And let the shadows be;
Each was a soul to hearken,
Devoid1 of eyes to see.
You came at dusk to find me;
I knew you well enough. . . .
Oh, Lights that dazzle and blind me—
It is no friend, but Love!
A. Mary F. Robinson.
Hotel Prince de Galles, Cannes,
April 27th.
My dearest Gerty,—You shall have a letter to-day, though it is more than you deserve. Why do you never write to me? Now that you have safely married[Pg 290] your young people, you have positively2 no excuse. By the by, the poor innocent mater read the announcement of the wedding out loud at breakfast to-day.—Fred got crimson3 and choked in his coffee, and I had a silent fit of laughter. However, he is all right by now, playing tennis with a mature lady with yellow hair, whom he much affects, and whom papa scornfully denominates a "hotel hack4."
All this, let me tell you, is preliminary. I have a piece of news for you, but somehow it won't come out. Not that it is anything to be ashamed of. The fact is, Gerty, I am going the way of all flesh, and am about to be married. Believe me, it is the most sensible course for a woman to take. I hope you will follow my good example.
Do you remember Sapho's words: "J'ai tant aimé; j'ai besoin d'être aimée"? Do not let the quotation5 shock you; neither take it too seriously, I think Mr. Graham—you know Lawrence Graham?—does care as caring goes and as men go. He came out here, on purpose, a fortnight ago, and yesterday we settled it between us....
Gertrude read no further; the thin,[Pg 291] closely-written sheet fell from her hand; she sat staring vaguely6 before her.
Conny's letter, with its cheerfulness, partly real, partly affected7, hurt her taste, and depressed8 her rather unreasonably9.
This was the hardest feature of her lot: for the people she loved, the people who had looked up to her, she had been able to do nothing at all.
She was sitting alone in the dismantled10 studio on this last day of April. To-morrow Lucy and Frank would have returned from Cornwall, and have taken possession of the new home.
Her own plans for the present were vague.
One of her stories, after various journeys to editorial offices, had at last come back to her in the form of proof, supplemented, moreover, by what seemed to her a handsome cheque.
She had arranged, on the strength of this, to visit a friend in Florence, for some months; after that period she would in all probability take part with Lucy in the photography business.
There was no fire lighted, and the sun, which in the earlier part of the day had warmed the room, had set. Most of the[Pg 292] furniture and properties had already gone to the new studio, but some yet remained, massed and piled in the gloom.
The black sign-board, with its gold lettering, stood upright and forlorn in a corner, as though conscious that its day was over for ever. Gertrude had been busying herself with turning out a cupboard, but the light had failed, and she had ceased from her work.
A very dark hour came to Gertrude, crouching11 there in the dusk and cold, amid the dismantled workshop which seemed to symbolize12 her own life.
She who held unhappiness ignoble13 and cynicism a poor thing, had lost for the moment all joy of living and all belief. The little erection of philosophy, of hope, of self-reliance, which she had been at such pains to build, seemed to be crumbling14 about her ears; all the struggles and sacrifices of life looked vain things. What had life brought her, but disillusion15, bitterness, an added sense of weakness?
She rose at last and paced the room.
"This will pass," she said to herself; "I am out of sorts; and it is not to be wondered at."
She sat down in the one empty chair the[Pg 293] room contained, and leaning her head on her hand, let her thoughts wander at will.
Her eyes roved about the little dusky room which was so full of memories for her. Shadows peopled it; dream-voices filled it with sound.
Lucy and Phyllis and Frank moved hither and thither16 with jest and laughter. Fanny was there too, tampering17 amiably18 with the apparatus19; and Darrell looked at her once with cold eyes, although, indeed, he had been a rare visitor at the studio.
Then all these phantoms20 faded, and she seemed to see another in their stead; a man, tall and strong, his face full of anger and sorrow—Lord Watergate, as he had been on that never-forgotten night. Then the anger and sorrow faded from his face, and she read there nothing but love—love for herself shining from his eyes.
Then she hid her face, ashamed.
What must he think of her? Perhaps that she scorned his gift, did not understand its value; had therefore withdrawn21 it in disdain22.
Oh, if only she could tell him this:—that it was her very sense of the greatness of what he offered that had made her tremble, turn[Pg 294] away, and reject it. One does not stretch out the hand eagerly for so great a gift.
She had told him not to return and he had taken her at her word. She was paying the penalty, which her sex always pays one way or another, for her struggles for strength and independence. She was denied, she told herself with a touch of rueful humour, the gracious feminine privilege of changing her mind.
Lord Watergate might have loved her more if he had respected her less, or at least allowed for a little feminine waywardness. Like the rest of the world, he had failed to understand her, to see how weak she was, for all her struggles to be strong.
She pushed back the hair from her forehead with the old resolute23 gesture. Well, she must learn to be strong in earnest now; the thews and sinews of the soul, the moral muscles, grow with practice, no less than those of the body. She must not sit here brooding, but must rise and fight the Fates.
Hitherto, perhaps, life had been nothing but failures, but mistakes. It was quite possible that the future held nothing better in store for her. That was not the question; all that concerned her was to fight the fight.
[Pg 295]
She lit a solitary24 candle, and began sorting some papers and prints on the table near.
"If he had cared," her thoughts ran on, "he would have come back in spite of everything."
Doubtless it had been a mere25 passing impulse of compassion26 which had prompted his words, and he had caught eagerly at her dismissal of him. Or was it all a delusion27 on her part? That brief, rapid moment, when he had spoken, had it ever existed save in her own imagination? Worst thought of all, a thought which made her cheek burn scarlet28 in the solitude29, had she misinterpreted some simple expression of kindness, some frank avowal30 of sympathy; had she indeed refused what had never been offered?
She felt very lonely as she lingered there in the gloom, trying to accustom31 herself in thought to the long years of solitude, of dreariness32, which she saw stretching out before her.
The world, even when represented by her best friends, had labelled her a strong-minded woman. By universal consent she had been cast for the part, and perforce must go through with it.
[Pg 296]
She heard steps coming up the Virginia cork33 passage and concluded that Mrs. Maryon was bringing her an expected postcard from Lucy.
"Come in," she said, not raising her head from the table.
The person who had come in was not, however, Mrs. Maryon.
He came up to the table with its solitary candle and faced her.
When she saw who it was her heart stood still; then in one brief moment the face of the universe had changed for her for ever.
"Lord Watergate!"
"I said I would come again. I have come in spite of you. You will not tell me that I come too soon, or in vain?"
"You must not think that I did not value what you offered me," she said simply, though her voice shook; "that I did not think myself deeply honoured. But I was afraid—I have suffered very much."
"And I.... Oh, Gertrude, my poor child, and I have left you all this time."
For the light, flickering34 upwards35, had shown him her weary, haggard face; had shown him also the pathetic look of her[Pg 297] eyes as they yearned36 towards him in entreaty37, in reliance,—in love.
He had taken her in his arms, without explanation or apology, holding her to his breast as one holds a tired child.
And she, looking up into his face, into the lucid38 depths of his eyes, felt all that was mean and petty and bitter in life fade away into nothingness; while all that was good and great and beautiful gathered new meaning and became the sole realities.
Decoration
[Pg 298]
Decoration
EPILOGUE.
There is little more to tell of the people who have figured in this story.
Fanny continues to flourish at Notting Hill, the absence of children being the one drop in her cup and that of her husband.
"But, perhaps," as Lucy privately39 remarks, "it is as well; for I don't think the Marshes40 would have understood how to bring up a child."
For Lucy, in common with all young matrons of the day, has decided41 views on matters concerned with the mental, moral, and physical culture of the young. Unlike many thinkers, she does not hesitate to put her theories into practice, and the two small occupants of her nursery bear witness to excellent training.
The photography, however, has not been[Pg 299] crowded out by domestic duties; and no infant with pretensions42 to fashion omits to present itself before Mrs. Jermyn's lens. Lucy has succumbed43 to the modern practice of specialising, and only the other day carried off a medal for photographs of young children from an industrial exhibition. Her husband is no less successful in his own line. Having permanently44 abandoned the paint-brush for the needle, he bids fair to take a high place among the black and white artists of the day.
The Watergates have also an addition to their household, in the shape of a stout45 person with rosy46 cheeks and stiff white petticoats, who receives a great deal of attention from his parents. Gertrude wonders if he will prove to have inherited his father's scientific tastes, or the literary tendencies of his mother. She devoutly47 hopes that it is the former.
Conny flourishes as a married woman no less than as a girl. She and the Jermyns dine out now and then at one another's houses; her old affection for Gertrude continues, in spite of the fact that their respective husbands are quite unable (as she says) to hit it off.
[Pg 300]
Fred has not yet married; but there is no reason to believe him inconsolable. It is rather the embarrassment48 of choice than any other motive49 which keeps him single.
Aunt Caroline, having married all her daughters to her satisfaction, continues to reign50 supreme51 in certain circles at Lancaster Gate. She speaks with the greatest respect of her niece, Lady Watergate, though she has been heard to comment unfavourably on the shabbiness of the furniture in Sussex Place.
As for Darrell, shortly after Phyllis's death, he went to India at the invitation of the Viceroy and remained there nearly two years.
It was only the other day that the Watergates came face to face with him. It was at a big dinner, where the most distinguished52 representatives of art and science and literature were met. Gertrude turned pale when she saw him, losing the thread of her discourse53, and her appetite, despite her husband's reassuring54 glances down the table.
But Darrell went on eating his dinner and looking into his neighbour's eyes, in apparent unconsciousness of, or unconcern at, the Watergates' proximity55.
The Maryons continue in the old premises,[Pg 301] increasing their balance at the banker's, and enlarging their experience of life.
The Photographic Studio is let to an enterprising young photographer, who has enlarged and beautified it beyond recognition.
As for the rooms above the umbrella-maker's: the sitting-room56 facing the street; the three-cornered kitchen behind; the three little bed-rooms beyond;—when last I passed the house they were to let unfurnished, with great fly-blown bills in the blank casements57.
THE END.
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1
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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dismantled
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| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
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11
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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symbolize
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| vt.作为...的象征，用符号代表 | |
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13
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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14
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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disillusion
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| vt.使不再抱幻想，使理想破灭 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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tampering
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| v.窜改( tamper的现在分词 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
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amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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19
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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20
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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21
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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30
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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32
dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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54
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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