A few days later I again heard Dawling on my stairs, and even before he passed my threshold I knew he had something to tell me.
“I’ve been down to Folkestone — it was necessary I should see her!” I forget whether he had come straight from the station; he was at any rate out of breath with his news, which it took me however a minute to interpret.
“You mean that you’ve been with Mrs. Mel-drum?”
“Yes; to ask her what she knows and how she comes to know it. It worked upon me awfully1 — I mean what you told me.” He made a visible effort to seem quieter than he was, and it showed me sufficiently2 that he had not been reassured3. I laid, to comfort him and smiling at a venture, a friendly hand on his arm, and he dropped into my eyes, fixing them an instant, a strange, distended4 look which might have expressed the cold clearness of all that was to come. “I know — now!” he said with an emphasis he rarely used.
“What then did Mrs. Meldrum tell you?”
“Only one thing that signified, for she has no real knowledge. But that one thing was everything.”
“What is it then?”
“Why, that she can’t bear the sight of her.” His pronouns required some arranging, but after I had successfully dealt with them I replied that I knew perfectly5 Miss Saunt had a trick of turning her back on the good lady of Folkestone. But what did that prove? “Have you never guessed? I guessed as soon as she spoke6!” Dawling towered over me in dismal7 triumph. It was the first time in our acquaintance that, intellectually speaking, this had occurred; but even so remarkable8 an incident still left me sufficiently at sea to cause him to continue: “Why, the effect of those spectacles!”
I seemed to catch the tail of his idea. “Mrs. Meldrum’s?”
“They’re so awfully ugly and they increase so the dear woman’s ugliness.” This remark began to flash a light, and when he quickly added “She sees herself, she sees her own fate!” my response was so immediate9 that I had almost taken the words out of his mouth. While I tried to fix this sudden image of Flora10’s face glazed11 in and cross-barred even as Mrs. Meldrum’s was glazed and barred, he went on to assert that only the horror of that image, looming12 out at herself, could be the reason of her avoiding such a monitress. The fact he had encountered made everything hideously13 vivid and more vivid than anything else that just such another pair of goggles14 was what would have been prescribed to Flora.
“I see — I see,” I presently rejoined. “What would become of Lord Iffield if she were suddenly to come out in them? What indeed would become of every one, what would become of everything?” This was an inquiry15 that Dawling was evidently unprepared to meet, and I completed it by saying at last: “My dear fellow, for that matter, what would become of you?”
Once more he turned on me his good green eyes. “Oh, I shouldn’t mind!”
The tone of his words somehow made his ugly face beautiful, and I felt that there dated from this moment in my heart a confirmed affection for him. None the less, at the same time, perversely16 and rudely, I became aware of a certain drollery17 in our discussion of such alternatives. It made me laugh out and say to him while I laughed: “You’d take her even with those things of Mrs. Meldrum’s?”
He remained mournfully grave; I could see that he was surprised at my rude mirth. But he summoned back a vision of the lady at Folkestone and conscientiously18 replied: “Even with those things of Mrs. Meldrum’s.” I begged him not to think my laughter in bad taste: it was only a practical recognition of the fact that we had built a monstrous19 castle in the air. Didn’t he see on what flimsy ground the structure rested? The evidence was preposterously20 small. He believed the worst, but we were utterly21 ignorant.
“I shall find out the truth,” he promptly22 replied.
“How can you? If you question her you’ll simply drive her to perjure23 herself. Wherein after all does it concern you to know the truth? It’s the girl’s own affair.”
“Then why did you tell me your story?”
I was a trifle embarrassed. “To warn you off,” I returned smiling. He took no more notice of these words than presently to remark that Lord Iffield had no serious intentions. “Very possibly,” I said. “But you mustn’t speak as if Lord Iffield and you were her only alternatives.”
Dawling thought a moment. “Wouldn’t the people she has consulted give some information? She must have been to people. How else can she have been condemned24?”
“Condemned to what? Condemned to perpetual nippers? Of course she has consulted some of the big specialists, but she has done it, you may be sure, in the most clandestine25 manner; and even if it were supposable that they would tell you anything — which I altogether doubt — you would have great difficulty in finding out which men they are. Therefore leave it alone; never show her what you suspect.”
I even, before he quitted me, asked him to promise me this. “All right, I promise,” he said gloomily enough. He was a lover who could tacitly grant the proposition that there was no limit to the deceit his loved one was ready to practise: it made so remarkably26 little difference. I could see that from this moment he would be filled with a passionate27 pity ever so little qualified28 by a sense of the girl’s fatuity29 and folly30. She was always accessible to him — that I knew; for if she had told him he was an idiot to dream she could dream of him, she would have resented the imputation31 of having failed to make it clear that she would always be glad to regard him as a friend. What were most of her friends — what were all of them — but repudiated32 idiots? I was perfectly aware that in her conversations and confidences I myself for instance had a niche33 in the gallery. As regards poor Dawling I knew how often he still called on the Hammond Synges. It was not there but under the wing of the Floyd–Taylors that her intimacy34 with Lord Iffield most flourished. At all events when a week after the visit I have just summarised Flora’s name was one morning brought up to me I jumped at the conclusion that Dawling had been with her and even I fear briefly35 entertained the thought that he had broken his word.
1 awfully | |
adv.可怕地,非常地,极端地 | |
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2 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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3 reassured | |
adj.使消除疑虑的;使放心的v.再保证,恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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4 distended | |
v.(使)膨胀,肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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6 spoke | |
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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7 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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8 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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9 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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10 flora | |
n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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11 glazed | |
adj.光滑的,像玻璃的;上过釉的;呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式);上釉于,上光;(目光)变得呆滞无神 | |
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12 looming | |
n.上现蜃景(光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼)v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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13 hideously | |
adv.可怕地,非常讨厌地 | |
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14 goggles | |
n.护目镜 | |
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15 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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16 perversely | |
adv. 倔强地 | |
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17 drollery | |
n.开玩笑,说笑话;滑稽可笑的图画(或故事、小戏等) | |
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18 conscientiously | |
adv.凭良心地;认真地,负责尽职地;老老实实 | |
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19 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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20 preposterously | |
adv.反常地;荒谬地;荒谬可笑地;不合理地 | |
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21 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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22 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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23 perjure | |
v.作伪证;使发假誓 | |
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24 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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25 clandestine | |
adj.秘密的,暗中从事的 | |
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26 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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27 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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28 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
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29 fatuity | |
n.愚蠢,愚昧 | |
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30 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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31 imputation | |
n.归罪,责难 | |
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32 repudiated | |
v.(正式地)否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 );拒绝接受;拒绝与…往来;拒不履行(法律义务) | |
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33 niche | |
n.壁龛;合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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34 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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35 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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