Brook1 Johnstone’s people did not come on the next day, nor on the day after that, but he expressed no surprise at the delay, and did not again say that it was a bore to have to wait for them. Meanwhile he spent a great deal of his time with the Bowrings, and the acquaintance ripened2 quickly towards intimacy3, without passing near friendship, as such acquaintance sometimes will, when it springs up suddenly in the shallow ground of an out-of-the-way hotel on the Continent.
“For Heaven’s sake don’t let that man fall in love with you, Clare!” said Mrs. Bowring one morning, with what seemed unnecessary vehemence4.
Clare’s lip curled scornfully as she thought of poor Lady Fan.
“There isn’t the slightest danger of that!” she answered. “Any more than there is of my falling in love with him,” she added.
“Are you sure of that?” asked her mother. “You seem to like him. Besides, he is very nice, and very good-looking. ”
“Oh yes—of course he is. But one doesn’t necessarily fall in love with every nice and good-looking man one meets.”
Thereupon Clare cut the conversation short by going off to her own room. She had been expecting for some time that her mother would make some remark about the growing intimacy with young Johnstone. To tell the truth, Mrs. Bowring had not the slightest ground for anxiety in any previous attachment5 of her daughter. She was beginning to wonder whether Clare would ever show any preference for any man.
But she did not at all wish to marry her at present, for she felt that life without the girl would be unbearably6 lonely. On the other hand, Clare had a right to marry. They were poor. A part of their little income was the pension that Mrs. Bowring had been fortunate enough to get as the widow of an officer killed in action, but that would cease at her death, as poor Captain Bowring’s allowance from his family had ceased at his death. The family had objected to the marriage from the first, and refused to do anything for his child after he was gone. It would go hard with Clare if she were left alone in the world with what her mother could leave her. On the other hand, that little, or the prospect7 of it, was quite safe, and would make a great difference to her, as a married woman. The two lived on it, with economy. Clare could certainly dress very well on it if she married a rich man, but she could as certainly not afford to marry a poor one.
As for this young Johnstone, he had not volunteered much information about himself, and, though Mrs. Bowring sometimes asked him questions, she was extremely careful not to ask any which could be taken in the nature of an inquiry8 as to his prospects9 in life, merely because that might possibly suggest to him that she was thinking of her daughter. And when an Englishman is reticent11 in such matters, it is utterly12 impossible to guess whether he be a millionaire or a penniless younger son. Johnstone never spoke13 of money, in any connection. He never said that he could afford one thing or could not afford another. He talked a good deal of shooting and sport, but never hinted that his father had any land. He never mentioned a family place in the country, nor anything of the sort. He did not even tell the Bowrings to whom the yacht belonged in which he had come, though he frequently alluded14 to things which had been said and done by the party during a two months’ cruise, chiefly in eastern waters.
The Bowrings were quite as reticent about themselves, and each respected the other’s silence. Nevertheless they grew intimate, scarcely knowing how the intimacy developed. That is to say, they very quickly became accustomed, all three, to one another’s society. If Johnstone was out of the hotel first, of an afternoon, he moped about with his pipe in an objectless way, as though he had lost something, until the Bowrings came out. If he was writing letters and they appeared first, they talked in detached phrases and looked often towards the door, until he came and sat down beside them.
On the third evening, at dinner, he seemed very much amused at something, and then, as though he could not keep the joke to himself, he told his companions that he had received a telegram from his father, in answer to one of his own, informing him that he had made a mistake of a whole fortnight in the date, and must amuse himself as he pleased in the interval15.
“Just like me!” he observed. “I got the letter in Smyrna or somewhere—I forget—and I managed to lose it before I had read it through. But I thought I had the date all right. I’m glad, at all events. I was tired of those good people, and it’s ever so much pleasanter here.”
Clare’s gentle mouth hardened suddenly as she thought of Lady Fan. Johnstone had been thoroughly16 tired of her. That was what he meant when he spoke of “those good people. ”
“You get tired of people easily, don’t you?” she inquired coldly.
“Oh no—not always,” answered Johnstone.
By this time he was growing used to her sudden changes of manner and to the occasional scornful speeches she made. He could not understand them in the least, as may be imagined, and having considerable experience he set them down to the score of a certain girlish shyness, which showed itself in no other way. He had known women whose shyness manifested itself in saying disagreeable things for which they were sometimes sorry afterwards.
Clare turned upon him the terrible innocence18 of her clear blue eyes. She thought she knew the truth about him too, and that he could not look her in the face. But she was mistaken. He met her glance fearlessly and quietly, with a frank smile and a little wonder at its fixed19 scrutiny20. She would not look away, rude though she might seem, nor be stared out of countenance21 by a man whom she believed to be false and untrue. But his eyes were very bright, and in a few seconds they began to dazzle her, and she felt her eyelids22 trembling violently. It was a new sensation, and a very unpleasant one. It seemed to her that the man had suddenly got some power over her. She made a strong effort and turned away her face, and again she blushed with annoyance23.
“I beg your pardon,” Johnstone said quickly, in a very low voice. “I didn’t mean to be so rude.”
Clare said nothing as she sat beside him, but she looked at the opposite wall, and her hand made an impatient little gesture as the fingers lay on the edge of the table. Possibly, if her mother had not been on her other side, she might have answered him. As it was, she felt that she could not speak just then. She was very much disturbed, as though something new and totally unknown had got hold of her. It was not only that she hated the man for his heartlessness, while she felt that he had some sort of influence over her, which was more than mere10 attraction. There was something beyond, deep down in her heart, which was nameless, and painful, but which she somehow felt that she wanted. And aside from it all, she was angry with him for having stared her out of countenance, forgetting that when she had turned upon him she had meant to do the same by him, feeling quite sure that he could not look her in the face.
They spoke little during the remainder of the meal, for Clare was quite willing to show that she was angry, though she had little right to be. After all, she had looked at him, and he had looked at her. After dinner she disappeared, and was not seen during the remainder of the evening.
When she was alone, however, she went over the whole matter thoughtfully, and she made up her mind that she had been hasty. For she was naturally just. She said to herself that she had no claim to the man’s secrets, which she had learned in a way of which she was not at all proud; and that if he could keep his own counsel, he, on his side, had a right to do so. The fact that she knew him to be heartless and faithless by no means implied that he was also indiscreet, though when an individual has done anything which we think bad we easily suppose that he may do every other bad thing imaginable. Johnstone’s discretion24, at least, was admirable, now that she thought of it. His bright eyes and frank look would have disarmed25 any suspicion short of the certainty she possessed26. There had not been the least contraction27 of the lids, the smallest change in the expression of his mouth, not the faintest increase of colour in his young face.
So much the worse, thought the young girl suddenly. He was not only bad. He was also an accomplished28 actor. No doubt his eyes had been as steady and bright and his whole face as truthful29 when he had made love to Lady Fan at sunset on the Acropolis. Somehow, the allusion30 to that scene had produced a vivid impression on Clare’s mind, and she often found herself wondering what he had said, and how he had looked just then.
Her resentment31 against him increased as she thought it all over, and again she felt a longing32 to be cruel to him, and to make him suffer just what he had made Lady Fan endure.
Then she was suddenly and unexpectedly overcome by a shamed sense of her inability to accomplish any such act of justice. It was as though she had already tried, and had failed, and he had laughed in her face and turned away. It seemed to her that there could be nothing in her which could appeal to such a man. There was Lady Fan, much older, with plenty of experience, doubtless; and she had been deceived, and betrayed, and abandoned, before the young girl’s very eyes. What chance could such a mere girl possibly have? It was folly33, and moreover it was wicked of her to think of such things. She would be willingly lowering herself to his level, trying to do the very thing which she despised and hated in him, trying to outwit him, to out-deceive him, to out-betray him. One side of her nature, at least, revolted against any such scheme. Besides, she could never do it.
She was not a great beauty; she was not extraordinarily34 clever—not clever at all, she said to herself in her sudden fit of humility35; she had no “experience.” That last word means a good deal more to most young girls than they can find in it after life’s illogical surprises have taught them the terrible power of chance and mood and impulse.
She glanced at her face in the mirror, and looked away. Then she glanced again. The third time she turned to the glass she began to examine her features in detail. Lady Fan was a fair woman, too. But, without vanity, she had to admit that she was much better-looking than Lady Fan. She was also much younger and fresher, which should be an advantage, she thought. She wished that her hair were golden instead of flaxen; that her eyes were dark instead of blue; that her cheeks were not so thin, and her throat a shade less slender. Nevertheless, she would have been willing to stand any comparison with the little lady in white. Of course, compared with the famous beauties, some of whom she had seen, she was scarcely worth a glance. Doubtless, Brook Johnstone knew them all.
Then she gazed into her own eyes. She did not know that a woman, alone, may look into her own eyes and blush and turn away. She looked long and steadily36, and quite quietly. After all, they looked dark, for the pupils were very large and the blue iris37 was of that deep colour which borders upon violet. There was something a little unusual in them, too, though she could not quite make out what it was. Why did not all women look straight before them as she did? There must be some mysterious reason. It was a pity that her eyelashes were almost white. Yet they, too, added something to the peculiarity38 of that strange gaze.
“They are like periwinkles in a snowstorm!” exclaimed Clare, tired of her own face; and she turned from the mirror and went to bed.
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1
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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unbearably
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| adv.不能忍受地，无法容忍地；慌 | |
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7
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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8
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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10
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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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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14
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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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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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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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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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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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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truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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