Page 579 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

the Casa Gould had been married for some years now.
He remained squatting on his heels for a time, gazing
fondly at his offspring, which returned his stare with im-
perturbable gravity; then, solemn and respectable, walked
down the path.
‘What is it, Basilio?’ asked Mrs. Gould.
‘A telephone came through from the office of the mine.
The master remains to sleep at the mountain to-night.’
Dr. Monygham had got up and stood looking away. A
profound silence reigned for a time under the shade of the
biggest trees in the lovely gardens of the Casa Gould.
‘Very well, Basilio,’ said Mrs. Gould. She watched him
walk away along the path, step aside behind the flowering
bush, and reappear with the child seated on his shoulder.
He passed through the gateway between the garden and the
patio with measured steps, careful of his light burden.
The doctor, with his back to Mrs. Gould, contemplated
a flower-bed away in the sunshine. People believed him
scornful and soured. The truth of his nature consisted in
his capacity for passion and in the sensitiveness of his tem-
perament. What he lacked was the polished callousness of
men of the world, the callousness from which springs an
easy tolerance for oneself and others; the tolerance wide as
poles asunder from true sympathy and human compassion.
This want of callousness accounted for his sardonic turn of
mind and his biting speeches.
In profound silence, and glaring viciously at the brilliant
flower-bed, Dr. Monygham poured mental imprecations on
Charles Gould’s head. Behind him the immobility of Mrs.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard