Kilsyth was perfectly11 satisfied with Madeleine's marriage. He believed in love-matches, and it never occurred to him to doubt that this was one. He had quietly taken it for granted, first, because Ramsay Caird had spoken of their "mutual13 attachment," when he had formally asked Kilsyth for the precious gift of his daughter. Then, Lady Muriel had spoken so warmly of Ramsay's love for Madeleine, had shown such generous and sensitive susceptibility to the possibility of Kilsyth's thinking she had been wrong and injudicious in admitting to such close household intimacy14 a relative of her own, who was not qualified15, as far as fortune was concerned, to pretend to his daughter's hand. Thirdly, if he never doubted Ramsay's being in love with Madeleine--and he never did doubt it for an instant--what could be more natural than that all the young men who had the chance should be in love with Madeleine? Still less could it have occurred to him to doubt that Madeleine was in love with Ramsay. Ramsay had neither rank nor fortune to give her--that was very certain; and Kilsyth knew of only two motives16 as possible incentives17 to marriage--love and money. Under any circumstances, he never could have suspected his daughter of being actuated by the latter. The fine, gallant18, unsophisticated, hearty19 old fellow, who had had a fair share of happiness all his life, and whose knowledge of human nature was as superficial as his judgment of it was genial20, had no notion that pique21, thwarted22 love, blighted23 hope, wounded pride, the strong and desperate necessity of hiding suffering from kindred household eyes, or an infatuated yearning24 for the freedom, in certain respects; whose value a man can never estimate, and which a girl gains by her marriage, were among the not unfrequent causes of the taking of that tremendous step. He had never talked to Maddy about her love for Ramsay Caird, certainly; it would never have occurred to him to "make the girl uncomfortable," as he would have expressed it, by any such proceeding25; but he would as soon have suspected that Madeleine had brought an asp to her new home among her wedding-clothes as believed that the girl's heart hid, ever so far down in its depths, another image than her husband's.
So Kilsyth was satisfied, in his genial and outspoken26 way; and Ronald was satisfied, after his grim undemonstrative fashion. And Lady Muriel stood well with all concerned, especially with Madeleine. All the petty restraints of "stepmother" authority, inevitably27 resented even by the most amiable28 natures, however mildly exercised, were gone now. Maddy was on a social level with Lady Muriel; there could never more be any of the little discords29 between them there had been; and Madeleine, as she took her own place hi the world, and felt, with a sudden sort of shock, as if she had grown ever so much older, woke up to a fuller consciousness of Lady Muriel's many attractions than she had ever previously30 attained31. She recognised her beauty, her grace, her dignity, her perfect breeding, her thorough savoir faire with real appreciation32 now, and true pleasure and admiration; and one of the happiest thoughts in which she indulged was of how she would be such "good friends" with Lady Muriel, and how she would take her for the model of her conduct, and in every respect her social guide. She was perfectly aware of the dissimilarity which existed between them; and she never would have been guilty of the absurdity33 of "copying" Lady Muriel's manners, but she might be guided by her for all that. So much the more readily now that she was not always in dread34 of hearing Wilmot mentioned, of being reminded of him, of exciting a suspicion by some inadvertence that she had been guilty of the folly35 of thinking he had cared for her just a little. No fear of that now. She was married and safe--poor child!
Unsuspicious by nature, ignorant of the world, and unconsciously living a life apart, a life in her own thoughts and reveries, Madeleine was wonderfully indifferent to the conduct of her husband. Either she was really unconscious of it for some time after it had begun to excite the fears of her father, the suspicions of Lady Muriel, the anger of her brother, and the gossip of society, or she successfully contrived36 to appear so. The judgment of the world leaned to the latter hypothesis; but the judgment of the world is always uncharitable, and frequently wrong. In the present instance it was both. Madeleine did not know that Ramsay Caird was behaving ill. He was always kind in his manner to her; and if he was--which there was no denying--a good deal away from home, why, he did not differ in that respect from many other men whom she knew or heard of, and it never occurred to Madeleine to resent his absence. Neither did it occur to her to ask herself whether she was not in real truth rather glad he should be so much away from her, nor to reflect that the world, which knew he was, would inevitably come to one of two conclusions, either that she was a most unhappy wife, or that she had never loved her husband.
No; Madeleine Caird thought of none of these things. She went on her way caring very little for anything; not entirely37 unhappy, surprised indeed at the variations in her own spirits, unable to account for the overwhelming sadness which beset38 her at some times, and finding equally inexplicable39 the ease with which she flung off this sadness at others. She was looked at and wondered at and talked of daily by scores of her acquaintances, and, she was entirely unconscious that she was the subject of any such scrutiny40.
Lady Muriel understood Madeleine's state of mind perfectly. She had a clue to it, which she alone possessed41; and while she regarded Ramsay Caird's conduct with all the by no means inconsiderable strength of indignation of which she was capable, she was quite aware that Madeleine was only in the conventional sense an object of compassion42.
Was Lady Muriel quite satisfied, was she perfectly content with her success? Hardly so; in the first place, because she was forced to condemn43 Ramsay Caird, and she did not like to acknowledge the necessity; in the second place, because the result of this success, personal to her, that to which it was to owe its best value, its chief sweetness, was delayed. She chafed44 at Wilmot's absence now; she had hailed it until Madeleine's marriage had been an accomplished fact; she had tolerated it for a little time afterwards; but now--now her impatience45 was undisguised to herself, now she wanted this man to return--this man who lent her life such a strange charm, in whose presence the common atmosphere took a vivid colouring, and every-day things and occurrences assumed a different meaning and value.
Lady Muriel had heard of Chudleigh Wilmot's accession to fortune reasonably soon after the occurrence of the event. Kilsyth happened to be out of town for a few days on the occasion of Mr. Foljambe's death, and had therefore not attended the funeral. General report, at least in Lady Muriel's particular sphere, had not yet proclaimed the succession of one unlinked by ties of blood to the rich banker to the large fortune with which rumour46 correctly accredited47 Mr. Foljambe, and it remained for Lady Muriel to learn the news from the same source whence Henrietta Prendergast had derived48 the account of Madeleine's marriage. It was from Mrs. Charlton that Lady Muriel heard the interesting tidings, and Mrs. Prendergast was present on the occasion. It was the first time she had ever been in the same room with Lady Muriel Kilsyth, and she had regarded her with lively curiosity, and much genuine, honest admiration. The finished style of Lady Muriel's beauty--the sort of style which conveys the impression that the possessor of so much beauty is beautiful as much by a sovereign act of her will as by the decree and gift of nature; her grace of manner, true stamp of the grande dame49 set upon her, had irresistible50 attractions for Henrietta, who was one of those women, by no means so rare as the cynics would have us believe, who can heartily51 and enthusiastically admire the qualities, physical and mental, of individuals of their own sex.
"I am sure you will be glad to hear the news Mrs. Prendergast has just told us," Mrs. Charlton had said; and then Lady Muriel learned that Mr. Foljambe had made Wilmot his heir. She received the intelligence with the perfection of friendly interest; she turned courteously52 to Mrs. Prendergast, as though taking it for granted her congratulations were to be addressed to her individually, as Wilmot's relative or friend; and as she did so her heart beat rapidly, with the pulse of one who has escaped a great danger, as she thought, "Had this happened only a few weeks sooner, all might have been lost!"
It was on the same day and at the same hour that Wilmot learned the same fact, from the letter of his dead friend, at Berlin.
Had Lady Muriel been a younger, a weaker, or a less experienced woman, she must inevitably have betrayed some emotion beyond that of mere53 gratification at a friend's good fortune to the keen eyes of Henrietta Prendergast. But her savoir faire was perfect, and she said and looked precisely54 what she ought to have said and looked. There was a strange accord in the impulsive55 thoughts of each of these women, so different, so widely separated by circumstances. As Henrietta repeated the intelligence for Lady Muriel's information which she had already communicated to Mrs. Charlton, she too was thinking, "Had this happened only a few weeks sooner, all might have been lost!"
Madeleine's marriage was of no less importance to the designs and the hopes of Henrietta Prendergast than to those of Lady Muriel Kilsyth.
"I wonder what he will do now?" said Miss Charlton, who had some of the advantages of silliness, among them a happy na?veté, which made it always safe to calculate upon her making some remark or asking some question which others might desire to proffer56 on their own behalf, but for the restraints of good taste. Lady Muriel could not imagine; Mrs. Prendergast could not guess. Lady Muriel remarked that Dr. Wilmot would probably be guided by the nature of Mr. Foljambe's property, and the terms of the bequest57.
"I fancy the whole property is in money, with the exception of the house in Portland-place," said Henrietta. "I have heard my poor friend Mrs. Wilmot say that Mr. Foljambe hated all the responsibility of landed property, and had none. So Dr. Wilmot will be free--perhaps he will live altogether abroad."
"Do you think that probable?" said Lady Muriel, very courteously implying Mrs. Prendergast's more intimate acquaintance with the object of the discussion. "For a man of his turn of mind, I fancy there's no place like London--certainly no country like England."
"Ah, yes, Lady Muriel, very true," said the irrepressible Miss Charlton, making her mother wince58 for the twentieth time since the commencement of the visit; "but then, you see, he has such painful recollections of London. His poor wife dying as she did, you know, while he was away attending to strangers."
"Very true," said Lady Muriel--with perfect self-possession, and purposely turning her head away from Mrs. Charlton, who glanced angrily and despairingly at her unconscious daughter, and towards Henrietta, who shared her friend's dismay. "We all regretted that circumstance very deeply; and I do not wonder Dr. Wilmot should have felt it as he did: still, he is so strong-minded a man--"
"And so perfectly convinced that it had nothing to do with his wife's death--I mean that he could not have saved her," said Henrietta quickly.
Lady Muriel looked at her inquiringly.
"Mrs. Prendergast was Mrs. Wilmot's intimate Mend, and was with her when she died," Mrs. Charlton said; and then another visitor came in, and a tête-à-tête established itself between Lady Muriel and Henrietta, which caused her visit to be prolonged considerably59 beyond any former experience of Mrs. Charlton, and gave her ladyship a good deal to think of, when she had ordered her coachman to go into the Park, and gave herself up to her thoughts, mechanically returning, the numerous salutes60 which she received, and thinking sometimes how strange it was that there was no one in all this great crowded London whom it could interest her to see.
"She must have been a strange woman," thought Lady Muriel, "and desperately61 uninteresting, I am sure. That Mrs. Prendergast has plenty of character. He never mentioned her, that I can remember; but then he talked so little of himself, he said so little from which any notion of his daily life and its surroundings could be gathered. Yes, I am sure his wife was a tiresome62, commonplace creature, with no kind of companionship in her--an insipid63 doll. What wonderful things one sees under the sun in the way of unsuitable marriages! To think of such a man marrying such a woman! But it is stranger still"--and here Lady Muriel's face darkened, and a hard look came into her beautiful brown eyes--"it is stranger still to think that such a man should be attracted by Madeleine--such a merely 'pretty girl.' And he was--he was; I could not be mistaken. If this fortune had come a little sooner, what would he have done? He could not of course have proposed to her--impossible in the time he might have told Kilsyth, and gotten his leave, when the year should be up. What a danger! I am glad I never thought of such a thing; I am glad the possibility never occurred to me. Ronald, indeed, would have been a barrier; but I need not, I must not deceive myself, Kilsyth would not have listened to Ronald where Madeleine's happiness was concerned. When will he return? He must come soon, I suppose, to arrange his affairs. I need not fear his admiration of Madeleine now--he is not a man to admire the woman who could marry Ramsay Caird. If she did betray to him that she loved him, he would have the best and plainest proof in her marriage how fickle64 and flimsy such a feeling is in her case."
Lady Muriel Kilsyth was in many respects a very superior, in many respects a highly-principled woman; but she had dreamed a forbidden dream, she had cherished a perverse65 thought, and such speculations66 as she would once have shrunk from with incredulous amazement68 had become not only possible but easy to her.
And then all her thoughts directed themselves towards the one object--Wilmot's return. When would he come back? She wrote the news of the disposition69 of Mr. Foljambe's will to Kilsyth; and he answered in a few jovial70 lines, expressing his heartfelt satisfaction. She told the news to Madeleine; carelessly, skilfully71, opening a large parcel of books as she spoke12, and looking at the contents. Madeleine was in her ladyship's boudoir; her bonnet72 lay on the sofa by her side, and she was idly twisting the strings73.
"You are going to fetch Ramsay from the club, are you, Maddy?"
"Yes," said Madeleine listlessly, and looking at the clock; "presently, I suppose. Have you anything new there?"
"New? yes. Good? I can't say. Nothing you would care for, I fancy. All the magazines, though. A new volume by Merivale,--not much after your fashion. A new novel by nobody knows whom--Squire Fullerton's Will. By the bye, the name reminds me--I don't think you have heard about Mr. Foljambe's will?"
"No," said Madeleine rising, and tying on her bonnet at the chimney-glass.
"Your father is delighted. Only fancy, Mr. Foljambe has left all his money to Dr. Wilmot."
Madeleine did not answer for a minute. Then she said,
"I am very glad. Was Mr. Foljambe very rich?"
"I believe so. They talk of its being a very large fortune. What a delightful74 change for Dr. Wilmot! Of course he will give up his profession now, and take a place in society."
"Do you think he would give up his profession for anything, Lady Muriel?" asked Madeleine.
Lady Muriel was standing at a table, still sorting the books; she could not see Maddy's face.
"Give up his profession! Of course, my dear. A man of fortune is not likely to practise as a doctor, I should think; besides, the position."
"Everyone--I mean Mr. Foljambe always said Dr. Wilmot was so devoted75 to his profession," said Madeleine hesitatingly.
"Of course he was; and of course his friends said so. It is the best and wisest thing a man can have said of him--the best character he can get, while he wants it, and easily laid aside when he doesn't. What's this? Wine of Shiraz! O, another book of travels with a fantastical name! Are you going, Maddy? Will you have one of these productions to try?"
"No, thank you," said Madeleine; and she took leave of Lady Muriel, and did not call for Ramsay at the club, but went home, and passed the evening with a book lying open on her knee--a book of which she never turned a page, and wondered when Chudleigh Wilmot would come home. She wondered whether his wealth would make him happy. She wondered whether, if he had been a rich man and not a hard-working doctor, he would have cared a little about her when his wife died; and whether it was really as Lady Muriel had said, or whether his devotion to his profession was genuine and true. She wondered whether he ever thought of her; she felt sure he knew of her marriage. Well, not ever--something forbade her using that word in her thoughts, something told her it would be unjust and unkind; but much? Ronald would hear about this bequest of Mr. Foljambe's; would be glad--or sorry--or neither? Supposing it had come earlier, and he, Wilmot, had cared for her! would things have been different? would Ronald--But no, no; she must not think of that. Let her still believe he had seen in her only a patient, only a case of fever, only an occasion for the exercise of his skill. She wondered, if "things had been different"--which was the phrase by which she translated to herself "if she had married Wilmot"--whether it would have harmed anyone; she did not dare to think how happy it would have made her. Ramsay? But no; not all the simplicity76, not all the credulous67 egotism of girlhood--and Madeleine had her fair share of those natural qualities--could persuade her that Ramsay's life would have been marred77 if their marriage had never taken place. And so she wondered and wondered, recurring78 often in her thoughts solemnly to the dead woman who had been Wilmot's wife, and thinking sadly, wonderingly, over that life, all unknown to her; and yet concerning which some mysterious instinct had whispered to her vaguely79 and unhappily. She hoped people would not talk much to her, or before her, of this bequest of Mr. Foljambe's. It embarrassed her, though she knew it ought not; who ought to be so ready as she to speak of him, to whom no one owed so much?
Henrietta Prendergast wondered too when Dr. Wilmot would return to London; and questioned Dr. Whittaker, who had contrived in a wonderfully brief space of time to accumulate an extraordinary quantity of information relative to the nature and extent of Wilmot's inheritance. The worthy80 man possessed an inherent talent for gossip, which was likely to be of great service to him in his career, being admittedly an immense recommendation for a physician, especially when his practice lies in a class of society largely productive of malades imaginaires. Wilmot was left at perfect liberty, except in the matter of the house in Portland-place. It was not to be sold; and Wilmot had instructed the solicitors81 to keep up the establishment, and retain the old housekeeper82 and butler permanently83 in his service. As for his old house in Charles-street, Wilmot had behaved most generously indeed--Dr. Whittaker would say he had placed it entirely at his disposal nobly: for the remainder of his lease; and by the time that should expire, he had expressed his conviction that Dr. Whittaker would be making his fortune.
"All the more chance of it, Mrs. Prendergast," said Whittaker with his smoothest smile, "that Wilmot will be out of my way; he's a wonderfully clever fellow, wonderfully; and I can't imagine a more popular physician. I assure you he reminds me, in his way of dealing84 with a case, of Carlyle's description of Frederick the Great's eyes, 'rapidity resting upon depth.' Quite Wilmot--quite Wilmot, I assure you." And Dr. Whittaker, considering that he had made a remarkably85 good hit, took himself off, leaving Henrietta with new matter for her thoughts.
The three women who thus pondered and thought and speculated about Chudleigh Wilmot had plenty of time during which to indulge in these vain occupations. Time passed on, and Mr. Foljambe's heir did not present himself to the tide of congratulations which awaited him. The first, interest of the intelligence died out. Other rich men died, and left their wealth to other heirs expectant or non-expectant "Foljambe's will" and "Wilmot's luck" had almost ceased to be talked about when Chudleigh Wilmot ventured into society. Henrietta Prendergast was the first of the three who saw him. As for Lady Muriel and Madeleine, they were less likely to meet him than any women in London; for the good reason that Wilmot sedulously86 avoided them. And for a time successfully; but that was not always to be. He believed that the page of the book of his life on which "Madeleine Kilsyth" was written was closed for ever; Fate had written upon another, "Madeleine Caird."
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kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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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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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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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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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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motives
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incentives
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gallant
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hearty
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genial
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pique
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thwarted
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blighted
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yearning
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proceeding
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outspoken
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inevitably
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amiable
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discords
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previously
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attained
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appreciation
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absurdity
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dread
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folly
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contrived
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entirely
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beset
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inexplicable
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scrutiny
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possessed
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compassion
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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accredited
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| adj.可接受的；可信任的；公认的；质量合格的v.相信( accredit的过去式和过去分词 )；委托；委任；把…归结于 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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dame
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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proffer
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| v.献出，赠送；n.提议，建议 | |
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bequest
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| n.遗赠；遗产，遗物 | |
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wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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salutes
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| n.致敬，欢迎，敬礼( salute的名词复数 )v.欢迎，致敬( salute的第三人称单数 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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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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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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sedulously
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| ad.孜孜不倦地 | |
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