The Woman in White / Женщина в белом

I was informed that the family had retired for the night, and was then led into a large room where my supper was awaiting me.

I was too tired to eat or drink much. In a quarter of an hour I was ready to go to bed. The servant said, “Breakfast at nine o’clock, sir” – looked all round him to see that everything was in its proper place, and noiselessly went away.

“What shall I see in my dreams tonight?” I thought to myself, as I put out the candle; “The woman in white? Or the unknown inhabitants of this Cumberland mansion?”

When I got up the next morning, the sun was shining.

From my window I had a wonderful view of the gardens stretching down to the bright blue sea in the distance. It was all so different from my tiny room in London that I began to feel enthusiastic and happy about starting my new life.

A little before nine o’clock, I descended to the ground-floor of the house. The servant showed me the way to the breakfast-room.

When I opened the door, I saw a young lady standing by the far window, with her back turned towards me, looking out across the garden.

She turned and came towards me, holding out her hand and smiling warmly.

She had thick black hair and dark shining eyes. She wasn’t at all beautiful but the expression on her face was bright, friendly and intelligent.

The lady’s complexion was almost swarthy, and the dark down on her upper lip was almost a moustache. She had a large, firm, masculine mouth and jaw; prominent, piercing, resolute brown eyes; and thick, coal-black hair, growing unusually low down on her forehead.

“Mr. Hartright?” said the lady, her dark face lighting up with a smile, and softening and growing womanly the moment she began to speak. “Allow me to introduce myself as one of your pupils. My name is Marian Halcombe.[15 - Marian Halcombe – Мариан Голкомб] Shall we shake hands? I suppose we must come to it sooner or later – and why not sooner?”

These odd words of welcome were spoken in a clear, ringing, pleasant voice.

We sat down together at the breakfast-table in as cordial and customary a manner as if we had known each other for years.

“My sister is in her own room,” continued the lady. “My uncle, Mr. Fairlie, never joins us at any of our meals: he is an invalid, and stays in his own apartments. There is nobody else in the house. Mr. Hartright – which will you have, tea or coffee?”

She handed me my cup of tea, laughing gaily.