Array Коллектив авторов: 30 лучших рассказов американских писателей

The dispersal of his guests carried Stilling out into the hall, where his pleasantries reverberated under the oak rafters while the Granger girls were being muffled for the drive and the carriages summoned from the stables.

By a common impulse Mrs. Stilling and Wrayford had moved together toward the fire-place, which was hidden by a tall screen from the door into the hall. Wrayford leaned his elbow against the mantel-piece, and Mrs. Stilling stood beside him, her clasped hands hanging down before her.

‘Have you anything more to talk over with him?’ she asked.

‘No. We wound it all up before dinner. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore than he can help.’

‘It’s so bad?’

‘No; but this time he’s got to pull up.’

She stood silent, with lowered lids. He listened a moment, catching Stilling’s farewell shout; then he moved a little nearer, and laid his hand on her arm.

‘In an hour?’

She made an imperceptible motion of assent.

‘I’ll tell you about it then. The key’s as usual?’

She signed another ‘Yes’ and walked away with her long drifting step as her husband came in from the hall.

He went up to the tray and poured himself out a tall glass of brandy and soda.

‘The weather is turning queer – black as pitch. I hope the Swordsleys won’t walk into the lake – involuntary immersion, eh? He’d come out a Baptist[239] Baptist – a follower of those Protestant Christians who insist that only believers should be baptized. , I suppose. What’d the Bishop do in such a case? There’s a problem for a lawyer, my boy!’

He clapped his hand on Wrayford’s thin shoulder and then walked over to his wife, who was gathering up her embroidery silks and dropping them into her work-bag. Stilling took her by the arms and swung her playfully about so that she faced the lamplight.

‘What’s the matter with you tonight?’

‘The matter?’ she echoed, colouring a little, and standing very straight in her desire not to appear to shrink from his touch.

‘You never opened your lips. Left me the whole job of entertaining those blessed people. Didn’t she, Austin?’

Wrayford laughed and lit a cigarette.

‘There! You see even Austin noticed it. What’s the matter, I say? Aren’t they good enough for you? I don’t say they’re particularly exciting; but, hang it! I like to ask them here – I like to give people pleasure.’

‘I didn’t mean to be dull,’ said Isabel.

‘Well, you must learn to make an effort. Don’t treat people as if they weren’t in the room just because they don’t happen to amuse you. Do you know what they’ll think? They’ll think it’s because you’ve got a bigger house and more money than they have. Shall I tell you something? My mother said she’d noticed the same thing in you lately. She said she sometimes felt you looked down on her for living in a small house. Oh, she was half joking, of course; but you see you do give people that impression. I can’t understand treating any one in that way. The more I have myself, the more I want to make other people happy.’

Isabel gently freed herself and laid the work-bag on her embroidery-frame. ‘I have a headache; perhaps that made me stupid. I’m going to bed.’ She turned toward Wrayford and held out her hand. ‘Good night.’

‘Good night,’ he answered, opening the door for her.

When he turned back into the room, his host was pouring himself a third glass of brandy and soda.

‘Here, have a nip, Austin? Gad, I need it badly, after the shaking up you gave me this afternoon.’ Stilling laughed and carried his glass to the hearth, where he took up his usual commanding position. ‘Why the deuce don’t you drink something? You look as glum as Isabel. One would think you were the chap that had been hit by this business.’

Wrayford threw himself into the chair from which Mrs. Stilling had lately risen. It was the one she usually sat in, and to his fancy a faint scent of her clung to it. He leaned back and looked up at Stilling.

‘Want a cigar?’ the latter continued. ‘Shall we go into the den and smoke?’

Wrayford hesitated. ‘If there’s anything more you want to ask me about – ’

‘Gad, no! I had full measure and running over this afternoon. The deuce of it is, I don’t see where the money’s all gone to. Luckily I’ve got plenty of nerve; I’m not the kind of man to sit down and snivel because I’ve been touched in Wall Street[240] Wall Street – a street in New York City, in the borough of Manhattan, the financial centre of the United States. .’

Wrayford got to his feet again. ‘Then, if you don’t want me, I think I’ll go up to my room and put some finishing touches to a brief before I turn in. I must get back to town to-morrow afternoon.’

‘All right, then.’ Stilling set down his empty glass, and held out his hand with a tinge of alacrity. ‘Good night, old man.’

They shook hands, and Wrayford moved toward the door.

‘I say, Austin – stop a minute!’ his host called after him. Wrayford turned, and the two men faced each other across the hearth-rug. Stilling’s eyes shifted uneasily.

‘There’s one thing more you can do for me before you leave. Tell Isabel about that loan; explain to her that she’s got to sign a note for it.’

Wrayford, in his turn, flushed slightly. ‘You want me to tell her?’

‘Hang it! I’m soft-hearted – that’s the worst of me.’

Stilling moved toward the tray, and lifted the brandy decanter. ‘And she’ll take it better from you; she’ll have to take it from you. She’s proud. You can take her out for a row to-morrow morning – look here, take her out in the motor-launch if you like. I meant to have a spin in it myself; but if you’ll tell her – ’

Wrayford hesitated. ‘All right, I’ll tell her.’

‘Thanks a lot, my dear fellow. And you’ll make her see it wasn’t my fault, eh? Women are awfully vague about money, and she’ll think it’s all right if you back me up.’

Wrayford nodded. ‘As you please.’

‘And, Austin – there’s just one more thing. You needn’t say anything to Isabel about the other business – I mean about my mother’s securities.’

‘Ah?’ said Wrayford, pausing.

Stilling shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I’d rather put that to the old lady myself. I can make it clear to her. She idolizes me, you know – and, hang it! I’ve got a good record. Up to now, I mean. My mother’s been in clover since I married; I may say she’s been my first thought. And I don’t want her to hear of this beastly business from Isabel. Isabel’s a little harsh at times – and of course this isn’t going to make her any easier to live with.’

‘Very well,’ said Wrayford.

Stilling, with a look of relief, walked toward the window which opened on the terrace. ‘Gad! what a queer night! Hot as the kitchen-range. Shouldn’t wonder if we had a squall before morning. I wonder if that infernal skipper took in the launch’s awnings before he went home.’

Wrayford stopped with his hand on the door. ‘Yes, I saw him do it. She’s shipshape for the night.’

‘Good! That saves me a run down to the shore.’

‘Good night, then,’ said Wrayford.

‘Good night, old man. You’ll tell her?’

‘I’ll tell her.’

‘And mum about my mother!’ his host called after him.

The darkness had thinned a little when Wrayford scrambled down the steep path to the shore. Though the air was heavy the threat of a storm seemed to have vanished, and now and then the moon’s edge showed above a torn slope of cloud.

But in the thick shrubbery about the boat-house the darkness was still dense, and Wrayford had to strike a match before he could find the lock and insert his key. He left the door unlatched, and groped his way in. How often he had crept into this warm pine-scented obscurity, guiding himself by the edge of the bench along the wall, and hearing the soft lap of water through the gaps in the flooring! He knew just where one had to duck one’s head to avoid the two canoes swung from the rafters, and just where to put his hand on the latch of the farther door that led to the broad balcony above the lake.