Lady Markham had, of course, been censured11 for this, her second marriage; and equally, of course, was censured for the breach12 of it—for the separation, which, indeed, was none of her doing; for retaining her own place when her husband left her; and, in short, for every step she had taken in the matter from first to last. But that was twelve years ago, which is a long time in all circumstances, and which counts for about a century in Society: and nobody thought of blaming her any{v2-104} longer, or of remarking at all upon the matter. The present lords and ladies of fashionable life had always known her as she was, and there was no further question about her history. When, in the previous season, Miss Waring had made her début in Society, and achieved the success which had been so remarkable13, there was indeed a little languid question as to who was her father among those who remembered that Waring was not the name of the Markham family; but this was not interesting enough to cause any excitement. And Frances, still thrilling with the discovery of the other life, of which she had never suspected the existence, and ignorant even now of everything except the mere14 fact of it, suddenly found herself embraced and swallowed up in a perfectly15 understood and arranged routine in which there was no mystery at all.
“The first thing you must do is to make acquaintance with your relations,” said Lady Markham next morning at breakfast. “Fortunately, we have this quiet time before Easter to get over all these preliminaries. Your aunt Clarendon will expect to see you at once.{v2-105}”
Frances was greatly disturbed by this new discovery. She gave a covert16 glance at Markham, who, though it was not his habit to appear so early, had actually produced himself at breakfast to see how the little one was getting on. Markham looked back again, elevating his eyebrows17, and not understanding at first what the question meant.
“And there are all the cousins,” said the mother, with that plaintive19 tone in her voice. “My dear, I hope you are not in the way of forming friendships, for there are so many of them! I think the best thing will be to get over all these duty introductions at once. I must ask the Clarendons—don’t you think, Markham?—to dinner, and perhaps the Peytons,—quite a family party.”
“Certainly, by all means,” said Markham; “but first of all, don’t you think she wants to be dressed?”
Lady Markham looked at Frances critically from her smooth little head to her neat little shoes. The girl was standing18 by the fire, with her head reclined against the mantelpiece of carved oak, which, as a “reproduction,” was{v2-106} very much thought of in Eaton Square. Frances felt that the blush with which she met her mother’s look must be seen, though she turned her head away, through the criticised clothes.
“Her dress is very simple; but there is nothing in bad taste. Don’t you think I might take her anywhere as she is? I did not notice her hat,” said Lady Markham, with gravity; “but if that is right—— Simplicity20 is quite the right thing at eighteen——”
“And in Lent,” said Markham.
“It is quite true; in Lent, it is better than the right thing—it is the best thing. My dear, you must have had a very good maid. Foreign women have certainly better taste than the class we get our servants from. What a pity you did not bring her with you! One can always find room for a clever maid.”
“I don’t believe she had any maid; it is all out of her own little head,” said Markham. “I told you not to let yourself be taken in. She has a deal in her, that little thing.”
Lady Markham smiled, and gave Frances a kiss, enfolding her once more in that soft{v2-107} atmosphere which had been such a revelation to her last night. “I am sure she is a dear little girl, and is going to be a great comfort to me. You will want to write your letters this morning, my love, which you must do before lunch. And after lunch, we will go and see your aunt. You know that is a matter of—what shall we call it, Markham?—conscience: with me.”
“Pride,” Markham said, coming and standing by them in front of the fire.
“Perhaps a little,” she answered with a smile; “but conscience too. I would not have her say that I had kept the child from her for a single day.”
“That is how conscience speaks, Fan,” said Markham. “You will know next time you hear it. And after the Clarendons?”
“Well—of course, there must be a hundred things the child wants. We must look at your evening dresses together, darling. Tell Josephine to lay them out and let me see them. We are going to have some people at the Priory for Easter; and when we come back, there will {v2-108}be no time. Yes, I think on our way home from Portland Place we must just look into—a shop or two.”
“Now my mind is relieved,” Markham said. “I thought you were going to change the course of nature, Fan.”
“The child is quite bewildered by your nonsense, Markham,” the mother said.
And this was quite true. Frances had never been on such terms with her father as would have entitled her to venture to laugh at him. She was confused with this new phase, as well as with her many other discoveries: and it appeared to her that Markham looked just as old as his mother. Lady Markham was fresh and fair, her complexion21 as clear as a girl’s, and her hair still brown and glossy22. If art in any way added to this perfection, Frances had no suspicion of such a possibility. And when she looked from her mother’s round and soft contour to the wrinkles of Markham, and his no-colour and indefinite age, and heard him address her with that half-caressing, half-bantering equality, the girl’s mind grew more and more hopelessly confused. She withdrew, as was expected of her, to write her letters,{v2-109} though without knowing how to fulfil that duty. She could write (of course) to her father. It was of course, and so was what she told him. “We arrived about six o’clock. I was dreadfully confused with the noise and the crowds of people. Mamma was very kind. She bids me send you her love. The house is very fine, and full of furniture, and fires in all the rooms; but one wants that, for it is much colder here. We are going out after luncheon23 to call on my aunt Clarendon. I wish very much I knew who she was, or who my other relations are; but I suppose I shall find out in time.” This was the scope of Frances’ letter. And she did not feel warranted, somehow, in writing to Constance. She knew so little of Constance: and was she not in some respects a supplanter24, taking Constance’s place? When she had finished her short letter to her father, which was all fact, with very few reflections, Frances paused and looked round her, and felt no further inspiration. Should she write to Mariuccia? But that would require time—there was so much to be said to Mariuccia. Facts were not what she would want—at least,{v2-110} the facts would have to be of a different kind; and Frances felt that daylight and all the arrangements of the new life, the necessity to be ready for luncheon and to go out after, were not conditions under which she could begin to pour out her heart to her old nurse, the attendant of her childhood. She must put off till the evening, when she should be alone and undisturbed, with time and leisure to collect all her thoughts and first impressions. She put down her pen, which was not, indeed, an instrument she was much accustomed to wield25, and began to think instead; but all her thinking would not tell her who the relatives were to whom she was about to be presented; and she reflected with horror that her ignorance must betray the secret which she had so carefully kept, and expose her father to further and further criticism.
There was only one way of avoiding this danger, and that was through Markham, who alone could help her, who was the only individual in whom she could feel a confidence that he would give her what information he {v2-111}could, and understand why she asked. If she could but find Markham! She went down-stairs, timidly flitting along the wide staircase through the great drawing-room, which was vacant, and found no trace of him. She lingered, peeping out from between the curtains of the windows upon the leafless gardens outside in the spring sunshine, the passing carriages which she could see through their bare boughs26, the broad pavement close at hand with so few passengers, the clatter27 now and then of a hansom, which amused her even in the midst of her perplexity, or the drawing up of a brougham at some neighbouring door. After a minute’s distraction28 thus, she returned again to make further investigations29 from the drawing-room door, and peep over the balusters to watch for her brother. At last she had the good luck to perceive him coming out of one of the rooms on the lower floor. She darted30 down as swift as a bird, and touched him on the sleeve. He had his hat in his hand, as if preparing to go out. “Oh,” she said in a breathless whisper, “I want to speak to you; I want to ask you something,”—holding up her hand with a warning hush31.{v2-112}
“What is it?” returned Markham, chiefly with his eyebrows, with a comic affectation of silence and secrecy32 which tempted33 her to laugh in spite of herself. Then he nodded his head, took her hand in his, and led her up-stairs to the drawing-room again. “What is it you want to ask me? Is it a state secret? The palace is full of spies, and the walls of ears,” said Markham with mock solemnity, “and I may risk my head by following you. Fair conspirator34, what do you want to ask?”
“Oh, Markham, don’t laugh at me—it is serious. Please, who is my aunt Clarendon?”
“You little Spartan35!” he said; “you are a plucky36 little girl, Fan. You won’t betray the daddy, come what may. You are quite right, my dear; but he ought to have told you. I don’t approve of him, though I approve of you.”
“Papa has a right to do as he pleases,” said Frances steadily37; “that is not what I asked you, please.”
He stood and smiled at her, patting her on the shoulder. “I wonder if you will stand by me like that, when you hear me get my due?{v2-113} Who is your aunt Clarendon? She is your father’s sister, Fan; I think the only one who is left.”
“Papa’s sister! I thought it must be—on the other side.”
“My mother,” said Markham, “has few relations—which is a misfortune that I bear with equanimity38. Mrs Clarendon married a lawyer a great many years ago, Fan, when he was poor; and now he is very rich, and they will make him a judge one of these days.”
“A judge,” said Frances. “Then he must be very good and wise. And my aunt——”
“My dear, the wife’s qualities are not as yet taken into account. She is very good, I don’t doubt; but they don’t mean to raise her to the Bench. You must remember when you go there, Fan, that they are the other side.”
“What do you mean by ‘the other side’?” inquired Frances anxiously, fixing her eyes upon the kind, queer, insignificant39 personage, who yet was so important in this house.
Markham gave forth40 that little chuckle41 of a laugh which was his special note of merriment. “You will soon find it out for yourself,” he{v2-114} replied; “but the dear old mammy can hold her own. Is that all? for I’m running off; I have an engagement.”
“Oh, not all—not half. I want you to tell me—I want to know—I—I don’t know where to begin,” said Frances, with her hand on the sleeve of his coat.
“Nor I,” he retorted with a laugh. “Let me go now; we’ll find an opportunity. Keep your eyes, or rather your ears, open; but don’t take all you hear for gospel. Good-bye till to-night. I’m coming to dinner to-night.”
“Don’t you live here?” said Frances, accompanying him to the door.
“Not such a fool, thank you,” replied Markham, stopping her gently, and closing the door of the room with care after him as he went away.
Frances was much discouraged by finding nothing but that closed door in front of her where she had been gazing into his ugly but expressive42 face. It made a sort of dead stop, an emphatic43 punctuation44, marking the end. Why should he say he was not such a fool as to live at home with his mother? Why should {v2-115}he be so nice and yet so odd? Why had Constance warned her not to put herself in Markham’s hands? All this confused the mind of Frances whenever she began to think. And she did not know what to do with herself. She stole to the window and watched through the white curtains, and saw him go away in the hansom which stood waiting at the door. She felt a vacancy45 in the house after his departure, the loss of a support, an additional silence and sense of solitude46; even something like a panic took possession of her soul. Her impulse was to rush up-stairs again and shut herself up in her room. She had never yet been alone with her mother except for a moment. She dreaded47 the (quite unnecessary, to her thinking) meal which was coming, at which she must sit down opposite to Lady Markham, with that solemn old gentleman, dressed like Mr Durant, and that gorgeous theatrical48 figure of a footman, serving the two ladies. Ah, how different from Domenico—poor Domenico, who had called her carina from her childhood, and who wept over her hand as he kissed it, when she was coming away. Oh, when should she see these faithful friends again?{v2-116}
“I want you to be quite at your ease with your aunt Clarendon,” said Lady Markham at luncheon, when the servants had left the room. “She will naturally want to know all about your father and your way of living. We have not talked very much on that subject, my dear, because, for one thing, we have not had much time; and because—— But she will want to know all the little details. And, my darling, I want just to tell you, to warn you. Poor Caroline is not very fond of me. Perhaps it is natural. She may say things to you about your mother——”
“Oh no, mamma,” said Frances, looking up in her mother’s face.
“You don’t know, my dear. Some people have a great deal of prejudice. Your aunt Caroline, as is quite natural, takes a different view. I wonder if I can make you understand what I mean without using words which I don’t want to use?”
“Yes,” said Frances; “you may trust me, mamma; I think I understand.”
Lady Markham rose and came to where her {v2-117}child sat, and kissed her tenderly. “My dear, I think you will be a great comfort to me,” she said. “Constance was always hot-headed. She would not make friends, when I wished her to make friends. The Clarendons are very rich; they have no children, Frances. Naturally, I wish you to stand well with them. Besides, I would not allow her to suppose for a moment that I would keep you from her—that is what I call conscience, and Markham pride.”
Frances did not know what to reply. She did not understand what the wealth of the Clarendons had to do with it; everything else she could understand. She was very willing, nay49, eager to see her father’s sister, yet very determined50 that no one should say a word to her to the detriment51 of her mother. So far as that went, in her own mind all was clear.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
embarrassments
|
|
| n.尴尬( embarrassment的名词复数 )；难堪；局促不安；令人难堪或耻辱的事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
tranquillity
|
|
| n. 平静, 安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
rustic
|
|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
banishing
|
|
| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
generosity
|
|
| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
censured
|
|
| v.指责，非难，谴责( censure的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
breach
|
|
| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
covert
|
|
| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
plaintive
|
|
| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
glossy
|
|
| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
luncheon
|
|
| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
supplanter
|
|
| 排挤者，取代者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
25
wield
|
|
| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
boughs
|
|
| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
clatter
|
|
| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
distraction
|
|
| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
investigations
|
|
| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
darted
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
hush
|
|
| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
secrecy
|
|
| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
conspirator
|
|
| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
spartan
|
|
| adj.简朴的，刻苦的；n.斯巴达；斯巴达式的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
plucky
|
|
| adj.勇敢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
equanimity
|
|
| n.沉着，镇定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
insignificant
|
|
| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
chuckle
|
|
| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
emphatic
|
|
| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
punctuation
|
|
| n.标点符号，标点法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
vacancy
|
|
| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
dreaded
|
|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
theatrical
|
|
| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
detriment
|
|
| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |