She did not pretend to hide the traces of her mental disturbance2. She did not condescend3 to take the trouble. She evidently resented his appearance as untimely, but she greeted him with indifferent composure.
“Mrs. Despard will come down, as soon as she hears that you are here,” she said, and then proceeded to fold the letter, and replace it in its envelope; and thus he saw that it bore the Pen’yllan post-mark.
What did such a whim4 as this mean? he asked himself, impatiently, taking in at a glance the new expression in her face, and the heaviness of her gloomy eyes. This was not one of her tricks. There was no one here to see her, and even if there had been, what end could she 81 serve by crying over a letter from Pen’yllan? What, on earth, had she been crying for? He had never seen her shed a tear before in his life. He had often thought that such a thing was impossible, she was so hard. Could it be that she was not really so hard, after all, and that those three innocent old women could reach her heart? But the next minute he laughed at the absurdity5 of the idea, and Lisbeth, chancing to raise her eyes, and coolly fixing them on his face at that moment, saw his smile.
“What is the matter?” she asked.
A demon6 took possession of him at once. What if he should tell her, and see how she would answer? They knew each other. Why should they keep up this pretense7 of being nothing but ordinary acquaintances, with no unpleasant little drama behind?
“I was thinking what an amusing blunder I had been on the verge8 of making,” he said.
She did not answer, but still kept her eyes fixed9 upon him.
“I was trying to account for your sadness, on the same grounds that I would account for sadness in another woman. I was almost inclined to believe that something, in your letter, had touched your heart, as it might have 82 touched Georgie Esmond’s. But I checked myself in time.”
“You checked yourself in time,” she said, slowly. “That was a good thing.”
There was a brief silence, during which he felt that, as usual, he had gained nothing by his sarcasm10; and then suddenly she held out her mite11 of a hand, with Miss Clarissa’s letter in it, rather taking him aback.
“Would you like to read it?” she said. “Suppose you do. Aunt Clarissa is an old friend of yours. She speaks of you as affectionately as ever.”
He could not comprehend the look she wore when she said this. It was a queer, calculating look, and had a meaning of its own; but it was a riddle12 he could not read.
“Take it,” she said, seeing that he hesitated. “I mean what I say. I want you to read it all. It may do you good.”
So, feeling uncomfortable enough, he took it. And before he had read two pages, it had affected13 him just as Lisbeth had intended that it should. The worst of us must be touched by pure, unselfish goodness. Miss Clarissa’s simple, affectionate outpourings to her dear Lisbeth were somewhat pathetic in their way. She was so grateful for the tenderness of their 83 dear girl’s last letter, so sweet-tempered were her ready excuses for its rather late arrival, her kind old heart was plainly so wholly dedicated14 to the perfections of the dear girl in question, that by the time Anstruthers had reached the conclusion of the epistle he found himself indescribably softened15 in mind, though he really could not have told why. He did not think that he had softened toward Lisbeth herself, but it was true, nevertheless, that he had softened toward her, in a secretly puzzled way.
Lisbeth had risen from her seat, and was standing16 before him, when he handed back the letter, and she met his eyes just as she had done before.
“They are very fond of me, you see,” she said. “They even believe that I have a real affection for them. They think I am capable of it, just as Georgie Esmond does. Poor Georgie! Poor Aunt Clarissa! Poor Aunt Millicent! Poor everybody, indeed!” And she suddenly ended, and turned away from him, toward the fire.
But in a minute more she spoke17 again.
“I wonder if I am capable of it,” she said. “I wonder if I am.”
He could only see her side face, but something in her tone roused him to a vehement18 reply. 84
“God knows,” he said, “I do not. I do not understand you, and never shall.”
She turned to him abruptly19 then, and let him see her whole face, pale, with a strange, excited pallor, her eyes wide, and sparkling, and wet.
“That is true,” she said. “You do not understand. I do not understand myself, but—Well, I have told you lies enough before, when it has suited me. Now, I will tell you the truth, for once. Your blunder was not such a blunder, after all. My heart has been touched, just as a better woman’s might have been—almost as Georgie’s might have been. And this letter touched it—this effusion of poor Aunt Clarissa’s; and that was why I was crying when you came into the room—why I am crying now.” And having made this unlooked-for confession20, she walked out of the room, just as Mrs. Despard came in.
On his next visit to his friends, the Esmonds, Mr. Anstruthers found the pretty head of the lovely Miss Georgie full of a new project. Had he not heard the news? She was going to Pen’yllan with Lisbeth, and they were to stay with the Misses Tregarthyn. Miss Clarissa had written the kindest letter, the dearest, most affectionate letter, as affectionate as 85 if she had known her all her life. Wasn’t it delightful21?
“So much nicer, you know, than going to some stupid, fashionable place,” said Miss Georgie, with bright eyes, and the brightest of fresh roses on her cheeks. “Not that I am so ungrateful as to abuse poor old Brighton, and the rest; but this will be something new.”
“And new things are always better than old ones,” suggested Anstruthers.
“Some new things always are,” answered Georgie, with spirit. “New virtues22, for instance, are better than old follies23. New resolutions to be charitable, instead of old tendencies to be harsh. New——”
“I give it up!” interposed Hector. “And I will agree with you. I always agree with you, Georgie,” in a softer tone.
The poor, pretty face bloomed into blush-rose color, and the sweet eyes met his with innocent trouble.
“Not always,” said Georgie. “You don’t agree with me when I tell you that you are not as good as you ought to be—as you might be, if you would try.”
“Am I such a bad fellow, then?” drawing nearer to her. “Ah, Georgie! etc., etc.——” until, in fact, he wandered off in spite of himself, 86 into that most dangerous ground, of which I have already spoken.
Actually, within the last few days, the idea had occurred to him, that, perhaps—possibly, just possibly—he would not be going so far wrong, if he let himself drift into a gentle passion for Georgie. Perhaps, after all, he could give her a better love than he had ever given to Lisbeth Crespigny. It would be a quieter love. Was not a man’s second love always quieter than the first, and at the same time was it not always more endurable and deep? But perhaps he could make it a love worthy24 of her. Mind you, he was not shallow or coarse enough to think that anything would do; any mock sentiment, any semblance25 of affection. It was only that he longed to anchor himself somehow, and admired and trusted this warm-souled young creature so earnestly, that he instinctively26 turned toward her. She was far too good for him, he told himself, and it was only her goodness that could help her to overlook his many faults; but perhaps she would overlook them; and perhaps, in time, out of the ashes of that wretched passion of his youth, might arise a ph?nix, fair enough to be worthy of her womanhood.
So he was something more tender, and so his 87 new tenderness showed itself in his handsome face, and in a certain regret that he was to lose what Pen’yllan and the Misses Tregarthyn were to gain.
“Will you let me come to see you?” he asked, at last. “Will you——”
But there he stopped, remembering Lisbeth. How would she like such a plan?
“Why should you not?” said Georgie, with a pleased blush. “I have heard you say that the Misses Tregarthyn have asked you again and again. And they seem so fond of you; and I am sure mamma and papa would be quite glad if you would run down and look at us, and then run back and tell them all the news. And as to Lisbeth, Lisbeth never objects to anything. I think she likes you well enough when you are good. Come, by all means.” And she seemed to regard his proposition as so natural and pleasant, that he had no alternative but to profess27 to regard it as such himself; and so it was agreed upon, that, in course of time, he should follow them to Pen’yllan.
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1
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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2
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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3
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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7
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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8
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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9
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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10
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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11
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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12
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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13
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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15
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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16
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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17
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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18
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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22
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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23
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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24
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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25
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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27
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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