Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

1226 страница из 1457

“Hallie,” called Bushmill, with a groan of remorse, “here I am. I’d forgotten you were alive.”

“Don’t flatter yourself it’s you we missed,” said Hallie, coming up. “It’s only your money. Mama and I want food—and we must look it: two nice French gentlemen wanted to take us to dinner while we were waiting in the hall!”

“This is Mr. Corcoran,” said Bushmill. “My daughter.”

Hallie Bushmill was young and vivid and light, with boy’s hair and a brow that bulged just slightly, like a baby’s brow, and under it small perfect features that danced up and down when she smiled. She was constantly repressing their tendency toward irresponsible gaiety, as if she feared that, once encouraged, they would never come back to kindergarten under that childish brow anymore.

“Mr. Corcoran was born here in the Ritz,” announced her father. “I’m sorry I kept you and your mother waiting, but to tell the truth we’ve been fixing up a little surprise.” He looked at Corcoran and winked perceptibly. “As you know, I’ve got to go to England day after tomorrow and do some business in those ugly industrial towns. My plan was that you and your mother should make a month’s tour of Belgium and Holland and end up at Amsterdam, where Hallie’s—where Mr. Nosby will meet you—”