“No. 10,” said Eugenia, wondering if her aunt’s sudden resolve would be productive of good or evil.
The carriage went to Nelson Studios; the ladies dismounted, and Mrs. Cathcart tapped at the door of No. 10, a studio which, being a sculptor’s, was of course on the ground-floor.
The door was opened by a handsome young man whose outside garb3 was a ragged4 old blouse, and whose hands were white with half-dried clay—one of those hands, moreover, held a short pipe. Indeed, Gerald Leigh was in as unpresentable trim as when years ago he first met Miss Herbert.
He did not at once see the girl. She was behind Mrs. Cathcart, and that lady’s majestic5 presence absorbed all his attention. Mrs. Cathcart put up her eye-glass.
“Is your master in?” she asked.
Gerald laughed. “I am my own master,” he said.
“This is Mr. Leigh, aunt,” said Eugenia, coming forward.
“Oh!” said Mrs. Cathcart, and the palpable meaning of that exclamatory monosyllable sent the blood to Eugenia’s cheek.
Gerald started as he heard the girl’s voice and recognized[173] her in the shadow. He stretched out his clay-covered hand, then withdrew it and laughed. Mrs. Cathcart, who saw the action, put on a look of supreme6 astonishment7; then she recovered herself.
“Oh, I forgot,” she said to Eugenia. “Of course, you have seen Mr. Leigh before. May we come in, Mr. Leigh?”
He moved aside and the ladies entered the studio. He placed his two chairs at their disposal. He wondered the while what had brought Eugenia to him. He gave her a questioning glance, but her eyes avoided his. Then Mrs. Cathcart began. She spoke8 in that manner which certain persons assume towards those whom they are pleased to think their inferiors.
“I believe, some time ago, you made a bust of my late brother-in-law, Mr. Herbert, of Coombe-Acton.”
Gerald bowed.
“I wish to have a copy of it. Can you make one?”
“Certainly. In marble?”
“In marble, of course. How much will it cost?”
It was a painful experience to Eugenia, to hear her future husband talked to by Mrs. Cathcart much as that lady talked to the obliging young men and women at the various emporiums which enjoyed her patronage9.
“Mr. Herbert was my best friend,” said Gerald. “My services are at your disposal.”
“You do not understand me,” said Mrs. Cathcart, coldly. “I asked you what it would cost.”
Gerald colored and glanced at Eugenia. He was utterly10 puzzled. It could only have been through the agency of the girl he loved that this new patroness sought him.
“Mr. Leigh was my father’s friend, aunt,” said Eugenia.
“My dear! Mr. Leigh is not my friend. I want to know his terms for a marble bust.”
“Eighty pounds, madam,” said Gerald, rather shortly.
“Oh, much too much! Eugenia, do you not think such a price extortionate?”
Eugenia was silent, but her cheeks burned. Gerald’s lip quivered with anger. Only Mrs. Cathcart was calm. “I will pay you forty pounds,” she said, “but then it must be approved by a competent judge.”
“Absurd! I will even say fifty pounds. If you like to take that you may call upon me. Good-morning. Come, Eugenia!”
She swept out of the studio. Eugenia followed her. She looked back and saw Gerald’s face wearing an expression of actual pain. For a moment her impulse was to run back, throw her arms round his neck, and defy every one. However, she did not yield to it, but followed her aunt to the carriage.
“I call that young man a most common, ill-bred person,” said Mrs. Cathcart.
Eugenia flushed. “He is not,” she said hotly. “Your manner towards him must have been most mortifying12.”
“My dear child!” exclaimed Mrs. Cathcart, in innocent surprise, “and I was trying to befriend the young man? He presumes on his acquaintance with your father. I always told your poor father it was a mistake becoming intimate with persons of that class.”
Eugenia said no more. If she had thought of so doing it was not the moment to open her heart to Mrs. Cathcart. She went to her room intending to write to Gerald; but no letter was written that day. How could she ask him to call at her aunt’s after what had occurred?
“I love him,” she said to herself, “but I am not brave enough to give up all for him. Oh, why did we ever meet?”
The next morning she received a letter from Gerald. It contained no reproach—only an entreaty13 that she would name a time when he might see her. Mrs. Cathcart was true to her duty. Before James Herbert was out of bed she had sent him word that a letter had come for Eugenia. He went at once to his sister. His greeting was quite friendly.
“Eugenia,” he said presently, “of course by now you have put all that nonsense about that sculptor-fellow out of your pretty head?”
“It is no nonsense.”
“Aunt went to his studio. I was with her.”
“She ought to have known better. If she encourages you we shall quarrel. Do you correspond? Tell me the truth.”
She offered him Gerald’s letter. He waved it aside as a thing beneath his notice.
“Have you answered it?” he asked.
“Not yet. I am just going to.”
Her brother still remained calm and polite, with that contemptuous, incredulous smile playing round his lips.
“If you will make a fool of yourself, I can’t stop you. If you, with your beauty and position, choose to go and live in a garret, you must do so. Still, as your brother, I have certain responsibilities which would still be mine were your lover the highest in the land. I must make inquiries16 as to his character and moral worth—these fellows are generally a loose lot.”
“You may make what inquiries you choose.”
“Thank you. Now one favor—a command, the last I shall ask or give. You will not answer this letter—you will not see the man—until I have satisfied myself on these points. It is not too much to ask, Eugenia.”
She felt the justice of his remarks—could it be she was weak enough to be glad of a little delay and breathing space? But Gerald’s face, as last she saw it, rose before her.
“You must name a time,” she said.
“So impatient for true love and social extinction,” sneered17 Herbert. “Surely you can restrain yourself until this day week.”
It was longer than she had meant. But her brother’s bitter sneers18 settled it. “So be it,” she said, “until this day week.”
The promise given James Herbert dismissed the matter, but he filled up the next half-hour with the very cream of society gossip, which was undoubtedly19 as palatable20 to Eugenia as it would have been to any other woman. James Herbert lived within the inner circle, and as to-day, for purposes of his own, he spoke to Eugenia as if she were one of the initiated21; his conversation was not without charm.
He was clever to know when to trust. He had not the slightest fear that Eugenia would break her promise. So he cautioned Mrs. Cathcart to keep the little fool well within sight, and thus avoid danger of a chance meeting; to order the servants to refuse the sculptor admission if he ventured to call—and above all to be sure that Norgate had every opportunity of pressing his suit. After this he waited calmly, and did nothing more in the matter for six whole days.
Days during which Gerald Leigh chafed22 and fretted23. He refused to doubt, but his heart grew heavy within him. He felt sure that Mrs. Cathcart’s visit boded24 no good. At last he could bear the suspense25 no longer. He called and asked for Eugenia. She was out. He called again—the same result. He went back to his studio and tried to conquer his growing uneasiness by hard work. One morning a gentleman called and introduced himself as James Herbert.
Gerald received him courteously26. Herbert was suave27, smiling and bland28. He spoke of the interest he felt in the young sculptor for his father, Mr. Herbert’s sake. He admired some embryo29 designs, and wished and prophesied30 all success. Then, as Gerald began to hope that Eugenia’s brother might some day be his friend, he turned upon him and tore him to pieces.
“But, after all, Mr. Leigh, my great object in calling concerns my sister.”
Gerald grew very pale.
“She is a good girl, but weak. She has confessed to me that some sort of romantic nonsense had passed between you.”
His impetuosity seemed to amuse Herbert. “I am afraid such a thing is an impossibility,” he said serenely32. “I shall not insult you by telling you she is all but penniless—geniuses, I know, never think of money—but I fear I must pain you by saying she repents33 of her hasty words.”
“That,” said Gerald slowly, yet fiercely, “is a lie.”
“My good sir, I cannot allow you to use such words. My temper is fair, but it has its limits.”
“I never coerced36 any one in my life; much less my sister. Naturally, I shall object to her marriage with you; but that makes no difference.”
“Tell me what you have to tell,” said Gerald nervously37. He hated and feared this smooth, smiling man.
“In a few words, then, my sister is unhappy and unsettled. For several days she has been trying to answer a letter you sent her. At last she confided38 all to me. I am sure I am not going too far when I say she would be glad to think that all boy and girl promises between you were forgotten.”
“No. She knew I was coming. I am putting her thoughts in my own words.”
“I don’t expect you to understand what my love for your sister means; you could not,” said Gerald. “But you know she has vowed to be my wife.”
“Yes; and will keep her promise if you insist upon it.” The emphasis Herbert laid on insist made Gerald’s heart sick.
He said nothing; but, with a strange smile on his white face, he went to a table and wrote a few words.[179] He handed the paper to his visitor. “Read,” he said; “you say you are her messenger; now you can be mine.” The words were:
“Eugenia: If this is unanswered I shall believe you wish to recall everything that has passed between us.”
“Thank you,” said Herbert. “This is all I could expect.”
With trembling hands the sculptor placed the paper in an envelope, and once more tendered it to Herbert.
“No, thank you,” said Herbert. “People have been tempted40 to suppress letters before now. Post it in the ordinary way.”
Gerald left the room. He returned in a few moments, and Herbert knew that the letter had been posted. He had nothing further to do with Gerald, so held out his hand affably.
“No,” said Gerald, “I would rather not.” His eyes were gleaming strangely.
“As you will,” said Herbert with indifference41.
“I will change my mind,” said Gerald in a low voice, and taking the other’s hand; “condemned people always shake hands with the hangman, I think.”
He spoke with a ghastly attempt at mirth. Herbert left the studio without another word, but, as he drove to Mrs. Cathcart’s, said to himself, “The sooner that beggar shoots or hangs himself the better.”
He went straight to his sister. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and, with a look she had never yet seen on his face, said in a cold, contemptuous manner:
“Eugenia, I have been taking some trouble on your behalf. To-day two things are going to happen which will settle your future. Norgate will be here presently[180] and ask you to be his wife. By the next post you will get a letter from that stone-cutter. Before you answer it, shut yourself up and think until you are in a proper frame of mind. Women are fools, but surely you can’t be the biggest among them.”
“You have seen him?” asked Eugenia faintly.
“Yes. An extremely nice young man—in his place.”
“Was he well?”
“Very well, and very comfortable. My dear girl, he quite won my respect—a thoroughly42 practical young man, with lots of common-sense. Now good-bye. Don’t make any mistake.”
Did she hear aright? Her brother found Gerald a thoroughly practical young man! The lie was so gigantic that it seemed impossible it could be all a lie. She was revolving43 it in her mind even when Sir Ralph Norgate was announced.
As for the practical young man, he had locked his door, and thrown himself on the ground. James Herbert’s words had impressed him, and perhaps his faith in Eugenia’s faith was not so great as he fancied. To-morrow he would know the verdict. He felt sure that if his letter remained unanswered for twenty-four hours James Herbert had spoken the truth.
Miss Herbert found her brother a true prophet. Sir Ralph Norgate offered his hand, and when the offer was refused, told her he did not mean to accept her answer as final. She did not, on her part, say anything about her love being given elsewhere. Then Gerald’s letter came, and following her brother’s advice she did think everything over; she sat for hours trying to nerve herself to answer the letter as love and faith demanded.
She loved him. Had he been present her indecision would soon have vanished; but, as it was, she could reflect fully44 on what an answer to his letter must mean—alienation of all her friends—an end of social ambition—many years, if not a life, of poverty. Eugenia shuddered45 as she thought of the consequences, and wished that she and Gerald had never met. She wished moreover, that the temptations of rank and wealth held out by her other suitor were less.
What would Gerald do if his letter was not answered? If she could but persuade herself that her brother’s estimate of his character was the right one! Possibly it might be; James knew mankind well. If she could but think so—could believe that Gerald would forget—she might then find it easier to be wise, and, by taking him at his word, save herself and perhaps him from what must insure unhappiness.
So she reasoned—so she excused her half-meditated treason—so she persuaded herself it would eventually be better for both if they parted. Yet all the while she knew she loved Gerald Leigh as she could love no other man. In this mental conflict the day passed and night found the letter unanswered. Then James Herbert came to her.
“Eugenia, have you replied to that letter?”
She shook her head.
“Give it to me,” he said.
She did so. It was a relief to get rid of it. He tore it into fragments.
“There,” he said. “I knew I could trust your good sense. There is an end of the affair. It is a secret between you and me, and I shall never again allude46 to it.”
For good or ill the die was cast. She had freed herself. But she had left the room with swimming eyes, and went to Mrs. Cathcart.
“Aunt,” she cried, “will you take me abroad—for a long time?”
It was hard for Mrs. Cathcart to be called upon to give up the rest of the London season. But then Mr. Herbert’s recent death prevented her going out much, and it was paramount47 that Eugenia’s future should be satisfactorily disposed of. So the excellent woman sacrificed herself at once.
“I will take you abroad, Eugenia, if you will promise to be Sir Ralph’s wife.”
Eugenia had chosen her own path, and knew where it would lead; yet for very shame she would not show her thoughts to others.
“I can promise nothing,” she said. “Take me away.”
Although in his studio all day long, the sculptor did no work for weeks; at last he aroused himself, engaged a model and set to work with feverish49 energy. From morn to night he thumbed and pushed about the ductile50 clay. He laughed in a sort of bitter triumph. His hands had not lost their cunning. The work grew and grew apace until the clay was done with, and a fair white block of marble stood in the centre of the studio waiting to be hewn into the statue which was to be Gerald Leigh’s first high bid for fame.
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1
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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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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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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mortifying
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| adj.抑制的，苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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boded
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| v.预示，预告，预言( bode的过去式和过去分词 )；等待，停留( bide的过去分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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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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embryo
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| n.胚胎，萌芽的事物 | |
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prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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repents
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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coercing
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| v.迫使做( coerce的现在分词 )；强迫；（以武力、惩罚、威胁等手段）控制；支配 | |
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coerced
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| v.迫使做( coerce的过去式和过去分词 )；强迫；（以武力、惩罚、威胁等手段）控制；支配 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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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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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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42
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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43
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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44
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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45
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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46
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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47
paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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48
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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50
ductile
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| adj.易延展的，柔软的 | |
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