Read 03 Mary Wakefield for Free Online

noticed, for the first time, that he had a slight impediment in his speech. He could not distinctively say
th
but substituted a tentative
ve
. The truth was that Philip, as a small boy, had been too lazy to correct this impediment, though often reprimanded by his mother for it, and, as a man, was unaware of it.
    “I’m afraid I am. At least, I think I should be. I don’t ever remember having been near a bee.”
    At this Renny’s treble laughter again cut the air.
    “Behave yourself,” said his father.
    Meg, forbidden to speak, pointed to the honey, glistening in the comb, and then to her mouth. Philip winked at Mary, as though to say, see how I have them trained. That wink broke down more barriers than a month of ordinary friendliness could have done. Upper and lower lids met for an instant over the benign blueness of the orb, hiding it, then opened again and the eye looked into hers, smiling. He has no dignity, thought Mary, and he is adorable.
    He helped Meg to honey, then nodding toward two oil paintings behind Mary said, “Those are my parents. My father is dead. But you’ll be seeing my mother one of these days. She’s a character. She’s going on seventy buy you’d never know it.”
    Mary screwed round in her chair to look at the portrait and Philip took the opportunity to have a better look at her. He liked the way her hair was done in a sort of French roll on the back of her head. He liked the long graceful line of neck and shoulder and thought it rather a pity that women wore those wide neck ribbons wound twice round the neck and tied in a big bow behind. This particular ribbon was light blue with white polka dots, her shirt-waist was white and her navy blue serge skirt just reached her instep. She looked fresh as the morning, he thought, and very young. It was a pleasant surprise and pleasure lighted his handsome face as she turned back to him.
    “What beautiful portraits,” she said, “and what a joy they must be to you! My mother was quite lovely but I have only a rather faded photograph of her.”
    “I guess you resemble her.” She felt his eyes, suddenly bold, looking her over, and blushed. She nodded.
    “I am supposed to be. And you are so like your father.”
    He pushed out his lips and wrinkled his brow. “A very poor reproduction, according to my mother. You see him there in the uniform of the Hussars, though his family — which was a military one — had always been connected with the Buffs. Those two portraits were painted in London before they came to Canada. They brought them out in a sailing vessel. They built this house. I was born here and so was the brother you met in London. Nice house, don’t you think so?”
    “Oh, yes,” she agreed enthusiastically.
    “I breed horses,” he said, as though to forward their acquaintance.
    “How interesting!” She leaned toward him a little and Meg stared inquisitively up into her face.
    “
And
cattle.”
    “How lovely!”
    “And a few sheep. Southdown.”
    “I love sheep.”
    “I breed kids too,” he went on, “horrible little kids. A perfect nuisance. I’m thinking of getting rid of them — that is, unless you can make something of them.”
    Again came Renny’s treble laugh, this time, it seemed to Mary, with something mocking in it.
    “I’m going to try very hard.” She straightened her shoulders and did her best to look efficient.
    “It’s quite a difficult thing for a man,” he said seriously, “where there is no mother.” If he were looking for sympathy, there it was, in Mary’s eyes.
    “A fellow just has to do the best he can.”
    “I think you’ve done wonderfully well.”
    “Do you hear that, Renny? Miss Wakefield thinks I’m a wonderful success as a father. That means she thinks you’re wonderful children.” He put his arm around the little boy, then turned with fatherly pride to Mary. “I’ll bet you can’t produce better complexions in England.”
    “They look pictures of health.” More and more she