About a month passed by, and the scene which I have alluded1 to seemed to have receded2 like distant smoke. Lady Helen and my father were the best of friends. I went to see Lady Carrington as often as I could, but for some reason Lady Helen Dalrymple and she were only the merest acquaintances, and I could see that Lady Helen was jealous when Lady Carrington invited me to her house. The days I spent with that good woman were the happiest of my life just then, but they were few and far between.
I saw very little of father. After our long delightful3 day at Richmond he seemed to pass more or less out of my life. He seemed to me to be an absolute and complete cipher4, so much so that I could not bear to look at him. His hearty5, happy, jolly, delightful manners were subdued6, his eyes were more sunken than they used to be, and the colour in his cheeks had quite faded. I used to gaze at him with a pang7 at my heart, and wonder if he were really growing thin. He hardly ever said now, "Hallo, hallo! here we are!" or "Oh, I say, how jolly!" In fact, I never heard any of his old hearty exclamations8; but what annoyed me most was that when Lady Helen was present he hardly took any notice of me.
Nevertheless, I had my good times, for by now I was tired of sitting up half the night and of going to endless dances and listening to innumerable empty compliments, and being smiled at by men whom I could not take the faintest interest in, and whose names I hardly remembered. But as the summer came on faster and faster, and the London season advanced to its height, I did enjoy my morning walks with Morris. Lady Helen had said something about my having a horse to ride, but up to the present I was not given one, and consequently I walked with Morris, and we invariably went into Hyde Park or Kensington Gardens.
I remember a day early in May, when I unexpectedly met Captain Carbury. I was sitting on a chair, with Morris next to me, when I saw him in the distance. He pushed rapidly through a crowd of people, and came up to my side. He took a chair close to mine.
"Can't you get your maid to walk about for a short time?" he said. "I have something of great importance I want to say to you."
I turned towards Morris.
"Morris, will you kindly9 go to the first entrance and buy me two shillingsworth of violets?" I said to the girl.
Morris rose at once to do what I asked.
"That's right," said Captain Carbury, when we were alone. "I have such a strange thing to tell you, Miss Grayson."
"That isn't my name now," I said.
"I beg your pardon," he replied, turning a little red, "Miss Dalrymple." Then he added: "I have been wanting to see you for weeks, but did not know how to manage it."
"But was there any difficulty?" I asked. "You know where my father and Lady Helen live. You could have called."
He coloured and looked down on the ground.
"We have met at last," he said, after a pause, "and now I have this to tell you."
"What?"
"You saw Dorothy Vinguard once, didn't you?"
"The girl you are engaged to? Of course."
"I am not engaged to her any longer; our engagement is broken off."
"Oh, I am sorry," I said, and I looked at him with a world of sympathy in my eyes.
"Dear little Miss Heather," he replied, "you needn't be sorry, for I assure you I am not."
"But why is it broken off?" I asked. "I thought when people were engaged that, if they were nice people, they considered it sacred, and—and kept engaged until they married."
"Oh, you dear little innocent!" he replied. "How little you know! Well, at any rate, I am not going to enlighten you with regard to the ways of this wicked world. The engagement is broken off, and I am glad of it. I didn't do it; she did. She has engaged herself now to another man, with five or six times my money. She is all right, and so am I."
Then I said slowly, "You puzzle me very much, Captain Carbury. I thought you were very, very fond of her."
"You can put all that sort of thing into the past tense," he said. "Now tell me about yourself. How are you getting on?"
"I am not getting on," I answered.
"You surprise me! I hear quite the contrary I hear that dear little Miss Heather, who was so kind to me, and did me such immense honour as to put me into her gallery of heroes, is making quite a stir in society. When society begins to appreciate you, Miss Heather, you ought to consider yourself in luck. They say—and by 'they' I mean the people who live in this wicked world, the people who are 'in the know,' you understand—that if you are not engaged to be married before this time next year, you will be the height of the fashion."
I found myself colouring very deeply.
"I don't intend to be either engaged or married," I said; "and to make a stir in society is about the very last thing I should wish."
"I wonder what you would wish?" he asked, looking at me attentively12.
I looked back at him. Then I said, in a low, quiet voice:
"I can't quite understand why it is, but I find it very easy to tell you things. Perhaps it is because you are in my gallery and I am in yours."
"Yes, of course, that is the reason," he replied, with one of his quick, beautiful smiles.
"I will tell you what I really want."
"Do, Miss Heather—I really can't call you Miss Dalrymple, so it must be Miss Heather."
"I don't mind," I answered.
"Well, now then, out with your greatest wish!"
"I should like," I said, speaking deliberately13, "to leave London, and to go into the heart of the country, to find there a pretty cottage, with woodbine and monthly roses climbing about the walls, and dear little low-ceiled rooms, and little lattice windows, and no sign of any other house anywhere near at all. And I should like beyond words to take father and live with him, all by our two selves, in that cottage. I should not want fine dresses there, and society would matter less than nothing to me."
Captain Carbury looked somewhat surprised, then he said, quietly:
"About your father; well, of course, I—I can't speak about him, you know, but there's—there's Lady Helen. How would she enjoy your programme?"
"There would be no programme at all, no dream to be fulfilled, no happiness to be secured, if she went with us," I answered.
"Oh, I see," he answered; "poor little Miss Heather!" And he whistled softly under his breath.
I looked full at him.
"You don't like her either," I said, and it seemed to me that a new and very strong chord of sympathy sprang up between us as I uttered the words.
"No," he answered. "I won't say why—I won't give any reasons; she may mean all right, but she's a worldly woman, and I don't care a bit about worldly women. I am afraid you won't have your dream, Miss Heather, so I must tell you what is the next best thing for you to do."
"But there is no next best," I replied.
"Yes, there is. Now listen to me attentively. The very best thing, all circumstances considered, for you to do is to get engaged right away to the sort of fellow who understands you and whom you understand—the sort of man who would put you into his gallery, you know, and whom you would put into your gallery. Oh, yes, you comprehend what I mean. The best thing for you, Miss Heather, is to get engaged to that man, and when once you are engaged not on any account to break off your engagement, but to have it speedily followed by marriage. You'd be as happy as the day is long with the man who understands you, and whom you understood. And, for that matter, you could have your cottage in the country, only it would not be shared by your father but by—well, by the other man—the man who understands you so well, you know."
"I don't know," I said; "and I certainly won't marry any man unless I love him."
"But you must love him," he said, giving me a long and most earnest glance, "if you put him into your gallery of heroes."
"Oh, I don't know," I replied to that. "I can admire immensely without—without loving. Why, Captain Carbury, I have put you in, and——"
But then he gave me another glance, and it was so very earnest, and his dark blue eyes looked so very pleading, that suddenly the colour leaped into my cheeks, and I lowered my own eyes and began to tremble all over.
"It is the best thing for you, Miss Heather," he said, dropping his voice almost to a whisper. "Oh! yes, I know what I am talking about. Lots of girls do dreadful things; they mar10 their lives fearfully. I'll tell you how they mar them. They—they marry, and not for love."
"But I am not one of those girls," I replied.
"Are you not, really?" he said. "Now, I have heard rumours14, oh, yes!—and while the rumours are being circulated, everything sounds very nice and very golden, but——" He bent15 a little closer, until his arm touched mine.
Morris was coming back. I saw her trailing her dress over the grass, and carrying a great basket of violets, white and different shades of blue, in her hand.
"Listen," he said. "Even if you did not love with all your heart and soul and strength, don't you think that you might just try the man you put into your gallery of heroes? Don't you think you might begin"—he dropped his voice, and it became quite hoarse—"to love him a little?"
"Oh! oh! oh!" I said; "I could not! You were engaged only a few days ago to Lady Dorothy Vinguard! Why, Captain Carbury, I never even thought of you. I don't love anybody at all, except father—that is—yet."
"There's a great deal in the little word 'yet,' Miss Heather. We should not be rich, neither would we be exactly poor, but I am quite sure I could make you happy. Truly, I never really cared for Dorothy. She was thought a good match for me, and all that sort of thing, you know; but she was too statuesque. I want life, I want warmth, I want soul, I want—oh! all the things you could give. I would make you as happy as the day is long; I could, and I would. Then—let me whisper. You need never see her any more. Think of it, dear little Heather! Heather, Morris is quite close, and I must whisper a secret to you. It was from the day I first met you that I began to find out what sort of girl Lady Dorothy really was—I discovered then that there was a better girl in the world than Lady Dorothy. I want a wife like you; I want you, your very self; you, before you learn to love the world and the ways of the world; you—just because you are so young and so pure and sweet. Think of it, think of it, Heather, and don't say no! Wait at least until to-morrow. I will be in this very place at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning, waiting to get your answer."
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1
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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3
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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4
cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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5
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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6
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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7
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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8
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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9
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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10
mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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11
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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12
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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13
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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14
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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