酷兔英语

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seem to know what they say. That doesn't apply to the master of

the house, who never talked much. He sat there mostly silent and



looming up three sizes bigger than any of them."

"The ruler of the aviary," I muttered viciously.



"It annoys you that I should talk of that time?" she asked in a

tender voice. "Well, I won't, except for once to say that you must



not make a mistake: in that aviary he was the man. I know because

he used to talk to me afterwards sometimes. Strange! For six



years he seemed to carry all the world and me with it in his hand.

. . . "



"He dominates you yet," I shouted.

She shook her head innocently as a child would do.



"No, no. You brought him into the conversation yourself. You

think of him much more than I do." Her voice drooped sadly to a



hopeless note. "I hardly ever do. He is not the sort of person to

merely flit through one's mind and so I have no time. Look. I had



eleven letters this morning and there were also five telegrams

before midday, which have tangled up everything. I am quite



frightened."

And she explained to me that one of them - the long one on the top



of the pile, on the table over there - seemed to contain ugly

inferences directed at herself in a menacing way. She begged me to



read it and see what I could make of it.

I knew enough of the general situation to see at a glance that she



had misunderstood it thoroughly and even amazingly. I proved it to

her very quickly. But her mistake was so ingenious in its



wrongheadedness and arose so obviously from the distraction of an

acute mind, that I couldn't help looking at her admiringly.



"Rita," I said, "you are a marvellous idiot."

"Am I? Imbecile," she retorted with an enchanting smile of relief.



"But perhaps it only seems so to you in contrast with the lady so

perfect in her way. What is her way?"



"Her way, I should say, lies somewhere between her sixtieth and

seventieth year, and I have walked tete-e-tete with her for some



little distance this afternoon."

"Heavens," she whispered, thunderstruck. "And meantime I had the



son here. He arrived about five minutes after Rose left with that

note for you," she went on in a tone of awe. "As a matter of fact,



Rose saw him across the street but she thought she had better go on

to you."



"I am furious with myself for not having guessed that much," I said

bitterly. "I suppose you got him out of the house about five



minutes after you heard I was coming here. Rose ought to have

turned back when she saw him on his way to cheer your solitude.



That girl is stupid after all, though she has got a certain amount

of low cunning which no doubt is very useful at times."



"I forbid you to talk like this about Rose. I won't have it. Rose

is not to be abused before me."



"I only mean to say that she failed in this instance to read your

mind, that's all."



"This is, without exception, the most unintelligent thing you have

said ever since I have known you. You may understand a lot about



running contraband and about the minds of a certain class of

people, but as to Rose's mind let me tell you that in comparison



with hers yours is absolutely infantile, my adventurous friend. It

would be contemptible if it weren't so - what shall I call it? -



babyish. You ought to be slapped and put to bed." There was an

extraordinary earnestness in her tone and when she ceased I



listened yet to the seductive inflexions of her voice, that no

matter in what mood she spoke seemed only fit for tenderness and



love. And I thought suddenly of Azzolati being ordered to take

himself off from her presence for ever, in that voice the very



anger of which seemed to twine itself gently round one's heart. No

wonder the poor wretch could not forget the scene and couldn't



restrain his tears on the plain of Rambouillet. My moods of

resentment against Rita, hot as they were, had no more duration



than a blaze of straw. So I only said:

"Much YOU know about the management of children." The corners of



her lips stirred quaintly; her animosity, especially when provoked

by a personal attack upon herself, was always tinged by a sort of



wistful humour of the most disarming kind.

"Come, amigo George, let us leave poor Rose alone. You had better



tell me what you heard from the lips of the charming old lady.

Perfection, isn't she? I have never seen her in my life, though



she says she has seen me several times. But she has written to me




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