rid of me."

      "I wonder if it's occurred to you that you're making Mary a little unhappy?"

      James stood up and leaned against the mantelpiece, his face upon his hand.

      "I should be sorry to do that, mother."

      "You've been home four days, and you've not said a word to show you love her."

      "I'm afraid I'm not very demonstrative."

      "That's what I said!" cried the Colonel, triumphantly.

      "Can't you try to say a word or two to prove you care for her, Jamie? She is so fond of you," continued his mother. "I don't want to interfere with your private concerns, but I think it's only thoughtlessness on your part; and I'm sure you don't wish to make Mary miserable. Poor thing, she's so unhappy at home; she yearns for a little affection.... Won't you say something to her about your marriage?"

      "Has she asked you to speak to me?" inquired James.

      "No, dear. You know that she would never do anything of the kind. She would hate to think that I had said anything."

      James paused a moment.

      "I will speak to her to-morrow, mother."

      "That's right!" said the Colonel, cheerfully. "I know she's going to be in all the morning. Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn are going into Tunbridge Wells."

      "It will be a good opportunity."

      IX

       Table of Contents

       In the morning Mrs. Parsons was in the hall, arranging flowers, when James passed through to get his hat.

      "Are you going to see Mary now?"

      "Yes, mother."

      "That's a good boy."

      She did not notice that her son's usual gravity was intensified, or that his very lips were pallid, and his eyes careworn and lustreless.

      It was raining. The young fresh leaves, in the colourless day, had lost their verdure, and the massive shapes of the elm trees were obscured in the mist. The sky had so melancholy a tone that it seemed a work of man—a lifeless hue of infinite sorrow, dreary and cheerless.

      James arrived at the Clibborns' house.

      "Miss Mary is in the drawing-room," he was told by a servant, who smiled on him, the accepted lover, with obtrusive friendliness.

      He went in and found her seated at the piano, industriously playing scales. She wore the weather-beaten straw hat without which she never seemed comfortable.

      "Oh, I'm glad you've come," she said. "I'm alone in the house, and I was taking the opportunity to have a good practice." She turned round on the music-stool, and ran one hand chromatically up the piano, smiling the while with pleasure at Jamie's visit. "Would you like to go for a walk?" she asked. "I don't mind the rain a bit."

      "I would rather stay here, if you don't mind."

      James sat down and began playing with a paper-knife. Still he did not know how to express himself. He was torn asunder by rival emotions; he felt absolutely bound to speak, and yet could not bear the thought of the agony he must cause. He was very tender-hearted; he had never in his life consciously given pain to any living creature, and would far rather have inflicted hurt upon himself.

      "I've been wanting to have a long talk with you alone ever since I came back."

      "Have you? Why didn't you tell me?"

      "Because what I want to say is very difficult, Mary; and I'm afraid it must be very—distressing to both of us."

      "What do you mean?"

      Mary suddenly became grave, James glanced at her, and hesitated; but there was no room for hesitation now. Somehow he must get to the end of what he had to say, attempting only to be as gentle as possible. He stood up and leant against the mantelpiece, still toying with the paper-knife; Mary also changed her seat, and took a chair by the table.

      "Do you know that we've been engaged for over five years now, Mary?"

      "Yes."

      She looked at him steadily, and he dropped his eyes.

      "I want to thank you for all you've done for my sake, Mary. I know how good you have been to my people; it was very kind of you. I cannot think how they would have got along