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

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The letters on the page danced wildly and then disappeared, as Sydney’s meditations reached this point. She got her handkerchief out furtively. It certainly was not being very brave or sensible to cry at her age. She dried her tears, and found Mr. Fenton looking at her in an anxious manner over the top of his newspaper.

He had looked at her several times while her thoughts were travelling so far away. He felt a distinct sense of responsibility with regard to her, but was handicapped by small knowledge of girls and their ways.

He had done all that he could think of for her comfort. He had provided her with a perfect armful of ladies’ papers, wrapped a travelling rug about her knees, felt her hot-water tin to learn if it were really hot, asked her more than once if he should completely close the window, and seen to it that she had a cup of tea at Donisbro’.

But still he felt a vague uneasiness—a fear that he had not done everything that he might have done. The girl’s eyes were very wistful—the dark grey Lisle eyes, which he had noticed with professional interest. They filled with tears rather often. Mr. Fenton felt distinctly uneasy—he hoped the girl was not going to be hysterical!