Mrs.
Boulte was putting some flowers into a vase. There is a pretence of
civilisation even in Kashima.
'Little woman,' said Boulte quietly, 'do you care for me?'
'Immensely,' said she, with a laugh. 'Can you ask it?'
'But I'm serious,' said Boulte. 'Do you care for me?'
Mrs. Boulte dropped the flowers, and turned round quickly. 'Do
you want an honest answer?'
'Ye-es, I've asked for it.'
Mrs. Boulte spoke in a low, even voice for five minutes, very
distinctly, that there might be no misunderstanding her meaning.
When Samson broke the pillars of Gaza, he did a little thing, and
one not to be compared to the deliberate pulling down of a
woman's homestead about her own ears. There was no wise female
friend to advise Mrs. Boulte, the singularly cautious wife, to hold
her hand. She struck at Boulte's heart, because her own was sick
with suspicion of Kurrell, and worn out with the long strain of
watching alone through the Rains. There was no plan or purpose in
her speaking. The sentences made themselves; and Boulte listened,
leaning against the door-post with his hands in his pockets. When
all was over, and Mrs. Boulte began to breathe through her nose
before breaking out into tears, he laughed and stared straight in
front of him at the Dosehri hills.
'Is that all?' he said. 'Thanks, I only wanted to know, you know.
Pages:
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64