As I sit at my desk I see Eunice in bed, sleeping peacefully, except when she is murmuring enjoyment3 in some happy dream. To what end has my sister been advancing blindfold4, and (who knows?) dragging me with her, since that disastrous5 visit to our friends in London? Strange that there should be a leaven6 of superstition7 in my nature! Strange that I should feel fear of something—I hardly know what!
I have met somewhere (perhaps in my historical reading) with the expression: “A chain of events.” Was I at the beginning of that chain, when I entered the railway carriage on my journey home?
Among the other passengers there was a young gentleman, accompanied by a lady who proved to be his sister. They were both well-bred people. The brother evidently admired me, and did his best to make himself agreeable. Time passed quickly in pleasant talk, and my vanity was flattered—and that was all. My fellow-travelers were going on to London. When the train reached our station the young lady sent her brother to buy some fruit, which she saw in the window of the refreshment-room. The first man whom he encountered on the platform was one of his friends; to whom he said something which I failed to hear. When I handed my traveling bag and my wraps to the porter, and showed myself at the carriage door, I heard the friend say: “What a charming creature!” Having nothing to conceal8 in a journal which I protect by a lock, I may own that the stranger’s personal appearance struck me, and that what I felt this time was not flattered vanity, but gratified pride. He was young, he was remarkably9 handsome, he was a distinguished10-looking man.
All this happened in one moment. In the moment that followed, I found myself in Eunice’s arms. That odious11 person, Miss Jillgall, insisted on embracing me next. And then I was conscious of an indescribable feeling of surprise. Eunice presented the distinguished-looking gentleman to me as a friend of hers—Mr. Philip Dunboyne.
“I had the honor of meeting your sister,” he said, “in London, at Mr. Staveley’s house.” He went on to speak easily and gracefully12 of the journey I had taken, and of his friend who had been my fellow-traveler; and he attended us to the railway omnibus before he took his leave. I observed that Eunice had something to say to him confidentially14, before they parted. This was another example of my sister’s childish character; she is instantly familiar with new acquaintances, if she happens to like them. I anticipated some amusement from hearing how she had contrived15 to establish confidential13 relations with a highly-cultivated man like Mr. Dunboyne. But, while Miss Jillgall was with us, it was just as well to keep within the limits of commonplace conversation.
Before we got out of the omnibus I had, however, observed one undesirable16 result of my absence from home. Eunice and Miss Jillgall—the latter having, no doubt, finely flattered the former—appeared to have taken a strong liking17 to each other.
Two curious circumstances also caught my attention. I saw a change to, what I call self-assertion, in my sister’s manner; something seemed to have raised her in her own estimation. Then, again, Miss Jillgall was not like her customary self. She had delightful18 moments of silence; and when Eunice asked how I liked Mr. Dunboyne, she listened to my reply with an appearance of interest in her ugly face which was quite a new revelation in my experience of my father’s cousin.
These little discoveries (after what I had already observed at the railway-station) ought perhaps to have prepared me for what was to come, when my sister and I were alone in our room. But Eunice, whether she meant to do it or not, baffled my customary penetration19. She looked as if she had plenty of news to tell me—with some obstacle in the way of doing it, which appeared to amuse instead of annoying her. If there is one thing more than another that I hate, it is being puzzled. I asked at once if anything remarkable20 had happened during Eunice’s visit to London.
She smiled mischievously21. “I have got a delicious surprise for you, my dear; and I do so enjoy prolonging it. Tell me, Helena, what did you propose we should both do when we found ourselves at home again?”
My memory was at fault. Eunice’s good spirits became absolutely boisterous22. She called out: “Catch!” and tossed her journal into my hands, across the whole length of the room. “We were to read each other’s diaries,” she said. “There is mine to begin with.”
Innocent of any suspicion of the true state of affairs, I began the reading of Eunice’s journal. If I had not seen the familiar handwriting, nothing would have induced me to believe that a girl brought up in a pious23 household, the well-beloved daughter of a distinguished Congregational Minister, could have written that shameless record of passions unknown to young ladies in respectable English life. What to say, what to do, when I had closed the book, was more than I felt myself equal to decide. My wretched sister spared me the anxiety which I might otherwise have felt. It was she who first opened her lips, after the silence that had fallen on us while I was reading. These were literally24 the words that she said:
“My darling, why don’t you congratulate me?”
No argument could have persuaded me, as this persuaded me, that all sisterly remonstrance25 on my part would be completely thrown away.
“My dear Eunice,” I said, “let me beg you to excuse me. I am waiting—”
There she interrupted me—and, oh, in what an impudent26 manner! She took my chin between her finger and thumb, and lifted my downcast face, and looked at me with an appearance of eager expectation which I was quite at a loss to understand.
“You have been away from home, too,” she said. “Do I see in this serious face some astonishing news waiting to overpower me? Have you found a sweetheart? Are you engaged to be married?”
I only put her hand away from me, and advised her to return to her chair. This perfectly27 harmless proceeding28 seemed absolutely to frighten her.
“Oh, my dear,” she burst out, “surely you are not jealous of me?”
There was but one possible reply to this: I laughed at it. Is Eunice’s head turned? She kissed me!
“Now you laugh,” she said, “I begin to understand you again; I ought to have known that you are superior to jealousy29. But, do tell me, would it be so very wonderful if other girls found something to envy in my good luck? Just think of it! Such a handsome man, such an agreeable man, such a clever man, such a rich man—and, not the least of his merits, by-the-by, a man who admires You. Come! if you won’t congratulate me, congratulate yourself on having such a brother-in-law in prospect30!”
Her head was turned. I drew the poor soul’s attention compassionately31 to what I had said a moment since.
“Pardon me, dear, for reminding you that I have not yet refused to offer my congratulations. I only told you I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“Waiting, of course, to hear what my father thinks of your wonderful good luck.”
This explanation, offered with the kindest intentions, produced another change in my very variable sister. I had extinguished her good spirits as I might have extinguished a light. She sat down by me, and sighed in the saddest manner. The heart must be hard indeed which can resist the distress32 of a person who is dear to us. I put my arm round her; she was becoming once more the Eunice whom I so dearly loved.
“My poor child,” I said, “don’t distress yourself by speaking of it; I understand. Your father objects to your marrying Mr. Dunboyne.”
She shook her head. “I can’t exactly say, Helena, that papa does that. He only behaves very strangely.”
“Am I indiscreet, dear, if I ask in what way father’s behavior has surprised you?”
She was quite willing to enlighten me. It was a simple little story which, to my mind, sufficiently33 explained the strange behavior that had puzzled my unfortunate sister.
There could indeed be no doubt that my father considered Eunice far too childish in character, as yet, to undertake the duties of matrimony. But, with his customary delicacy34, and dread35 of causing distress to others, he had deferred36 the disagreeable duty of communicating his opinion to Mr. Dunboyne. The adverse37 decision must, however, be sooner or later announced; and he had arranged to inflict38 disappointment, as tenderly as might be, at his own table.
Considerately leaving Eunice in the enjoyment of any vain hopes which she may have founded on the event of the dinner-party, I passed the evening until supper-time came in the study with my father.
Our talk was mainly devoted39 to the worthy40 people with whom I had been staying, and whose new schools I had helped to found. Not a word was said relating to my sister, or to Mr. Dunboyne. Poor father looked so sadly weary and ill that I ventured, after what the doctor had said to Eunice, to hint at the value of rest and change of scene to an overworked man. Oh, dear me, he frowned, and waved the subject away from him impatiently, with a wan41, pale hand.
After supper, I made an unpleasant discovery. Not having completely finished the unpacking42 of my boxes, I left Miss Jillgall and Eunice in the drawing-room, and went upstairs. In half an hour I returned, and found the room empty. What had become of them? It was a fine moonlight night; I stepped into the back drawing-room, and looked out of the window. There they were, walking arm-in-arm with their heads close together, deep in talk. With my knowledge of Miss Jillgall, I call this a bad sign.
An odd thought has just come to me. I wonder what might have happened, if I had been visiting at Mrs. Staveley’s, instead of Eunice, and if Mr. Dunboyne had seen me first.
Absurd! if I was not too tired to do anything more, those last lines should be scratched out.
点击收听单词发音
1 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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2 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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3 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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4 blindfold | |
vt.蒙住…的眼睛;adj.盲目的;adv.盲目地;n.蒙眼的绷带[布等]; 障眼物,蒙蔽人的事物 | |
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5 disastrous | |
adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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6 leaven | |
v.使发酵;n.酵母;影响 | |
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7 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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8 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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9 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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10 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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11 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
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12 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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13 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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14 confidentially | |
ad.秘密地,悄悄地 | |
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15 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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16 undesirable | |
adj.不受欢迎的,不良的,不合意的,讨厌的;n.不受欢迎的人,不良分子 | |
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17 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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18 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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19 penetration | |
n.穿透,穿人,渗透 | |
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20 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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21 mischievously | |
adv.有害地;淘气地 | |
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22 boisterous | |
adj.喧闹的,欢闹的 | |
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23 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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24 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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25 remonstrance | |
n抗议,抱怨 | |
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26 impudent | |
adj.鲁莽的,卑鄙的,厚颜无耻的 | |
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27 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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28 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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29 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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30 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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31 compassionately | |
adv.表示怜悯地,有同情心地 | |
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32 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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33 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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34 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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35 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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36 deferred | |
adj.延期的,缓召的v.拖延,延缓,推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 );服从某人的意愿,遵从 | |
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37 adverse | |
adj.不利的;有害的;敌对的,不友好的 | |
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38 inflict | |
vt.(on)把…强加给,使遭受,使承担 | |
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39 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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40 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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41 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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42 unpacking | |
n.取出货物,拆包[箱]v.从(包裹等)中取出(所装的东西),打开行李取出( unpack的现在分词 );拆包;解除…的负担;吐露(心事等) | |
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