Читать книгу Emily of New Moon онлайн

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“Oh, Father—Father!” she whispered, putting her hand to her throat to keep something down. She stood there, a little shivering, white-clad figure, and looked at her father. This was to be her good-bye; she must say it when they were alone together—she would not say it before the Murrays.

Father looked so beautiful. All the lines of pain had vanished—his face looked almost like a boy’s except for the silver hair above it. And he was smiling—such a nice, whimsical, wise little smile, as if he had suddenly discovered something lovely and unexpected and surprising. She had seen many nice smiles on his face in life but never one just like this.

“Father, I didn’t cry before them,” she whispered. “I’m sure I didn’t disgrace the Starrs. Not shaking hands with Aunt Ruth wasn’t disgracing the Starrs, was it? Because she didn’t really want me to—oh, Father, I don’t think any of them like me, unless perhaps Aunt Laura does a little. And I’m going to cry a little bit now, Father, because I can’t keep it back all the time.”