Читать книгу Wintersmoon онлайн

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She caught his hand, pressing it between both of hers.

"Oh!" she whispered. "Let me see you often, very often. There are going to be some things that will be difficult. I love you already so much. I think I could tell you anything."

"It's a compact," he answered, looking into her eyes. "We'll be together in everything.

"And now," he went on gaily, "this is the second reason I took you away!" He opened a door and led her into a little room, plastered so heavily with bright "marine" water-colour drawings that a large marble bust on the mantelpiece of Georgiana Duchess of Romney (1790-1822) looked extraordinarily solid and, beside so many waves and seahorses, astonishingly static. Beneath the bust, sitting very straight and stiff in a cloth tapestry chair, was a little old lady in a lace cap. This was Lady Anne Purefoy, nearly a hundred, thoroughly alive and interested in everything.

Janet had never met her before. She kissed her. The lace cap nodded approval. She was a very gentle old lady, and had a voice like a musical-box, very sweet and true but distant so that you must bend your head to listen. Janet sat down beside her, and the Duke, in his favourite position with his thick legs squarely spread and his hands behind his broad back, stood over them benevolently.