After dinner in her boudoir she set herself to the composition of a letter to Leonard which would convey at least something of her feelings and wishes towards him. In the depths of her heart, which now and again beat furiously, she had a secret hope that when once the idea was broached5 Leonard would do the rest. And as she thought of that ‘rest’ a languorous6 dreaminess came upon her. She thought how he would come to her full of love, of yearning7 passion; how she would try to keep towards him, at first, an independent front which would preserve her secret anxiety until the time should come when she might yield herself to his arms and tell him all. For hours she wrote letter after letter, destroying them as quickly as she wrote, as she found that she had but swayed pendulum8 fashion between overtness9 and coldness. Some of the letters were so chilly10 in tone that she felt they would defeat their own object. Others were so frankly11 warm in the expression of—regard she called it, that with burning blushes she destroyed them at once at the candle before her.
At last she made up her mind. Just as she had done when a baby she realised that the opposing forces were too strong for her; she gave in gracefully13. It would not do to deal directly in a letter with the matter in hand. She would write to Leonard merely asking him to see her. Then, when they were together without fear of interruption, she would tell him her views.
She got as far as ‘Dear Mr. Leonard,’ when she stood up, saying to herself:
‘I shall not be in a hurry. I must sleep on it before I write!’ She took up the novel she had been reading in the afternoon, and read on at it steadily14 till her bedtime.
That night she did not sleep. It was not that she was agitated15. Indeed, she was more at ease than she had been for days; she had after much anxious thought made up her mind to a definite course of action. Therefore her sleeplessness17 was not painful. It was rather that she did not want to sleep, than that she could not. She lay still, thinking, thinking; dreaming such dreams as are the occasions of sanctified privacy to her age and sex.
In the morning she was no worse for her vigil. When at luncheon-time Aunt Laetitia had returned she went into all the little matters of which she had to report. It was after tea-time when she found herself alone, and with leisure to attend to what was, she felt, directly her own affair. During the night she had made up her mind exactly what to say to Leonard; and as her specific resolution bore the test of daylight she was satisfied. The opening words had in their inception18 caused her some concern; but after hours of thought she had come to the conclusion that to address, under the circumstance, the recipient19 of the letter as ‘Dear Mr. Everard’ would hardly do. The only possible justification20 of her unconventional act was that there existed already a friendship, an intimacy21 of years, since childhood; that there were already between them knowledge and understanding of each other; that what she was doing, and about to do, was but a further step in a series of events long ago undertaken.
She thought it better to send by post rather than messenger, as the latter did away with all privacy with regard to the act.
The letter was as follows:
‘Dear Leonard,—Would it be convenient for you to meet me to-morrow, Tuesday, at half-past twelve o’clock on the top of Caester Hill? I want to speak about a matter that may have some interest to you, and it will be more private there than in the house. Also it will be cooler in the shade on the hilltop.—
Yours sincerely, Stephen Norman.’
Having posted the letter she went about the usual routine of her life at Normanstand, and no occasion of suspicion or remark regarding her came to her aunt.
In her room that night when she had sent away her maid, she sat down to think, and all the misgivings23 of the day came back. One by one they were conquered by one protective argument:
‘I am free to do as I like. I am my own mistress; and I am doing nothing that is wrong. Even if it is unconventional, what of that? God knows there are enough conventions in the world that are wrong, hopelessly, unalterably wrong. After all, who are the people who are most bound by convention? Those who call themselves “smart!” If Convention is the god of the smart set, then it is about time that honest people chose another!’
* * * * *
Leonard received the letter at breakfast-time. He did not give it any special attention, as he had other letters at the same time, some of which were, if less pleasant, of more immediate24 importance. He had of late been bombarded with dunning letters from tradesmen; for during his University life, and ever since, he had run into debt. The moderate allowance his father made him he had treated as cash for incidental expenses, but everything else had been on credit. Indeed he was beginning to get seriously alarmed about the future, for his father, who had paid his debts once, and at a time when they were by comparison inconsiderable, had said that he would not under any circumstances pay others. He was not sorry, therefore, for an opportunity of getting away for a few hours from home; from himself—from anxieties, possibilities. The morning was a sweltering one, and he grumbled25 to himself as he set out on his journey through the woods.
* * * * *
Stephen rose fresh and in good spirits, despite her sleepless16 night. When youth and strength are to the fore12, a night’s sleep is not of much account, for the system once braced26 up is not allowed to slacken. It was a notable sign of her strong nature that she was not even impatient, but waited with calm fixity the hour at which she had asked Leonard Everard to meet her. It is true that as the time grew closer her nerve was less marked. And just before it she was a girl—and nothing more; with all girl’s diffidence, a girl’s self-distrust, a girl’s abnegation, a girl’s plasticity.
In the more purely27 personal aspect of her enterprise Stephen’s effort was more conscious. It is hardly possible for a pretty woman to seek in her study of perfection the aid of her mirror and to be unconscious of her aims. There must certainly be at least one dominant28 purpose: the achievement of success. Stephen did not attempt to deny her own beauty; on the contrary she gave it the fullest scope. There was a certain triumph in her glance as she took her last look in her mirror; a gratification of her wish to show herself in the best way possible. It was a very charming picture which the mirror reflected.
It may be that there is a companionship in a mirror, especially to a woman; that the reflection of oneself is an emboldening29 presence, a personality which is better than the actuality of an unvalued stranger. Certainly, when Stephen closed the door and stood in the wainscoted passage, which was only dimly lit by the high window at either end, her courage seemed at once to ooze30 away.
Probably for the first time in her life, as she left the shade of the long passage and came out on the staircase flooded with the light of the noonday sun, Stephen felt that she was a girl—‘girl’ standing22 as some sort of synonym31 for weakness, pretended or actual. Fear, in whatever form or degree it may come, is a vital quality and must move. It cannot stand at a fixed32 point; if it be not sent backward it must progress. Stephen felt this, and, though her whole nature was repugnant to the task, forced herself to the effort of repression33. It would, she felt, have been to her a delicious pleasure to have abandoned all effort; to have sunk in the lassitude of self-surrender.
The woman in her was working; her sex had found her out!
She turned and looked around her, as though conscious of being watched. Then, seeing that she was alone, she went her way with settled purpose; with flashing eyes and glowing cheeks—and a beating heart. A heart all woman’s since it throbbed34 the most with apprehension35 when the enemy, Man, was the objective of her most resolute36 attack. She knew that she must keep moving; that she must not stop or pause; or her whole resolution must collapse37. And so she hurried on, fearful lest a chance meeting with any one might imperil her purpose.
On she went through the faint moss-green paths; through meadows rich with flowering grasses and the many reds of the summer wild-flowers. And so up through the path cut in the natural dipping of the rock that rose over Caester Hill and formed a strong base for the clump38 of great trees that made a landmark39 for many a mile around. During the first part of her journey between the house and the hilltop, she tried to hold her purpose at arm’s length; it would be sufficient to face its terrors when the time had come. In the meantime the matter was of such overwhelming importance that nothing else could take its place; all she could do was to suspend the active part of the thinking faculties40 and leave the mind only receptive.
But when she had passed through the thin belt of stunted41 oak and beech42 which hedged in the last of the lush meadows, and caught sight of the clump of trees on the hilltop, she unconsciously braced herself as a young regiment43 loses its tremors44 when the sight of the enemy breaks upon it. No longer her eyes fell earthward; they were raised, and raised proudly. Stephen Norman was fixed in her intention. Like the woman of old, her feet were on the ploughshares and she would not hesitate.
As she drew near the appointed place her pace grew slower and slower; the woman in her was unconsciously manifesting itself. She would not be first in her tryst45 with a man. Unconsciousness, however, is not a working quality which can be relied upon for staying power; the approach to the trysting-place brought once more home to her the strange nature of her enterprise. She had made up her mind to it; there was no use in deceiving herself. What she had undertaken to do was much more unconventional than being first at a meeting. It was foolish and weak to delay. The last thought braced her up; and it was with a hurried gait, which alone would have betrayed her to an intelligent observer, that she entered the grove46.
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1
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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2
proffer
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| v.献出，赠送；n.提议，建议 | |
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3
recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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4
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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5
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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6
languorous
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| adj.怠惰的，没精打采的 | |
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7
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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8
pendulum
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| n.摆，钟摆 | |
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9
overtness
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| 暗示，含意，弦外之音； 暗示，含义，弦外之音( overtone的名词复数 ) | |
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10
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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11
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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12
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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13
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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14
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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15
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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16
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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17
sleeplessness
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| n.失眠，警觉 | |
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18
inception
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| n.开端，开始，取得学位 | |
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19
recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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20
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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21
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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22
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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23
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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24
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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25
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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26
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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27
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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28
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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29
emboldening
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的现在分词 ) | |
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30
ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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31
synonym
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| n.同义词，换喻词 | |
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32
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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33
repression
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| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
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34
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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35
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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36
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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37
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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38
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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39
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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40
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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41
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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42
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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43
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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44
tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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45
tryst
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| n.约会；v.与…幽会 | |
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46
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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