But though he felt that he loved her,—liked perhaps it would be fairer to say in that early stage of his feelings,—better than any other woman, yet when he came to think of marriage, the importance of it all made him hesitate; and he was reminded, by little hints from others, and by words plain enough from one person, that Alice Dugdale was after all a common thing. There is a fitness in such matters,—so said Mrs. Rossiter,—and a propriety5 in like being married to like. Had it been his lot to be a village doctor, Alice would have suited him well. Destiny, however, had carried him,—the Major,—higher up, and would require him to live in London, among ornate people, with polished habits, and peculiar6 manners of their own. Would not Alice be out of her element in London? See the things among which she passed her life! Not a morsel7 of soap or a pound of sugar was used in the house, but what she gave it out. Her hours were passed in washing, teaching, and sewing for the children. In her very walks she was always pushing a perambulator. She was, no doubt, the doctor’s daughter; but, in fact, she was the second Mrs. Dugdale’s nursemaid. Nothing could be more praiseworthy. But there is a fitness in things; and he, the hero of Beetham, the Assistant Deputy Inspector8-General of the British Cavalry9, might surely do better than marry a praiseworthy nursery girl. It was thus that Mrs. Rossiter argued{364} with her son, and her arguments were not without avail.
Then Georgiana Wanless had been, as it were, thrown at his head. When one is pelted10 with sugar-plums one can hardly resent the attack. He was clever enough to feel that he was pelted, but at first he liked the sweetmeats. A girl riding on horseback, with her back square to the horse’s tail, with her reins11 well held, and a chimney-pot hat on her head, is an object, unfortunately, more attractive to the eyes of ordinary men, than a young woman pushing a perambulator with two babies. Unfortunately, I say, because in either case the young woman should be judged by her personal merits and not by externals. But the Major declared to himself that the personal merits would be affected12 by the externals. A girl who had pushed a perambulator for many years, would hardly have a soul above perambulators. There would be wanting the flavour of the aroma13 of romance, that something of poetic14 vagueness without which a girl can hardly be altogether charming to the senses of an appreciative15 lover. Then, a little later on, he asked himself whether Georgiana Wanless was romantic and poetic,—whether there was much of true aroma there.
But yet he thought that fate would require him to marry Georgiana Wanless, whom he certainly did not love, and to leave Alice to her perambulator,—Alice, whom he certainly did love. And as he thought of this, he was ill at ease with himself. It might be well{365} that he should give up his Assistant Deputy Inspector-Generalship, go back to India, and so get rid of his two troubles together. Fate, as he personified fate to himself in this matter,—took the form of Lady Wanless. It made him sad to think that he was but a weak creature in the hands of an old woman, who wanted to use him for a certain purpose;—but he did not see his way of escaping. When he began to console himself by reflecting that he would have one of the handsomest women in London at his dinner-table he knew that he would be unable to escape.
About the middle of July he received the following letter from Lady Wanless:—
“Dear Major Rossiter,—The girls have been at their father for the last ten days to have an archery meeting on the lawn, and have at last prevailed, though Sir Walter has all a father’s abhorrence16 to have the lawn knocked about. Now it is settled. ‘I’ll see about it,’ Sir Walter said at last, and when so much as that had been obtained, they all knew that the archery meeting was to be. Sir Walter likes his own way, and is not always to be persuaded. But when he has made the slightest show of concession17, he never goes back from it. Then comes the question as to the day, which is now in course of discussion in full committee. In that matter Sir Walter is supposed to be excluded from any voice. ‘It cannot matter to him what day of the week or what day of the month,’ said Georgiana very irreverently. It will not, however, much matter to{366} him so long as it is all over before St. Partridge comes round.
“The girls one and all declared that you must be here,—as one of the guests in the house. Our rooms will be mostly full of young ladies, but there will be one at any rate for you. Now, what day will suit you,—or rather what day will suit the Cavalry generally? Everything must of course depend on the Cavalry. The girls say that the Cavalry is sure to go out of town after the tenth of August. But they would put it off for a week longer rather than not have the Inspector-General. Would Wednesday 14th suit the Cavalry? They are all reading every word of my letter as it is written, and bid me say that if Thursday or Friday in that week, or Wednesday or Thursday in the next, will do better, the accommodation of the Cavalry shall be consulted. It cannot be on a Monday or Saturday because there would be some Sunday encroachment18. On Tuesday we cannot get the band from Slowbridge.
“Now you know our great purpose and our little difficulties. One thing you cannot know,—how determined19 we are to accommodate ourselves to the Cavalry. The meeting is not to take place without the Inspector-General. So let us have an early answer from that august functionary20. The girls think that the Inspector had better come down before the day, so as to make himself useful in preparing.
“Pray believe me, with Sir Walter’s kind regards, yours most sincerely,
“Margaret Wanless.”
{367}
The Major felt that the letter was very flattering, but that it was false and written for a certain purpose. He could read between the lines at every sentence of it. The festival was to be got up, not at the instance of the girls but of Lady Wanless herself, as a final trap for the catching21 of himself,—and perhaps for Mr. Burmeston. Those irreverent words had never come from Georgiana, who was too placid22 to have said them. He did not believe a word of the girls looking over the writing of the letter. In all such matters Lady Wanless had more life, more energy than her daughters. All that little fun about the Cavalry came from Lady Wanless herself. The girls were too like their father for such ebullitions. The little sparks of joke with which the names of the girls were connected,—with which in his hearing the name of Georgiana had been specially23 connected,—had, he was aware, their origin always with Lady Wanless. Georgiana had said this funny thing and that,—but Georgiana never spoke24 after that fashion in his hearing. The traps were plain to his eyes, and yet he knew that he would sooner or later be caught in the traps.
He took a day to think of it before he answered the letter, and meditated25 a military tour to Berlin just about the time. If so, he must be absent during the whole of August, so as to make his presence at the toxopholite meeting an impossibility. And yet at last he wrote and said that he would be there. There would be something mean in flight. After all, he need not ask the girl to be his wife unless he chose to do so.{368} He wrote a very pretty note to Lady Wanless saying that he would be at Brook26 Park on the 14th, as she had suggested.
Then he made a great resolution and swore an oath to himself,—that he would not be caught on that occasion, and that after this meeting he would go no more either to Brook Park or to Beetham for awhile. He would not marry the girl to whom he was quite indifferent, nor her who from her position was hardly qualified27 to be his wife. Then he went about his duties with a quieted conscience, and wedded28 himself for once and for always to the Cavalry.
Some tidings of the doings proposed by the Wanlesses had reached the parson’s ears when he told Alice in the lane that his son was soon coming down to Beetham again, and that he was again going to Brook Park. Before July was over the tidings of the coming festivity had been spread over all that side of the county. Such a thing had not been done for many years,—not since Lady Wanless had been herself a young wife, with two sisters for whom husbands had to be,—and were provided. There were those who could still remember how well Lady Wanless had behaved on that occasion. Since those days hospitality on a large scale had not been rife29 at Brook Park—and the reason why it was so was well known. Sir Walter was determined not to embarrass himself further, and would do nothing that was expensive. It could not be but that there was great cause for such a deviation30 as this. Then the ladies of the neighbourhood put their{369} heads together,—and some of the gentlemen,—and declared that a double stroke of business was to be done in regard to Major Rossiter and Mr. Burmeston. How great a relief that would be to the mother’s anxiety if the three eldest31 girls could be married and got rid of all on the same day!
Beetham, which was ten miles from Brook Park, had a station of its own, whereas Slowbridge with its own station was only six miles from the house. The Major would fain have reached his destination by Slowbridge, so as to have avoided the chance of seeing Alice, were it not that his father and mother would have felt themselves aggrieved32 by such desertion. On this occasion his mother begged him to give them one night. She had much that she wished to say to him, and then of course he could have the parsonage horse and the parsonage phaeton to take him over to Brook Park free of expense. He did go down to Beetham, did spend an evening there, and did go on to the Park without having spoken to Alice Dugdale.
“Everybody says you are to marry Georgiana Wanless,” said Mrs. Rossiter.
“If there were no other reason why I should not, the saying of everybody would be sufficient against it.”
“That is unreasonable33, John. The thing should be looked at itself, whether it is good or bad. It may be the case that Lady Wanless talks more than she ought to do. It may be the case that, as people say, she is looking out for husbands for her daughters. I don’t know but that I should do the same if I had five of{370} them on my hands and very little means for them. And if I did, how could I get a better husband for one of them than—such a one as Major John Rossiter?” Then she kissed his forehead.
“I hate the kind of thing altogether,” said he. He pretended to be stern, but yet he showed that he was flattered by his mother’s softness.
“It may well be, John, that such a match shall be desirable to them and to you too. If so, why should there not be a fair bargain between the two of you? You know that you admire the girl.” He would not deny this, lest it should come to pass hereafter that she should become his wife. “And everybody knows that as far as birth goes there is not a family in the county stands higher. I am so proud of my boy that I wish to see him mated with the best.”
He reached the parsonage that evening only just before dinner, and on the next morning he did not go out of the house till the phaeton came round to take him to Brook Park. “Are you not going up to see the old doctor?” said the parson after breakfast.
“No;—I think not. He is never at home, and the ladies are always surrounded by the children.”
“She will take it amiss,” said the father almost in a whisper.
“I will go as I come back,” said he, blushing as he spoke at his own falsehood. For, if he held to his present purpose, he would return by Slowbridge. If Fate intended that there should be nothing further between him and Alice, it would certainly be much better{371} that they should not be brought together any more. He knew too what his father meant, and was more unwilling34 to take counsel from his father even than his mother. Yet he blushed because he knew that he was false.
“Do not seem to slight her,” said the old man. “She is too good for that.”
Then he drove himself over to Brook Park, and, as he made his way by one of the innumerable turnings out of Beetham, he saw at one of the corners Alice, still with the children and still with the perambulator. He merely lifted his hat as he passed, but did not stop to speak to her.
点击收听单词发音
1 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 meditates | |
深思,沉思,冥想( meditate的第三人称单数 ); 内心策划,考虑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 reticent | |
adj.沉默寡言的;言不如意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 inspector | |
n.检查员,监察员,视察员 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 cavalry | |
n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 pelted | |
(连续地)投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 ); 连续抨击; 攻击; 剥去…的皮 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 reins | |
感情,激情; 缰( rein的名词复数 ); 控制手段; 掌管; (成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的)保护带 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 aroma | |
n.香气,芬芳,芳香 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 appreciative | |
adj.有鉴赏力的,有眼力的;感激的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 encroachment | |
n.侵入,蚕食 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 functionary | |
n.官员;公职人员 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 meditated | |
深思,沉思,冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 ); 内心策划,考虑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 wedded | |
adj.正式结婚的;渴望…的,执著于…的v.嫁,娶,(与…)结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 rife | |
adj.(指坏事情)充斥的,流行的,普遍的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 deviation | |
n.背离,偏离;偏差,偏向;离题 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 aggrieved | |
adj.愤愤不平的,受委屈的;悲痛的;(在合法权利方面)受侵害的v.令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式);令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |