Pencil’d with gold, and streak’d with azure1 veins2,
The grateful flavour of the Indian leaf,
Or Mocho’s sunburnt berry glad receive.’
MRS. BARBAULD.
The day after this meeting with Higgins and his daughter, Mr. Hale came upstairs into the little drawing-room at an unusual hour. He went up to different objects in the room, as if examining them, but Margaret saw that it was merely a nervous trick — a way of putting off something he wished, yet feared to say. Out it came at last —
‘My dear! I’ve asked Mr. Thornton to come to tea to-night.’
Mrs. Hale was leaning back in her easy chair, with her eyes shut, and an expression of pain on her face which had become habitual3 to her of late. But she roused up into querulousness at this speech of her husband’s.
‘Mr. Thornton! — and to-night! What in the world does the man want to come here for? And Dixon is washing my muslins and laces, and there is no soft water with these horrid4 east winds, which I suppose we shall have all the year round in Milton.’
‘The wind is veering5 round, my dear,’ said Mr. Hale, looking out at the smoke, which drifted right from the east, only he did not yet understand the points of the compass, and rather arranged them ad libitum, according to circumstances.
‘Don’t tell me!’ said Mrs. Hale, shuddering6 up, and wrapping her shawl about her still more closely. ‘But, east or west wind, I suppose this man comes.’
‘Oh, mamma, that shows you never saw Mr. Thornton. He looks like a person who would enjoy battling with every adverse7 thing he could meet with — enemies, winds, or circumstances. The more it rains and blows, the more certain we are to have him. But I’ll go and help Dixon. I’m getting to be a famous clear-starcher. And he won’t want any amusement beyond talking to papa. Papa, I am really longing8 to see the Pythias to your Damon. You know I never saw him but once, and then we were so puzzled to know what to say to each other that we did not get on particularly well.’
‘I don’t know that you would ever like him, or think him agreeable, Margaret. He is not a lady’s man.’
Margaret wreathed her throat in a scornful curve.
‘I don’t particularly admire ladies’ men, papa. But Mr. Thornton comes here as your friend — as one who has appreciated you’—
‘The only person in Milton,’ said Mrs. Hale.
‘So we will give him a welcome, and some cocoa-nut cakes. Dixon will be flattered if we ask her to make some; and I will undertake to iron your caps, mamma.’
Many a time that morning did Margaret wish Mr. Thornton far enough away. She had planned other employments for herself: a letter to Edith, a good piece of Dante, a visit to the Higginses. But, instead, she ironed away, listening to Dixon’s complaints, and only hoping that by an excess of sympathy she might prevent her from carrying the recital9 of her sorrows to Mrs. Hale. Every now and then, Margaret had to remind herself of her father’s regard for Mr. Thornton, to subdue10 the irritation11 of weariness that was stealing over her, and bringing on one of the bad headaches to which she had lately become liable. She could hardly speak when she sat down at last, and told her mother that she was no longer Peggy the laundry-maid, but Margaret Hale the lady. She meant this speech for a little joke, and was vexed12 enough with her busy tongue when she found her mother taking it seriously.
‘Yes! if any one had told me, when I was Miss Beresford, and one of the belles13 of the county, that a child of mine would have to stand half a day, in a little poky kitchen, working away like any servant, that we might prepare properly for the reception of a tradesman, and that this tradesman should be the only’—‘Oh, mamma!’ said Margaret, lifting herself up, ‘don’t punish me so for a careless speech. I don’t mind ironing, or any kind of work, for you and papa. I am myself a born and bred lady through it all, even though it comes to scouring14 a floor, or washing dishes. I am tired now, just for a little while; but in half an hour I shall be ready to do the same over again. And as to Mr. Thornton’s being in trade, why he can’t help that now, poor fellow. I don’t suppose his education would fit him for much else.’ Margaret lifted herself slowly up, and went to her own room; for just now she could not bear much more.
In Mr. Thornton’s house, at this very same time, a similar, yet different, scene was going on. A large-boned lady, long past middle age, sat at work in a grim handsomely-furnished dining-room. Her features, like her frame, were strong and massive, rather than heavy. Her face moved slowly from one decided15 expression to another equally decided. There was no great variety in her countenance16; but those who looked at it once, generally looked at it again; even the passers-by in the street, half-turned their heads to gaze an instant longer at the firm, severe, dignified17 woman, who never gave way in street-courtesy, or paused in her straight-onward course to the clearly-defined end which she proposed to herself. She was handsomely dressed in stout18 black silk, of which not a thread was worn or discoloured. She was mending a large long table-cloth of the finest texture19, holding it up against the light occasionally to discover thin places, which required her delicate care. There was not a book about in the room, with the exception of Matthew Henry’s Bible Commentaries, six volumes of which lay in the centre of the massive side-board, flanked by a tea-urn on one side, and a lamp on the other. In some remote apartment, there was exercise upon the piano going on. Some one was practising up a morceau de salon20, playing it very rapidly; every third note, on an average, being either indistinct, or wholly missed out, and the loud chords at the end being half of them false, but not the less satisfactory to the performer. Mrs. Thornton heard a step, like her own in its decisive character, pass the dining-room door.
‘John! Is that you?’
Her son opened the door and showed himself.
‘What has brought you home so early? I thought you were going to tea with that friend of Mr. Bell’s; that Mr. Hale.’
‘So I am, mother; I am come home to dress!’
‘Dress! humph! When I was a girl, young men were satisfied with dressing21 once in a day. Why should you dress to go and take a cup of tea with an old parson?’
‘Mr. Hale is a gentleman, and his wife and daughter are ladies.’
‘Wife and daughter! Do they teach too? What do they do? You have never mentioned them.’
‘No! mother, because I have never seen Mrs. Hale; I have only seen Miss Hale for half an hour.’
‘Take care you don’t get caught by a penniless girl, John.’
‘I am not easily caught, mother, as I think you know. But I must not have Miss Hale spoken of in that way, which, you know, is offensive to me. I never was aware of any young lady trying to catch me yet, nor do I believe that any one has ever given themselves that useless trouble.’
Mrs. Thornton did not choose to yield the point to her son; or else she had, in general, pride enough for her sex.
‘Well! I only say, take care. Perhaps our Milton girls have too much spirit and good feeling to go angling after husbands; but this Miss Hale comes out of the aristocratic counties, where, if all tales be true, rich husbands are reckoned prizes.’
Mr. Thornton’s brow contracted, and he came a step forward into the room.
‘Mother’ (with a short scornful laugh), ‘you will make me confess. The only time I saw Miss Hale, she treated me with a haughty22 civility which had a strong flavour of contempt in it. She held herself aloof23 from me as if she had been a queen, and I her humble24, unwashed vassal25. Be easy, mother.’
‘No! I am not easy, nor content either. What business had she, a renegade clergyman’s daughter, to turn up her nose at you! I would dress for none of them — a saucy26 set! if I were you.’ As he was leaving the room, he said:—
‘Mr. Hale is good, and gentle, and learned. He is not saucy. As for Mrs. Hale, I will tell you what she is like to-night, if you care to hear.’ He shut the door and was gone.
‘Despise my son! treat him as her vassal, indeed! Humph! I should like to know where she could find such another! Boy and man, he’s the noblest, stoutest27 heart I ever knew. I don’t care if I am his mother; I can see what’s what, and not be blind. I know what Fanny is; and I know what John is. Despise him! I hate her!’
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1
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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2
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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3
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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4
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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5
veering
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| n.改变的；犹豫的；顺时针方向转向；特指使船尾转向上风来改变航向v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的现在分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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6
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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7
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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8
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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9
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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10
subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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11
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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12
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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13
belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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14
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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15
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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16
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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22
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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vassal
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| n.附庸的；属下；adj.奴仆的 | |
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26
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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27
stoutest
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| 粗壮的( stout的最高级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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