The Sandcastle Read Online Free PDF

could really paint. He stretched out his hand to touch the
rug, and as he moved it its lustre changed. The surface was extremely close and
smooth. He caressed it for a moment.

Before Mor could think of a suitably impressive answer to Miss Carter’s remark,
Demoyte came in. Mor turned about, and looked at Demoyte with some surprise. At
this time in the evening the old man was usually to be found wearing a frayed
velvet jacket, of a tobacco-stained red colour, and a rather limp bow tie. This
evening, however, he was wearing a grey lounge suit, which Mor had rarely seen,
and an ordinary tie. He had put a clean shirt on. He came in with head thrust
forward and bore down upon them. Though he stooped now, he was still a tall man
and with a head only just not grotesquely large for his body. His nose seemed
to have grown bigger with age. His eyes were blue and looked out between many
ridges of almost white dry skin. Scant white hairs still clung in a gentle film
to his bulging skull.

‘What!’ shouted Demoyte, ‘you haven’t given Miss Carter a drink! Mor, you are
only fit to be a country schoolmaster. Excuse our provincial habits, Miss
Carter, we don’t know any better. You will have some sherry?’ He began to pour
it out.

“Thank you,‘ said Miss Carter, ’but do not blame Mr Mor. He has only this
moment seen me. He thought I was part of a rug.‘ As Miss Carter replied to
Demoyte her primness became coyly animated. Mor looked at her again. Although
she had no accent, she spoke English as if it were not quite her native tongue.
He remembered that her mother had been French.

‘And so you might be, my dear,’ said Demoyte; ‘a flower, a bird, an antelope.’
He handed her the glass with a flourish.

Miss Handforth was discovered leaning in the doorway. ‘The dinner’s ready,’ she
said, ‘but I suppose you aren’t.’

‘Go away, Handy,’ said Demoyte. ‘You’re far too early. You all seem to want to
get the evening over quick. Mr Mor’s better half is still to come.’

‘Well, what am I to do about the dinner?’ said Miss Handforth. ‘Spoil it by
over-cooking, or let it get cold? I don’t mind which it is, but just let me
know.’

There was a knock on the outside door, and then Nan stepped into the hall. Mor
saw her head appear suddenly behind Miss Handforth.

‘Nan!’ he said, as if to protect her from the hostility of the house against
her. He went to help her off with her coat, a service which it never seemed to
occur to Demoyte or Miss Handforth to perform, and then led her back into the
drawing-room, holding her by the hand. Nan had made what she herself would call
a real social effort, and was dressed in a smart well-fitting black dress with
which she wore a pearl necklace which Mor had bought once from Tim Burke at a
reduced price as a wedding anniversary present. Her wavy hair, glossy and
impeccably set, framed the pale oval face, smoothly powdered and unmarked by
wrinkles, the long mouth and the shrewd eyes, intelligent, practical, reliable,
full of power. She looked a tall handsome woman, well dressed and confident.
Mor looked at her with approval. In any conflict with the outside world Nan was
invariably an efficient ally.

‘Nan, may I introduce Miss Carter,’ said Mor, since Do-moyte said nothing.
‘Miss Carter, my wife.’

The women smiled and greeted each other, and Nan as usual refused the glass of
sherry which Demoyte as usual poured out and offered to her.

‘As I said before, the meal is ready,’ said Miss Handforth, who was still
standing in the doorway. ‘If the ladies want to go upstairs first, they know
the way. Meanwhile I shall be bringing in the soup.’

‘Oh, shut up, Handy,’ said Demoyte. ‘Give us a moment to finish our sherry, and
don’t rush the ladies.’

Nan and Miss Carter took the opportunity to withdraw, and Miss Handforth
stumped away to the kitchen. Mor turned to Demoyte and looked him over. Demoyte
peered at Mor, his eyes gleaming and his nose