way.
But Nikolai stared at her icily. “Take off those spectacles at once,” he said. “Girl, I am ashamed of you. You are not a child. If you had been reared in Russia you would be a married woman by now. You should have learned long ago that you should never touch people’s personal possessions when they are out of the room.”
There was no foundation for her dream that she could defy him. “I am sorry, Grandfather,” she said, and took off the spectacles.
Kamensky was back in the room, carrying a little silver tray with the tube of tablets and a glass of water on it. “You had better take two,” he told Nikolai.
“It says one on the box,” the old man grumbled, “and medicine is not for me. Except for quinine, which I took when I was soldiering in those accursed marshes, I never tasted a pharmacist’s mess till I was over fifty. No, one tablet will be enough.”
“Ah, but the doctor said you should take two when you were seriously upset. Truly, truly, he said that. I heard him say it, and so, I think, did you. It is not a matter of being ill. There is nothing wrong with your body as yet, dear Count. But your mind is troubled and that drains away your forces. And this afternoon we had a long drive.”
Nikolai swallowed the one tablet and then said, timidly, “But there is something else which makes me not want to take this second tablet.”
“What can that be?” asked Kamensky, tenderly. He had left the tray on the table and was kneeling in front of Nikolai with the glass of water in one hand and the second tablet on the palm of the other. She wondered how he managed to look neither servile nor absurd.
“I am afraid of that little tablet,” Nikolai owned. “I think there is a conspiracy against me. If there is, perhaps these tablets are poisoned. One I have often taken, and I have lived. But two? I’m quite simply frightened.”
“Count, you’d be very foolish, considering all things, if you didn’t look warily at any tablets. But these were made up from the prescription given you in St. Petersburg by our dear Dr. Dervize and repeated by Dr. Lefebure here, and I had it made up by a chemist in the Faubourg St. Honoré who hadn’t the faintest idea who I was or for whom I was acting. I simply walked in off the street and waited till it was ready. Take this second tablet and sit for a minute with your eyes closed. Really, you’ll feel much better.”
When he turned from the old man and set the tray down on the table, Laura gave him his spectacles. In case he should guess she had tried them on and knew his secret, she said, “I was afraid you wouldn’t find my grandfather’s medicine when I saw you’d gone off without these.” And he answered, with a smile of complicity, “So was I, but I didn’t dare come back without it, so I got one of the servants to help me.”
It startled her that he lied so quickly and so well; as quickly as she had lied to Tania a little while before, and rather better. She supposed that this pretence must matter a great deal to him, and could not imagine why. But then she had no idea of what went on inside any human being except herself. What was happening inside Tania, inside Papa? She began to think of Susie Staunton, she could not imagine why. But now Susie seemed part of their lives, though it was only two years since they had first met her. Cousin Angus had taken Tania and Lionel and her to see his son play polo at one of those clubs out in the western distances of London, an old house and its gardens and parklands, which had got stranded in a crisscross of little greyish streets, down near that part of the Thames where one went to see the boat race. Between matches she and Lionel had loitered under a tulip tree, enchanted by the great white flowers which were so oddly up instead of down, while Cousin Angus and Tania did the drill, which Laura watched with half an eye, because it was pretty. Over the lawn sauntered the men with their grey top-hats and
But Nikolai stared at her icily. “Take off those spectacles at once,” he said. “Girl, I am ashamed of you. You are not a child. If you had been reared in Russia you would be a married woman by now. You should have learned long ago that you should never touch people’s personal possessions when they are out of the room.”
There was no foundation for her dream that she could defy him. “I am sorry, Grandfather,” she said, and took off the spectacles.
Kamensky was back in the room, carrying a little silver tray with the tube of tablets and a glass of water on it. “You had better take two,” he told Nikolai.
“It says one on the box,” the old man grumbled, “and medicine is not for me. Except for quinine, which I took when I was soldiering in those accursed marshes, I never tasted a pharmacist’s mess till I was over fifty. No, one tablet will be enough.”
“Ah, but the doctor said you should take two when you were seriously upset. Truly, truly, he said that. I heard him say it, and so, I think, did you. It is not a matter of being ill. There is nothing wrong with your body as yet, dear Count. But your mind is troubled and that drains away your forces. And this afternoon we had a long drive.”
Nikolai swallowed the one tablet and then said, timidly, “But there is something else which makes me not want to take this second tablet.”
“What can that be?” asked Kamensky, tenderly. He had left the tray on the table and was kneeling in front of Nikolai with the glass of water in one hand and the second tablet on the palm of the other. She wondered how he managed to look neither servile nor absurd.
“I am afraid of that little tablet,” Nikolai owned. “I think there is a conspiracy against me. If there is, perhaps these tablets are poisoned. One I have often taken, and I have lived. But two? I’m quite simply frightened.”
“Count, you’d be very foolish, considering all things, if you didn’t look warily at any tablets. But these were made up from the prescription given you in St. Petersburg by our dear Dr. Dervize and repeated by Dr. Lefebure here, and I had it made up by a chemist in the Faubourg St. Honoré who hadn’t the faintest idea who I was or for whom I was acting. I simply walked in off the street and waited till it was ready. Take this second tablet and sit for a minute with your eyes closed. Really, you’ll feel much better.”
When he turned from the old man and set the tray down on the table, Laura gave him his spectacles. In case he should guess she had tried them on and knew his secret, she said, “I was afraid you wouldn’t find my grandfather’s medicine when I saw you’d gone off without these.” And he answered, with a smile of complicity, “So was I, but I didn’t dare come back without it, so I got one of the servants to help me.”
It startled her that he lied so quickly and so well; as quickly as she had lied to Tania a little while before, and rather better. She supposed that this pretence must matter a great deal to him, and could not imagine why. But then she had no idea of what went on inside any human being except herself. What was happening inside Tania, inside Papa? She began to think of Susie Staunton, she could not imagine why. But now Susie seemed part of their lives, though it was only two years since they had first met her. Cousin Angus had taken Tania and Lionel and her to see his son play polo at one of those clubs out in the western distances of London, an old house and its gardens and parklands, which had got stranded in a crisscross of little greyish streets, down near that part of the Thames where one went to see the boat race. Between matches she and Lionel had loitered under a tulip tree, enchanted by the great white flowers which were so oddly up instead of down, while Cousin Angus and Tania did the drill, which Laura watched with half an eye, because it was pretty. Over the lawn sauntered the men with their grey top-hats and
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