I was curious. I had heard a great deal of her beauty; and it had exceeded all I heard; so I talked my sublimest1 and brightest chit-chat, in my most musical tones, and was rather engaging and amusing, I ventured to hope. But the best man cannot manage a dialogue alone. Miss Brandon was plainly not a person to make any sort of exertion2 towards what is termed keeping up a conversation; at all events she did not, and after a while the present one got into a decidedly sinking condition. An acquiescence3, a faint expression of surprise, a fainter smile — she contributed little more, after the first few questions of courtesy had been asked, in her low silvery tones, and answered by me. To me the natural demise4 of a tête-à-tête discourse5 has always seemed a disgrace. But this apathetic6 beauty had either more moral courage or more stupidity than I, and was plainly terribly indifferent about the catastrophe7. I’ve sometimes thought my struggles and sinkings amused her cruel serenity8.
Bella ma stupida! — I experienced, at last, the sort of pique9 with which George Sand’s hero apostrophises la derniere Aldini. Yet I could not think her stupid. The universal instinct honours beauty. It is so difficult to believe it either dull or base. In virtue10 of some mysterious harmonies it is ‘the image of God,’ and must, we feel, enclose the God-like; so I suppose I felt, for though I wished to think her stupid, I could not. She was not exactly languid, but a grave and listless beauty, and a splendid beauty for all that.
I told her my early recollections of Brandon and Gylingden, and how I remembered her a baby, and said some graceful11 trifles on that theme, which I fancied were likely to please. But they were only received, and led to nothing. In a little while in comes Lord Chelford, always natural and pleasant, and quite unconscious of his peerage — he was above it, I think — and chatted away merrily with that handsome animated12 blonde — who on earth, could she be? — and did not seem the least chilled in the stiff and frosted presence of his mother, but was genial13 and playful even with that Spirit of the Frozen Ocean, who received his affectionate trifling14 with a sort of smiling, though wintry pride and complacency, reflecting back from her icy aspects something of the rosy15 tints16 of that kindly17 sunshine.
I thought I heard him call the young lady Miss Lake, and there rose before me an image of an old General Lake, and a dim recollection of some reverse of fortune. He was — I was sure of that — connected with the Brandon family; and was, with the usual fatality19, a bit of a mauvais sujet. He had made away with his children’s money, or squandered20 his own; or somehow or another impoverished21 his family not creditably. So I glanced at her, and Miss Brandon divined, it seemed, what was passing in my mind, for she said:—
‘That is my cousin, Miss Lake, and I think her very beautiful — don’t you?’
‘Yes, she certainly is very handsome,’ and I was going to say something about her animation22 and spirit, but remembered just in time, that that line of eulogy23 would hardly have involved a compliment to Miss Brandon. ‘I know her brother, a little — that is, Captain Lake — Stanley Lake; he’s her brother, I fancy?’
‘Oh?‘ said the young lady, in that tone which is pointed24 with an unknown accent, between a note of enquiry and of surprise. ‘Yes; he’s her brother.’
And she paused; as if something more were expected. But at that moment the bland25 tones of Larcom, the solemn butler, announced the Rev18. William Wylder and Mrs. Wylder, and I said —
‘William is an old college friend of mine;’ and I observed him, as he entered with an affectionate and sad sort of interest. Eight years had passed since we met last, and that is something at any time. It had thinned my simple friend’s hair a little, and his face, too, was more careworn26 than I liked, but his earnest, sweet smile was there still. Slight, gentle, with something of a pale and studious refinement27 in his face. The same gentle voice, with that slight, occasional hesitation28, which somehow I liked. There is always a little shock after an absence of some years before identities adjust themselves, and then we find the change is not, after all, so very great. I suspect it is, rather, that something of the old picture is obliterated29, in that little interval30, to return no more. And so William Wylder was vicar now instead of that straight wiry cleric of the mulberry face and black leggings.
And who was this little Mrs. William Wylder who came in, so homely31 of feature, so radiant of goodhumour, so eager and simple, in a very plain dress — a Brandon housemaid would not have been seen in it, leaning so pleasantly on his lean, long, clerical arm — made for reaching books down from high shelves, a lank32, scholarlike limb, with a somewhat threadbare cuff33 — and who looked round with that anticipation34 of pleasure, and that simple confidence in a real welcome, which are so likely to insure it? Was she an helpmeet for a black-letter man, who talked with the Fathers in his daily walks, could extemporise Latin hexameters, and dream in Greek. Was she very wise, or at all learned? I think her knowledge lay chiefly in the matters of poultry35, and puddings, and latterly, of the nursery, where one treasure lay — that golden-haired little boy, four years old, whom I had seen playing among the roses before the parsonage door, asleep by this time — half-past seven, ‘precise,’ as old Lady Chelford loved to write on her summons to dinner.
When the vicar, I dare say, in a very odd, quaint36 way, made his proposal of marriage, moved thereto assuredly, neither by fortune, nor by beauty, to good, merry, little Miss Dorothy Chubley, whom nobody was supposed to be looking after, and the town had, somehow, set down from the first as a natural-born old maid — there was a very general amazement38; some disappointment here and there, with customary sneers39 and compassion40, and a good deal of genuine amusement not ill-natured.
Miss Chubley, all the shopkeepers in the town knew and liked, and, in a way, respected her, as ‘Miss Dolly.’ Old Reverend John Chubley, D.D., who had been in love with his wife from the period of his boyhood; and yet so grudging41 was Fate, had to undergo an engagement of nigh thirty years before Hymen rewarded their constancy; being at length made Vicar of Huddelston, and master of church revenues to the amount of three hundred pounds a year — had, at forty-five, married his early love, now forty-two.
They had never grown old in one another’s fond eyes. Their fidelity42 was of the days of chivalry43, and their simplicity44 comical and beautiful. Twenty years of happy and loving life were allotted45 them and one pledge — poor Miss Dorothy — was left alone, when little more than nineteen years old. This good old couple, having loved early and waited long, and lived together with wonderful tenderness and gaiety of heart their allotted span, bid farewell for a little while — the gentle little lady going first, and, in about two years more, the good rector following.
I remembered him, but more dimly than his merry little wife, though she went first. She made raisin-wine, and those curious biscuits that tasted of Windsor soap.
And this Mrs. William Wylder just announced by soft-toned Larcom, is the daughter (there is no mistaking the jolly smile and lumpy odd little features, and radiance of amiability) of the good doctor and Mrs. Chubley, so curiously46 blended in her loving face. And last comes in old Major Jackson, smiling largely, squaring himself, and doing his courtesies in a firm but florid military style, and plainly pleased to find himself in good company and on the eve of a good dinner. And so our dinner-list is full.
The party were just nine — and it is wonderful what a row nine well-behaved people will contrive47 to make at a dinner-table. The inferior animals — as we see them caged and cared for, and fed at one o’clock, ‘precise,’ in those public institutions provided for their maintenance — confine their uproar48 to the period immediately antecedent to their meal, and perform the actual process of deglutition with silent attention, and only such suckings, lappings, and crunchings, as illustrate49 their industry and content. It is the distinctive50 privilege of man to exert his voice during his repast, and to indulge also in those specially51 human cachinnations which no lower creature, except that disreputable Australian biped known as the ‘laughing jackass,’ presumes to imitate; and to these vocal52 exercises of the feasters respond the endless ring and tinkle53 of knife and fork on china plate, and the ministering angels in white chokers behind the chairs, those murmured solicitations which hum round and round the ears of the revellers.
Of course, when great guns are present, and people talk pro37 bono publico, one at a time, with parliamentary regularity55, things are different; but at an ordinary symposium56, when the garrulous57 and diffident make merry together, and people break into twos or threes and talk across the table, or into their neighbours’ ears, and all together, the noise is not only exhilarating and peculiar58, but sometimes perfectly59 unaccountable.
The talk, of course, has its paroxysms and its subsidences. I have once or twice found myself on a sudden in total silence in the middle of a somewhat prolix60, though humorous story, commenced in an uproar for the sole recreation of my pretty neighbour, and ended — patched up, renounced61 — a faltering62 failure, under the converging63 gaze of a sternly attentive64 audience.
On the other hand, there are moments when the uproar whirls up in a crescendo65 to a pitch and volume perfectly amazing; and at such times, I believe that anyone might say anything to the reveller54 at his elbow, without the smallest risk of being overheard by mortal. You may plan with young Caesar Borgia, on your left, the poisoning of your host; or ask pretty Mrs. Fusible, on your right, to elope with you from her grinning and gabbling lord, whose bald head flashes red with champagne66 only at the other side of the table. There is no privacy like it; you may plot your wickedness, or make your confession67, or pop the question, and not a soul but your confidant be a bit the wiser — provided only you command your countenance68.
I don’t know how it happened, but Wylder sat beside Miss Lake. I fancied he ought to have been differently placed, but Miss Brandon did not seem conscious of his absence, and it seemed to me that the handsome blonde would have been as well pleased if he had been anywhere but where he was. There was no look of liking69, though some faint glimmerings both of annoyance70 and embarrassment71 in her face. But in Wylder’s I saw a sort of conceited72 consciousness, and a certain eagerness, too, while he talked; though a shrewd fellow in many ways, he had a secret conviction that no woman could resist him.
‘I suppose the world thinks me a very happy fellow, Miss Lake?’ he said, with a rather pensive73 glance of enquiry into that young lady’s eyes, as he set down his hock-glass.
‘I’m afraid it’s a selfish world, Mr. Wylder, and thinks very little of what does not concern it.’
‘Now, you, I dare say,’ continued Wylder, not caring to perceive the soup?on of sarcasm74 that modulated75 her answer so musically, ‘look upon me as a very fortunate fellow?’
‘You are a very fortunate person, Mr. Wylder; a gentleman of very moderate abilities, with no prospects76, and without fortune, who finds himself, without any deservings of his own, on a sudden, possessed77 of an estate, and about to be united to the most beautiful heiress in England, is, I think, rather a fortunate person.’
‘You did not always think me so stupid, Miss Lake,’ said Mr. Wylder, showing something of the hectic78 of vexation.
‘Stupid! did I say? Well, you know, we learn by experience, Mr. Wylder. One’s judgment79 matures, and we are harder to please — don’t you think so? — as we grow older.’
‘Aye, so we are, I dare say; at any rate, some things don’t please us as we calculated. I remember when this bit of luck would have made me a devilish happy fellow — twice as happy; but, you see, if a fellow hasn’t his liberty, where’s the good of money? I don’t know how I got into it, but I can’t get away now; and the lawyer fellows, and trustees, and all that sort of prudent80 people, get about one, and persuade, and exhort81, and they bully82 you, by Jove! into what they call a marriage of convenience — I forget the French word — you know; and then, you see, your feelings may be very different, and all that; and where’s the good of money, I say, if you can’t enjoy it?’
And Mr. Wylder looked poetically83 unhappy, and trundled over a little bit of fricandeau on his plate with his fork, desolately84, as though earthly things had lost their relish85.
‘Yes; I think I know the feeling,’ said Miss Lake, quietly. ‘That ballad86, you know, expresses it very prettily:—“Oh, thou hast been the cause of this anguish87, my mother?”’
It was not then as old a song as it is now.
Wylder looked sharply at her, but she did not smile, and seemed to speak in good faith; and being somewhat thick in some matters, though a cunning fellow, he said —
‘Yes; that is the sort of thing, you know — of course, with a difference — a girl is supposed to speak there; but men suffer that way, too — though, of course, very likely it’s more their own fault.’
‘It is very sad,’ said Miss Lake, who was busy with a paté.
‘She has no life in her; she’s a mere88 figurehead; she’s awfully89 slow; I don’t like black hair; I’m taken by conversation — and all that. There are some men that can only really love once in their lives, and never forget their first love, I assure you.’
Wylder murmured all this, and looked as plaintive90 as he could without exciting the attention of the people over-the-way.
Mark Wylder had, as you perceive, rather vague notions of decency91, and not much experience of ladies; and thought he was making just the interesting impression he meditated92. He was a good deal surprised, then, when Miss Lake said, and with quite a cheerful countenance, and very quickly, but so that her words stung his ear like the prick93 of a bodkin.
‘Your way of speaking of my cousin, Sir, is in the highest degree discreditable to you and offensive to me, and should you venture to repeat it, I will certainly mention it to Lady Chelford.’
And so she turned to old Major Jackson at her right, who had been expounding94 a point of the battle of Vittoria to Lord Chelford; and she led him again into action, and acquired during the next ten minutes a great deal of curious lore95 about Spanish muleteers and French prisoners, together with some particulars about the nature of picket96 duty, and ‘that scoundrel, Castanos.’
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1
sublimest
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| 伟大的( sublime的最高级 )； 令人赞叹的； 极端的； 不顾后果的 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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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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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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17
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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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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careworn
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| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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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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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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sneers
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| 讥笑的表情（言语）( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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42
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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43
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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44
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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45
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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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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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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49
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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50
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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51
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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52
vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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53
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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54
reveller
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| n.摆设酒宴者，饮酒狂欢者 | |
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55
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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56
symposium
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| n.讨论会，专题报告会；专题论文集 | |
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garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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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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59
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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prolix
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| adj.罗嗦的；冗长的 | |
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61
renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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63
converging
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| adj.收敛[缩]的，会聚的，趋同的v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的现在分词 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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64
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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crescendo
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| n.(音乐)渐强，高潮 | |
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66
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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68
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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69
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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70
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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71
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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hectic
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| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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exhort
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| v.规劝，告诫 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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poetically
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| adv.有诗意地，用韵文 | |
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desolately
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| 荒凉地，寂寞地 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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expounding
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| 论述，详细讲解( expound的现在分词 ) | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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