the maltese angel by Yelena Kopylova Read Free Book Online Page A

back of her head. Her face was oval-shaped; her eyes large, and they were brown, too, but of a deeper brown than her hair. She had a wide full mouth and a small nose, and her skin appeared to be slightly tanned.
    In no way did she fit the picture of the Maltese Angel.
    "Good evening."
    "Good evening." He bowed slightly; then he added, "I ... I was sorry to hear of your accident."
    "Oh, it was nothing. It will soon be better." She put her hand towards where her foot was resting on the low stool.
    "I'll be dancing again next week."
    "That you won't. I've never been a betting woman but I'll take a bet on that. Three weeks at the least. That's what the doctor said. And, by the way' Mrs. Killjoy now indicated Ward with a quite gracious wave of her hand " Mr. Gibson is a farmer. And Sophia took to him, so that's a good reference, don't you think. " She smiled now from one to the other; then hitching up her large bosom, she added, " Now, I'm away to tidy myself up and get ready for supper, although we'll have a good hour or more to wait, seeing that we're early in. He put us on in the first half. " She now bent forward, her finger wagging as if at the culprit who had done this thing.
    "Would you believe that, Stephanie?
    The effrontery of it! Still, I'll tell you all about it later. "
    At this, she turned about and sailed from the room, for, in spite of her bulk, her step was light.
    Ward searched in his mind for something to say, but the only words it prompted were, "It is still raining," to which inane remark the girl quietly invited him to sit down.
    He looked around as to which chair he would take, and her voice full of laughter now, prompted him, saying, "Don't sit in the big leather one. It looks very comfortable, but the springs have gone. I think the safest would be the Bentwood arm." She pointed to a chair a little to the left of her.
    He returned her smile and, nodding, walked around her outstretched leg and seated himself in the chair which stood within a few feet of her own; and she turned to face him fully and said, "It was very kind of you to come to the show." She did not add, 'so often'.
    He knew his colour had risen as he replied, "You noticed me, then?"
    "Yes. Yes, I noticed you."
    "I ...1 enjoyed your dancing."
    "Thank you."
    He sat looking at her in silence now. She had a nice voice, different from any he had heard, except perhaps that of Colonel Ramsmore's wife or of Mrs. Hopkins, when either the one or the other opened the
    fair.
    Yet there was nothing high-falutin about it, like theirs; but it was different. Oh yes, it was different. She was different all round:
    different from her stage appearance; different from what he had
    expected her to be off stage; but she looked so young. He was slightly surprised to hear himself voicing his thoughts: "You looked young on the stage, but pardon my saying, you look much younger off."
    She now leant back against the padded head of the high-backed chair, and she laughed as she said, "I'm a very deceptive person. I shall be nineteen on my next birthday."
    He found he was so relieved that he, too, laughed back as he said
    brightly, "My! no-one would ever guess it," a remark which made her neither blush nor become coy, but divert any further allusion by
    asserting, "Mrs. Killjoy is a wonderful woman, a wonderful friend, but she is very bad at betting and I have proved her wrong so many
    times, for by next week I shall certainly be dancing again. But in Sunderland. That is our next booking. "
    He did not wonder why she said this, but he repeated, "Sunderland?"
    then nodded at her, saying, "I often pop down to Sunderland. How long are you likely to be there?"
    "Just a week, I think."
    "Oh. Only a week." Another inane remark, he thought;
    then he asked, "Where do you live ... I mean your home?"
    She turned her gaze away from him and looked towards her foot, and she seemed to sigh before she said, "Wherever we are playing: I have no settled home."
    "No?" The syllable held a note