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- Фрэнсис Бёрнетт
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- Белые люди
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- Стр. 20/45
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I
was
happy
.
In
my
secret
heart
I
began
to
ask
myself
if
it
could
be
true
that
they
made
me
feel
a
little
as
if
I
somehow
belonged
to
some
one
.
I
had
always
seemed
so
detached
from
every
one
.
I
had
not
been
miserable
about
it
,
and
I
had
not
complained
to
myself
;
I
only
accepted
the
detachment
as
part
of
my
kind
of
life
.
Mr
.
MacNairn
came
into
the
garden
later
and
several
other
people
came
in
to
tea
.
It
was
apparently
a
sort
of
daily
custom
—
that
people
who
evidently
adored
Mrs
.
MacNairn
dropped
in
to
see
and
talk
to
her
every
afternoon
.
She
talked
wonderfully
,
and
her
friends
’
joy
in
her
was
wonderful
,
too
.
It
evidently
made
people
happy
to
be
near
her
.
All
she
said
and
did
was
like
her
light
step
and
the
movements
of
her
delicate
,
fine
head
—
gracious
and
soft
and
arrestingly
lovely
.
She
did
not
let
me
drift
away
and
sit
in
a
corner
looking
on
,
as
I
usually
did
among
strangers
.
She
kept
me
near
her
,
and
in
some
subtle
,
gentle
way
made
me
a
part
of
all
that
was
happening
—
the
talk
,
the
charming
circle
under
the
spreading
boughs
of
the
apple
-
tree
,
the
charm
of
everything
.
Sometimes
she
would
put
out
her
exquisite
,
long
-
fingered
hand
and
touch
me
very
lightly
,
and
each
time
she
did
it
I
felt
as
if
she
had
given
me
new
life
.
There
was
an
interesting
elderly
man
who
came
among
the
rest
of
the
guests
.
I
was
interested
in
him
even
before
she
spoke
to
me
of
him
.
He
had
a
handsome
,
aquiline
face
which
looked
very
clever
.
His
talk
was
brilliantly
witty
.
When
he
spoke
people
paused
as
if
they
could
not
bear
to
lose
a
phrase
or
even
a
word
.
But
in
the
midst
of
the
trills
of
laughter
surrounding
him
his
eyes
were
unchangingly
sad
.
His
face
laughed
or
smiled
,
but
his
eyes
never
.
“
He
is
the
greatest
artist
in
England
and
the
most
brilliant
man
,
”
Mrs
.
MacNairn
said
to
me
,
quietly
.
“
But
he
is
the
saddest
,
too
.
He
had
a
lovely
daughter
who
was
killed
instantly
,
in
his
presence
,
by
a
fall
.
They
had
been
inseparable
companions
and
she
was
the
delight
of
his
life
.
That
strange
,
fixed
look
has
been
in
his
eyes
ever
since
.
I
know
you
have
noticed
it
.
”
We
were
walking
about
among
the
flower
-
beds
after
tea
,
and
Mr
.
MacNairn
was
showing
me
a
cloud
of
blue
larkspurs
in
a
corner
when
I
saw
something
which
made
me
turn
toward
him
rather
quickly
.
“
There
is
one
!
”
I
said
.
“
Do
look
at
her
!
Now
you
see
what
I
mean
!
The
girl
standing
with
her
hand
on
Mr
.
Le
Breton
’
s
arm
.
”
Mr
.
Le
Breton
was
the
brilliant
man
with
the
sad
eyes
.
He
was
standing
looking
at
a
mass
of
white
-
and
-
purple
iris
at
the
other
side
of
the
garden
.
There
were
two
or
three
people
with
him
,
but
it
seemed
as
if
for
a
moment
he
had
forgotten
them
—
had
forgotten
where
he
was
.
I
wondered
suddenly
if
his
daughter
had
been
fond
of
irises
.
He
was
looking
at
them
with
such
a
tender
,
lost
expression
.
The
girl
,
who
was
a
lovely
,
fair
thing
,
was
standing
quite
close
to
him
with
her
hand
in
his
arm
,
and
she
was
smiling
,
too
—
such
a
smile
!
“
Mr
.
Le
Breton
!
”
Mr
.
MacNairn
said
in
a
rather
startled
tone
.
“
The
girl
with
her
hand
in
his
arm
?
”
