Having got as far as this, Steve should, of course, have gone

resolutely ahead. After all, it is not a very long step from telling a

girl in a hushed whisper with a shake in it that you have not seen much

of her lately to hinting that you would like to see a great deal more

of her in the future.

Steve was on the right lines, and he knew it; but that fatal lack of

nerve which had wrecked him on all the other occasions when he had got

as far as this undid him now. He relapsed into silence, and Mamie went

on sewing.

In a way, if you shut your eyes to the white tiles and the thermometer

and the brass knobs and the shower-bath, it was a peaceful scene; and

Steve, as he sat there and watched Mamie sew, was stirred by it. Remove

the white tiles, the thermometer the brass knobs, and the shower-bath,

and this was precisely the sort of scene his imagination conjured up

when the business of life slackened sufficiently to allow him to dream

dreams.

There he was, sitting in one chair; there was Mamie, sitting in

another; and there in the corner was the little white cot, well,

perhaps that was being a shade too prophetic; on the other hand, it

always came into these dreams of his. There, in short, was everything

arranged just as he pictured it; and all that was needed to make the

picture real was for him to propose and Mamie to accept him.

It was the disturbing thought that the second condition did not

necessarily follow on to the first that had kept Steve from taking the

plunge for the last two years. Unlike the hero of the poem, he feared

his fate too much to put it to the touch, to win or lose it all.

Presently the silence began to oppress Steve. Mamie had her needlework,

and that apparently served her in lieu of conversation; but Steve had

nothing to occupy him, and he began to grow restless. He always

despised himself thoroughly for his feebleness on these occasions; and

he despised himself now. He determined to make a big effort.

'Mamie!' he said.

As he was nervous and had been silent so long that his vocal cords had

gone off duty under the impression that their day's work was over, the

word came out of him like a husky gunshot. Mamie started, and the White

Hope, who had been sleeping peacefully, stirred and muttered.

'S-sh!' hissed Mamie.

Steve collapsed with the feeling that it was not his lucky night, while

Mamie bent anxiously over the cot. The sleeper, however, did not wake.

He gurgled, gave a sigh, then resumed his interrupted repose. Mamie

returned to her seat.

'Yes?' she said, as if nothing had occurred, and as if there had been

no interval between Steve's remark and her reply.

Steve could not equal her calmness. He had been strung up when he

spoke, and the interruption had undone him. He reflected ruefully that

he might have said something to the point if he had been allowed to go

straight on; now he had forgotten what he had meant to say.

'Oh, nothing,' he replied.

Silence fell once more on the nursery.

Вы читаете The Coming of Bill
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