Читать книгу Sydney Lisle, the Heiress of St. Quentin онлайн

24 страница из 44

And then had come the last evening of the old happy, childish life. Hugh had been very white and silent as it drew on, and Mildred’s eyes kept filling with tears, so that she could not see to work, and Dolly was crying quietly in a corner, and the boys gave up talking about the hunters Sydney would keep and the motor-cars she would drive, and relapsed into a gloomy silence; and Fred and Prissie realised suddenly what “good-bye” meant, and broke down and howled.

Perhaps that was rather a good thing, after all, for everybody was so busy comforting them and making auguries of future meetings that there was not very much time to be miserable.

And when one is not yet eighteen, one is sleepy when ten o’clock comes round, however wretched one may be feeling. Sydney fully expected to lie awake all night, but she and Dolly were both sound asleep when father and mother looked, shading their candle, into the small room where to-morrow night one would be all alone.

The morning had been unreal, like a dream.