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tendril. Her tensed jaw was pale in the strong light.
"I'll come after lunch," she said, "and stay till all me
letters are cleared."
"I thought you'd say that."
Her hand gestured towards the pile of clothing. "Yens
can see how busy I am."
"Someone else does this for your father when you're
not here," he said sharply.
"These aren't my father's," she told him dearly, but
without looking up. "They're Hugh Dyson's."
The tension which had grown between them from the
moment he entered the house was in a second drawn taut.
"Dyson," he said in the amused, hateful tone he had
employed before when speaking of the art master. "Why
isn't he here to complete the domestic scene? How will
you survive during the month he's away with your father?"
"Surely you've heard the old saying about the effect of
absence upon the awakening heart?"
"Are you trying to annoy me, Patricia?"
She glanced up, saw the warning glitter in his eyes, and
looked away. "How would you feel if I could resist sneer-
ing at your friends?" she asked, managing a shrug. "I
don't see that the fact that yours happen to be among tte
wealthy entitles you to more consideration. After all . . o"
"Be quiet," he said roughly.
Pat's fingers were trembling, but somehow she pushed
needle in and out, on and out. Her face was hot, her eyes
blurred, and an obstruction had fanned in hes throat. lii
he couldn't be nice why didn't he stay away? If only hei
father would come! She snipped the wool, laid aside the
sock and needle and stood up.
"Simon, will you please go now?"
He ignored this, took another irritating pull at his
dgarette and looked at her through the smoke.
"When Marion next sees you she's going to ask why
you haven't been to Craigwood since you left Sunday week."
"If you're there when she makes her enquiries," said Pat
none too steadily, "you'll be able to answer for me." With
a weak effort to persuade the conversation into more normal
channels, she added, "Are they well  Marion and Mrs.
Cunliffe?"
"Perfectly well. You'll have to do some explaining to
Aunt Alison, too. The sweet thing has become incompre-
hensibly fond of you. She's keen to know whether Dyson
has painted your portrait."
"He hasn't," remarked Pat shortly.
"I guessed that. He may aspire but he stops short of
deeds  which shows that he has a modicum of good
sense." He searched around for an ashtray and, finding
none, he came beside Pat at the window and tossed his
cigarette into a flwer bed. "I'll wait here while you change,
Ritrica."
"I'm not changing till after lunch."
"Don't be stubborn, my child. I'm a bad enemy, and
you know it. Go and change the housefrock for one of
those stripy silks. They suit you."
"I won't lunch at Craigwood," she stated flatly.
"What you mean is that you won't lunch with me," he
said mockingly. "You're afraid because I won't let you
deceive yourself. I'm sorry, little one, but mis is one
unpleasant fact you'll have to face. Either you'll come to
Craigwood or I'll take my lunch here, with you and your
father."
She drew in her lip. "Since the night yon first came to
Cumberland Square you've delighted in forcing me to do
things against my will; you started right away, and have
kept on. I'll never understand you, Simon."
"You could try a little harder," he suggested. TV®
still a few weeks to go." ^ :'
U7
She fingered the catch of the window. "So your plans a
unaltered. You're going?"
"' His manner, as he tamed towards her, was shrewd.
"Why should my plans be altered?"
She tried to sound offhand. "Why, indeed? But you
did change your mind once, when you came to Craigwood
for the larger part of your leave."
His mouth was thin and sardonic. "I din't change my
mind, Patricia  you changed it. You called me a coward
where Craigwood was concerned, and I couldn't let you get
away with that. I had to prove to you that Craigwood
couldn't keep me. It won't."
Half-fearfully, half-glad, she thought, "He's only help-
ing Elise. He doesn't want her. If he wanted her he'd have
to stay."
Then, like a cut from a whip, came the reminder that
for years Elise had not spent a winter in England  and
Simon would be bound for a warm dimate.
The sick despondency engendered by the reflection kep
her silent. She held on tight to the window-catch and willed
her father to come back. And there at last he was, pausing
over by the hedge before coming into the house.
Softly, tauntingly, Simon said, "You're far worse than
the village folk, my pet. Yesterday's gossip is dead as
mutton to them. They like it piping hot." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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