Читать книгу Moonglade онлайн

67 страница из 93

“She looks adorable, as usual,” Basil said, slowly. “That goes without saying; but I don’t know, she seems elongated somehow ... not thinner ... not taller, either; just a trifle more ethereal; more like a dream.” He paused and fixed his deep eyes on his little comrade—as he had used to style her. “I left a sheaf of sun-rays, and find one made of moonbeams—no, a moonglade—that’s the word—yes, that’s the exact impression she gives now—a quiet, restful, lovely moonglade.”

“You’re getting positively lyrical,” “Antinoüs” retorted, impatiently. “A moonglade, indeed! Why, she’s as full of life as a two-year-old, and as jolly as a sandpiper. Idiot!” he was thinking to himself. “He’s so absorbed by his new toy that he can’t see straight any longer. Decidedly a man of one idea at a time!” And he invited his cousin to come and have a cigar in the smoking-room, with indifferently concealed irritation.

Meanwhile Laurence was enjoying to the full the success which she had encountered wherever she had gone since her marriage. From beneath her long, curving lashes she eagerly watched the effect she was producing, and her rather too small ears—a sure sign of selfishness—adorned with priceless pearls, were quick to catch the compliments upon her beauty that Marguerite was receiving.