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

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Poor Sydney faltered, “How do you do?” in her shyest tone, and felt supremely young and miserable. However, if Miss Lisle did not know what to do with her maid, her maid knew perfectly well what to do with her. She took Sydney’s umbrella, and inquired for her dressing-case. “I haven’t one,” the heiress faltered, holding tight to father’s hand.

Ward was too well-bred to be at all surprised. She just said, “Certainly, Miss Lisle,” and walked behind her to the carriage, where Mr. Fenton had already ordered rugs and hot-water tins. She inquired if she could get Miss Lisle anything, and, on a refusal, remarked that she was travelling in the back part of the train, and would come to Miss Lisle at Donisbro’. Sydney murmured, “Thank you very much,” and Ward, with a courtly bend of her head, departed.

Mr. Fenton considerately said something rather inaudible about “papers,” and left father and daughter for that precious last five minutes, and then, after all, Sydney could not find anything to say, but could only stand mutely holding to the worn cuff of his shabby overcoat and looking at him with great, hungry eyes.