Sir Arthur was in his element. To condescend8, to demonstrate, to instruct, was to the Governor as the breath of his nostrils9; he prided himself upon the Attic10 character of his French; he was justly conscious that, judged even by the Parisian standard, the urbanity of his manners was beyond criticism. And to have the opportunity of displaying to the intelligent foreigner the splendours of a quasi-regal position, filled to the utmost capacity; the working of a superior mind (not unleavened by sparks of English wit that again need, certes, fear no comparison with French esprit); a cosmopolitan12 savoir-faire; the nicest sense of official dignity; the brilliant jargon13 of a brother writer; and last, but not least perhaps, a young wife of quite extraordinary beauty ... it would have been difficult to contrive14 a situation fraught15 with more satisfaction! The presence of a minor16 personality, such as that of Major Bethune, was no disturbing factor. Apart from the circumstance that Sir Arthur was large-minded enough to appreciate the admiration17 even of the humblest, there was a subtle thread of pleasure in the thought that "poor English's" friend should see and marvel18 at the good fortune that had fallen to the lot of "poor English's" widow; while the little halo of pathos19 and romance surrounding the memory of the fallen hero cast a reflected light upon his distinguished20 successor, which any temperament21 so sympathetic as that of the gifted Dr. Chatelard might easily be made to feel. A few well-chosen whispered words of sentiment, over the second glass of claret at dessert—and there would be a pretty paragraph for the Frenchman's next letter to the Figaro. For it was well known that the series of brilliant weekly articles appearing in that paper, under the title "Les Impressions d'un Globe-trotteur," emanated22 from the traveller's facile pen.
Matters had progressed according to programme. M. Chatelard, a pleasant tubby man with a bald head, a cropped pointed23 beard drawing upon greyness, a twinkling observant eye, a sparkling readiness of repartee24, and an appreciative25 palate, fell duly under the charm of the genial26 Lieutenant-Governor. The latter figured, indeed, that same night in his manuscript as the most amiable27 representative of John Bull abroad that the globe-trotteur had yet had the good fortune to meet.
"Almost French," wrote the sagacious correspondent, "in charm of manner, in quickness of insight—thorough Anglo-Saxon, however, in the deepness of his policy, the solidity of his judgment28, the unflinching decision with which he watches over the true interests of his Old England in this land of her ever-rebellious adopted sons. Bien Anglo-Saxon, too, in his ceaseless devotion to duty and stern acceptance of danger and responsibility. But he has received his recompense. These provinces of his are a model for all other colonies, and from one end to the other the name of Sir Gerardine is enough to make, etc., etc."
In very deed Sir Arthur had never been more brilliant, more convincing.
* * * * *
Coffee was served upon the terrace. Even the Governor could find no objection to this al-fresco adjournment29 upon such a night. A purple-blue sky throbbed30 with stars. Upon the one side the lights of the town gleamed, red and orange, far below, and its myriad31 night clamour seemed to emphasise32 the apartness of the uplifted palace; upon the other stretched the great flat, fertile, empty lands, still half-flooded, gleaming in the moonlight, widely still save for the occasional far-off cry of some prowling savage33 animal.
étrange situation! (wrote M. Chatelard, in his well-known assertive34 rhetoric). Nous étions là, élevés au-dessus de la plaine, dans cet antique palais converti en résidence moderne, mais tout35 imprégné des souvenirs de l'Orientalisme le plus prononcé. A nos pieds grouillait la ville Indoue, intouchable, inchangeable, telle qu'elle avait été avant que le pied du ma?tre étranger y eut pénétré. Appuyé centre la balustrade, de la terrasse je laissais plonger mon regard à travers les ténèbres jusque dans la vallée où luisaient, mystérieuses, innombrables, les lumières de la cité et me disais en moi-même: Nous voici donc, petit comité de la race conquérante qui n'a pourtant pas conquis; de la civilisation36 Européenne la plus éclairée qui n'a rien su changer dans le fonds des choses là-bas! Oui, là-bas, l'Orient va toujours son chemin sinistre et secret, inviolable par11 l'étranger; et toujours il en sera ainsi; toujours ces deux races, destinées à être conjointes sans être unies, traverseront les siècles comme deux courants puissants qui cheminent c?te à c?te sans jamais mélanger leurs ondes!
While Sir Arthur and his guest exchanged the treasures of their minds with mutual37 satisfaction, Bethune sought to isolate38 Miss Cuningham, under the pretext39 of showing her from a particular corner of the terrace the tents of a new Engineer camp. Baby was nothing loth. Her innocent cherub40 face looked confidingly41 forth42 upon him. Her light hair was spangled by the moon rays.
"Well?" said he, as soon as they were out of earshot.
The spangled mop began to fly.
"No use!"
He drew his brows together: "Did you try?"
"Did I try! Of course, at once—yesterday. Did I not promise?" The girl was reproachful. "She forbade me ever to speak of it again."
Raymond Bethune folded his arms, leaned them upon the balustrade, and turned a set profile towards the low hanging moon.
"Then I must try again," he said, after a pause.
Aspasia wished him to succeed; but something relentless43 in his looks filled her with a sort of fear of him, of pity for her aunt. He seemed as indifferent to human emotion, as immutable44, she thought, as one of the stone gods that, cross-legged and long-eyed, in unfathomable inner self-satisfaction, had gazed forth from their niches45 in the temple walls below for unknown centuries upon the passing mortal throng46.
Suddenly he turned and left her. Sir Arthur was now pacing the terrace with the globe-trotter, lucidly47 laying down the law of India, as interpreted by his own sagacity, his smouldering cigar making ruby48 circles in the night with every wave of an authoritative49 hand.
The second secretary, Mr. Simpson to wit, was sitting by Lady Gerardine's side, effusively50 receiving each indifferent phrase that dropped from her lips. As Major Bethune advanced towards them the young civilian51 rose and drew away, with a crab-like movement, in the direction of the abandoned Baby.
Lady Gerardine clasped her hands together on her knees; the contraction52 of her heart, at this man's approach, painted her face ashen53 even in the pallid54 light. He took a seat—not Mr. Simpson's lowly stool, but one that placed him on a level with her; and then there came a little pause between them like the tension of the elements before the break of the storm. She had successfully avoided him the whole evening; but now she felt that further evasion55 was useless; and she waited, collecting her forces for the final resistance.
He went straight to the point:
"I hope you have reconsidered yesterday's decision. Perhaps you do not understand that this is a question of duty with me, of conscience."
He was trying to speak gently.
"You have no responsibility in the matter," she answered.
"I cannot accept that point of view," he said, flashing into icy anger.
She did not reply in words, but rose with a swift haughty56 movement, unmistakably showing her resolve of closing the discussion once and for ever. But in an instant he was before her, barring her way.
"Major Bethune," she exclaimed, "this is persecution57!"
The blood rushed to her cheeks, her eyes flashed. For an instant she was roused to superlative beauty. Stronger became his conviction that here must be more than mere58 heartless caprice. Something of her emotion gained him.
"If you would only give me a reason!" he cried.
"It is impossible," she answered quickly. "Is it a thing to be asked for so easily, this raking up of the past? The past! is it not dead? My God—it is dead! What if I for one will keep it so?"
"That is no reason," he said cuttingly; "it is hardly an excuse."
She passed by him with long swift steps and a rush of silken draperies. And thus, once more baffled, Baby found him, stonily59 reflecting. She stopped, promptly60 discarding her meek61 admirer.
"No success?"
"No success."
"You had better give it up," said Aspasia.
"I was never more determined62 not to give it up."
Baby looked exceedingly sympathetic, fluffy63, and engaging: something like a sweet little night-owl, with her round wide eyes and her pursed-up mouth. He suddenly caught one of her hands and held its soft palm closely between his own lean ones:
"Miss Cuningham," he said in an urgent whisper, "I know you can help me."
She stared at him. It would almost seem as if this strange being could read her vacillating thought. He saw her hesitate and bent64 to look into her eyes, while the pressure of his hand grew closer.
"And if you can help me, you must. Remember your promise."
"Well, then," the girl became suddenly breathless, as if she had been running. She looked round over her shoulder: "I know it's beastly mean of me, but, there—you have only to make Uncle Arthur take it up...."
"Ah!" The teeth shone out in his dark face. "I understand. Thank you."
But Baby was already gone. With crimson65 cheeks and a deep sense of guilt66, she was running hastily away from the starry67 terrace and the great mysterious, jewelled Indian night, into the lighted drawing-room. Here Lady Gerardine was quietly seated alone by a green-shaded lamp, reading her favourite Thoreau. She looked up and smiled at Aspasia's flurried entrance, marked the quivering, flushed face.
"My dear," she exclaimed, with a vague amused laugh, "what has happened? Don't tell me that you have had to box George Murray's ears again!"
George Murray was Sir Arthur's first secretary, a young gentleman with a weakness for the fair sex, whose manners and morals had (in spite of M. Chatelard's theories of Western immunity) been considerably68 affected69 by the lax atmosphere of India. Aspasia had found it necessary, more than once, to put him in his place; and on the last occasion had confided70 to her aunt, with a noisy sigh, that if the Leschetizky method was to fail in the glorious musical results for which she had once fondly hoped, it had at least had the advantage of singularly strengthening the muscles of her arm.
She now stretched out her fingers, and, half unconsciously sketched71 a buffet72 in the air; then she shook her head:
"Oh, no, indeed! He has not looked the same side of the room as me since Saturday."
"Poor man, I am not surprised!"
"Serve him right!" said Aspasia, indefinite but vindictive73.
"It is not Mr. Simpson, surely?"
"Simpson?" echoed the girl, with supreme74 contempt, "that little worm!"
"Who is it, then? For something, or some one, has upset you."
"Oh, I don't know! It's Major Bethune, I think. I don't believe he's canny75. He has got such queer eyes."
Then, thinking she saw her aunt shudder76, she gave her a remorseful77 hug and flew to the piano to plunge78 into melodious79 fireworks.
With a sigh as of one oppressed, Lady Gerardine took up her book again and endeavoured to absorb herself. For years she had successfully cultivated the faculty80 of leading her mind into peaceful places; but to-night there was no wandering forth with Thoreau's pure ghost into the whispering green woods he loved. Stormy echoes from the past were in her ears; relentless hands were forcing her back into the arid81 spaces where dwelt the abomination of desolation. Everything seemed to conspire82 against her, even Aspasia's music.
The girl's fingers had slid into a prelude83 of Chopin, and the familiar notes which she had been wont84 to reel off with the most perfect and heartless technique were now sighing—nay, wailing—under her touch.
"Stop!" exclaimed Lady Gerardine, suddenly springing to her feet. "Oh, Baby, even you! What has come into your music to-night? You have betrayed me!" she said, and bursting into tears, hurried from the room.
The girl's hands dropped in consternation85 from the keys. Never had she heard before to-day that ring in her aunt's voice, that cry of the soul. She did not dare follow the flying figure. "You have betrayed me!" ... Little, indeed, could the poor soul guess how completely she had been betrayed.
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收听单词发音
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1
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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3
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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asterisks
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| n.星号，星状物( asterisk的名词复数 )v.加星号于( asterisk的第三人称单数 ) | |
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6
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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8
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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12
cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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13
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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14
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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15
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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17
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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18
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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19
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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20
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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22
emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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23
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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25
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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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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27
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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28
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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29
adjournment
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| 休会； 延期； 休会期； 休庭期 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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31
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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32
emphasise
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| vt.加强...的语气，强调，着重 | |
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33
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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34
assertive
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| adj.果断的，自信的，有冲劲的 | |
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35
tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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37
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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38
isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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40
cherub
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| n.小天使，胖娃娃 | |
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41
confidingly
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| adv.信任地 | |
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42
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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43
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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44
immutable
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| adj.不可改变的，永恒的 | |
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45
niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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46
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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lucidly
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| adv.清透地，透明地 | |
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48
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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49
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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50
effusively
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| adv.变溢地，热情洋溢地 | |
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51
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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52
contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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53
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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54
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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55
evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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56
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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57
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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58
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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59
stonily
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| 石头地，冷酷地 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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61
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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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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65
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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71
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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73
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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74
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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75
canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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76
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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77
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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81
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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82
conspire
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| v.密谋，（事件等）巧合，共同导致 | |
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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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84
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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85
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
参考例句： |
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