“Yes, my Lady, change at Fayfield,” were the next words I heard (oh that too obsequious4 Guard!), “next station but one.” And the door closed, and the lady settled down into her corner, and the monotonous5 throb6 of the engine (making one feel as if the train were some gigantic monster, whose very circulation we could feel) proclaimed that we were once more speeding on our way. “The lady had a perfectly7 formed nose,” I caught myself saying to myself, “hazel eyes, and lips—” and here it occurred to me that to see, for myself, what “the lady” was really like, would be more satisfactory than much speculation8.
I looked round cautiously, and—was entirely9 disappointed of my hope. The veil, which shrouded11 her whole face, was too thick for me to see more than the glitter of bright eyes and the hazy12 outline of what might be a lovely oval face, but might also, unfortunately, be an equally unlovely one. I closed my eyes again, saying to myself “—couldn't have a better chance for an experiment in Telepathy! I'll think out her face, and afterwards test the portrait with the original.”
At first, no result at all crowned my efforts, though I 'divided my swift mind,' now hither, now thither13, in a way that I felt sure would have made AEneas green with envy: but the dimly-seen oval remained as provokingly blank as ever—a mere14 Ellipse, as if in some mathematical diagram, without even the Foci that might be made to do duty as a nose and a mouth. Gradually, however, the conviction came upon me that I could, by a certain concentration of thought, think the veil away, and so get a glimpse of the mysterious face—as to which the two questions, “is she pretty?” and “is she plain?”, still hung suspended, in my mind, in beautiful equipoise.
Success was partial—and fitful—still there was a result: ever and anon, the veil seemed to vanish, in a sudden flash of light: but, before I could fully15 realise the face, all was dark again. In each such glimpse, the face seemed to grow more childish and more innocent: and, when I had at last thought the veil entirely away, it was, unmistakeably, the sweet face of little Sylvie!
“So, either I've been dreaming about Sylvie,” I said to myself, “and this is the reality. Or else I've really been with Sylvie, and this is a dream! Is Life itself a dream, I wonder?”
To occupy the time, I got out the letter, which had caused me to take this sudden railway-journey from my London home down to a strange fishing-town on the North coast, and read it over again:—
“DEAR OLD FRIEND,
“I'm sure it will be as great a pleasure to me, as it can possibly
be to you, to meet once more after so many years: and of course I
shall be ready to give you all the benefit of such medical skill as
And you are already in the hands of a first-rate London doctor,
with whom it would be utter affectation for me to pretend to compete.
all your symptoms point that way.) One thing, at any rate, I have
already done in my doctorial capacity—secured you a bedroom on the
“I shalt expect you by last train on Friday, in accordance with your
letter: and, till then, I shalt say, in the words of the old song,
'Oh for Friday nicht! Friday's lang a-coming!'
“Yours always,
“ARTHUR FORESTER.
“P.S. Do you believe in Fate?”
This Postscript19 puzzled me sorely. “He is far too sensible a man,” I thought, “to have become a Fatalist. And yet what else can he mean by it?” And, as I folded up the letter and put it away, I inadvertently repeated the words aloud. “Do you believe in Fate?”
The fair 'Incognita' turned her head quickly at the sudden question. “No, I don't!” she said with a smile. “Do you?”
“I—I didn't mean to ask the question!” I stammered20, a little taken aback at having begun a conversation in so unconventional a fashion.
The lady's smile became a laugh—not a mocking laugh, but the laugh of a happy child who is perfectly at her ease. “Didn't you?” she said. “Then it was a case of what you Doctors call 'unconscious cerebration'?”
“I am no Doctor,” I replied. “Do I look so like one? Or what makes you think it?”
She pointed10 to the book I had been reading, which was so lying that its title, “Diseases of the Heart,” was plainly visible.
“One needn't be a Doctor,” I said, “to take an interest in medical books. There's another class of readers, who are yet more deeply interested—”
“You mean the Patients?” she interrupted, while a look of tender pity gave new sweetness to her face. “But,” with an evident wish to avoid a possibly painful topic, “one needn't be either, to take an interest in books of Science. Which contain the greatest amount of Science, do you think, the books, or the minds?”
“Rather a profound question for a lady!” I said to myself, holding, with the conceit21 so natural to Man, that Woman's intellect is essentially22 shallow. And I considered a minute before replying. “If you mean living minds, I don't think it's possible to decide. There is so much written Science that no living person has ever read: and there is so much thought-out Science that hasn't yet been written. But, if you mean the whole human race, then I think the minds have it: everything, recorded in books, must have once been in some mind, you know.”
“Isn't that rather like one of the Rules in Algebra23?” my Lady enquired24. (“Algebra too!” I thought with increasing wonder.) “I mean, if we consider thoughts as factors, may we not say that the Least Common Multiple of all the minds contains that of all the books; but not the other way?”
“Certainly we may!” I replied, delighted with the illustration. “And what a grand thing it would be,” I went on dreamily, thinking aloud rather than talking, “if we could only apply that Rule to books! You know, in finding the Least Common Multiple, we strike out a quantity wherever it occurs, except in the term where it is raised to its highest power. So we should have to erase25 every recorded thought, except in the sentence where it is expressed with the greatest intensity26.”
My Lady laughed merrily. “Some books would be reduced to blank paper, I'm afraid!” she said.
“They would. Most libraries would be terribly diminished in bulk. But just think what they would gain in quality!”
“When will it be done?” she eagerly asked. “If there's any chance of it in my time, I think I'll leave off reading, and wait for it!”
“Well, perhaps in another thousand years or so—”
“Then there's no use waiting!”, said my Lady. “Let's sit down. Uggug, my pet, come and sit by me!”
“Anywhere but by me!” growled27 the Sub-warden. “The little wretch28 always manages to upset his coffee!”
I guessed at once (as perhaps the reader will also have guessed, if, like myself, he is very clever at drawing conclusions) that my Lady was the Sub-Warden's wife, and that Uggug (a hideous29 fat boy, about the same age as Sylvie, with the expression of a prize-pig) was their son. Sylvie and Bruno, with the Lord Chancellor30, made up a party of seven.
“And you actually got a plunge-bath every morning?” said the Sub-Warden, seemingly in continuation of a conversation with the Professor. “Even at the little roadside-inns?”
“Oh, certainly, certainly!” the Professor replied with a smile on his jolly face. “Allow me to explain. It is, in fact, a very simple problem in Hydrodynamics. (That means a combination of Water and Strength.) If we take a plunge-bath, and a man of great strength (such as myself) about to plunge into it, we have a perfect example of this science. I am bound to admit,” the Professor continued, in a lower tone and with downcast eyes, “that we need a man of remarkable32 strength. He must be able to spring from the floor to about twice his own height, gradually turning over as he rises, so as to come down again head first.”
“Pardon me,” said the Professor. “This particular kind of bath is not adapted for a flea. Let us suppose,” he continued, folding his table-napkin into a graceful34 festoon, “that this represents what is perhaps the necessity of this Age—the Active Tourist's Portable Bath. You may describe it briefly35, if you like,” looking at the Chancellor, “by the letters A.T.P.B.”
The Chancellor, much disconcerted at finding everybody looking at him, could only murmur36, in a shy whisper, “Precisely so!”
“One great advantage of this plunge-bath,” continued the Professor, “is that it requires only half-a-gallon of water—”
“I don't call it a plunge-bath,” His Sub-Excellency remarked, “unless your Active Tourist goes right under!”
“But he does go right under,” the old man gently replied. “The A.T. hangs up the P. B. on a nail—thus. He then empties the water-jug37 into it—places the empty jug below the bag—leaps into the air—descends head-first into the bag—the water rises round him to the top of the bag—and there you are!” he triumphantly38 concluded. “The A.T. is as much under water as if he'd gone a mile or two down into the Atlantic!”
“And he's drowned, let us say, in about four minutes—”
“By no means!” the Professor answered with a proud smile. “After about a minute, he quietly turns a tap at the lower end of the P. B.—all the water runs back into the jug and there you are again!”
“But how in the world is he to get out of the bag again?”
“That, I take it,” said the Professor, “is the most beautiful part of the whole invention. All the way up the P.B., inside, are loops for the thumbs; so it's something like going up-stairs, only perhaps less comfortable; and, by the time the A. T. has risen out of the bag, all but his head, he's sure to topple over, one way or the other—the Law of Gravity secures that. And there he is on the floor again!”
“Well, yes, a little bruised; but having had his plunge-bath: that's the great thing.”
“Wonderful! It's almost beyond belief!” murmured the Sub-Warden. The Professor took it as a compliment, and bowed with a gratified smile.
“Quite beyond belief!” my Lady added—meaning, no doubt, to be more complimentary40 still. The Professor bowed, but he didn't smile this time. “I can assure you,” he said earnestly, “that, provided the bath was made, I used it every morning. I certainly ordered it—that I am clear about—my only doubt is, whether the man ever finished making it. It's difficult to remember, after so many years—”
At this moment the door, very slowly and creakingly, began to open, and Sylvie and Bruno jumped up, and ran to meet the well-known footstep.
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1
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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19
postscript
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| n.附言，又及；(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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20
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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algebra
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| n.代数学 | |
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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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erase
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| v.擦掉；消除某事物的痕迹 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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38
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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39
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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