Something Light Read Online Free Page B

solid room, from a divan-bedroom-bathroom-kitchenette-dinette! Even its gloom was tranquillizing—like a thoroughly wet day when there is no question of going out. If Freddy’s eye was wistful, so was Louisa’s; but no one was ever less of a dog-in-the-manger.
    â€œWhy not keep it on?” she suggested kindly. “Then you could pop up to town on your own.”
    â€œYou really think I might?” exclaimed F. Pennon, brightening at once. “It wouldn’t cause … misunderstandings?—My dear Louisa,” cried F. Pennon enthusiastically, “how right I’ve been about you! I knew I was right, even on so very brief an acquaintance as ours was at Cannes! You’re the only woman, I tell you frankly, I’ve been able to think of—”
    Louisa swallowed fast. She didn’t mean to receive his proposal in form with her mouth full.
    â€œâ€”to turn to,” finished F. Pennon, “in a jam.”
    For one moment—and alas, for one only—incredulity numbed Louisa’s brain. The moment passed. After but the briefest pause, during which she resisted an impulse to dash the scone to the ground and grind it into the carpet—
    â€œHere we go again!” thought Louisa resignedly.
    3
    Resignedly she composed herself to listen. She also put another scone on her plate, beside the slice of cake, to make sure of supplies. Though where were now her rosy hopes, if she ate enough tea she could do without supper, and so be at least a meal up.
    â€œFire ahead,” said Louisa.
    It was encouragement of a sort. At any rate it was encouragement enough for F. Pennon. He drew a deep, already assuaged breath.
    â€œI don’t suppose even you can realize,” he began earnestly, “how a man feels—a man of my age—when the woman he’s worshiped for twenty years is at last free to marry him.”
    Louisa sat perfectly still. The words were a final blow, and in the circumstances a shattering one. Yet what fidelity they exhibited! Twenty years! How different, such true devotion, thought Louisa, from the untidy amours of her familiar circle! Chagrined as she was, she felt her heart melt.
    â€œPerhaps not,” she said kindly. “Tell me.”
    â€œHe feels terrified,” said F. Pennon.
    4
    Another moment passed. As though upon some emotional switchback, Louisa had scarcely time to alter her expression—in fact she was still looking reverent—before it was necessary to speak.
    â€œI thought you said you’d worshiped —?” began Louisa.
    â€œYes. But from afar,” said F. Pennon.
    â€œHow far afar?”
    â€œArgentina. For the last eighteen years, she’s lived in the Argentine. She married a man in business there—a splendid chap,” said F. Pennon warmly. “Now he’s dead.”
    â€œYou mean you haven’t seen her for eighteen years?” marveled Louisa.
    â€œThat’s right. His business rather went downhill, d’you see, and they couldn’t afford to come home. But of course I’ve written to her. We wrote to each other,” said F. Pennon, warming up a little, “every month …”
    â€œYou mean love letters?”
    â€œI suppose you might call ’em so. I know Enid told me they added meaning to her whole existence.—So they did to mine,” said F. Pennon. “I’d no other attachments, never wanted any; but once each month I’d turn aside from—well, money-grubbing—and just give myself up to sweeter things. I used to keep a special evening, settle down at that desk with perhaps a spot of brandy—”
    â€œAnd a dictionary of quotations?” suggested Louisa.
    â€œJust to refresh my memory,” said F. Pennon simply. “Enid liked me to put in poetry. She’s particularly fond of Tennyson. One way and another, taking all my letters together, I dare say you’d find the whole of Maud . And then of course