Читать книгу Wintersmoon онлайн

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"Well, well," said Beaminster. He loved the boy so truly, as he saw him striding up and down the floor, his head back, his eyes shining, that he found it difficult for a moment to speak. What had happened to him, to his old selfish ways, his avoidance of sentiment? Sentiment? For two-pence he would have jumped up, flung his arms around the boy's neck and kissed him.

"What does your young woman say to all this kind of talk?"

"Oh, she's all right," Tom hesitated. "I haven't said very much to her about it yet, I'm a bit shy of boring her. But she's clever. She'll be as interested in it as I am. Of course she'll have her own point of view about it. She has about everything."

"I expect she has," said Beaminster rather drily. "But her sister, the older one who's going to marry Poole. Does she like you? She's going to be important now?"

"Janet?" Tom laughed. "Oh, she's splendid. She's the best sort in the world. Of course she isn't lovely like Rosalind, but she's the best sport anywhere. She adores Rosalind, and anything Rosalind wants she'd want too."