It was the fourth day from the day of Lady Lundie’s garden-party, and it wanted an hour or more of the time at which the luncheon-bell usually rang.
The guests at Windygates were most of them in the garden, enjoying the morning sunshine, after a prevalent mist and rain for some days past. Two gentlemen (exceptions to the general rule) were alone in the library. They were the two last gentlemen in the would who could possibly be supposed to have any legitimate16 motive17 for meeting each other in a place of literary seclusion18. One was Arnold Brinkworth, and the other was Geoffrey Delamayn.
They had arrived together at Windygates that morning. Geoffrey had traveled from London with his brother by the train of the previous night. Arnold, delayed in getting away at his own time, from his own property, by ceremonies incidental to his position which were not to be abridged19 without giving offense20 to many worthy21 people—had caught the passing train early that morning at the station nearest to him, and had returned to Lady Lundie’s, as he had left Lady Lundie’s, in company with his friend.
After a short preliminary interview with Blanche, Arnold had rejoined Geoffrey in the safe retirement22 of the library, to say what was still left to be said between them on the subject of Anne. Having completed his report of events at Craig Fernie, he was now naturally waiting to hear what Geoffrey had to say on his side. To Arnold’s astonishment23, Geoffrey coolly turned away to leave the library without uttering a word.
Arnold stopped him without ceremony.
“Not quite so fast, Geoffrey,” he said. “I have an interest in Miss Silvester’s welfare as well as in yours. Now you are back again in Scotland, what are you going to do?”
If Geoffrey had told the truth, he must have stated his position much as follows:
He had necessarily decided24 on deserting Anne when he had decided on joining his brother on the journey back. But he had advanced no farther than this. How he was to abandon the woman who had trusted him, without seeing his own dastardly conduct dragged into the light of day, was more than he yet knew. A vague idea of at once pacifying25 and deluding26 Anne, by a marriage which should be no marriage at all, had crossed his mind on the journey. He had asked himself whether a trap of that sort might not be easily set in a country notorious for the looseness of its marriage laws—if a man only knew how? And he had thought it likely that his well-informed brother, who lived in Scotland, might be tricked into innocently telling him what he wanted to know. He had turned the conversation to the subject of Scotch27 marriages in general by way of trying the experiment. Julius had not studied the question; Julius knew nothing about it; and there the experiment had come to an end. As the necessary result of the check thus encountered, he was now in Scotland with absolutely nothing to trust to as a means of effecting his release but the chapter of accidents, aided by his own resolution to marry Mrs. Glenarm. Such was his position, and such should have been the substance of his reply when he was confronted by Arnold’s question, and plainly asked what he meant to do.
“The right thing,” he answered, unblushingly. “And no mistake about it.”
“I’m glad to hear you see your way so plainly,” returned Arnold. “In your place, I should have been all abroad. I was wondering, only the other day, whether you would end, as I should have ended, in consulting Sir Patrick.”
Geoffrey eyed him sharply.
“Consult Sir Patrick?” he repeated. “Why would you have done that?”
“I shouldn’t have known how to set about marrying her,” replied Arnold. “And—being in Scotland—I should have applied28 to Sir Patrick (without mentioning names, of course), because he would be sure to know all about it.”
“Suppose I don’t see my way quite so plainly as you think,” said Geoffrey. “Would you advise me—”
“To consult Sir Patrick? Certainly! He has passed his life in the practice of the Scotch law. Didn’t you know that?”
“No.”
“Then take my advice—and consult him. You needn’t mention names. You can say it’s the case of a friend.”
The idea was a new one and a good one. Geoffrey looked longingly29 toward the door. Eager to make Sir Patrick his innocent accomplice30 on the spot, he made a second attempt to leave the library; and made it for the second time in vain. Arnold had more unwelcome inquiries31 to make, and more advice to give unasked.
“How have you arranged about meeting Miss Silvester?” he went on. “You can’t go to the hotel in the character of her husband. I have prevented that. Where else are you to meet her? She is all alone; she must be weary of waiting, poor thing. Can you manage matters so as to see her to-day?”
After staring hard at Arnold while he was speaking, Geoffrey burst out laughing when he had done. A disinterested32 anxiety for the welfare of another person was one of those refinements33 of feeling which a muscular education had not fitted him to understand.
“I say, old boy,” he burst out, “you seem to take an extraordinary interest in Miss Silvester! You haven’t fallen in love with her yourself—have you?”
“Come! come!” said Arnold, seriously. “Neither she nor I deserve to be sneered34 at, in that way. I have made a sacrifice to your interests, Geoffrey—and so has she.”
Geoffrey’s face became serious again. His secret was in Arnold’s hands; and his estimate of Arnold’s character was founded, unconsciously, on his experience of himself. “All right,” he said, by way of timely apology and concession35. “I was only joking.”
“As much joking as you please, when you have married her,” replied Arnold. “It seems serious enough, to my mind, till then.” He stopped—considered—and laid his hand very earnestly on Geoffrey’s arm. “Mind!” he resumed. “You are not to breathe a word to any living soul, of my having been near the inn!”
“I’ve promised to hold my tongue, once already. What do you want more?”
“I am anxious, Geoffrey. I was at Craig Fernie, remember, when Blanche came there! She has been telling me all that happened, poor darling, in the firm persuasion36 that I was miles off at the time. I swear I couldn’t look her in the face! What would she think of me, if she knew the truth? Pray be careful! pray be careful!”
Geoffrey’s patience began to fail him.
“We had all this out,” he said, “on the way here from the station. What’s the good of going over the ground again?”
“You’re quite right,” said Arnold, good-humoredly. “The fact is—I’m out of sorts, this morning. My mind misgives37 me—I don’t know why.”
“Mind?” repeated Geoffrey, in high contempt. “It’s flesh—that’s what’s the matter with you. You’re nigh on a stone over your right weight. Mind he hanged! A man in healthy training don’t know that he has got a mind. Take a turn with the dumb-bells, and a run up hill with a great-coat on. Sweat it off, Arnold! Sweat it off!”
With that excellent advice, he turned to leave the room for the third time. Fate appeared to have determined38 to keep him imprisoned39 in the library, that morning. On this occasion, it was a servant who got in the way—a servant, with a letter and a message. “The man waits for answer.”
Geoffrey looked at the letter. It was in his brother’s handwriting. He had left Julius at the junction40 about three hours since. What could Julius possibly have to say to him now?
He opened the letter. Julius had to announce that Fortune was favoring them already. He had heard news of Mrs. Glenarm, as soon as he reached home. She had called on his wife, during his absence in London—she had been inv ited to the house—and she had promised to accept the invitation early in the week. “Early in the week,” Julius wrote, “may mean to-morrow. Make your apologies to Lady Lundie; and take care not to offend her. Say that family reasons, which you hope soon to have the pleasure of confiding41 to her, oblige you to appeal once more to her indulgence—and come to-morrow, and help us to receive Mrs. Glenarm.”
Even Geoffrey was startled, when he found himself met by a sudden necessity for acting42 on his own decision. Anne knew where his brother lived. Suppose Anne (not knowing where else to find him) appeared at his brother’s house, and claimed him in the presence of Mrs. Glenarm? He gave orders to have the messenger kept waiting, and said he would send back a written reply.
“From Craig Fernie?” asked Arnold, pointing to the letter in his friend’s hand.
Geoffrey looked up with a frown. He had just opened his lips to answer that ill-timed reference to Anne, in no very friendly terms, when a voice, calling to Arnold from the lawn outside, announced the appearance of a third person in the library, and warned the two gentlemen that their private interview was at an end.
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1
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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2
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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3
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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4
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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5
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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6
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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7
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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8
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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10
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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11
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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12
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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13
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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14
bounteously
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| adv.慷慨地，丰富地 | |
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15
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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16
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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17
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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19
abridged
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| 削减的，删节的 | |
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20
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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21
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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22
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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23
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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24
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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25
pacifying
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的现在分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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26
deluding
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的现在分词 ) | |
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27
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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28
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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29
longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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30
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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31
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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32
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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33
refinements
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| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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34
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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36
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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37
misgives
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| v.使（某人的情绪、精神等）疑虑，担忧，害怕( misgive的第三人称单数 ) | |
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38
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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39
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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41
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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42
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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