"Haggard, H Rider- The Yellow God" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haggard H. Rider)

Sir Robert was seated at his ebony desk playing with a pencil, and the
light from a cheerful fire fell upon his face.

In its own way it was a remarkable face, as he appeared then in his
fourth and fortieth year; very pale but with a natural pallor, very
well cut and on the whole impressive. His eyes were dark, matching his
black hair and pointed beard, and his nose was straight and rather
prominent. Perhaps the mouth was his weakest feature, for there was a
certain shiftiness about it, also the lips were thick and slightly
sensuous. Sir Robert knew this, and therefore he grew a moustache to
veil them somewhat. To a careful observer the general impression given
by this face was such as is left by the sudden sight of a waxen mask.
"How strong! How lifelike!" he would have said, "but of course it
isn't real. There may be a man behind, or there may be wood, but
that's only a mask." Many people of perception had felt like this
about Sir Robert Aylward, namely, that under the mask of his pale
countenance dwelt a different being whom they did not know or
appreciate.

If these had seen him at this moment of the opening of our story, they
might have held that Wisdom was justified of her children. For now in
the solitude of his splendid office, of a sudden Sir Robert's mask
seemed to fall from him. His face broke up like ice beneath a thaw. He
rose from his table and began to walk up and down the room. He talked
to himself aloud.

"Great Heavens!" he muttered, "what a game to have played, and it will
go through. I believe that it will go through."

He stopped at the table, switched on an electric light and made a
rapid calculation on the back of a letter with a blue pencil.

"Yes," he said, "that's my share, a million and seventeen thousand
pounds in cash, and two million in ordinary shares which can be worked
off at a discount--let us say another seven hundred and fifty
thousand, plus what I have got already--put that at only two hundred
and fifty thousand net. Two millions in all, which of course may or
may not be added to, probably not, unless the ordinaries boom, for I
don't mean to speculate any more. That's the end of twenty years'
work, Robert Aylward. And to think of it, eighteen months ago,
although I seemed so rich, I was on the verge of bankruptcy--the very
verge, not worth five thousand pounds. Now what did the trick? I
wonder what did the trick?"

He walked down the room and stopped opposite the ancient marble,
staring at it--

"Not Venus, I think," he said, with a laugh, "Venus never made any man
rich." He turned and retraced his steps to the other end of the room,