Читать книгу Wintersmoon онлайн

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"It will surprise everyone very much," Janet said slowly. "I have known you so little. You've been away so much."

"Yes. But we can trust one another. I'm sure of that."

"I believe we can."

Then, looking him honestly in the eyes, she said:

"I will marry you and I will be a good friend to you."

He took her hand.

"Thank you," he said. "You have made me very happy."

In old Lady Mossop's vast and draughty drawing-room life pursued its decorous way. There were perhaps a hundred human beings in the room, but had you listened at the door in the intervals of music the sound proceeding from their conversation would have resembled nothing so much as the stealthy spinning of a bemused and industrious top. No more and no less. A very large painting by Sir Edward Burne-Jones of Grecian ladies gathered about a well, portraits of a number of glazed Mossop ancestors, a huge fireplace of spotted marble, a great gold clock, a copy of Holman Hunt's "Scapegoat" (it gazed across the floor into the indifferent faces of the Grecian ladies), these held, as they had done for many a past year, command of the situation. No human being, however bold, however arrogant, would dream of antagonising them. And they knew it. All the guests of Lady Mossop would also have known it had they thought of it. They did not think of it.