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There was another pause, and then S
There was another pause, and then Soames said:
“I suppose you don’t want to, go?”
Irene made no reply.
“Well, I can’t tell what you want. You never seem contented here.”
“Have my wishes anything to do with it?”
She took the vase of roses and left the room. Soames remained seated. Was it for this that he had signed that contract? Was it for this that he was going to spend some ten thousand pounds? Bosinney’s phrase came back to him: “Women are the devil!”
But presently he grew calmer. It might have, been worse. She might have flared up. He had expected something more than this. It was lucky, after all, that June had broken the ice for him. She must have wormed it out of Bosinney; he might have known she would.
He lighted his cigarette. After all, Irene had not made a scene! She would come round — that was the best of her; she was cold, but not sulky. And, puffing the cigarette smoke at a lady-bird on the shining table, he plunged into a reverie about the house. It was no good worrying; he would go and make it up presently. She would be sitting out there in the dark, under the Japanese sunshade, knitting. A beautiful, warm night. . . .
In truth, June had come in that afternoon with shining eyes, and the words: “Soames is a brick! It’s splendid for Phil — the very thing for him!”
Irene’s face remaining dark and puzzled, she went on:
“Your new house at Robin Hill, of course. What? Don’t you know?”
Irene did not know.
“Oh! then, I suppose I oughtn’t to have told you!” Looking impatiently at her friend, she cried: “You look as if you didn’t care. Don’t you see, it’s what I’ve’ been praying for — the very chance he’s been wanting all this time. Now you’ll see what he can do;” and thereupon she poured out the whole story.
Since her own engagement she had not seemed much interested in her friend’s position; the hours she spent with Irene were given to confidences of her own; and at times, for all her affectionate pity, it was impossible to keep out of her smile a trace of compassionate contempt for the woman who had made such a mistake in her life — such a vast, ridiculous mistake.
“He’s to have all the decorations as well — a free hand. It’s perfect —” June broke into laughter, her little figure quivered gleefully; she raised her hand, and struck a blow at a muslin curtain. “Do you, know I even asked Uncle James. . . . ” But, with a sudden dislike to mentioning that incident, she stopped; and presently, finding her friend so unresponsive, went away. She looked back from the pavement, and Irene was still standing in the doorway. In response to her farewell wave, Irene put her hand to her brow, and, turning slowly, shut the door. . . .
Soames went to the drawing-room presently, and peered at her through the window.
Out in the shadow of the Japanese sunshade she was sitting very still, the lace on her white shoulders stirring with the soft rise and fall of her bosom.
But about this silent creature sitting there so motionless, in the dark, there seemed a warmth, a hidden fervour of feeling, as if the whole of her being had been stirred, and some change were taking place in its very depths.
He stole back to the dining-room unnoticed.
“I suppose you don’t want to, go?”
Irene made no reply.
“Well, I can’t tell what you want. You never seem contented here.”
“Have my wishes anything to do with it?”
She took the vase of roses and left the room. Soames remained seated. Was it for this that he had signed that contract? Was it for this that he was going to spend some ten thousand pounds? Bosinney’s phrase came back to him: “Women are the devil!”
But presently he grew calmer. It might have, been worse. She might have flared up. He had expected something more than this. It was lucky, after all, that June had broken the ice for him. She must have wormed it out of Bosinney; he might have known she would.
He lighted his cigarette. After all, Irene had not made a scene! She would come round — that was the best of her; she was cold, but not sulky. And, puffing the cigarette smoke at a lady-bird on the shining table, he plunged into a reverie about the house. It was no good worrying; he would go and make it up presently. She would be sitting out there in the dark, under the Japanese sunshade, knitting. A beautiful, warm night. . . .
In truth, June had come in that afternoon with shining eyes, and the words: “Soames is a brick! It’s splendid for Phil — the very thing for him!”
Irene’s face remaining dark and puzzled, she went on:
“Your new house at Robin Hill, of course. What? Don’t you know?”
Irene did not know.
“Oh! then, I suppose I oughtn’t to have told you!” Looking impatiently at her friend, she cried: “You look as if you didn’t care. Don’t you see, it’s what I’ve’ been praying for — the very chance he’s been wanting all this time. Now you’ll see what he can do;” and thereupon she poured out the whole story.
Since her own engagement she had not seemed much interested in her friend’s position; the hours she spent with Irene were given to confidences of her own; and at times, for all her affectionate pity, it was impossible to keep out of her smile a trace of compassionate contempt for the woman who had made such a mistake in her life — such a vast, ridiculous mistake.
“He’s to have all the decorations as well — a free hand. It’s perfect —” June broke into laughter, her little figure quivered gleefully; she raised her hand, and struck a blow at a muslin curtain. “Do you, know I even asked Uncle James. . . . ” But, with a sudden dislike to mentioning that incident, she stopped; and presently, finding her friend so unresponsive, went away. She looked back from the pavement, and Irene was still standing in the doorway. In response to her farewell wave, Irene put her hand to her brow, and, turning slowly, shut the door. . . .
Soames went to the drawing-room presently, and peered at her through the window.
Out in the shadow of the Japanese sunshade she was sitting very still, the lace on her white shoulders stirring with the soft rise and fall of her bosom.
But about this silent creature sitting there so motionless, in the dark, there seemed a warmth, a hidden fervour of feeling, as if the whole of her being had been stirred, and some change were taking place in its very depths.
He stole back to the dining-room unnoticed.
0/5000
Đã có một tạm dừng, và sau đó Soames nói:"Tôi cho rằng bạn không muốn để đi?"Irene thực hiện không có trả lời."Vâng, tôi không thể cho biết những gì bạn muốn. Bạn không bao giờ có vẻ man nguyện ở đây.""Có mong muốn của tôi bất cứ điều gì để làm với nó?"Cô đã bình hoa hồng và rời khỏi phòng. Soames vẫn ngồi. Là nó cho rằng ông đã ký hợp đồng đó? Là nó nhất này mà ông sẽ chi tiêu một vài cân Anh Vạn? Cụm từ của Bosinney đã trở lại với anh ta: "Phụ nữ là quỷ dữ!"Nhưng hiện nay ông đã tăng trưởng calmer. Nó có thể có được tồi tệ hơn. Cô có thể đã bùng lên. Ông đã dự kiến một cái gì đó nhiều hơn này. Đó là may mắn, sau khi tất cả, rằng ngày đã hỏng băng cho anh ta. Cô phải có wormed nó ra khỏi Bosinney; Ông có thể đã biết đến cô nào.Ông thắp sáng thuốc lá của mình. Sau khi tất cả, Irene đã không làm một cảnh! Cô sẽ đi quanh — đó là tốt nhất của cô; cô là lạnh, nhưng không sulky. Và, puffing khói tại một con chim lady trên bàn sáng, ông rơi vào một sự mơ tưởng về nhà. Nó là không có lo lắng tốt; ông sẽ đi và làm cho nó hiện tại. Cô sẽ được ngồi trên mạng trong bóng tối, theo dù để che nắng Nhật bản, dệt kim. Một đêm đẹp, ấm áp....Trong sự thật, ngày đã đến trong đó buổi chiều với sáng mắt, và những từ: "Soames là một viên gạch! Nó là tuyệt vời cho Phil — điều rất cho anh ta! "Irene của đối mặt với bóng tối còn lại và hoang mang, cô đã đi vào:"Ngôi nhà mới của bạn tại Robin Hill, tất nhiên. Cái gì? Không bạn biết?"Irene không biết."Oh! sau đó, tôi giả sử tôi oughtn't đã nói với bạn!" Nhìn impatiently bạn bè của cô, cô khóc: "bạn trông như thể bạn đã không quan tâm. Không bạn thấy, nó là những gì tôi đã ' cầu nguyện cho — rất cơ hội ông có mong muốn tất cả các thời gian này. Bây giờ bạn sẽ thấy những gì ông có thể làm;"và do cô ấy đổ ra toàn bộ câu chuyện.Kể từ khi tham gia mình cô ấy đã không có vẻ nhiều quan tâm đến vị trí bạn bè của cô; giờ cô đã dành với Irene đã được trao cho tâm sự của mình; và đôi khi, cho tất cả điều đáng tiếc của cô trìu mến, nó đã không thể giữ ra khỏi nụ cười của cô một dấu vết của từ bi khinh cho người phụ nữ ai đã thực hiện một sai lầm trong cuộc sống của cô-một sai lầm như vậy rộng mênh mông, vô lý."Anh ta để có tất cả các đồ trang trí cũng — một bàn tay miễn phí. Nó là hoàn hảo-"ngày nổ thành tiếng cười, con số nhỏ của mình quivered gleefully; cô lớn lên tay của mình, và tấn công một đòn một bức màn muslin. "Bạn, biết tôi thậm chí đã hỏi bác James...." Tuy nhiên, với một không thích bất ngờ để đề cập đến những sự kiện đó, cô dừng lại; và hiện nay, việc tìm kiếm bạn bè của cô như vậy không đáp ứng, đi đi. Cô xem xét lại từ vỉa hè, và Irene vẫn còn đứng ở cửa vào. Đối phó với làn sóng chia tay của cô, Irene đặt bàn tay của mình để trán của cô, và, quay chậm, đóng cửa....Soames đã đi đến phòng hiện nay, và peered vào cô ấy qua cửa sổ.Ra trong bóng tối của dù để che nắng Nhật cô đang ngồi rất Tuy nhiên, ren trên vai trắng khuấy với mềm nổi lên và sụp đổ của tâm trí của mình.Nhưng về sinh vật này im lặng ngồi ở đó vì vậy bất động, trong bóng tối, có vẻ ấm áp, một cậu ẩn của cảm giác, như nếu toàn bộ của mình được đã được khuấy, và một số thay đổi đã diễn ra ở của nó rất sâu.Ông lấy trộm về ăn uống-phòng không hề.
đang được dịch, vui lòng đợi..
There was another pause, and then Soames said:
“I suppose you don’t want to, go?”
Irene made no reply.
“Well, I can’t tell what you want. You never seem contented here.”
“Have my wishes anything to do with it?”
She took the vase of roses and left the room. Soames remained seated. Was it for this that he had signed that contract? Was it for this that he was going to spend some ten thousand pounds? Bosinney’s phrase came back to him: “Women are the devil!”
But presently he grew calmer. It might have, been worse. She might have flared up. He had expected something more than this. It was lucky, after all, that June had broken the ice for him. She must have wormed it out of Bosinney; he might have known she would.
He lighted his cigarette. After all, Irene had not made a scene! She would come round — that was the best of her; she was cold, but not sulky. And, puffing the cigarette smoke at a lady-bird on the shining table, he plunged into a reverie about the house. It was no good worrying; he would go and make it up presently. She would be sitting out there in the dark, under the Japanese sunshade, knitting. A beautiful, warm night. . . .
In truth, June had come in that afternoon with shining eyes, and the words: “Soames is a brick! It’s splendid for Phil — the very thing for him!”
Irene’s face remaining dark and puzzled, she went on:
“Your new house at Robin Hill, of course. What? Don’t you know?”
Irene did not know.
“Oh! then, I suppose I oughtn’t to have told you!” Looking impatiently at her friend, she cried: “You look as if you didn’t care. Don’t you see, it’s what I’ve’ been praying for — the very chance he’s been wanting all this time. Now you’ll see what he can do;” and thereupon she poured out the whole story.
Since her own engagement she had not seemed much interested in her friend’s position; the hours she spent with Irene were given to confidences of her own; and at times, for all her affectionate pity, it was impossible to keep out of her smile a trace of compassionate contempt for the woman who had made such a mistake in her life — such a vast, ridiculous mistake.
“He’s to have all the decorations as well — a free hand. It’s perfect —” June broke into laughter, her little figure quivered gleefully; she raised her hand, and struck a blow at a muslin curtain. “Do you, know I even asked Uncle James. . . . ” But, with a sudden dislike to mentioning that incident, she stopped; and presently, finding her friend so unresponsive, went away. She looked back from the pavement, and Irene was still standing in the doorway. In response to her farewell wave, Irene put her hand to her brow, and, turning slowly, shut the door. . . .
Soames went to the drawing-room presently, and peered at her through the window.
Out in the shadow of the Japanese sunshade she was sitting very still, the lace on her white shoulders stirring with the soft rise and fall of her bosom.
But about this silent creature sitting there so motionless, in the dark, there seemed a warmth, a hidden fervour of feeling, as if the whole of her being had been stirred, and some change were taking place in its very depths.
He stole back to the dining-room unnoticed.
“I suppose you don’t want to, go?”
Irene made no reply.
“Well, I can’t tell what you want. You never seem contented here.”
“Have my wishes anything to do with it?”
She took the vase of roses and left the room. Soames remained seated. Was it for this that he had signed that contract? Was it for this that he was going to spend some ten thousand pounds? Bosinney’s phrase came back to him: “Women are the devil!”
But presently he grew calmer. It might have, been worse. She might have flared up. He had expected something more than this. It was lucky, after all, that June had broken the ice for him. She must have wormed it out of Bosinney; he might have known she would.
He lighted his cigarette. After all, Irene had not made a scene! She would come round — that was the best of her; she was cold, but not sulky. And, puffing the cigarette smoke at a lady-bird on the shining table, he plunged into a reverie about the house. It was no good worrying; he would go and make it up presently. She would be sitting out there in the dark, under the Japanese sunshade, knitting. A beautiful, warm night. . . .
In truth, June had come in that afternoon with shining eyes, and the words: “Soames is a brick! It’s splendid for Phil — the very thing for him!”
Irene’s face remaining dark and puzzled, she went on:
“Your new house at Robin Hill, of course. What? Don’t you know?”
Irene did not know.
“Oh! then, I suppose I oughtn’t to have told you!” Looking impatiently at her friend, she cried: “You look as if you didn’t care. Don’t you see, it’s what I’ve’ been praying for — the very chance he’s been wanting all this time. Now you’ll see what he can do;” and thereupon she poured out the whole story.
Since her own engagement she had not seemed much interested in her friend’s position; the hours she spent with Irene were given to confidences of her own; and at times, for all her affectionate pity, it was impossible to keep out of her smile a trace of compassionate contempt for the woman who had made such a mistake in her life — such a vast, ridiculous mistake.
“He’s to have all the decorations as well — a free hand. It’s perfect —” June broke into laughter, her little figure quivered gleefully; she raised her hand, and struck a blow at a muslin curtain. “Do you, know I even asked Uncle James. . . . ” But, with a sudden dislike to mentioning that incident, she stopped; and presently, finding her friend so unresponsive, went away. She looked back from the pavement, and Irene was still standing in the doorway. In response to her farewell wave, Irene put her hand to her brow, and, turning slowly, shut the door. . . .
Soames went to the drawing-room presently, and peered at her through the window.
Out in the shadow of the Japanese sunshade she was sitting very still, the lace on her white shoulders stirring with the soft rise and fall of her bosom.
But about this silent creature sitting there so motionless, in the dark, there seemed a warmth, a hidden fervour of feeling, as if the whole of her being had been stirred, and some change were taking place in its very depths.
He stole back to the dining-room unnoticed.
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