It was very bitter — the cup had been so near her lips, when an adverse5 destiny had dashed it from her. The lady’s grief was painfully sincere. She did not waste one lamentation6 on her lover’s sad fate, but she most bitterly regretted her own loss of a rich husband.
She watched and hoped day after day for the promised visit from Douglas Dale, but he did not come. Every day during visiting hours she wore her most becoming toilets; she arranged her small drawing-room with the studied carelessness of an elegant woman; she seated herself in her most graceful7 attitudes every time the knocker heralded8 the advent9 of a caller; but it was all so much wasted labour. The only guest whom she cared to see was not among those morning visitors; and Lydia’s heart began to be oppressed by a sense of despair.
“Well, Gordon, have you heard anything of Douglas Dale?” she asked her brother, day after day.
One day he came home with a very gloomy face, and when she uttered the usual question, he answered her in his gloomiest tone.
“I’ve heard something you’ll scarcely care to learn,” he said, “as it must sound the death-knell of all your hopes in that quarter. You know, Douglas Dale is a member of the Phoenix10, as well as the Forum11. I don’t belong to the Phoenix, as you also know, but I meet Dale occasionally at the Forum. Yesterday I lunched with Lord Caversham, a member of the Phoenix, and an acquaintance of Dale’s; and from him I learned that Douglas Dale has publicly announced his intended marriage with Paulina Durski.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Lydia.
She had heard of Paulina and the villa12 at Fulham from her brother, and she hated the lovely Austrian for the beauty and the fascination3 which won her a kind of renown13 amongst the fops and lordlings — the idlers and spendthrifts of the fashionable clubs.
“It cannot be true,” cried Miss Graham, flushing crimson14 with anger. “It is one of Lord Caversham’s absurd stories; and I dare say is without the slightest foundation. I cannot and will not believe that Douglas Dale would throw himself away upon such a woman as this Madame Durski.”
“You have never seen her?”
“Of course not.”
“Then don’t speak so very confidently,” said Captain Graham, who was malicious16 enough to take some pleasure in his sister’s discomfiture17. “Paulina Durski is one of the handsomest women I ever saw; not above five-and-twenty years of age — elegant, fascinating, patrician19 — a woman for whose sake a wiser man than Douglas Dale might be willing to sacrifice himself.”
“I will see Mr. Dale,” exclaimed Lydia. “I will ascertain20 from his own lips whether there is any foundation for this report.”
“How will you contrive21 to see him?” “You must arrange that for me. You can invite him to dinner.”
“I can invite him; but the question is whether he will come. Perhaps, if you were to write him a note, he would be more flattered than by any verbal invitation from me.”
Lydia was not slow to take this hint. She wrote one of those charming and flattering epistles which an artful and self-seeking woman of the world so well knows how to pen. She expressed her surprise and regret at not having seen Mr. Dale since her return to town — her fear that he might be ill, her hope that he would accept an invitation to a friendly dinner with herself and her brother, who was also most anxious about him.
She was not destined22 to disappointment. On the following day she received a brief note from Mr. Dale, accepting her invitation for the next evening.
The note was very stiffly — nay23, almost coldly worded; but Lydia attributed the apparent lack of warmth to the reserved nature of Douglas Dale, rather than to any failure of her own scheme.
The fact that he accepted her invitation at all, she considered a proof of the falsehood of the report about his intended marriage, and a good omen18 for herself.
She took care to provide a recherché little dinner for her important guest, low as the finances of herself and her brother were — and were likely to be for some time to come. She invited a dashing widow, who was her obliging friend and neighbour, and who was quite ready to play propriety24 for the occasion. Lydia Graham looked her handsomest when Douglas Dale was ushered25 into her presence that evening; but she little knew how indifferent were the eyes that contemplated26 her bold, dark beauty; and how, even as he looked at her, Douglas Dale’s thoughts wandered to the fair, pale face of Paulina Durski — that face, which for him was the loveliest that had ever beamed with light and beauty below the stars.
The dinner was to all appearance a success. Nothing could be more cordial or friendly, as it seemed, than that party of four, seated at a prettily27 decorated circular table, attended by a well-trained man~servant — the dashing widow’s butler and factotum28, borrowed for the occasion.
Mrs. Marmaduke, the dashing widow, made herself very agreeable, and took care to engage Captain Graham in conversation all the evening, leaving Lydia free to occupy the entire attention of Douglas Dale.
That young lady made excellent use of her time. Day by day her chances of a rich marriage had grown less and less, and day by day she had grown more and more anxious to secure a position and a home. She had a very poor opinion of Mr. Dale’s intellect, for she believed only in the cleverness of those bolder and more obtrusive29 men who make themselves prominent in every assembly. She thought him a man easily to be beguiled30 by honeyed words and bewitching glances, and she had, therefore, determined31 to play a bold, if not a desperate game. While Mrs. Marmaduke and Captain Graham were talking in the front drawing~room, Lydia contrived32 to detain her guest in the inner apartment — a tiny chamber33, just large enough to hold a small cottage piano, a stand of music-books, and a couple of chairs.
Miss Graham seated herself at the piano, and played a few bars with an absent and somewhat pensive34 air.
“That is a mournful melody,” said Douglas. “I don’t think I ever heard it before.”
“Indeed!” murmured Lydia; “and yet I think it is very generally known. The air is pretty, is it not? But the words are ultra-sentimental.”
And then she began to sing softly —
“I do not ask to offer thee
A timid love like mine;
I lay it, as the rose is laid,
On some immortal35 shrine36.”
“I think the words are rather pretty,” said Douglas.
“Do you?” murmured Miss Graham; and then she stopped suddenly, looking downward, with one of those conscious blushes which were always at her command.
There was a pause. Douglas Dale stood by the music-stand, listlessly turning over a volume of songs.
Lydia was the first to break the silence.
“Why did you not come to see us sooner, Mr. Dale?” she asked. “You promised me you would come.”
“I have been too much engaged to come,” answered Douglas.
This reply sounded almost rude; but to Lydia this unpolished manner seemed only the result of extreme shyness, and, indeed, embarrassment37, which to her appeared proof positive of her intended victim’s enthralment.
Her eyes grew bright with a glance of triumph.
“I shall win,” she thought to herself; “I shall win.”
“Have you really wished to see me?” asked Douglas, after another pause.
“I did indeed wish to see you,” she murmured, in tremulous tones.
“Indeed!” said Douglas, in a tone that might mean astonishment38, delight, or anything else. “Well, Miss Graham, that was very kind of you. I go out very little, and never except to the houses of intimate friends.”
“Surely you number us — my brother, I mean — among that privileged class,” said Lydia, once more blushing bewitchingly.
“I do, indeed,” said Douglas Dale, in a candid39, kind, unembarrassed tone, which, if she had been a little less under the dominion40 of that proverbially blinding quality, vanity, would have been the most discouraging of all possible tones, to the schemes which she had formed; “I never forget how high you stood in my poor brother’s esteem41, Miss Graham; indeed, if you will pardon my saying so, I thought there was a much warmer feeling than that, on his part.”
Lydia hardly knew how to take this observation. In one sense it was flattering, in another discouraging. If the belief brought Douglas Dale into easier relations with her, if it induced him to feel that a bond of friendship, cemented by the memory of the past, subsisted42 between them, so much the better for her purpose; but if he believed that this supposed love of Lionel’s had been returned, and proposed to cultivate her on the mutual43 sympathy, or “weep with thee, tear for tear,” principle, so much the worse. The position was undeniably embarrassing even to a young lady of Miss Lydia Graham’s remarkable44 strength of mind, and savoir faire. But she extricated45 herself from it, without speaking, by some wonderful management of her eyes, and a slight deprecatory movement of her shoulders, which made even Douglas Dale, a by no means ready man, though endowed with deep feelings and strong common sense, understand, as well as if she had spoken, that Lionel had indeed entertained feelings of a tender nature towards her, but that she had not returned them by any warmer sentiment than friendship. It was admirably well done; and the next sentence which Douglas Dale spoke46 was certainly calculated to nourish Lydia’s hopes.
“He might have sustained a terrible grief, then, had he lived longer,” said Douglas; “but I see this subject pains you, Miss Graham; I will touch upon it no more. But perhaps you will allow the recollection of what we must both believe to have been his feelings and his hopes, to plead with you for me.”
“For you, Mr. Dale!” and Lydia Graham’s breast heaved with genuine emotion, and her voice trembled with no artificial faltering47.
“Yes, Miss Graham, for me. I need a friend, such a friend as you could be, if you would, to counsel and to aid me. But, pardon me, I am detaining you, and you have another guest.” (How ardently48 Lydia Graham wished she had not invited the accommodating widow to play propriety!) “You will permit me to visit you soon again, and we will speak of much which cannot now be discussed. May I come soon?”
As he spoke these hope-inspiring words, there was genuine eagerness in the tone of Douglas Dale’s voice, there was brightness in his frank eyes. No wonder Lydia held the story her brother had told her in scornful disbelief; no wonder she felt all the glow of the fulfilment of long-deferred hope. What would have been her sensations had she known that Douglas Dale’s only actuating motive49 in the proposed friendly alliance, was to secure a female friend for his adored Paulina, to gain for her the countenance50 and protection of a woman whose place in society was recognized and unassailable?
“You will excuse my joining your brother and your friend now, will you not, Miss Graham? I must, at all events, have taken an early leave of you, and this conversation has given me much to think of. I shall see you soon again. Good night!”
He moved hastily, passed through the door of the small apartment which, opened on the staircase, and was gone. Lydia Graham remained alone for a few moments, in a triumphant51 reverie, then she joined Gordon Graham and the bewitching widow, who had been making the most of the opportunity for indulging in her favourite florid style of flirtation52.
“I have won,” Lydia said to herself; “and how easily! Poor fellow; his agitation53 was really painful. He did not even stop to shake hands with me.”
Mrs. Marmaduke took leave of her dearest Lydia, and her dearest Lydia’s brother, soon after Douglas Dale had departed, and Miss Graham and her brother were left tête-à-tête.
“Well,” said Gordon Graham, with rather a sulky air, “you don’t seem to have done much execution by your dinner-party, my young lady. Dale went off in a great hurry, which does not say much for your powers of fascination.”
Lydia gave her head a triumphant little toss as she looked at her brother.
“You are remarkably54 clever, my dear Gordon,” she said; “but you are apt to make mistakes occasionally, in spite of your cleverness. What should you say if I were to tell you that Mr. Dale has this evening almost made me an offer of his hand?”
“You don’t mean to say so?”
“I do mean to say so,” answered Lydia, triumphantly55. “He is one of that eccentric kind of people who have their own manner of doing things, and do not care to tread the beaten track; or it may be that it is only his reserved nature which renders him strange and awkward in his manner of avowing57 himself.”
“Never mind how awkwardly the offer has been made, provided it is genuine,” returned the practical Captain Graham. “But I don’t like ‘almosts.’ Besides, you really must mind what you are about, Lydia; for I assure you there is no doubt at all about the fact of his engagement. He stated it himself.”
“Well, and suppose he did,” said Lydia, “and suppose some good-for~nothing woman, in an equivocal position, has trapped him into an offer. Is he the first man who has got into a dilemma58 of that kind, and got out of it? He thought I cared for Lionel, and that so there was no hope for him. I can quite understand his getting himself into an entanglement59 of the kind, under such circumstances.”
Gordon Graham smiled, a certain satirical smile, intensely irritating to his sister’s temper (which she called her nerves), and which it was rather fortunate she did not see. He was perfectly60 alive to the omnivorous61 quality of his sister’s vanity, and perfectly aware that it had on many occasions led her into a fool’s paradise, whence she had been ejected into the waste regions of disappointment and bitterness of spirit. He had been quite willing that she should try the experiment upon Douglas Dale, to which that gentleman had just been subjected; but he had not been sanguine62 as to its results, and he did not implicitly63 confide15 in the very exhilarating statement now made to him by Lydia. If Douglas Dale’s “almost” proposal meant nothing more than that he would be glad, or implied that he would be glad to be off with Paulina and on with Lydia, he did not think very highly of the chances of the latter. A man of the world, in the worst sense of that widely significant word, Gordon Graham was inclined to think that Douglas Dale was merely trifling65 with his sister, indulging in a “safe” flirtation, under the aegis66 of an avowed67 engagement. Graham felt very anxious to know the particulars of the conversation between Dale and his sister, in order to discover how far they bore out his theory; but he knew Lydia too well to place implicit64 reliance on any statement of them he might elicit68 from her.
“Well, but,” said he, “supposing you are right in all this, the ‘entanglement,’ as you call it, exists. How did he explain, or excuse it?”
Lydia smiled, a self-satisfied, contemptuous smile. She was not jealous of Madame Durski; she despised her. “He did not excuse it; he did not explain; he knows he has no severity to fear from me. All he needs is to induce me to acknowledge my affection for him, and then he will soon rid himself of all obstacles. Don’t be afraid, Gordon; this is a great falling off from the ambitions I once cherished, the hopes I once formed; this is a very different kind of thing from Sir Oswald Eversleigh and Raynham Castle, but I have made up my mind to be content with it.”
Lydia spoke with a kind of virtuous69 resignation and resolution, infinitely70 assuring to her brother. But he was getting tired of the discussion, and desirous to end it. Anxious as he was to be rid of his sister, and to effect the riddance on the best possible terms, he did not mean to be bored by her just then. So he spoke to the point at once.
“That’s rather a queer mode of proceeding,” he said. “You are to avow56 your affection for this fine gentleman, and then he is to throw over another lady in order to reward your devotion. There was a day when Miss Graham’s pride would have been outraged71 by a proposition which certainly seems rather humiliating.”
Lydia flushed crimson, and looked at her brother with angry eyes. She felt the sting of his malicious speech, and knew that it was intended to wound her.
“Pride and I have long parted company,” she answered, bitterly. “I have learnt to endure degradation72 as placidly73 as you do when you condescend74 to become the toady75 and flatterer of richer men than yourself.”
Captain Graham did not take the trouble to resent this remark. He smiled at his sister’s anger, with the air of a man who is quite indifferent to the opinion of others.
“Well, my dear Lydia,” he said, good-humouredly, “all I can say is, that if you have caught the brother of your late admirer, you are very lucky. The merest schoolboy knows enough arithmetic to be aware that ten thousand a year is twice as good as five. And it certainly is not every woman’s fortune to be able to recover a chance which seemed so nearly lost as yours when we left Hallgrove. By all means nail him to his proposition, and let him throw over the lovely Paulina. What a fool the man must be not to know his mind a little better!”
“Madame Durski entrapped76 him into the engagement,” said Lydia, scornfully.
“Ah, to be sure, women have a way of laying snares77 of the matrimonial kind, as you and I know, my dear Lydia. And now, good night. Go and think about your trousseau in the silence of your own apartment.”
Lydia Graham fell asleep that night, secure in the certainty that the end and aim of her selfish life had been at last attained78, and disposed to regard the interval80 as very brief that must elapse before Douglas Dale would come to throw himself at her feet.
For a day or two unwonted peace and serenity81 were observable in Lydia Graham’s demeanour and countenance. She took even more than the ordinary pains with her dress; she arranged her little drawing-room more than ever effectively and with sedulous82 care, and she remained at home every afternoon, in spite of fine weather and an unusual number of invitations. But Douglas Dale made no sign, he did not come, he did not write, and all his enthusiastic declarations seemed to have ended in nothing. The truth was that Paulina Durski was ill, and in his anxiety and uneasiness, Douglas forgot even the existence of Lydia Graham.
A vague alarm began to fill Lydia’s mind, and she felt as if the good establishment, the liberal allowance of pin-money, the equipages, the clever French maid, the diamonds, and all the other delightful83 things which she had looked upon almost as already her own, were suddenly vanishing away like a dream.
Miss Graham was in no very amiable84 humour when, after a week’s watching and suspense85, she descended86 to the dining-room, a small and shabbily furnished apartment, which bore upon it the stamp peculiar87 to London lodging-houses — an aspect which is just the reverse of everything we look for in a home.
Gordon Graham was already seated at the breakfast-table.
A letter for Miss Graham lay by the side of her breakfast-cup — a bulky document, with four stamps upon the envelope.
Lydia knew the hand too well. It was that of her French milliner, Mademoiselle Susanne, to whom she owed a sum which she knew never could be paid out of her own finances. The thought of this debt had been a perpetual nightmare to her. There was no such thing as bankruptcy88 for a lady of fashion in those days; and it was in the power of Mademoiselle Susanna to put her high-bred creditor89 into a common prison, and detain her there until she had passed the ordeal90 of the Insolvent91 Debtors’ Court.
Lydia opened the packet with a sinking heart. There it was, the awful bill, with its records of elegant dresses — every one of which had been worn with the hope of conquest, and all of which had, so far, failed to attain79 the hoped-for victory. And at the end of that long list came the fearful total — close upon three hundred pounds!
“I can never pay it!” murmured Lydia; “never! never!”
Her involuntary exclamation92 sounded almost like a cry of despair.
Gordon Graham looked up from the newspaper in which he had been absorbed until this moment, and stared at his sister.
“What’s the matter?” he exclaimed. “Oh, I see! it’s a bill — Susanne’s, I suppose? Well, well, you women will make yourselves handsome at any cost, and you must pay for it sooner or later. If you can secure Douglas Dale, a cheque from him will soon settle Mademoiselle Susanne, and make her your humble93 slave for the future. But what has gone wrong with you, my Lydia? Your brow wears a gloomy shade this morning. Have you received no tidings of your lover?”
“Gordon,” said Lydia, passionately94, “do not taunt95 me. I don’t know what to think. But I have played a desperate game — I have risked all upon the hazard of this die — and if I have failed I must submit to my fate. I can struggle no longer; I am utterly96 weary of a life that has brought me nothing but disappointment and defeat.
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1
wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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fascinations
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| n.魅力( fascination的名词复数 )；有魅力的东西；迷恋；陶醉 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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phoenix
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| n.凤凰，长生(不死)鸟；引申为重生 | |
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forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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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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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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factotum
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| n.杂役；听差 | |
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obtrusive
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| adj.显眼的；冒失的 | |
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beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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subsisted
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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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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extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spoke
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| 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 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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54
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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avow
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| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
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avowing
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| v.公开声明，承认( avow的现在分词 ) | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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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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omnivorous
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| adj.杂食的 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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aegis
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| n.盾；保护，庇护 | |
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avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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toady
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| v.奉承；n.谄媚者，马屁精 | |
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entrapped
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| v.使陷入圈套，使入陷阱( entrap的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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sedulous
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| adj.勤勉的，努力的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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85
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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86
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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creditor
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| n.债仅人，债主，贷方 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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insolvent
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| adj.破产的，无偿还能力的 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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93
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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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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