The After House by Mary Roberts Rinehart (dark books to read TXT) ๐
McWhirter it was who got me my berth on the Ella. It must have been about the 20th of July, for the Ella sailed on the 28th. I was strong enough to leave the hospital, but not yet physically able for any prolonged exertion. McWhirter, who was short and stout, had been alternately flirting with the nurse, as she moved in and out preparing my room for the night, and sizing me up through narrowed eyes.
"No," he said, evidently following a private line of thought; "you don't belong behind a counter, Leslie. I'm darned if I think you belong in the medical profession, either. The British army'd suit you."
"The - what?"
"You know - Kipling ide
Read free book ยซThe After House by Mary Roberts Rinehart (dark books to read TXT) ๐ยป - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
- Author: Mary Roberts Rinehart
- Performer: -
Read book online ยซThe After House by Mary Roberts Rinehart (dark books to read TXT) ๐ยป. Author - Mary Roberts Rinehart
Turnerโs health is bad. He and his wife and Miss Lee are going to Europe. He has asked me to go with him in my professional capacity!
It is more than a year since I have seen her.
The year has brought some changes. Singleton is again a member of the Turner forces, having signed a contract and a temperance pledge at the same sitting. Jones is in a hospital for the insane, where in the daytime he is a cheery old tar with twinkling eyes and a huge mustache, and where now and then, on Christmas and holidays, I send him a supply of tobacco. At night he sleeps in a room with opaque glass windows through which no heavenly signals can penetrate. He will not talk of his crimes, - not that he so regards them, - but now and then in the night he wraps the drapery of his couch about him and performs strange orisons in the little room that is his. And at such times an attendant watches outside his door.
Once more the swish of spray against the side of a ship, the tang of salt, the lift and fall of the rail against the sea-line on the horizon. And once more a girl, in white from neck to heel, facing into the wind as if she loved it, her crisp skirts flying, her hair blown back from her forehead in damp curls.
And I am not washing down the deck. With all the poise of white flannels and a good cigar, I am lounging in a deck-chair, watching her. Then -
โCome here!โ I say.
โI am busy.โ
โYou are not busy. You are disgracefully idle.โ
โWhy do you want me?โ
She comes closer, and looks down at me. She likes me to sit, so she may look superior and scornful, this being impossible when one looks up. When she has approached -
โjust to show that I can order you about.โ
โI shall go back!โ - with raised chin. How I remember that raised chin, and how (whisper it) I used to fear it!
โYou cannot. I am holding the edge of your skirt.โ
โRalph! And all the other passengers looking!โ
โThen sit down - and, before you do, tuck that rug under my feet, will you?โ
โCertainly not.โ
โUnder my feet!โ
She does it, under protest, whereon I release her skirts. She is sulky, quite distinctly sulky. I slide my hand under the rug into her lap. She ignores it.
โNow,โ I say calmly, โwe are even. And you might as well hold my hand. Every one thinks you are.โ
She brings her hands hastily from under her rug and puts them over her head. โI donโt know what has got into you,โ she says coldly. โAnd why are we even?โ
โFor the day you told me the deck was not clean.โ
โIt wasnโt clean.โ
โI think I am going to kiss you.โ
โRalph!โ
โIt is coming on. About the time that the bishop gets here, I shall lean over and -โ
She eyes me, and sees determination in my face. She changes color.
โYou wouldnโt!โ
โWouldnโt I!โ
She rises hastily, and stands looking down at me. I am quite sure at that moment that she detests me, and I rather like it. There are always times when we detest the people we love.
โIf you are going to be arbitrary just because you can -โ
โYes?โ
โMarsh and the rest are in the smoking room. Their sitting-room is empty.โ
Quite calmly, as if we are going below for a clean handkerchief or a veil or a cigarette, we stroll down the great staircase of the liner to the Turnersโ sitting-room, and close the door.
And - I kiss her.
End of Project Gutenberg Etext The After House, by Mary Roberts Rinehart
Comments (0)