“They’re the most awful wretches1, I assure you — the lot all about there.”
“Then why do you want to stay among them?”
“My dear man, just because they are. It makes me hate them so.”
“Hate them? I thought you liked them.”
“Don’t be stupid. What I ‘like’ is just to loathe2 them. You wouldn’t believe what passes before my eyes.”
“Then why have you never told me? You didn’t mention anything before I left.”
“Oh I hadn’t got round to it then. It’s the sort of thing you don’t believe at first; you have to look round you a bit and then you understand. You work into it more and more. Besides,” the girl went on, “this is the time of the year when the worst lot come up. They’re simply packed together in those smart streets. Talk of the numbers of the poor! What I can vouch3 for is the numbers of the rich! There are new ones every day, and they seem to get richer and richer. Oh, they do come up!” she cried, imitating for her private recreation — she was sure it wouldn’t reach Mr. Mudge — the low intonation4 of the counter-clerk.
“And where do they come from?” her companion candidly5 enquired6.
She had to think a moment; then she found something. “From the ‘spring meetings.’ They bet tremendously.”
“Well, they bet enough at Chalk Farm, if that’s all.”
“It isn’t all. It isn’t a millionth part!” she replied with some sharpness. “It’s immense fun” — she had to tantalise him. Then as she had heard Mrs. Jordan say, and as the ladies at Cocker’s even sometimes wired, “It’s quite too dreadful!” She could fully7 feel how it was Mr. Mudge’s propriety8, which was extreme — he had a horror of coarseness and attended a Wesleyan chapel9 — that prevented his asking for details. But she gave him some of the more innocuous in spite of himself, especially putting before him how, at Simpkin’s and Ladle’s, they all made the money fly. That was indeed what he liked to hear: the connexion was not direct, but one was somehow more in the right place where the money was flying than where it was simply and meagrely nesting. The air felt that stir, he had to acknowledge, much less at Chalk Farm than in the district in which his beloved so oddly enjoyed her footing. She gave him, she could see, a restless sense that these might be familiarities not to be sacrificed; germs, possibilities, faint foreshowings — heaven knew what — of the initiation10 it would prove profitable to have arrived at when in the fulness of time he should have his own shop in some such paradise. What really touched him — that was discernible — was that she could feed him with so much mere11 vividness of reminder12, keep before him, as by the play of a fan, the very wind of the swift bank-notes and the charm of the existence of a class that Providence13 had raised up to be the blessing14 of grocers. He liked to think that the class was there, that it was always there, and that she contributed in her slight but appreciable15 degree to keep it up to the mark. He couldn’t have formulated16 his theory of the matter, but the exuberance17 of the aristocracy was the advantage of trade, and everything was knit together in a richness of pattern that it was good to follow with one’s finger-tips. It was a comfort to him to be thus assured that there were no symptoms of a drop. What did the sounder, as she called it, nimbly worked, do but keep the ball going?
What it came to therefore for Mr. Mudge was that all enjoyments18 were, as might be said, inter-related, and that the more people had the more they wanted to have. The more flirtations, as he might roughly express it, the more cheese and pickles19. He had even in his own small way been dimly struck with the linked sweetness connecting the tender passion with cheap champagne20, or perhaps the other way round. What he would have liked to say had he been able to work out his thought to the end was: “I see, I see. Lash21 them up then, lead them on, keep them going: some of it can’t help, some time, coming our way.” Yet he was troubled by the suspicion of subtleties22 on his companion’s part that spoiled the straight view. He couldn’t understand people’s hating what they liked or liking23 what they hated; above all it hurt him somewhere — for he had his private delicacies24 — to see anything but money made out of his betters. To be too enquiring25, or in any other way too free, at the expense of the gentry26 was vaguely27 wrong; the only thing that was distinctly right was to be prosperous at any price. Wasn’t it just because they were up there aloft that they were lucrative28? He concluded at any rate by saying to his young friend: “If it’s improper29 for you to remain at Cocker’s, then that falls in exactly with the other reasons I’ve put before you for your removal.”
“Improper?” — her smile became a prolonged boldness. “My dear boy, there’s no one like you!”
“I dare say,” he laughed; “but that doesn’t help the question.”
“Well,” she returned, “I can’t give up my friends. I’m making even more than Mrs. Jordan.”
Mr. Mudge considered. “How much is she making?”
“Oh you dear donkey!” — and, regardless of all the Regent’s Park, she patted his cheek. This was the sort of moment at which she was absolutely tempted30 to tell him that she liked to be near Park Chambers31. There was a fascination32 in the idea of seeing if, on a mention of Captain Everard, he wouldn’t do what she thought he might; wouldn’t weigh against the obvious objection the still more obvious advantage. The advantage of course could only strike him at the best as rather fantastic; but it was always to the good to keep hold when you had hold, and such an attitude would also after all involve a high tribute to her fidelity33. Of one thing she absolutely never doubted: Mr. Mudge believed in her with a belief —! She believed in herself too, for that matter: if there was a thing in the world no one could charge her with it was being the kind of low barmaid person who rinsed34 tumblers and bandied slang. But she forbore as yet to speak; she had not spoken even to Mrs. Jordan; and the hush35 that on her lips surrounded the Captain’s name maintained itself as a kind of symbol of the success that, up to this time, had attended something or other — she couldn’t have said what — that she humoured herself with calling, without words, her relation with him.
1 wretches | |
n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 );可怜的人;恶棍;坏蛋 | |
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2 loathe | |
v.厌恶,嫌恶 | |
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3 vouch | |
v.担保;断定;n.被担保者 | |
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4 intonation | |
n.语调,声调;发声 | |
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5 candidly | |
adv.坦率地,直率而诚恳地 | |
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6 enquired | |
打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 ); 询问; 问问题; 查问 | |
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7 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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8 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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9 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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10 initiation | |
n.开始 | |
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11 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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12 reminder | |
n.提醒物,纪念品;暗示,提示 | |
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13 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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14 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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15 appreciable | |
adj.明显的,可见的,可估量的,可觉察的 | |
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16 formulated | |
v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 );规划;确切地阐述;用公式表示 | |
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17 exuberance | |
n.丰富;繁荣 | |
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18 enjoyments | |
愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 ); 令人愉快的事物; 享有; 享受 | |
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19 pickles | |
n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 );处于困境;遇到麻烦;菜酱 | |
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20 champagne | |
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
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21 lash | |
v.系牢;鞭打;猛烈抨击;n.鞭打;眼睫毛 | |
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22 subtleties | |
细微( subtlety的名词复数 ); 精细; 巧妙; 细微的差别等 | |
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23 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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24 delicacies | |
n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 );精致;精美的食物;周到 | |
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25 enquiring | |
a.爱打听的,显得好奇的 | |
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26 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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27 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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28 lucrative | |
adj.赚钱的,可获利的 | |
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29 improper | |
adj.不适当的,不合适的,不正确的,不合礼仪的 | |
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30 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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31 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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32 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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33 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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34 rinsed | |
v.漂洗( rinse的过去式和过去分词 );冲洗;用清水漂洗掉(肥皂泡等);(用清水)冲掉 | |
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35 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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