The partition which separated my own office from our general outer office in the City was of thick plate-glass. I could see through it what passed in the outer office, without hearing a word. I had it put up in place of a wall that had been there for years, — ever since the house was built. It is no matter whether I did or did not make the change in order that I might derive1 my first impression of strangers, who came to us on business, from their faces alone, without being influenced by anything they said. Enough to mention that I turned my glass partition to that account, and that a Life Assurance Office is at all times exposed to be practised upon by the most crafty2 and cruel of the human race.
It was through my glass partition that I first saw the gentleman whose story I am going to tell.
He had come in without my observing it, and had put his hat and umbrella on the broad counter, and was bending over it to take some papers from one of the clerks. He was about forty or so, dark, exceedingly well dressed in black, — being in mourning, — and the hand he extended with a polite air, had a particularly well-fitting black-kid glove upon it. His hair, which was elaborately brushed and oiled, was parted straight up the middle; and he presented this parting to the clerk, exactly (to my thinking) as if he had said, in so many words: ‘You must take me, if you please, my friend, just as I show myself. Come straight up here, follow the gravel3 path, keep off the grass, I allow no trespassing4.’
I conceived a very great aversion to that man the moment I thus saw him.
He had asked for some of our printed forms, and the clerk was giving them to him and explaining them. An obliged and agreeable smile was on his face, and his eyes met those of the clerk with a sprightly5 look. (I have known a vast quantity of nonsense talked about bad men not looking you in the face. Don’t trust that conventional idea. Dishonesty will stare honesty out of countenance6, any day in the week, if there is anything to be got by it.)
I saw, in the corner of his eyelash, that he became aware of my looking at him. Immediately he turned the parting in his hair toward the glass partition, as if he said to me with a sweet smile, ‘Straight up here, if you please. Off the grass!’
In a few moments he had put on his hat and taken up his umbrella, and was gone.
I beckoned7 the clerk into my room, and asked, ‘Who was that?’
He had the gentleman’s card in his hand. ‘Mr. Julius Slinkton, Middle Temple.’
‘A barrister, Mr. Adams?’
‘I think not, sir.’
‘I should have thought him a clergyman, but for his having no Reverend here,’ said I.
‘Probably, from his appearance,’ Mr. Adams replied, ‘he is reading for orders.’
I should mention that he wore a dainty white cravat8, and dainty linen9 altogether.
‘What did he want, Mr. Adams?’
‘Merely a form of proposal, sir, and form of reference.’
‘Recommended here? Did he say?’
‘Yes, he said he was recommended here by a friend of yours. He noticed you, but said that as he had not the pleasure of your personal acquaintance he would not trouble you.’
‘Did he know my name?’
‘O yes, sir! He said, “There IS Mr. Sampson, I see!”’
‘A well-spoken gentleman, apparently11?’
‘Remarkably12 so, sir.’
‘Insinuating manners, apparently?’
‘Very much so, indeed, sir.’
‘Hah!’ said I. ‘I want nothing at present, Mr. Adams.’
Within a fortnight of that day I went to dine with a friend of mine, a merchant, a man of taste, who buys pictures and books, and the first man I saw among the company was Mr. Julius Slinkton. There he was, standing13 before the fire, with good large eyes and an open expression of face; but still (I thought) requiring everybody to come at him by the prepared way he offered, and by no other.
I noticed him ask my friend to introduce him to Mr. Sampson, and my friend did so. Mr. Slinkton was very happy to see me. Not too happy; there was no over-doing of the matter; happy in a thoroughly14 well-bred, perfectly15 unmeaning way.
‘I thought you had met,’ our host observed.
‘No,’ said Mr. Slinkton. ‘I did look in at Mr. Sampson’s office, on your recommendation; but I really did not feel justified16 in troubling Mr. Sampson himself, on a point in the everyday, routine of an ordinary clerk.’
I said I should have been glad to show him any attention on our friend’s introduction.
‘I am sure of that,’ said he, ‘and am much obliged. At another time, perhaps, I may be less delicate. Only, however, if I have real business; for I know, Mr. Sampson, how precious business time is, and what a vast number of impertinent people there are in the world.’
I acknowledged his consideration with a slight bow. ‘You were thinking,’ said I, ‘of effecting a policy on your life.’
‘O dear no! I am afraid I am not so prudent17 as you pay me the compliment of supposing me to be, Mr. Sampson. I merely inquired for a friend. But you know what friends are in such matters. Nothing may ever come of it. I have the greatest reluctance18 to trouble men of business with inquiries19 for friends, knowing the probabilities to be a thousand to one that the friends will never follow them up. People are so fickle20, so selfish, so inconsiderate. Don’t you, in your business, find them so every day, Mr. Sampson?’
I was going to give a qualified21 answer; but he turned his smooth, white parting on me with its ‘Straight up here, if you please!’ and I answered ‘Yes.’
‘I hear, Mr. Sampson,’ he resumed presently, for our friend had a new cook, and dinner was not so punctual as usual, ‘that your profession has recently suffered a great loss.’
‘In money?’ said I.
He laughed at my ready association of loss with money, and replied, ‘No, in talent and vigour22.’
Not at once following out his allusion23, I considered for a moment. ‘HAS it sustained a loss of that kind?’ said I. ‘I was not aware of it.’
‘Understand me, Mr. Sampson. I don’t imagine that you have retired24. It is not so bad as that. But Mr. Meltham — ’
‘O, to be sure!’ said I. ‘Yes! Mr. Meltham, the young actuary of the “Inestimable.”’
‘Just so,’ he returned in a consoling way.
‘He is a great loss. He was at once the most profound, the most original, and the most energetic man I have ever known connected with Life Assurance.’
I spoke10 strongly; for I had a high esteem25 and admiration26 for Meltham; and my gentleman had indefinitely conveyed to me some suspicion that he wanted to sneer27 at him. He recalled me to my guard by presenting that trim pathway up his head, with its internal ‘Not on the grass, if you please — the gravel.’
‘You knew him, Mr. Slinkton.’
‘Only by reputation. To have known him as an acquaintance or as a friend, is an honour I should have sought if he had remained in society, though I might never have had the good fortune to attain28 it, being a man of far inferior mark. He was scarcely above thirty, I suppose?’
‘About thirty.’
‘Ah!’ he sighed in his former consoling way. ‘What creatures we are! To break up, Mr. Sampson, and become incapable29 of business at that time of life! — Any reason assigned for the melancholy30 fact?’
(‘Humph!’ thought I, as I looked at him. ‘But I WON’T go up the track, and I WILL go on the grass.’)
‘What reason have you heard assigned, Mr. Slinkton?’ I asked, point-blank.
‘Most likely a false one. You know what Rumour31 is, Mr. Sampson. I never repeat what I hear; it is the only way of paring the nails and shaving the head of Rumour. But when YOU ask me what reason I have heard assigned for Mr. Meltham’s passing away from among men, it is another thing. I am not gratifying idle gossip then. I was told, Mr. Sampson, that Mr. Meltham had relinquished32 all his avocations33 and all his prospects34, because he was, in fact, broken-hearted. A disappointed attachment35 I heard, — though it hardly seems probable, in the case of a man so distinguished36 and so attractive.’
‘Attractions and distinctions are no armour37 against death,’ said I.
‘O, she died? Pray pardon me. I did not hear that. That, indeed, makes it very, very sad. Poor Mr. Meltham! She died? Ah, dear me! Lamentable38, lamentable!’
I still thought his pity was not quite genuine, and I still suspected an unaccountable sneer under all this, until he said, as we were parted, like the other knots of talkers, by the announcement of dinner:
‘Mr. Sampson, you are surprised to see me so moved on behalf of a man whom I have never known. I am not so disinterested39 as you may suppose. I have suffered, and recently too, from death myself. I have lost one of two charming nieces, who were my constant companions. She died young — barely three-and-twenty; and even her remaining sister is far from strong. The world is a grave!’
He said this with deep feeling, and I felt reproached for the coldness of my manner. Coldness and distrust had been engendered40 in me, I knew, by my bad experiences; they were not natural to me; and I often thought how much I had lost in life, losing trustfulness, and how little I had gained, gaining hard caution. This state of mind being habitual41 to me, I troubled myself more about this conversation than I might have troubled myself about a greater matter. I listened to his talk at dinner, and observed how readily other men responded to it, and with what a graceful42 instinct he adapted his subjects to the knowledge and habits of those he talked with. As, in talking with me, he had easily started the subject I might be supposed to understand best, and to be the most interested in, so, in talking with others, he guided himself by the same rule. The company was of a varied43 character; but he was not at fault, that I could discover, with any member of it. He knew just as much of each man’s pursuit as made him agreeable to that man in reference to it, and just as little as made it natural in him to seek modestly for information when the theme was broached44.
As he talked and talked — but really not too much, for the rest of us seemed to force it upon him — I became quite angry with myself. I took his face to pieces in my mind, like a watch, and examined it in detail. I could not say much against any of his features separately; I could say even less against them when they were put together. ‘Then is it not monstrous,’ I asked myself, ‘that because a man happens to part his hair straight up the middle of his head, I should permit myself to suspect, and even to detest45 him?’
(I may stop to remark that this was no proof of my sense. An observer of men who finds himself steadily46 repelled47 by some apparently trifling48 thing in a stranger is right to give it great weight. It may be the clue to the whole mystery. A hair or two will show where a lion is hidden. A very little key will open a very heavy door.)
I took my part in the conversation with him after a time, and we got on remarkably well. In the drawing-room I asked the host how long he had known Mr. Slinkton. He answered, not many months; he had met him at the house of a celebrated49 painter then present, who had known him well when he was travelling with his nieces in Italy for their health. His plans in life being broken by the death of one of them, he was reading with the intention of going back to college as a matter of form, taking his degree, and going into orders. I could not but argue with myself that here was the true explanation of his interest in poor Meltham, and that I had been almost brutal50 in my distrust on that simple head.
1 derive | |
v.取得;导出;引申;来自;源自;出自 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 crafty | |
adj.狡猾的,诡诈的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 gravel | |
n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 trespassing | |
[法]非法入侵 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 sprightly | |
adj.愉快的,活泼的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 beckoned | |
v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 cravat | |
n.领巾,领结;v.使穿有领结的服装,使结领结 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 fickle | |
adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的,不坚定的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 relinquished | |
交出,让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 ); 放弃 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 avocations | |
n.业余爱好,嗜好( avocation的名词复数 );职业 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 lamentable | |
adj.令人惋惜的,悔恨的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 engendered | |
v.产生(某形势或状况),造成,引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 broached | |
v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 );打开并开始用;用凿子扩大(或修光);(在桶上)钻孔取液体 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 detest | |
vt.痛恨,憎恶 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 repelled | |
v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 );使厌恶;排斥;推开 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |