May have the shaping of our future lives;
May alter this and that in such strange fashion
That we become as puppets in their hands,
To play the game of life by old events."
Mr. Dombrain's office, situate in Chintle Lane, was a shabby little place consisting of three rooms. One where his clients waited, another occupied by three clerks constantly writing, and a third where Mr. Dombrain himself sat, like a crafty2 spider in his web waiting for silly flies. The three rooms were all bad, but Mr. Dombrain's was the worst; a square, low-roofed apartment like a box, with a dim twilight3 atmosphere, which filtered in through a dirty skylight in the roof. This being the case, Dombrain's desk was lighted by a gas-jet with a green shade, fed by a snaky-looking india-rubber tube attached to the iron gas-pipe projecting from the wall above his head.
The heavy yellow light flaring4 from under this green shade revealed the room in a half-hearted sort of fashion, illuminating5 the desk, but quite unable to penetrate6 into the dark corners of the place. On the writing-table were piles of papers, mostly tied into bundles with red tape, a glass inkstand, a pad of pink blotting-paper, three or four pens, all of which were arranged on a dingy7 ink-stained green cloth in front of a row of pigeon holes, full of loose letters and legal-looking documents.
In front of this table sat Mr. Dombrain in a heavy horsehair-covered chair, and near him were two other chairs of slender construction for the use of clients. Along the walls more pigeon holes crammed8 with papers, a tall bookshelf filled with hard-looking law books, which had a second-hand9 look of having been picked up cheap, a ragged10 carpet on the well-worn floor, and dust everywhere. Indeed, so thickly lay the dust on books, on floor, on papers, on desk, that the whole room looked as if it had just been opened after the lapse11 of years. The chamber12 of the Sleeping Beauty, perhaps, and Mr. Dombrain--well no, he was not a beauty, and he never was sleeping, so the comparison holds not. Indeed he was a singularly ugly man in a coarse fashion. A large bullet-shaped head covered with rough red hair, cut so remarkably13 short that it stood up stiffly in a stubbly fashion, a freckled14 face with a coarse red beard clipped short, cunning little grey eyes, rather bleared by the constant glare of the gaslight in which he worked, and large crimson15 ears. Dressed in a neat suit of black broadcloth, he appeared singularly ill at ease in it, and with his large stumpy-fingered hands, with clubbed nails, his awkward manner, his habit of stealthily glancing out of his bleared eyes, Mr. Dombrain was about as unsuited a person for a lawyer as one could find. There was nothing suave16 about him to invite confidence, and he looked as if he would have been more at home working as a navvy than sitting behind this desk, with his large red hands clumsily moving the papers about.
Three o'clock in the afternoon it was by Mr. Dombrain's fat-faced silver watch lying on the table in front of him, and as the lawyer noted17 the fact in his usual stealthy fashion, a timid-looking clerk glided18 into the room.
"Yes?" said Dombrain interrogatively, without looking up.
"If you please--if you please, sir, a lady," stammered19 the timid clerk, washing his hands with invisible soap and water, "a lady about--about the situation, sir."
"Humph! I said the application was to be by letter."
"But--but the lady, sir?"
Mr. Dombrain looked complacently20 at his nails, but said nothing.
"But--but the lady, sir?" repeated the timid clerk again.
"I said the application was to be by letter."
The clerk, seeing that this was the answer he was expected to deliver, went sliding out of the room; but at the door encountered the lady in question, dressed in black, and closely veiled.
"Madam," he stammered, growing red, "the application was to be by letter."
"I preferred to come personally."
As she spoke21, low though her voice was, Mr. Dombrain looked up suddenly with a startled look on his face.
"Can you see me, Mr. Dombrain?"
He arose slowly to his feet, as if in obedience22 to some nervous impulse, and with his grey eyes looking straight at the veiled woman, still kept silence.
"Can you see me, Mr. Alfred Dombrain?"
The lawyer's red face had turned pale, and looked yellow in the gaslight. The hot atmosphere of the room evidently made him gasp23, used as he was to it, for he opened his mouth as if to speak, then, closing it again, signed to the clerk to leave the room.
Left alone with his visitor, Dombrain, still maintaining the same position, stood watching her with a mesmeric stare as she glided into one of the chairs beside the table.
"Won't you sit down, Mr. Alfred Dombrain?"
"Madam! who are you?"
"Don't you know? Ah! what a pity; and you have such a good memory for voices."
"I--memory--voices," he stammered, moving restlessly.
"Yes; why not, Mr. Damberton?"
The woman flung back her veil, and he recoiled26 from the sight of her face with a hoarse27, strangled cry.
"Jezebel Pethram!"
"Once Jezebel Pethram, now Miriam Belswin. I see you remember faces as well as voices--and names also. Ah! what an excellent memory."
Mr. Dombrain alias28 Damberton collected his scattered29 senses together, and, going over to a small iron safe set in the wall, produced a tumbler and a bottle of whisky. Mrs. Belswin looked at him approvingly as he drank off half a glass of the spirit neat.
"That's right; you'll need all your Dutch courage."
Quite forgetting the demands of hospitality, Dombrain replaced the bottle and glass in the respectable safe, and resumed his seat at the table with his ordinary bullying30 nature quite restored to him by the potent32 spirit.
"Now, then, Mrs. Pethram, or Belswin, or whatever you like to call yourself," he said, in a harsh, angry tone, "what do you want here?"
"I want you."
"Ho, ho! The feeling isn't reciprocal. Leave my office."
"When I choose."
"Perhaps he will," retorted Mrs. Belswin, composedly; "and perhaps he'll take you along with him."
"Infernal nonsense."
"Is it! We'll try the experiment, if you like."
Mr. Dombrain resumed his seat with a malediction34 on all women in general, and Mrs. Belswin in particular. Then he bit his nails, and looked at her defiantly35, only to quail36 before the fierce look in her eyes.
"It's no use beating about the bush with a fiend like you," he growled sulkily, making a clumsy attempt to appear at his ease.
"Not a bit."
"I wish you'd go away," whined37 Dombrain, with a sudden change of front. "I'm quite respectable now. I haven't seen you for twenty years. Why do you come now and badger38 me? It isn't fair to pull a man down when he's up."
"It's up enough for me."
The woman grinned in a disagreeable manner, finding Mr. Dombrain's manner very amusing. She glanced rapidly at him with her fierce eyes, and he wriggled41 uneasily in his chair.
"Don't look at me like that, you witch," he muttered, covering his face with his large hands. "You've got the evil eye, confound you."
Mrs. Belswin, leaning forward, held up her forefinger42 and shook it gently at the lawyer.
"It won't do, my friend; I tell you it won't do. You've tried bullying, you've tried whining43; neither of them go down with me. If you have any business to do you've got to put it aside for me. If you have to see clients you can't and won't see them till I choose. Do you hear what I say, you legal Caliban? I've come here for a purpose, Mr. Dombrain--that, I believe, is your present name--for a purpose, sir. Do you hear?"
"Yes, I hear. What is your purpose?"
She laughed; but not mirthfully.
"To tell you a story."
"I don't want stories. Go to a publisher."
"Certainly. I'll go to the Scotland Yard firm. Hold your tongue, sir. Sneering44 doesn't come well from an animal like you. I have no time to waste."
"Neither have I."
"That being the case with both of us, sit still."
Mr. Dombrain stopped his wriggling45 and became as a stone statue of an Egyptian king, with his hands resting on his knees.
"Now I'll tell you my story."
"Can't you do without that?"
"No, my good man, I can't. To make you understand what I want I must tell you all my story. Some of it you know, some of it you don't know. Be easy. It's short and not sweet. Listen."
And Mr. Dombrain did listen, not because he wanted to, but because this woman with the fierce eyes had an influence over him which he, bully31, coarse-minded man as he was, could not resist. When he recollected46 what she knew and what she could tell, and would tell if she chose, a cold sweat broke out all over him, and he felt nerveless as a little child. Therefore, for these and divers47 other reasons, Mr. Dombrain listened--with manifest reluctance48, it is true, but still he listened.
"We will commence the story in New Zealand twenty years--say twenty-two years ago. One Rupert Pethram, the younger son of a good family, come out there to make his fortune. He made it by the simple process of marrying a Maori half-caste, called Jezebel Manners. You see I don't scruple49 to tell everything about myself, dear friend. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Pethram got on very well together for a time, but she grew tired of being married to a fool. He was a fool, wasn't he?"
She waited for a reply, so Dombrain, against his will, was forced to give her one.
"Yes, he was a fool--to marry you."
"The wisest thing he ever did in his life, seeing what a lot of property I brought him. But I couldn't get on with him. My mother was a pure-blooded Maori. I am only half a white, and I hated his cold phlegmatic50 disposition51, his supercilious52 manners. I was--I am hot-blooded, ardent53, quick-tempered. Fancy a woman like me tied to a cold-blooded fish like Rupert Pethram. Bah! it was madness. I hated him before my child was born; afterwards I hated him more than ever. Then the other man came along."
"There always is another man!"
"Naturally! What would become of the Divorce Court if there wasn't? Yes, the other man did come along. A pink and white fool. My husband was a god compared to Silas Oates."
"Then why did you run away with Oates?"
"Why indeed! He attracted me in some way, I suppose, or I was sick of my humdrum54 married life. I don't know why I left even Rupert Pethram for such a fool as Silas. I did so, however. I gave up my name, my child, my money, all for what?--for a man that tired of me in less than six months, and left me to starve in San Francisco."
"You didn't starve, however."
"It is not my nature to act foolishly all my life. No, I did not starve. I had a good voice, which I managed to get trained. I had also a good idea of acting55, so I made a success on the operatic stage as Madame Tagni."
"Oh! are you the celebrated56 Madame Tagni?"
"I was. Now I am Mrs. Belswin, of no occupation in particular. I sang in the States; I sang in New Zealand----"
"You didn't sing in Dunedin?"
"No, because my husband was there. Do you know why I came to New Zealand--a divorced, dishonoured57 woman? No, of course you don't. I came to see my child. I did see her, unknown to Rupert or to the child herself. I was in New Zealand a long time watching over my darling. Then I went again to the States, but I left friends behind me--good friends, who kept me posted up in all the news of my child Kaituna. Since I left her twenty years ago like a fool, I have known everything about her. I heard in New York how Rupert had lost all his money, owing to the decrease in the value of property. I heard his elder brother had died, and that he had come in for the title. He is Sir Rupert Pethram; I ought to be Lady Pethram."
"But you're not," sneered Dombrain, unable to resist the opportunity.
"No, I am Mrs. Belswin, that's enough for me at present. But to go on with my story. I heard how my husband had brought our child home to the old country, and leaving her there had returned to New Zealand on business. When this news reached me, I made up my mind at once and came over here. I found out--how, it matters not--that my husband's legal adviser59 was an old friend of mine, one Alfred Damberton----"
"Hush! not that name here!"
"Ah, I forgot. You are the respectable Mr. Alfred Dombrain now. But it was curious that I should find an old friend in a position so likely to be of use to me."
"Yes; I have seen your advertisement in the paper for a companion for a young lady. Well, I have come to apply for the situation."
"You?"
"Yes. Personally, and not by letter as you suggested in print."
"That advertisement doesn't refer to your daughter."
"Doesn't it?" said Mrs. Belswin sharply. "Then, why refer to my daughter at all just now?"
"Because!--oh, because----"
"Because you couldn't think of a better lie, I suppose," she finished, contemptuously. "It won't do, my friend, I tell you it won't do. I'm not the kind of woman to be played fast and loose with. You say it is not my daughter that requires a chaperon."
"I do! yes I do!"
"Then you lie. What do you think private detectives are made for? Did you think I came here without having everything necessary to meet an unscrupulous wretch63 like you!"
"I thought nothing about you. I thought you were dead."
"And wished it, I daresay. But I'm not! I'm alive enough to do you an injury--to have your name struck off the roll of English solicitors64."
"You can't!" he retorted defiantly, growing pale again. "I defy you."
"You'd better not, Mr. Damberton! I'm one too many for you. I can tell a little thing about your past career which would considerably66 spoil the respectable position you now hold."
"No one would believe you against me. A respectable solicitor65's word is worth a dozen of a divorced woman."
"If you insult me I'll put a knife in you, you miserable67 wretch!" said Mrs. Belswin, breathing hard. "I tell you I'm a desperate woman. I know that you have advertised for a chaperon for my daughter, and I--her mother--intend to have the situation under the name of Mrs. Belswin."
"But your husband will recognise you."
"My husband is out in New Zealand, and will be there for the next few months. When he returns I will deal with him, not you. This matter of the chaperon is in your hands, and you are going to give the situation to me. You hear, gaol68-bird--to me!"
"I defy you! I defy you!" he said in a low harsh voice, the veins71 in his forehead swelling72 with intense passion. "You outcast! You Jezebel! Ah, how the name suits you! I know what you are going to say. That twenty years ago I was in gaol in New Zealand for embezzlement73. Well, I own it--I was. I was a friend of your lover, Silas Oates--your lover who cast you off to starve. I lost money betting. I embezzled74 a large sum. I was convicted and sentenced to a term of imprisonment75. Well, I worked out my term! I left the colony where, as Alfred Damberton, I was too well known to get a chance of honest employment, and came to England through America. I met you again in America. I was fool enough to think Silas Oates might help me for old time's sake. I found he had left you--left you alone in 'Frisco. You were little better than a vile76 creature on the streets; I was a gaol-bird. Oh, a nice pair we were! Outcasts, both you and I."
He passed his handkerchief over his dry lips as he paused, but Mrs. Belswin made no sign in any way, but simply sat looking at him with a sneer39.
"When I left you," resumed Dombrain, hurriedly, "I came to England--to my father. He was a lawyer in the country. He received me well--took me into his office and admitted me into partnership77. When he died I came up to London, and have prospered78 since. I have changed my name to Alfred Dombrain, and am respected everywhere. Your husband does not know my story. He was recommended to me by a friend, and he has employed me for some years. I have his confidence in every way. I am a respectable man! I have forgotten the past, and now you come with your bitter tongue and spiteful mind to tear me down from the position I have so hardly won."
He dropped down exhausted79 into a chair; but Mrs. Belswin, still smiling, still sneering, pointed80 to the safe.
"Take some more whiskey. You will need it."
"Woman, leave me!"
"Not till I leave as chaperon to my child."
"That you shall never have."
"Oh yes, I shall!"
"I say you shall not! You can go and tell my story where you please; I shall tell yours; and we'll see who will be believed--Alfred Dombrain, the respectable, trusted lawyer, or Mrs. Belswin, the divorced woman! Bah! You can't frighten me with slanders81. There is nothing to connect Dombrain the solicitor with Damberton, the convict."
"Indeed! What about this?"
She held up a photograph which she had taken out of her pocket--a photograph resembling Mr. Dombrain, but which had written under it--
Alfred Damberton.
"You may alter your face," said Mrs. Belswin maliciously82, "but you can't very well alter your handwriting. And now I look at you, I really don't think there is much alteration83. A beard when there used to be only a moustache, more wrinkles, less smiles. Oh, I think any one will recognise this for you."
Dombrain made a snatch at the photograph, but she was too quick for him.
"Not quite. This is my evidence against you. I heard in America, through my useful detectives, that you were lawyer to my husband; so, thinking I might require your help, and knowing I shouldn't get it without some difficulty, I took the trouble of writing to New Zealand for a full report of your very interesting case. You've cost me a good deal of money, my dear sir; but they pay well on the opera-stage, so I don't mind. I have all the papers telling your little story. I have this photograph with your own signature, proving the identity of Damberton with Dombrain; so taking all things into consideration, I think you had better do what I ask."
She had so completely got the better of Mr. Dombrain that she had reduced him to a kind of moral pulp84, and he leaned back in his chair utterly85 crushed.
"What do you want?" he asked feebly.
"I want the situation of chaperon to Miss Kaituna Pethram.
"If I give it to you, as I can, will you hold your tongue about--about--my past life?"
"Yes, certainly; provided that you never disclose that the divorced Mrs. Pethram has anything to do with the respectable Mrs. Belswin."
"I agree to all you say."
"You will give me the situation?"
"Yes."
"I am engaged, then?"
"You are."
"As chaperon to Miss Pethram?"
"Yes; as chaperon to Miss Pethram."
Mrs. Belswin arose with a smile of triumph and took her leave.
"Beaten all along the line, I see. Let this be a lesson to you, my dear friend, never to put your thick head against a woman's wits!"
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收听单词发音
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1
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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6
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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second-hand
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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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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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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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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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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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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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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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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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malediction
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| n.诅咒 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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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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wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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45
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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46
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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humdrum
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| adj.单调的，乏味的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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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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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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malignity
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| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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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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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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embezzlement
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| n.盗用，贪污 | |
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embezzled
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| v.贪污，盗用（公款）( embezzle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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slanders
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| 诽谤，诋毁( slander的名词复数 ) | |
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maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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