Читать книгу Wintersmoon онлайн

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He stared at the piece of buttered toast between his fingers, slipped it into his mouth, wiped his fingers on his silk handkerchief, felt blindly for the blue enamel cigarette-box at his side.

"Poole! Good heavens!"

"Yes, don't you see?" Tom Seddon broke in eagerly. "That leaves her sister all alone. While she's had her sister, who adored her, she wouldn't want anybody else, but now she's certain to marry."

"Who's certain to marry?" asked Beaminster, still thinking of Poole and his private affairs.

"Why, Rosalind—Miss Grandison, the young one. She'll think of me now. She won't like being left. I'm sure she cares for me. She couldn't say the things she does——Oh, Uncle John," he sprang to his feet. "She will take me. She must. Why shouldn't she? She'll never find anybody who loves her better. I'll make a career. With her to work for I could do anything. Uncle John, you don't know what it feels like."

Uncle John nodded his head.

"Don't I? Do you suppose because I'm over seventy I've forgotten anything? That's the time you begin to remember. And I've got plenty to look back to. Although I'm a bachelor it doesn't mean ..." He broke off and looked up, his eyes full of affection.