The marriage was oddly depressing: perhaps it was that the shadow of coming disaster hovered4 over them; perhaps Humphrey heard Wratten's words echoing in his ears, "They sit at home patiently ... knowing all our troubles, and they never let us see that they, too, are unhappy."
Humphrey did his duty as best man: there was a girl friend of the bride there, and he looked after them all, and cracked jokes, and made them sign their names in the right places, and Wratten had half a dozen little commissions for him to carry out. He had been so busy yesterday, that there had not been time to clear up everything.
When it was all over, and Wratten stood on the[118] threshold of a new life, with his wife at his side, and a glad, proud smile on his handsome face, they came out of the registry office, and the girl friend emptied a bag of confetti over them, as they stepped into the cab that was to take them to Waterloo—they were going to Weymouth for a honeymoon5. Some of the coloured pieces of paper fell on Humphrey's coat collar.
"Good-bye, good luck," Humphrey said.
Wratten clasped his hand very tightly. Once again he smiled, and gave his little dry, nervous cough. "Good-bye, old man," he said affectionately. "Thanks awfully6 for coming. I think I'm going to be happy at last," and the cab drove away.
Humphrey saw the girl friend into an omnibus. "Didn't Maisie look splendid." He noticed that the girl friend wore an engagement-ring on her finger, and thenceforth he lost all interest in her.
He went to the office as usual, but he did not tell any one that he had been to Wratten's wedding. Now, he could feel quite at home in the reporters' room, and he even had a desk which, by custom, had become his own. He was more sure of himself than he had been a few months ago, though, in his inmost heart, he was still a little afraid of Rivers.
It was Ferrol who gave Humphrey confidence in himself. He called him into his room, and asked him bluntly how he liked the work.
"Very much," Humphrey replied, his eyes glistening7 brightly, and again Ferrol was reminded of the long years that had passed, when romantic days were his. The boy was shaping well. That was fine, thought Ferrol. He meant Humphrey to have every chance; he wanted to see what stuff was in him.
"That's good," said Ferrol, stroking his moustache. "Mr Rivers gives a satisfactory account of you."
The passion that ruled him, the passion for making[119] men and reputations, was strong upon him just then. He saw Humphrey as raw material, and he meant to mould him into a finished article after his own heart. He would make no mistakes, it should be done slowly, step by step; he would leave Humphrey to fight his own battles, and only if he fell bloody8 and wounded, would he come forward and succour the boy.
"I hope you'll keep it up," he said. "Don't get into trouble, but come to me if you do." He smiled and still caressed9 that fierce moustache. "I suppose you've heard I'm an ogre—don't believe any tale you hear. Just come straight to me when you are in any difficulty."
Humphrey came out of the room, exhilarated, and almost drunk with pride and happiness. It was Ferrol's magic again: a few words from him were like drops of oil to creaking machinery—they instilled10 fresh energy and desire into men, and made their hearts ardent11 for conquest. It was worth working night and day to have smooth words of praise from Ferrol himself, to know that he was watching you, powerful in his invisibility.
That afternoon, as he was returning from some engagement, he saw the girl with the smile coming towards him again. Afar off, it seemed, he was aware of her coming. It was as if her presence sent silent messages to him, vibrating through the air. Long before she appeared he had looked expectantly before him, knowing that she would approach him. Something in his mind linked up this neat blue-clad figure with the episode of the morning, and the little registry office, and Wratten saying, with that radiant smile of his, "I think I am going to be happy at last."
And, quite on the impulse of the moment, he made up his mind. She passed him, and left him all a-quiver with excitement, and then he turned and overtook her. His heart was beating quickly in the rhapsody of it all.[120] She stopped, noticing him at her side, hesitating, nervous.
"I say...."
"Oh!" She smiled, and he saw her cheeks flush with colour, and at once he noted12 her wonderfully slender throat and the mysterious beauty of her breathing.
He was tongue-tied for a moment. She had stopped and he was speaking to her, and he was lost in the miracle of those few seconds, when he realized that in all the loneliness of this vast London, they had met and spoken at last. They stood in a little island of their own making, while people coming and going broke in a hurried surge all about them. The newsboys ran up Fleet Street calling the hour of the latest race, and, above all, came the noise and restlessness of the traffic beating up and down the street.
"I say ..." Humphrey began, "it's awfully rude of me to stop you like this...."
She smiled again. "Not at all," she said, in a gentle voice.
"Could you tell me if Mr Beaver13 happens to be in the office now?" he asked.
"I don't think he is," she said. "Why not come up and see?"
"N—no—it doesn't really matter." Humphrey laughed nervously14. "I shall see him this evening. We dig together, you know."
"Then it doesn't matter...?" she said.
"It doesn't matter," Humphrey agreed.
He waited forlornly: now she would pass away again, always elusive15, just flitting in and out of his life like this, a disturbing factor.
But still she waited, and Humphrey was emboldened16.
"I say ..." he stammered17. "Won't you come and have a cup of tea?"
She glanced upwards18 at the clock.
[121]
"Do come," he said, half turning to lead the way. "There's a Lyons just near here."
"Oh, well ..." she laughed and followed him.
"My name's Quain," he said, as they were drinking their cups of tea. "Humphrey Quain." He waited longingly19, hoping that she would understand why he had told her his name.
She drooped20 her eyes; everything she did was exaggerated in Humphrey's imagination. She gave him her name as if she were yielding up part of herself to him.
"Mine is Filmer."
It was terribly unsatisfactory just to know that.
"I suppose you'll think me rude..." he began.
"Oh! you must guess...."
"I never could. I should guess wrong."
"Try," she coaxed21. "It begins with L."
He guessed Lily the second time, and she corrected him. "You're nearly right," she said, "it's Lilian."
"Lilian," he echoed, admiringly.
"It's a hateful name," she pouted22.
"It's a lovely name," he said.
"Do you really think so?"
"Rather!"
"Why?" she smiled again.
What an absurd question to ask. Why, because—but how could Humphrey tell her, when they had hardly known each other for a quarter of an hour.
"I hope you didn't think it rude of me stopping you like that," he ventured, after a pause.
"Oh no ... though I suppose you think it's dreadful of me to be sitting with you like this."
To tell the truth, Humphrey considered the whole thing was extraordinarily23 dashing—that he should be sitting facing her over a cup of tea; to have learnt her[122] name—Lilian Filmer—Lilian, beautiful name!—and to be carrying it off so calmly.
"Not at all," he said.
Her next words fell like a shower of cold water over him.
"You're such a boy," she said, with her eyes smiling indulgently at him.
He resented that, of course. "I'm twenty-one," he said loudly. "You're not more than twenty-one, I'm sure."
"Perhaps I'm not," she answered, taking a tiny watch from her bosom24. She sighed. "I must go."
"Look here," said Humphrey, "are we going to meet again?"
"What do you want to see me again for?"
"I just want to," Humphrey said. "I'm all alone."
"Alone in London," she laughed. "Tragic25 boy ... oh, how miserable26 you look. Don't you like being called a boy?"
"I don't mind what you call me, so long as you'll let me see you again. To-morrow's Saturday...."
"Oh! I can't manage to-morrow."
"Well, on Sunday, then."
"I never go out on Sundays."
"On Monday," said Humphrey, desperately27.
She considered the matter. "I know I'm engaged on Monday evening."
"We'll have lunch together."
"Very well," she said.
And, after that, they shook hands quite formally, and parted in Fleet Street. He had been in heaven for twenty minutes.
There were three days to Monday.
Lilian!
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1
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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4
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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7
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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8
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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9
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10
instilled
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| v.逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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12
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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13
beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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14
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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15
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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16
emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
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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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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20
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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22
pouted
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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24
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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27
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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