Read Online The Incredible Charlie Carewe by Mary. Astor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary. Astor
Tags: xke
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control. Well, he was a cool one! He had made her feel unreasonably foolish, caught up into analyzing symbols expressing an emotion. Recognition that her words implied a yielding to an emotional “fate” should have been mutual. But his literal question, “Did you?” called for a literal answer. Did you , for God’s sake! It should have been a whispered I know, I know . Wasn’t he aware of the language bargains, the implied meanings below the levels of speech that everyone used?
He was looking at her, quite poised, his arms still around her, his hands low on her back, pressing her to him. “What’s wrong?”—still in that flat, “how’s the weather” voice.
It would have been so simple to put a stop to such impertinence. Jane laughed a little at the returning feeling of control of the situation. She could “get even” very easily. Slap his face, and Brian would return and throw him out, and that would be that. Unfortunately. The thought of exciting this boy was in itself an excitement. She could well afford to postpone “getting even.” . . .
Gasping a little, she worked free of his arms, and picking up a tray of the remains of turkey and ham sandwiches, she carried them into the kitchen. She had the reins again, for he followed quickly and stood beside her while she fumbled in a drawer for waxed paper. “What’s wrong?” he repeated. “Did I make you cross?” Immediately she forgave him, everything, everything—why, he was just a child—a baby with big brown eyes looking at her, concerned that he had been a bad boy! Carefully she selected the unused sandwiches and wrapped them in the paper. Holding one to his lips, she said, “Bite?” Instead of the sandwich he caught her wrist in his teeth gently, and she felt the tip of his tongue on her pulse.
“Be careful, darling, be careful,” she whispered. “When can you get away——”
“Friday week? I’m sure I can make it again. I’ve enjoyed this. It’s so kind of you to ask the fellows over.”
Without a word Jane went back to the living room, and then, seeing Brian coming up the walk, she made no effort to hide her annoyance, as it would be interpreted as fatigue by Brian. In her high lilting voice she said, “I’m so glad you could come, Charles. Mr. Dexter and I enjoy having you boys around. Keeps us young.” She twinkled at Brian and gave him an eyes-to-the-ceiling look of mock despair that said, “Get rid of him!”
“Still here?” Brian boomed in his friendly, “we’re all pals” voice.
“Yes sir,” said Charles, “just trying to be helpful—not very good at it, I’m afraid,” and he hung his hands out in a clumsy fashion, to illustrate.
Brian put a friendly arm around his shoulders and steered him to the door. “Think you can make it next Friday?”
“I’m sure I can,” said Charles, and then his eyes fell on a thin volume lying on the table back of the divan. “Oh, could I—could I borrow this, please? Mother was always wanting me to read her sonnets.” It was the slim Sonnets from the Portuguese of Elizabeth Browning.
“Of course,” Jane said. “I’d like to say keep it, but it was given to me and it’s been marked and everything.” She smiled at Brian.
“Thanks, so very much. I’ll bring it back—soon.” And he was gone.
“Soon.” Jane felt the blood rise to her face. Her fever chart had risen and fallen so erratically in the past hour that she was in a dizzy state. She put her hands to her cheeks. Idiot, idiot, it was she who was being led around by the nose.
“Well.” Brian sighed his pleased relief. “That was very, very nice, my dearest. You are a lovely hostess, and I’m always proud of you. It does those fellows so much good. Tired?”
“A little,” smiled Jane. “Will you want any supper, I hope not, after all that food? How those kids stash it away!”
“Oh, lord, not now—maybe later, some soup or something. I have a flock of papers to grade, and then I’m going to
He was looking at her, quite poised, his arms still around her, his hands low on her back, pressing her to him. “What’s wrong?”—still in that flat, “how’s the weather” voice.
It would have been so simple to put a stop to such impertinence. Jane laughed a little at the returning feeling of control of the situation. She could “get even” very easily. Slap his face, and Brian would return and throw him out, and that would be that. Unfortunately. The thought of exciting this boy was in itself an excitement. She could well afford to postpone “getting even.” . . .
Gasping a little, she worked free of his arms, and picking up a tray of the remains of turkey and ham sandwiches, she carried them into the kitchen. She had the reins again, for he followed quickly and stood beside her while she fumbled in a drawer for waxed paper. “What’s wrong?” he repeated. “Did I make you cross?” Immediately she forgave him, everything, everything—why, he was just a child—a baby with big brown eyes looking at her, concerned that he had been a bad boy! Carefully she selected the unused sandwiches and wrapped them in the paper. Holding one to his lips, she said, “Bite?” Instead of the sandwich he caught her wrist in his teeth gently, and she felt the tip of his tongue on her pulse.
“Be careful, darling, be careful,” she whispered. “When can you get away——”
“Friday week? I’m sure I can make it again. I’ve enjoyed this. It’s so kind of you to ask the fellows over.”
Without a word Jane went back to the living room, and then, seeing Brian coming up the walk, she made no effort to hide her annoyance, as it would be interpreted as fatigue by Brian. In her high lilting voice she said, “I’m so glad you could come, Charles. Mr. Dexter and I enjoy having you boys around. Keeps us young.” She twinkled at Brian and gave him an eyes-to-the-ceiling look of mock despair that said, “Get rid of him!”
“Still here?” Brian boomed in his friendly, “we’re all pals” voice.
“Yes sir,” said Charles, “just trying to be helpful—not very good at it, I’m afraid,” and he hung his hands out in a clumsy fashion, to illustrate.
Brian put a friendly arm around his shoulders and steered him to the door. “Think you can make it next Friday?”
“I’m sure I can,” said Charles, and then his eyes fell on a thin volume lying on the table back of the divan. “Oh, could I—could I borrow this, please? Mother was always wanting me to read her sonnets.” It was the slim Sonnets from the Portuguese of Elizabeth Browning.
“Of course,” Jane said. “I’d like to say keep it, but it was given to me and it’s been marked and everything.” She smiled at Brian.
“Thanks, so very much. I’ll bring it back—soon.” And he was gone.
“Soon.” Jane felt the blood rise to her face. Her fever chart had risen and fallen so erratically in the past hour that she was in a dizzy state. She put her hands to her cheeks. Idiot, idiot, it was she who was being led around by the nose.
“Well.” Brian sighed his pleased relief. “That was very, very nice, my dearest. You are a lovely hostess, and I’m always proud of you. It does those fellows so much good. Tired?”
“A little,” smiled Jane. “Will you want any supper, I hope not, after all that food? How those kids stash it away!”
“Oh, lord, not now—maybe later, some soup or something. I have a flock of papers to grade, and then I’m going to
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