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

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She turned, and saw that a long couch on wheels was drawn up near the great log fire, and that the man upon it had moved his head and was looking at her.

She crossed the hall again and came to him, putting her hand diffidently into his. “So you are Sydney?” Lord St. Quentin said.

What Sydney saw, as she returned his steady gaze, was a tall man, lying very nearly flat, his head only just raised by a small pillow. His hair was dark brown like her own and his eyes grey; but there the likeness ceased. The face was thin, the mouth cynical, and the sharp line drawn down the middle of his forehead made it strangely different from the girl’s smooth one.

What he saw was a slight girl dressed in white, looking taller than she really was by reason of her slenderness, with a cloud of soft brown hair framing her face and hanging in a long tail down her back; and earnest, pitying, dark grey eyes fixed upon him. They looked at each other in silence for a full minute; then St. Quentin released her hand and pointed to a low chair by his side.