Then, recalling her white face, and the deeper, stranger expression of her beautiful eyes, I entertained myself with the idea that she was under the influence of “suppressed exaltation.” The more I thought of her the more she appeared to me not natural; wound up, as it were, to a calmness beneath which there was a deal of agitation14. This would have been nonsense if I had not, two days afterwards, received a note from her which struck me as an absolutely “exalted” production. Not superficially, of course; to the casual eye it would have been perfectly15 commonplace. But this was precisely16 its peculiarity17, that Lady Vandeleur should have written me a note which had no apparent point save that she should like to see me again, a desire for which she did succeed in assigning a reason. She reminded me that she was paying no calls, and she hoped I wouldn’t stand on ceremony, but come in very soon again, she had enjoyed my visit so much. We had not been on note-writing terms, and there was nothing in that visit to alter our relations; moreover, six months before, she would not have dreamed of addressing me in that way. I was doubly convinced, therefore, that she was passing through a crisis, that she was not in her normal state of nerves. Mr. Tester had not reappeared since the occasion I have described at length, and I thought it possible he had been capable of the bravery of leaving town. I had, however, no fear of meeting him in Upper Brook Street; for, according to my theory of his relations with Lady Vaudeleur, he regularly spent his evenings with her, it being clear to me that they must dine together. I could answer her note only by going to see her the next day, when I found abundant confirmation18 of that idea about the crisis. I must confess to you in advance that I have never really understood her behavior,—never understood why she should have taken me so suddenly—with whatever reserves, and however much by implication merely—into her confidence. All I can say is that this is an accident to which one is exposed with English people, who, in my opinion, and contrary to common report, are the most demonstrative, the most expansive, the most gushing19 in the world. I think she felt rather isolated20 at this moment, and she had never had many intimates of her own sex. That sex, as a general thing, disapproved21 of her proceedings22 during the last few months, held that she was making Joscelind Bernardstone suffer too cruelly. She possibly felt the weight of this censure23, and at all events was not above wishing some one to know that whatever injury had fallen upon the girl to whom Mr. Tester had so stupidly engaged himself, had not, so far as she was concerned, been wantonly inflicted24. I was there, I was more or less aware of her situation, and I would do as well as any one else.
She seemed really glad to see me, but she was very nervous. Nevertheless, nearly half an hour elapsed, and I was still wondering whether she had sent for me only to discuss the question of how a London house whose appointments had the stamp of a debased period (it had been thought very handsome in 1850) could be “done up” without being made æsthetic. I forget what satisfaction I gave her on this point; I was asking myself how I could work round in the manner prescribed by Joscelind’s intended. At the last, however, to my extreme surprise, Lady Vandeleur herself relieved me of this effort.
“I think you know Mr. Tester rather well,” she remarked, abruptly25, irrelevantly26, and with a face’ more conscious of the bearings of things than any I had ever seen her wear. On my confessing to such an acquaintance, she mentioned that Mr. Tester (who had been in London a few days—perhaps I had seen him) had left town and would n’t come back for several weeks. This, for the moment, seemed to be all she had to communicate; but she sat looking at me from the corner of her sofa as if she wished me to profit in some way by the opportunity she had given me. Did she want help from outside, this proud, inscrutable woman, and was she reduced to throwing out signals of distress27? Did she wish to be protected against herself,—applauded for such efforts as she had already made? I didn’t rush forward, I was not precipitate28, for I felt that now, surely, I should be able at my convenience to execute my commission. What concerned me was not to prevent Lady Vandeleur’s marrying Mr. Tester, but to prevent Mr. Tester’s marrying her. In a few moments—with the same irrelevance—she announced to me that he wished to, and asked whether I didn’t know it I saw that this was my chance, and instantly, with extreme energy, I exclaimed,—
“Ah, for Heaven’s sake don’t listen to him! It would kill Miss Bernardstone!”
The tone of my voice made her color a little, and she repeated, “Miss Bernardstone?”
“The girl he is engaged to,—or has been,—don’t you know? Excuse me, I thought every one knew.”
“Of course I know he is dreadfully entangled29. He was fairly hunted down.” Lady Vandeleur was silent a moment, and then she added, with a strange smile, “Fancy, in such a situation, his wanting to marry me!”
“Fancy!” I replied. I was so struck with the oddity of her telling me her secrets that for the moment my indignation did not come to a head,—my indignation, I mean, at her accusing poor Lady Emily (and even the girl herself) of having “trapped” our friend. Later I said to myself that I supposed she was within her literal right in abusing her rival, if she was trying sincerely to give him up. “I don’t know anything about his having been hunted down,” I said; “but this I do know, Lady Vandeleur, I assure you, that if he should throw Joscelind over she would simply go out like that!” And I snapped my fingers.
Lady Vandeleur listened to this serenely30 enough; she tried at least to take the air of a woman who has no need of new arguments. “Do you know her very well?” she asked, as if she had been struck by my calling Miss Bernardstone by her Christian31 name.
“Well enough to like her very much.” I was going to say “to pity her;” but I thought better of it.
“She must be a person of very little spirit. If a man were to jilt me, I don’t think I should go out!” cried her ladyship with a laugh.
“Nothing is more probable than that she has not your courage or your wisdom. She may be weak, but she is passionately32 in love with him.”
I looked straight into Lady Vandeleur’s eyes as I said this, and I was conscious that it was a tolerably good description of my hostess.
“Do you think she would really die?” she asked in a moment.
“Die as if one should stab her with a knife. Some people don’t believe in broken hearts,” I continued. “I did n’t till I knew Joscelind Bernardstone; then I felt that she had one that would n’t be proof.”
“One ought to live,—one ought always to live,” said Lady Yandeleur; “and always to hold up one’s head.”
“Ah, I suppose that one ought n’t to feel at all, if one wishes to be a great success.”
“What do you call a great success?” she asked.
“Never having occasion to be pitied.”
“Being pitied? That must be odious33!” she said; and I saw that though she might wish for admiration34, she would never wish for sympathy. Then, in a moment, she added that men, in her opinion, were very base,—a remark that was deep, but not, I think, very honest; that is, in so far as the purpose of it had been to give me the idea that Ambrose Tester had done nothing but press her, and she had done nothing but resist. They were very odd, the discrepancies35 in the statements of each of this pair; but it must be said for Lady Vandeleur that now that she had made up her mind (as I believed she had) to sacrifice herself, she really persuaded herself that she had not had a moment of weakness. She quite unbosomed herself, and I fairly assisted at her crisis. It appears that she had a conscience,—very much so, and even a high ideal of duty. She represented herself as moving heaven and earth to keep Ambrose Tester up to the mark, and you would never have guessed from what she told me that she had entertained ever so faintly the idea of marrying him. I am sure this was a dreadful perversion36, but I forgave it on the score of that exaltation of which I have spoken. The things she said, and the way she said them, come back to me, and I thought that if she looked as handsome as that when she preached virtue37 to Mr. Tester, it was no wonder he liked the sermon to be going on perpetually.
“I dare say you know what old friends we are; but that does n’t make any difference, does it? Nothing would induce me to marry him,—I have n’t the smallest intention of marrying again. It is not a time for me to think of marrying, before his lordship has been dead six months. The girl is nothing to me; I know nothing about her, and I don’t wish to know; but I should be very, very sorry if she were unhappy. He is the best friend I ever had, but I don’t see that that’s any reason I should marry him, do you?” Lady Vaudeleur appealed to me, but without waiting for my answers, asking advice in spite of herself, and then remembering it was beneath her dignity to appear to be in need of it. “I have told him that if he does n’t act properly I shall never speak to him again. She’s a charming girl, every one says, and I have no doubt she will make him perfectly happy. Men don’t feel things like women, I think, and if they are coddled and flattered they forget the rest. I have no doubt she is very sufficient for all that. For me, at any rate, once I see a thing in a certain way, I must abide38 by that I think people are so dreadful,—they do such horrible things. They don’t seem to think what one’s duty may be. I don’t know whether you think much about that, but really one must at times, don’t you think so? Every one is so selfish, and then, when they have never made an effort or a sacrifice themselves, they come to you and talk such a lot of hypocrisy39. I know so much better than any one else whether I should marry or not. But I don’t mind telling you that I don’t see why I should. I am not in such a bad position,—with my liberty and a decent maintenance.”
In this manner she rambled40 on, gravely and communicatively, contradicting herself at times; not talking fast (she never did), but dropping one simple sentence, with an interval41, after the other, with a certain richness of voice which always was part of the charm of her presence. She wished to be convinced against herself, and it was a comfort to her to hear herself argue. I was quite willing to be part of the audience, though I had to confine myself to very superficial remarks; for when I had said the event I feared would kill Miss Bernardstone I had said everything that was open to me. I had nothing to do with Lady Vandeleur’s marrying, apart from that I probably disappointed her. She had caught a glimpse of the moral beauty of self-sacrifice, of a certain ideal of conduct (I imagine it was rather new to her), and would have been glad to elicit42 from me, as a person of some experience of life, an assurance that such joys are not insubstantial. I had no wish to wind her up to a spiritual ecstasy43 from which she would inevitably44 descend45 again, and I let her deliver herself according to her humor, without attempting to answer for it that she would find renunciation the road to bliss46. I believed that if she should give up Mr. Tester she would suffer accordingly; but I did n’t think that a reason for not giving him up. Before I left her she said to me that nothing would induce her to do anything that she did n’t think right. “It would be no pleasure to me, don’t you see? I should be always thinking that another way would have been better. Nothing would induce me,—nothing, nothing!”
点击收听单词发音
1 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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2 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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3 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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4 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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5 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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6 pervade | |
v.弥漫,遍及,充满,渗透,漫延 | |
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7 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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8 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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9 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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10 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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11 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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12 platitudes | |
n.平常的话,老生常谈,陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 );滥套子 | |
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13 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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14 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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15 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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16 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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17 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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18 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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19 gushing | |
adj.迸出的;涌出的;喷出的;过分热情的v.喷,涌( gush的现在分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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20 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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21 disapproved | |
v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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23 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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24 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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26 irrelevantly | |
adv.不恰当地,不合适地;不相关地 | |
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27 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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28 precipitate | |
adj.突如其来的;vt.使突然发生;n.沉淀物 | |
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29 entangled | |
adj.卷入的;陷入的;被缠住的;缠在一起的v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30 serenely | |
adv.安详地,宁静地,平静地 | |
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31 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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32 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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33 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
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34 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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35 discrepancies | |
n.差异,不符合(之处),不一致(之处)( discrepancy的名词复数 ) | |
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36 perversion | |
n.曲解;堕落;反常 | |
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37 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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38 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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39 hypocrisy | |
n.伪善,虚伪 | |
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40 rambled | |
(无目的地)漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 ); (喻)漫谈; 扯淡; 长篇大论 | |
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41 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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42 elicit | |
v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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43 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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44 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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45 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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46 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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