"gp46w10" - читать интересную книгу автора (Parker Gilbert)

Robert's son?"

"Robert Belward was my father."

"Your father is dead?"

"Twelve years ago."

Sir William sank back in his chair. His thin fingers ran back and forth
along his lips. Presently he took out his handkerchief and coughed into
it nervously. His lips trembled. With a preoccupied air he arranged a
handful of papers on the table.

"Why did you not come before?" he asked at last, in a low, mechanical
voice.

"It was better for a man than a boy to come."

"May I ask why?"

"A boy doesn't always see a situation--gives up too soon--throws away his
rights. My father was a boy."

"He was twenty-five when he went away."

"I am fifty!"

Sir William looked up sharply, perplexed. "Fifty?"

"He only knew this life: I know the world."

"What world?"

"The great North, the South, the seas at four corners of the earth."

Sir William glanced at the top-boots, the peeping sash, the strong,
bronzed face.

"Who was your mother?" he asked abruptly.

"A woman of France."

The baronet made a gesture of impatience, and looked searchingly at the
young man.

All at once Gaston shot his bolt, to have it over. "She had Indian blood
also."

He stretched himself to his full height, easily, broadly, with a touch of
defiance, and leaned an arm against the mantel, awaiting Sir William's