“Am I, father?” said Charley, whose heart smote1 him as he spoke2, telling himself the while that he was deceiving the generous old man, with whom he had hitherto been open as the day.
“Yes, my dear boy—yes, of course you are! It’s just what I wanted, Charley, to see you a little more inclined for society. You’ll have quite a large party, of course?”
“Well, no, father,” said Charley; “I think not. Your large affairs are never so successful as the small ones.”
“Just so, my dear boy; I think you are right. Well, have it as you please, precisely3, only give your orders. Slave of the lamp, you know, Charley—slave of the lamp: what shall I do first?”
“Well, dad,” said Charley, flushing slightly, “I thought, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind doing a little of the inviting4 for me.”
“Of course not, my dear boy. Whom shall I ask first?”
“Well, suppose you see the Brays,” said Charley, whose face certainly wore a deeper hue6 than usual.
“To be sure, Charley!” said the old gentleman, smiling.
“They’ve been very kind, and asked me there several times, so you’ll ask them all?”
“Decidedly!” said the old gentleman.
“We must have Max,” said Charley; “for he keeps hanging about here still.”
“O, of course!” said Sir Philip.
“And Laura, I suppose,” said Charley, feeling more and more conscience-stricken.
“By all means, my dear boy!” laughed the father.
“And then there are the three girls, and the governess,” said Charley.
“Should you ask them?” said Sir Philip.
“O yes, decidedly!” said Charley. “I’m very fond of that second girl, Nelly; she’s only a child, but there’s something nice and frank and open about her. She will be sure to make up for the unpleasantry of having Max.”
“Very good, Charley—very good!” said Sir Philip.
“I wouldn’t be put off with any of them,” said Charley, in a curious hesitating way. “Perhaps they’ll say that they had better not all come; but they can’t refuse you anything, so insist upon them bringing the children and Miss Bedford.”
“Miss who?” said Sir Philip.
“Miss Bedford—the governess,” said Charley, who coughed as if something had made him husky. “I particularly wish for them all to come.”
“It shall be just as you like, my dear boy,” said Sir Philip gaily7; “only let’s do the thing well, and not let them go away and find fault afterwards.”
Charley Vining left his father ill at ease and dissatisfied, for he felt that he was deceiving the old man; but, like many more, he crushed down the obtrusive8 thoughts, and, going round to the stable, he mounted his mare9 as soon as it could be got ready, and rode slowly and thoughtfully away.
“What’s come to the young governor?” said one of the stablemen.
“O, the old game!” said another. “He’s been betting heavy on the Derby, and lost, and the old gentleman won’t pay his debts. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if as soon as he comes in for the place, he’ll make the money fly.”
“Don’t think it’s that,” said the other. “But he never takes a bit of notice of his ’orses now; if they look well, they do, and if they don’t look well, they don’t; but he’s never got a word to say about them. There’s something wrong, safe.”
There was a good deal of truth in the remarks of the servants; for the Charley Vining of the present was certainly not the Charley Vining of a month before. Since the night of the croquet-party he had several times met Laura Bray5, who, like himself, had endeavoured to ignore entirely10 their encounter in the conservatory11, speaking in the most friendly manner, and endeavouring to the best of her ability to bring Charley more to her side. In fact, so completely was the past evaded12, that Charley called several times, meeting a warmer welcome at every visit; but not once did he encounter Ella. He was very little more fortunate during his rides: once he pressed forward his horse upon seeing her at some distance down a lane with the “children;” but suddenly Max Bray made his appearance, as if by magic, and fixing upon him, kept by his side for quite an hour; another time Max was walking with his sisters and their governess; while upon a third occasion Max was coming in the other direction, as if purposely to meet them, and as Charley rode away his brow grew dark, and he asked himself what it meant.
In fact, watch as carefully as he would for a meeting, his efforts seemed in vain; while the more he was disappointed, the more eager he became.
It was upon one of these occasions that he had drawn13 up his horse by a hedge-side, gazing angrily after the distant party, consisting of Ella, two of the children, and Max, when, angry and disappointed, he was considering whether he should canter up after them or turn back.
“Why should I bother myself?” he muttered. “If she likes that donkey dangling14 after her, I’m quite convinced that she would not approve of rough unpolished me. I’ll give up. Max shall have the field to himself, and I’ll go back and ask the governor to let me live in peace. I’ve only been making a mistake, and neglecting everything for the sake of a pleasant-looking face. Hallo!”
“Ha, ha, ha!” rang out a merry laugh.
“Look at Sir Dismal15, pausing thoughtfully beneath the trees.”
Charley looked up, to see peering down upon him, from between the bushes on the high bank, the bright merry face of Nelly, with her hair tangled16, her straw hat bent17 of brim, and a general aspect about her hot face and tumbled clothes of having been tearing through a wood.
“What, my little dryad!” laughed out Charley, brightening in an instant. “How is the little wood-nymph?”
“O, so jolly hot and tired, Charley! I’ve cut away from them, run up the bank, and scampered18 through Bosky Dell, and tore my dress ever so many times. But I wasn’t going to stay; at least, I ought to have stayed,” she added thoughtfully, “but I felt as if I couldn’t, for old Max would have made me ill—he would, bai Jove!” she laughed, mocking her brother’s drawl with all accuracy which delighted Charley.
“Been having a walk?” he said.
“Walk, yes,” exclaimed Nelly; “and one can’t stir without stupid old Max coming boring after us, bothering Miss Bedford to death with his drawling nonsense. She hates him, and he will follow us about, because he has grown so fond of his little sisters. But, I say, Charley Vining, do give me—no, not give, lend me sixpence to buy some sweets. We spent every halfpenny, and it isn’t pocket-money till to-morrow night.”
“I never give money to beggars at the roadside,” laughed Charley, who seemed somehow to be brightening up under his young friend’s revelations.
“Now don’t be a nuisance,” laughed Nelly, “or I’ll tease you. I know why you were looking down the lane so miserably19; it was because Max was along with—”
“Hold your tongue, do, you saucy20 puss!” roared Charley, with flaming face. “How dare you!”
“There! I knew I was right,” laughed the girl. “I’m not a bit afraid of you, Charley Vining. But, I say, such a game: there, hold your arms, and I could jump down from here right on to the dear old mare just before you, and you could hold me tight, and we’d play at you being young Lochinvar, and gallop21 off with me. Wouldn’t it be fun?”
“But there’s no bridegroom to dandle his bonnet22 and plume,” laughed Charley.
“There’s an ungallant cavalier!” said Nelly, with her wicked eyes dancing with glee. “Now, if it had been Miss Bed—ha, ha, ha!” she shrieked23, as Charley made a dash at her by forcing his mare half-way up the bank. “Don’t you do that, Charley, or you’ll go down again, and have to be carried on a gate—and I don’t want you to be hurt any more,” she said seriously. “But there, I must go back and save my poor dear darling Miss Bedford from being bored to death by old stupid. I’m glad I’ve seen you, though; it’s done me ever so much good. I say, Charley Vining, isn’t Miss Bedford nice?”
“I daresay she is; but I know very little of her,” said Charley coolly.
“O, there’s a story!” exclaimed downright Nelly. “I know you think ever so much of her, or else you would not stop looking miserable24 after her. There, I’ve done, and I won’t tease you any more; but I do want to borrow sixpence. Old Max wouldn’t lend me one if I was starving. Thank you! O, a shilling!” exclaimed Nelly, actively25 catching26 the coin he threw. “Now I’m going; but, I say, do come and see us. You would like my Miss Bedford so!”
Before Charley Vining could answer, Nelly had dashed off, taking a short cut, and he saw her no more; but from that day Charley’s spirits rose; and when once or twice more he encountered the walking party, he did not feel so troubled of heart, but rode gaily up, saluting27 all, taking the first opportunity of frowning and shaking his head at merry laughing Nelly.
点击收听单词发音
1 smote | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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2 spoke | |
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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3 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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4 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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5 bray | |
n.驴叫声, 喇叭声;v.驴叫 | |
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6 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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7 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
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8 obtrusive | |
adj.显眼的;冒失的 | |
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9 mare | |
n.母马,母驴 | |
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10 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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11 conservatory | |
n.温室,音乐学院;adj.保存性的,有保存力的 | |
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12 evaded | |
逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 ); 避开; 回避; 想不出 | |
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13 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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14 dangling | |
悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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15 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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16 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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17 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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18 scampered | |
v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑,惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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20 saucy | |
adj.无礼的;俊俏的;活泼的 | |
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21 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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22 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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23 shrieked | |
v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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25 actively | |
adv.积极地,勤奋地 | |
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26 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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27 saluting | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的现在分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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