"It gave her quite a turn," said Mr. Wilcox, when retailing1 the incident to Dolly at tea-time. "None of you girls have any nerves, really. Of course, a word from me put it all right, but silly old Miss Avery--she frightened you, didn't she, Margaret? There you stood clutching a bunch of weeds. She might have said something, instead of coming down the stairs with that alarming bonnet2 on. I passed her as I came in. Enough to make the car shy. I believe Miss Avery goes in for being a character; some old maids do." He lit a cigarette. "It is their last resource. Heaven knows what she was doing in the place; but that's Bryce's business, not mine."
"I wasn't as foolish as you suggest," said Margaret. "She only startled me, for the house had been silent so long."
"Did you take her for a spook?" asked Dolly, for whom "spooks" and "going to church" summarized the unseen.
"Not exactly."
"She really did frighten you," said Henry, who was far from discouraging timidity in females. "Poor Margaret! And very naturally. Uneducated classes are so stupid."
"Is Miss Avery uneducated classes?" Margaret asked, and found herself looking at the decoration scheme of Dolly's drawing-room.
"She's just one of the crew at the farm. People like that always assume things. She assumed you'd know who she was. She left all the Howards End keys in the front lobby, and assumed that you'd seen them as you came in, that you'd lock up the house when you'd done, and would bring them on down to her. And there was her niece hunting for them down at the farm. Lack of education makes people very casual. Hilton was full of women like Miss Avery once."
"I shouldn't have disliked it, perhaps."
"Or Miss Avery giving me a wedding present," said Dolly.
Which was illogical but interesting. Through Dolly, Margaret was destined3 to learn a good deal.
"But Charles said I must try not to mind, because she had known his grandmother."
"As usual, you've got the story wrong, my good Dorothea."
"I mean great-grandmother--the one who left Mrs. Wilcox the house. Weren't both of them and Miss Avery friends when Howards End, too, was a farm?"
Her father-in-law blew out a shaft4 of smoke. His attitude to his dead wife was curious. He would allude5 to her, and hear her discussed, but never mentioned her by name. Nor was he interested in the dim, bucolic6 past. Dolly was--for the following reason.
"Then hadn't Mrs. Wilcox a brother--or was it an uncle? Anyhow, he popped the question, and Miss Avery, she said 'No.' Just imagine, if she'd said 'Yes,' she would have been Charles's aunt. (Oh, I say,--that's rather good! 'Charlie's Aunt'! I must chaff7 him about that this evening.) And the man went out and was killed. Yes, I'm certain I've got it right now. Tom Howard--he was the last of them."
"I believe so," said Mr. Wilcox negligently8.
"I say! Howards End--Howard's Ended!" cried Dolly. "I'm rather on the spot this evening, eh?"
"I wish you'd ask whether Crane's ended."
"Oh, Mr. Wilcox, how CAN you?"
"Because, if he has had enough tea, we ought to go.--Dolly's a good little woman," he continued, "but a little of her goes a long way. I couldn't live near her if you paid me."
Margaret smiled. Though presenting a firm front to outsiders, no Wilcox could live near, or near the possessions of, any other Wilcox. They had the colonial spirit, and were always making for some spot where the white man might carry his burden unobserved. Of course, Howards End was impossible, so long as the younger couple were established in Hilton. His objections to the house were plain as daylight now.
Crane had had enough tea, and was sent to the garage, where their car had been trickling9 muddy water over Charles's. The downpour had surely penetrated10 the Six Hills by now, bringing news of our restless civilization. "Curious mounds," said, Henry, "but in with you now; another time." He had to be up in London by seven--if possible, by six-thirty. Once more she lost the sense of space; once more trees, houses, people, animals, hills, merged11 and heaved into one dirtiness, and she was at Wickham Place.
Her evening was pleasant. The sense of flux12 which had haunted her all the year disappeared for a time. She forgot the luggage and the motor-cars, and the hurrying men who know so much and connect so little. She recaptured the sense of space, which is the basis of all earthly beauty, and, starting from Howards End, she attempted to realize England. She failed--visions do not come when we try, though they may come through trying. But an unexpected love of the island awoke in her, connecting on this side with the joys of the flesh, on that with the inconceivable. Helen and her father had known this love, poor Leonard Bast was groping after it, but it had been hidden from Margaret till this afternoon. It had certainly come through the house and old Miss Avery. Through them: the notion of "through" persisted; her mind trembled towards a conclusion which only the unwise have put into words. Then, veering13 back into warmth, it dwelt on ruddy bricks, flowering plum-trees, and all the tangible14 joys of, spring.
Henry, after allaying15 her agitation16, had taken her over his property, and had explained to her the use and dimensions of the various rooms. He had sketched17 the history of the little estate. "It is so unlucky," ran the monologue18, "that money wasn't put into it about fifty years ago. Then it had four--five-times the land--thirty acres at least. One could have made something out of it then--a small park, or at all events shrubberies, and rebuilt the house farther away from the road. What's the good of taking it in hand now? Nothing but the meadow left, and even that was heavily mortgaged when I first had to do with things--yes, and the house too. Oh, it was no joke." She saw two women as he spoke19, one old, the other young, watching their inheritance melt away. She saw them greet him as a deliverer. "Mismanagement did it--besides, the days for small farms are over. It doesn't pay--except with intensive cultivation20. Small holdings, back to the land--ah! philanthropic bunkum. Take it as a rule that nothing pays on a small scale. Most of the land you see (they were standing21 at an upper window, the only one which faced west) belongs to the people at the Park--they made their pile over copper--good chaps. Avery's Farm, Sishe's--what they call the Common, where you see that ruined oak--one after the other fell in, and so did this, as near as is no matter. "But Henry had saved it; without fine feelings or deep insight, but he had saved it, and she loved him for the deed. "When I had more control I did what I could: sold off the two and a half animals, and the mangy pony22, and the superannuated23 tools; pulled down the outhouses; drained; thinned out I don't know how many guelder-roses and elder-trees; and inside the house I turned the old kitchen into a hall, and made a kitchen behind where the dairy was. Garage and so on came later. But one could still tell it's been an old farm. And yet it isn't the place that would fetch one of your artistic24 crew." No, it wasn't; and if he did not quite understand it, the artistic crew would still less: it was English, and the wych-elm that she saw from the window was an English tree. No report had prepared her for its peculiar25 glory. It was neither warrior26, nor lover, nor god; in none of these roles do the English excel. It was a comrade, bending over the house, strength and adventure in its roots, but in its utmost fingers tenderness, and the girth, that a dozen men could not have spanned, became in the end evanescent, till pale bud clusters seemed to float in the air. It was a comrade. House and tree transcended27 any similes28 of sex. Margaret thought of them now, and was to think of them through many a windy night and London day, but to compare either to man, to woman, always dwarfed29 the vision. Yet they kept within limits of the human. Their message was not of eternity30, but of hope on this side of the grave. As she stood in the one, gazing at the other, truer relationship had gleamed.
Another touch, and the account of her day is finished. They entered the garden for a minute, and to Mr. Wilcox's surprise she was right. Teeth, pigs' teeth, could be seen in the bark of the wych-elm tree--just the white tips of them showing. "Extraordinary!" he cried. "Who told you?"
"I heard of it one winter in London," was her answer, for she, too, avoided mentioning Mrs. Wilcox by name.
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retailing
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| n.零售业v.零售(retail的现在分词) | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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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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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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bucolic
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| adj.乡村的；牧羊的 | |
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chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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negligently
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trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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veering
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| n.改变的；犹豫的；顺时针方向转向；特指使船尾转向上风来改变航向v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的现在分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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14
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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allaying
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的现在分词 ) | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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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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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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superannuated
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| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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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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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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transcended
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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similes
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| （使用like或as等词语的）明喻( simile的名词复数 ) | |
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dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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