Читать книгу The Old Room онлайн

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She did not look at him, but shook her head:

“I will stay at home, if you wish it,” she said.

They sat silent. The candles on the mantelpiece flickered and guttered in the draught.

“It is strange,” he said. “Do you remember the evening in London, Adelheid, when we were to go to that great ball? Then I begged you to stay at home and you did and you were glad.”

She lay far back in her chair, with her arms behind her neck:

“I was not glad that evening,” she said.

He raised his head and listened.

“I submitted, Cordt, but I was not glad to. I was acting a part, for your sake.”

She met his eyes. Hers were still and sad and she did not remove them while she spoke:

“I was wicked, Cordt. I hated you. I told you a lie. I was dancing at the ball, hour after hour, while I sat and held your hand and laughed so gaily.”

She slipped from her chair and crouched before him, with her hands folded round his knee and her eyes fixed humbly on his face:

“Do not look at me so strangely, Cordt. That is how I am. I love you. But I cannot live without the others ... without having them to see it, to see my happiness. I want to be pretty and I want them to fall in love with me and I want to belong to you. I only care to be pretty if I am loved. Don’t look like that, Cordt.”