It took some time to dawn upon me that the thing I had always longed for—freedom—was at last mine. I was an orphan6, and practically penniless, but free. At the same time I realized the extraordinary kindness of all these good people. The vicar did his best to persuade me that his wife was in urgent need of a companion help. Our tiny local library suddenly made up its mind to have an assistant librarian. Finally, the doctor called upon me, and after making various ridiculous excuses for failing to send in a proper bill, he hummed and hawed a good deal and suddenly suggested that I should marry him.
I was very much astonished. The doctor was nearer forty than thirty, and a round, tubby little man. He was not at all like the hero of “The Perils7 of Pamela,” and even less like a stern and silent Rhodesian. I reflected a minute and then asked him why he wanted to marry me. That seemed to fluster8 him a good deal, and he murmured that a wife was a great help to a General Practitioner9. The position seemed even more unromantic than before, and yet something in me urged towards its acceptance. Safety, that was what I was being offered. Safety—and a Comfortable Home. Thinking it over now, I believe I did the little man an injustice10. He was honestly in love with me, but a mistaken delicacy11 prevented him from pressing his suit on those lines. Anyway, my love of romance rebelled.
“It’s extremely kind of you,” I said. “But it’s impossible. I could never marry a man unless I loved him madly.”
“You don’t think——?”
“No, I don’t,” I said firmly.
He sighed.
“But, my dear child, what do you propose to do?”
“Have adventures and see the world,” I replied, without the least hesitation12.
“Miss Anne, you are very much of a child still. You don’t understand——”
“The practical difficulties? Yes, I do, doctor. I’m not a sentimental13 schoolgirl—I’m a hard-headed mercenary shrew! You’d know it if you married me!”
“I wish you would reconsider——”
“I can’t.”
He sighed again.
“I have another proposal to make. An aunt of mine who lives in Wales is in want of a young lady to help her. How would that suit you?”
“No, doctor, I’m going to London. If things happen anywhere, they happen in London. I shall keep my eyes open and you’ll see, something will turn up! You’ll hear of me next in China or Timbuctoo.”
My next visitor was Mr. Flemming, Papa’s London solicitor14. He came down specially15 from town to see me. An ardent16 anthropologist17 himself, he was a great admirer of Papa’s works. He was a tall, spare man with a thin face and grey hair. He rose to meet me as I entered the room and, taking both my hands in his, patted them affectionately.
“My poor child,” he said. “My poor, poor child.”
Without conscious hypocrisy18, I found myself assuming the demeanour of a bereaved19 orphan. He hypnotized me into it. He was benignant, kind and fatherly—and without the least doubt he regarded me as a perfect fool of a girl left adrift to face an unkind world. From the first I felt that it was quite useless to try to convince him of the contrary. As things turned out, perhaps it was just as well I didn’t.
“My dear child, do you think you can listen to me whilst I try to make a few things clear to you?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Your father, as you know, was a very great man. Posterity20 will appreciate him. But he was not a good man of business.”
I knew that quite as well, if not better than Mr. Flemming, but I restrained myself from saying so. He continued:
“I do not suppose you understand much of these matters. I will try to explain as clearly as I can.”
He explained at unnecessary length. The upshot seemed to be that I was left to face life with the sum of ￡87, 17s. 4d. It seemed a strangely unsatisfying amount. I waited in some trepidation21 for what was coming next. I feared that Mr. Flemming would be sure to have an aunt in Scotland who was in want of a bright young companion. Apparently22, however, he hadn’t.
“The question is,” he went on, “the future. I understand you have no living relatives?”
“You have friends?”
“Every one has been very kind to me,” I said gratefully.
“Who would not be kind to one so young and charming?” said Mr. Flemming gallantly24. “Well, well, my dear, we must see what can be done.” He hesitated a minute, and then said: “Supposing—how would it be if you came to us for a time?”
I jumped at the chance. London! The place for things to happen.
“It’s awfully25 kind of you,” I said. “Might I really? Just while I’m looking round. I must start out to earn my living, you know?”
“Yes, yes, my dear child. I quite understand. We will look round for something—suitable.”
I felt instinctively26 that Mr. Flemming’s ideas of “something suitable” and mine were likely to be widely divergent, but it was certainly not the moment to air my views.
“That is settled then. Why not return with me to-day?”
“Oh, thank you, but will Mrs. Flemming——”
“My wife will be delighted to welcome you.”
I wonder if husbands know as much about their wives as they think they do. If I had a husband, I should hate him to bring home orphans27 without consulting me first.
“We will send her a wire from the station,” continued the lawyer.
My few personal belongings28 were soon packed. I contemplated29 my hat sadly before putting it on. It had originally been what I call a “Mary” hat, meaning by that the kind of hat a housemaid ought to wear on her day out—but doesn’t! A limp thing of black straw with a suitably depressed30 brim. With the inspiration of genius, I had kicked it once, punched it twice, dented31 in the crown and affixed32 to it a thing like a cubist’s dream of a jazz carrot. The result had been distinctly chic33. The carrot I had already removed, of course, and now I proceeded to undo34 the rest of my handiwork. The “Mary” hat resumed its former status with an additional battered35 appearance which made it even more depressing than formerly36. I might as well look as much like the popular conception of an orphan as possible. I was just a shade nervous of Mrs. Flemming’s reception, but hoped my appearance might have a sufficiently37 disarming38 effect.
Mr. Flemming was nervous too. I realized that as we went up the stairs of the tall house in a quiet Kensington Square. Mrs. Flemming greeted me pleasantly enough. She was a stout39, placid40 woman of the “good wife and mother” type. She took me up to a spotless chintz-hung bedroom, hoped I had everything I wanted, informed me that tea would be ready in about a quarter of an hour, and left me to my own devices.
I heard her voice, slightly raised, as she entered the drawing-room below on the first floor.
“Well, Henry, why on earth——” I lost the rest, but the acerbity41 of the tone was evident. And a few minutes later another phrase floated up to me, in an even more acid voice:
“I agree with you! She is certainly very good-looking.”
It is really a very hard life. Men will not be nice to you if you are not good-looking, and women will not be nice to you if you are.
With a deep sigh I proceeded to do things to my hair. I have nice hair. It is black—a real black, not dark brown, and it grows well back from my forehead and down over the ears. With a ruthless hand I dragged it upwards42. As ears, my ears are quite all right, but there is no doubt about it, ears are démodé nowadays. They are like the “Queen of Spain’s legs” in Professor Peterson’s young day. When I had finished I looked almost unbelievably like the kind of orphan that walks out in a queue with a little bonnet43 and a red cloak.
I noticed when I went down that Mrs. Flemming’s eyes rested on my exposed ears with quite a kindly44 glance. Mr. Flemming seemed puzzled. I had no doubt that he was saying to himself, “What has the child done to herself?”
On the whole the rest of the day passed off well. It was settled that I was to start at once to look for something to do.
When I went to bed, I stared earnestly at my face in the glass. Was I really good-looking? Honestly, I couldn’t say I thought so! I hadn’t got a straight Grecian nose, or a rosebud45 mouth, or any of the things you ought to have. It is true that a curate once told me that my eyes were like “imprisoned sunshine in a dark, dark wood”—but curates always know so many quotations46, and fire them off at random47. I’d much prefer to have Irish blue eyes than dark green ones with yellow flecks48! Still, green is a good colour for adventuresses.
I wound a black garment tightly round me, leaving my arms and shoulders bare. Then I brushed back my hair and pulled it well down over my ears again. I put a lot of powder on my face, so that the skin seemed even whiter than usual. I fished about until I found some old lip-salve, and I put oceans of it on my lips. Then I did under my eyes with burnt cork49. Finally, I draped a red ribbon over my bare shoulder, stuck a scarlet50 feather in my hair, and placed a cigarette in one corner of my mouth. The whole effect pleased me very much.
“Anna the Adventuress,” I said aloud, nodding at my reflection. “Anna the Adventuress. Episode I, ‘The House in Kensington’!”
Girls are foolish things.
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1
reindeer
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| n.驯鹿 | |
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implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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fluster
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| adj.慌乱，狼狈，混乱，激动 | |
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practitioner
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| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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12
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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13
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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14
solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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15
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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16
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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17
anthropologist
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| n.人类学家，人类学者 | |
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hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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19
bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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20
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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21
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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28
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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29
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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31
dented
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| v.使产生凹痕( dent的过去式和过去分词 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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chic
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| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
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undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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disarming
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| adj.消除敌意的，使人消气的v.裁军( disarm的现在分词 )；使息怒 | |
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40
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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41
acerbity
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| n.涩，酸，刻薄 | |
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42
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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43
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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44
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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45
rosebud
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| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
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46
quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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47
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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48
flecks
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| n.斑点，小点( fleck的名词复数 )；癍 | |
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49
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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50
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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