Читать книгу The Annes онлайн

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“Ah, Mr. Latham,” she said, and she did not know how her voice caressed him, nor how he at once leaped to meet the caress and shrank from that pitiful thing, pity, which may be akin to love, but which is to a lover but a bastard kin that usurps love’s throne, “don’t you know that the hours in which I read to you are delightful to me? Try to imagine what I get from them, with you to supplement what I read! I never tire reading, but——” Anne got no farther. Richard Latham started up with an exclamation, then dropped back into his chair.

“But you would read whether you like it or not, you started to say, then remembered that I might not want to hear it! You would serve me in any way that you could, out of your great, womanly compassion? I know it, oh, I know it, Anne Dallas! I am grateful; don’t think I’m not. It’s a big thing to have lavished upon me. I’m glad that at least you don’t think of your help to me as secretarial duty.”

“Oh, Mr. Latham, if you don’t want to be hurt, then don’t hurt me!” cried Anne, shrinking.