Читать книгу A Son of Ishmael. A Novel онлайн

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“We need not go into that subject now, need we?” asked Rowton with manifest uneasiness. “I want you to forget those six dreadful years of famine. You have now, to borrow a Bible simile, come into the seven years of plenty.”

“So I have,” she replied, running to him and kissing him with passion. “How happy you make me; how more than willing I am to do anything you wish.”

“Then we will take the Mediterranean express from the Gare de Lyon this evening,” said Rowton. “I will go now to try and secure a sleeping carriage. You can begin to pack some of your pretty things while I am away from you, Nance.”

Rowton left the salon and hailing a fiacre, drove straight to the Gare de Lyon.

“I don’t want D’Escourt to have much to say to Nance,” he said to himself. “We were good friends in 18⸺. Heaven! When I remember that time; can I possibly be the same man? Yes, I was a gay dog then; but upright and honourable, notwithstanding all my pranks. I could look men straight in the face. Now things are different. D’Escourt knew me intimately at that time. Yes, we were great friends. He was glad to see me last night; he evidently knows nothing; but if he comes often he may begin to ask questions. His questions would be highly inconvenient. Not that Nance, bless her, could answer one of them. But suppose he asks me straight out, while that child is looking on, ‘What have you done with yourself since 18⸺? How have you passed your life?’ I might, it is just possible, with the clear eyes of that angel looking into mine, I might show confusion. There! confound the horrible thing! D’Escourt and I must not meet again. D’Escourt and Nancy must have nothing to do with each other. My sweetheart and I go to Nice to-night and have a right gay time.”