Part 128 (2/2)
”I beg your pardon,” said he. ”It seems an absurd question to ask, but the fact is that I don't know her by any other name: Is there any young lady here that is called Maisie?”
”I am Maisie,” was the answer from the depths of a great sun-hat.
”I ought to introduce myself,” he said, as the horse capered in the blinding white dust. ”My name is Torpenhow. d.i.c.k Heldar is my best friend, and--and--the fact is that he has gone blind.”
”Blind!” said Maisie, stupidly. ”He can't be blind.”
”He has been stone-blind for nearly two months.”
Maisie lifted up her face, and it was pearly white. ”No! No! Not blind!
I won't have him blind!”
”Would you care to see for yourself?” said Torpenhow.
”Now,--at once?”
”Oh, no! The Paris train doesn't go through this place till tonight.
There will be ample time.”
”Did Mr. Heldar send you to me?”
”Certainly not. d.i.c.k wouldn't do that sort of thing. He's sitting in his studio, turning over some letters that he can't read because he's blind.”
There was a sound of choking from the sun-hat. Maisie bowed her head and went into the cottage, where the red-haired girl was on a sofa, complaining of a headache.
”d.i.c.k's blind!” said Maisie, taking her breath quickly as she steadied herself against a chair-back. ”My d.i.c.k's blind!”
”What?” The girl was on the sofa no longer.
”A man has come from England to tell me. He hasn't written to me for six weeks.”
”Are you going to him?”
”I must think.”
”Think! I should go back to London and see him and I should kiss his eyes and kiss them and kiss them until they got well again! If you don't go I shall. Oh, what am I talking about? You wicked little idiot! Go to him at once. Go!”
Torpenhow's neck was blistering, but he preserved a smile of infinite patience as Maisie's appeared bareheaded in the suns.h.i.+ne.
”I am coming,” said she, her eyes on the ground.
”You will be at Vitry Station, then, at seven this evening.” This was an order delivered by one who was used to being obeyed. Maisie said nothing, but she felt grateful that there was no chance of disputing with this big man who took everything for granted and managed a squealing horse with one hand. She returned to the red-haired girl, who was weeping bitterly, and between tears, kisses,--very few of those,--menthol, packing, and an interview with Kami, the sultry afternoon wore away.
Thought might come afterwards. Her present duty was to go to d.i.c.k,--d.i.c.k who owned the wondrous friend and sat in the dark playing with her unopened letters.
”But what will you do,” she said to her companion.
”I? Oh, I shall stay here and--finish your Melancolia,” she said, smiling pitifully. ”Write to me afterwards.”
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