Читать книгу A Son of Ishmael. A Novel онлайн

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“So soon!” said Nancy.

“So late, you mean,” he answered, and stooping he pressed his lips to hers. “I hunger for you,” he said. “I cannot live any longer without you. We’ll be married next week by special licence. You have only a few more days to live in this horrid old Grange.”

“And you take me to the Bungalow?” she asked.

“To the Bungalow!” he repeated—he laughed. “Jove! child,” he said, “do you think that a comfortable home?—have I nothing better than that to offer my little girl?”

“I do not know,” she replied. “I shall be quite satisfied with any home with you—you are poor, are you not, Adrian?”

“Ah! now I shall surprise you,” he said. “I have a secret, after all, which I can confide to my little girl.”

“What is that?” she asked.

“I am a rich man, Nancy Follett; your betrothed is a gentleman of means.”

“Indeed!” she said in surprise.

“Yes; I have heaps of money. I am a landed proprietor. In another part of England, a long way from here, there is a beautiful mansion which belongs to your humble servant, Adrian Rowton—it is furnished richly, softly, luxuriously. In short, I have a nest of down for my wild bird, and I can deck her with jewels. Oh! child, how lovely you will look when you wear your husband’s diamonds.”