‘Why had she put him in such a ridiculous position? That was the worst of women. They were always wanting him to do something he didn’t want to do, or crying . . . there was that girl at Oxford4.’
Here he turned his head slowly, and looked round in a furtive5 way, which was getting almost a habit with him. ‘A fellow should go away so that he wouldn’t have to swear lies. Women were always wanting money; or worse: to be married! Confound women; they all seemed to want him to marry them! There was the Oxford girl, and then the Spaniard, and now Stephen!’ This put his thoughts in a new channel. He wanted money himself. Why, Stephen had spoken of it herself; had offered to pay his debts. Gad! it was a good idea that every one round the countryside seemed to know his affairs. What a flat he had been not to accept her offer then and there before matters had gone further. Stephen had lots of money, more than any girl could want. But she didn’t give him time to get the thing fixed7 . . . If he had only known beforehand what she wanted he could have come prepared . . . that was the way with women! Always thinking of themselves! And now? Of course she wouldn’t stump8 up after his refusing her. What would his father say if he came to hear of it? And he must speak to him soon, for these chaps were threatening to County Court him if he didn’t pay. Those harpies in Vere Street were quite nasty . . . ’ He wondered if he could work Stephen for a loan.
He walked on through the woodland path, his pace slower than before. ‘How pretty she had looked!’ Here he touched his little moustache. ‘Gad! Stephen was a fine girl anyhow! If it wasn’t for all that red hair . . . I like ’em dark better! . . . And her being such an infernal boss!’. . . Then he said unconsciously aloud:
‘If I was her husband I’d keep her to rights!’
Poor Stephen!
‘So that’s what the governor meant by telling me that fortune was to be had, and had easily, if a man wasn’t a blind fool. The governor is a starchy old party. He wouldn’t speak out straight and say, “Here’s Stephen Norman, the richest girl you are ever likely to meet; why don’t you make up to her and marry her?” But that would be encouraging his son to be a fortune-hunter! Rot! . . . And now, just because she didn’t tell me what she wanted to speak about, or the governor didn’t give me a hint so that I might be prepared, I have gone and thrown away the chance. After all it mightn’t be so bad. Stephen is a fine girl! . . . But she mustn’t ever look at me as she did when I spoke6 about her not obeying. I mean to be master in my own house anyhow!
‘A man mustn’t be tied down too tight, even if he is married. And if there’s plenty of loose cash about it isn’t hard to cover up your tracks . . . I think I’d better think this thing over calmly and be ready when Stephen comes at me again. That’s the way with women. When a woman like Stephen fixes her cold grey on a man she does not mean to go asleep over it. I daresay my best plan will be to sit tight, and let her work herself up a bit. There’s nothing like a little wholesome9 neglect for bringing a girl to her bearings!’ . . .
For a while he walked on in satisfied self-complacency.
‘Confound her! why couldn’t she have let me know that she was fond of me in some decent way, without all that formal theatrical10 proposing? It’s a deuced annoying thing in the long run the way the women get fond of me. Though it’s nice enough in some ways while it lasts!’ he added, as if in unwilling11 recognition of fact. As the path debouched on the highroad he said to himself half aloud:
‘Well, she’s a mighty12 fine girl, anyhow! And if she is red I’ve had about enough of the black! . . . That Spanish girl is beginning to kick too! I wish I had never come across . . . ’
‘Shut up, you fool!’ he said to himself as he walked on.
When he got home he found a letter from his father. He took it to his room before breaking the seal. It was at least concise13 and to the point:
‘The enclosed has been sent to me. You will have to deal with it yourself. You know my opinion and also my intention. The items which I have marked have been incurred14 since I spoke to you last about your debts. I shall not pay another farthing for you. So take your own course!
‘Jasper Everard.’
The enclosed was a jeweller’s bill, the length and the total of which lengthened15 his face and drew from him a low whistle. He held it in his hand for a long time, standing16 quite still and silent. Then drawing a deep breath he said aloud:
‘That settles it! The halter is on me! It’s no use squealing17. If it’s to be a red head on my pillow! . . . All right! I must only make the best of it. Anyhow I’ll have a good time to-day, even if it must be the last!’
That day Harold was in Norcester on business. It was late when he went to the club to dine. Whilst waiting for dinner he met Leonard Everard, flushed and somewhat at uncertain in his speech. It was something of a shock to Harold to see him in such a state.
Leonard was, however, an old friend, and man is as a rule faithful to friends in this form of distress18. So in his kindly19 feeling Harold offered to drive him home, for he knew that he could thus keep him out of further harm. Leonard thanked him in uncertain speech, and said he would be ready. In the meantime he would go and play billiards20 with the marker whilst Harold was having his dinner.
At ten o’clock Harold’s dogcart was ready and he went to look for Leonard, who had not since come near him. He found him half asleep in the smoking-room, much drunker than he had been earlier in the evening.
The drive was fairly long, so Harold made up his mind for a prolonged term of uneasiness and anxiety. The cool night-air, whose effect was increased by the rapid motion, soon increased Leonard’s somnolence22 and for a while he slept soundly, his companion watching carefully lest he should sway over and fall out of the trap. He even held him up as they swung round sharp corners.
After a time he woke up, and woke in a nasty temper. He began to find fault in an incoherent way with everything. Harold said little, just enough to prevent any cause for further grievance23. Then Leonard changed and became affectionate. This mood was a greater bore than the other, but Harold managed to bear it with stolid24 indifference25. Leonard was this by time making promises to do things for him, that as he was what he called a ‘goo’ fell’,’ he might count on his help and support in the future. As Harold knew him to be a wastrel26, over head and ears in debt and with only the succession to a small estate, he did not take much heed27 to his maunderings. At last the drunken man said something which startled him so much that he instinctively29 drew himself together with such suddenness as to frighten the horse and almost make him rear up straight.
‘Woa! Woa! Steady, boy. Gently!’ he said, quieting him. Then turning to his companion said in a voice hollow with emotion and vibrant30 with suppressed passion:
‘What was it you said?’
Leonard, half awake, and not half of that half master of himself, answered:
‘I said I will make you agent of Normanstand when I marry Stephen.’
Harold grew cold. To hear of any one marrying Stephen was to him like plunging31 him in a glacier32 stream; but to hear her name so lightly spoken, and by such a man, was a bewildering shock which within a second set his blood on fire.
‘What do you mean?’ he thundered. ‘You marry Ste . . . Miss Norman! You’re not worthy33 to untie34 her shoe! You indeed! She wouldn’t look on the same side of the street with a drunken brute35 like you! How dare you speak of her in such a way!’
‘Brute!’ said Leonard angrily, his vanity reaching inward to heart and brain through all the numbing36 obstacle of his drunken flesh. ‘Who’s brute? Brute yourself! Tell you goin’ to marry Stephen, ’cos Stephen wants it. Stephen loves me. Loves me with all her red head! Wha’re you doin’! Wha!!’
‘Take care what you say about that lady! damn you!’ he said, putting his face close the other’s with eyes that blazed. ‘Don’t you dare to mention her name in such a way, or you will regret it longer than you can think. Loves you, you swine!’
The struggle and the fierce grip on his throat sobered Leonard somewhat. Momentarily sobbed39 him to that point when he could be coherent and vindictive40, though not to the point where he could think ahead. Caution, wisdom, discretion41, taste, were not for him at such a moment. Guarding his throat with both hands in an instinctive28 and spasmodic manner he answered the challenge:
‘Who are you calling swine? I tell you she loves me. She ought to know. Didn’t she tell me so this very day!’ Harold drew back his arm to strike him in the face, his anger too great for words. But the other, seeing the motion and in the sobering recognition of danger, spoke hastily:
‘Keep your hair on! You know so jolly much more than I do. I tell you that she told me this and a lot more this morning when she asked me to marry her.’
Harold’s heart grew cold as ice. There is something in the sound of a voice speaking truthfully which a true man can recognise. Through all Leonard’s half-drunken utterings came such a ring of truth; and Harold recognised it. He felt that his voice was weak and hollow as he spoke, thinking it necessary to give at first a sort of official denial to such a monstrous42 statement:
‘I’m no liar!’ answered Leonard. He would like to have struck him in answer to such a word had he felt equal to it. ‘She asked me to marry her to-day on the hill above the house, where I went to meet her by appointment. Here! I’ll prove it to you. Read this!’ Whilst he was speaking he had opened the greatcoat and was fumbling43 in the breast-pocket of his coat. He produced a letter which he handed to Harold, who took it with trembling hand. By this time the reins44 had fallen slack and the horse was walking quietly. There was moonlight, but not enough to read by. Harold bent45 over and lifted the driving-lamp next to him and turned it so that he could read the envelope. He could hardly keep either lamp or paper still, his hand trembled so when he saw that the direction was in Stephen’s handwriting. He was handing it back when Leonard said again:
‘Open it! Read it! You must do so; I tell you, you must! You called me a liar, and now must read the proof that I am not. If you don’t I shall have to ask Stephen to make you!’ Before Harold’s mind flashed a rapid thought of what the girl might suffer in being asked to take part in such a quarrel. He could not himself even act to the best advantage unless he knew the truth . . . he took the letter from the envelope and held it before the lamp, the paper fluttering as though in a breeze from the trembling of his hand. Leonard looked on, the dull glare of his eyes brightening with malignant46 pleasure as he beheld47 the other’s concern. He owed him a grudge48, and by God he would pay it. Had he not been struck—throttled—called a liar! . . .
As he read the words Harold’s face cleared. ‘Why, you infernal young scoundrel!’ he said angrily, ‘that letter is nothing but a simple note from a young girl to an old friend—playmate asking him to come to see her about some trivial thing. And you construe49 it into a proposal of marriage. You hound!’ He held the letter whilst he spoke, heedless of the outstretched hand of the other waiting to take it back. There was a dangerous glitter in Leonard’s eyes. He knew his man and he knew the truth of what he had himself said, and he felt, with all the strength of his base soul, how best he could torture him. In the very strength of Harold’s anger, in the poignancy50 of his concern, in the relief to his soul expressed in his eyes and his voice, his antagonist51 realised the jealousy52 of one who honours—and loves. Second by second Leonard grew more sober, and more and better able to carry his own idea into act.
‘Give me my letter!’ he began.
‘Wait!’ said Harold as he put the lamp back into its socket53. ‘That will do presently. Take back what you said just now!’
‘What? Take back what?’
‘That base lie; that Miss Norman asked you to marry her.’
Leonard felt that in a physical struggle for the possession of the letter he would be outmatched; but his passion grew colder and more malignant, and in a voice that cut like the hiss54 of a snake he spoke slowly and deliberately55. He was all sober now; the drunkenness of brain and blood was lost, for the time, in the strength of his cold passion.
‘It is true. By God it is true; every word of it! That letter, which you want to steal, is only a proof that I went to meet her on Caester Hill by her own appointment. When I got there, she was waiting for me. She began to talk about a chalet there, and at first I didn’t know what she meant—’
There was such conviction, such a triumphant56 truth in his voice, that Harold was convinced.
‘Stop!’ he thundered; ‘stop, don’t tell me anything. I don’t want to hear. I don’t want to know.’ He covered his face with his hands and groaned57. It was not as though the speaker were a stranger, in which case he would have been by now well on in his death by strangulation; he had known Leonard all his life, and he was a friend of Stephen’s. And he was speaking truth.
The baleful glitter of Leonard’s eyes grew brighter still. He was as a serpent when he goes to strike. In this wise he struck.
‘I shall not stop. I shall go on and tell you all I choose. You have called me liar—twice. You have also called me other names. Now you shall hear the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And if you won’t listen to me some one else will.’ Harold groaned again; Leonard’s eyes brightened still more, and the evil smile on his face grew broader as he began more and more to feel his power. He went on to speak with a cold deliberate malignancy, but instinctively so sticking to absolute truth that he could trust himself to hurt most. The other listened, cold at heart and physically58; his veins59 and arteries60 seemed stagnant61.
‘I won’t tell you anything of her pretty embarrassments62; how her voice fell as she pleaded; how she blushed and stammered63. Why, even I, who am used to women and their pretty ways and their passions and their flushings and their stormy upbraidings, didn’t quite know for a while what she was driving at. So at last she spoke out pretty plainly, and told me what a fond wife she’d make me if I would only take her!’ Harold said nothing; he only rocked a little as one in pain, and his hands fell. The other went on:
‘That is what happened this morning on Caester Hill under the trees where I met Stephen Norman by her own appointment; honestly what happened. If you don’t believe me now you can ask Stephen. My Stephen!’ he added in a final burst of venom64 as in a gleam of moonlight through a rift65 in the shadowy wood he saw the ghastly pallor of Harold’s face. Then he added abruptly66 as he held out his hand:
‘Now give me my letter!’
In the last few seconds Harold had been thinking. And as he had been thinking for the good, the safety, of Stephen, his thoughts flew swift and true. This man’s very tone, the openness of his malignity67, the underlying68 scorn when he spoke of her whom others worshipped, showed him the danger—the terrible immediate danger in which she stood from such a man. With the instinct of a mind working as truly for the woman he loved as the needle does to the Pole he spoke quietly, throwing a sneer69 into the tone so as to exasperate70 his companion—it was brain against brain now, and for Stephen’s sake:
‘And of course you accepted. You naturally would!’ The other fell into the trap. He could not help giving an extra dig to his opponent by proving him once more in the wrong.
‘Oh no, I didn’t! Stephen is a fine girl; but she wants taking down a bit. She’s too high and mighty just at present, and wants to boss a chap too much. I mean to be master in my own house; and she’s got to begin as she will have to go on. I’ll let her wait a bit: and then I’ll yield by degrees to her lovemaking. She’s a fine girl, for all her red head; and she won’t be so bad after all!’
Harold listened, chilled into still and silent amazement71. To hear Stephen spoken of in such a way appalled72 him. She of all women! . . . Leonard never knew how near sudden death he was, as he lay back in his seat, his eyes getting dull again and his chin sinking. The drunkenness which had been arrested by his passion was reasserting itself. Harold saw his state in time and arrested his own movement to take him by the throat and dash him to the ground. Even as he looked at him in scornful hate, the cart gave a lurch73 and Leonard fell forward. Instinctively Harold swept an arm round him and held him up. As he did so the unconsciousness of arrested sleep came; Leonard’s chin sank on his breast and he breathed stertorously74.
As he drove on, Harold’s thoughts circled in a tumult75. Vague ideas of extreme measures which he ought to take flashed up and paled away. Intention revolved76 upon itself till its weak side was exposed, and, it was abandoned. He could not doubt the essential truth of Leonard’s statement regarding the proposal of marriage. He did not understand this nor did he try to. His own love for the girl and the bitter awaking to its futility77 made him so hopeless that in his own desolation all the mystery of her doing and the cause of it was merged and lost.
His only aim and purpose now was her safety. One thing at least he could do: by fair means or foul78 stop Leonard’s mouth, so that others need not know her shame! He groaned aloud as the thought came to him. Beyond this first step he could do nothing, think of nothing as yet. And he could not take this first step till Leonard had so far sobered that he could understand.
And so waiting for that time to come, he drove on through the silent night.
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1
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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spoke
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| 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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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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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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concise
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| adj.简洁的，简明的 | |
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incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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somnolence
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| n.想睡，梦幻；欲寐；嗜睡；嗜眠 | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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wastrel
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| n.浪费者；废物 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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instinctively
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vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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untie
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| vt.解开，松开；解放 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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numbing
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| adj.使麻木的，使失去感觉的v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的现在分词 ) | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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reins
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| 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 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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47
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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construe
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| v.翻译，解释 | |
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50
poignancy
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| n.辛酸事，尖锐 | |
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51
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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52
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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53
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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55
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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56
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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57
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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embarrassments
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| n.尴尬( embarrassment的名词复数 )；难堪；局促不安；令人难堪或耻辱的事 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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rift
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| n.裂口，隙缝，切口；v.裂开，割开，渗入 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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malignity
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| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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exasperate
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| v.激怒，使（疾病）加剧，使恶化 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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stertorously
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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futility
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| n.无用 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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