Her lodging6 was in a long, monotonous7 terrace which ran at right angles to the seashore, turning its back upon the river. Noon was at hand, and the fierce rays of the unclouded sun were untempered by any breeze. The street lay hushed, for everyone was either at church or on the sands. In response to his inquiry9, the landlady10 said that Miss Aked was out, and had left a message that if a gentleman called, he was to follow her to the jetty. Obeying the directions given to him, Richard soon found himself by the banks of the swift Arun, with the jetty some distance in front, and beyond that the sea, which shimmered11 blindly in the heat. Throngs12 of respectably dressed people wandered up and down, and a low, languid murmur13 of conversation floated out as it were from the cavities of a thousand parasols. Perspiring14 children whose hands were chafed15 by gloves full of creases16 ran to and fro among the groups, shouting noisily, and heedless of the frequent injunction to remember what day it was. Here and there nurses pushing perambulators made cool spots of whiteness in the confusion of colour. On the river boats and small yachts were continually sweeping17 towards the sea on the ebbing18 tide; now and then a crew of boys would attempt to pull a skiff against the rapid current, persevere19 for a few strokes, and then, amid scoffs20 from the bank, ignominiously21 allow themselves to be whirled past the jetty with the other craft.
Richard had never seen a southern watering-place before, and he had fondly expected something different from Llandudno, Rhyl, or Blackpool, something less stolid22 and more continental23. Littlehampton fell short of his anticipations24. It was unpicturesque as a manufacturing town, and its summer visitors were an infestive, lower-middle class folk, garishly25 clothed, and unlearned in the fine art of enjoyment26. The pure accent of London sounded on every side from the lips of clerks and shop-girls and their kin27. Richard forgot that he was himself a clerk, looking not out of place in that scene.
Presently he espied28 a woman who seemed to belong to another sphere. She was leaning over the parapet of the jetty, and though a black and white sunshade entirely29 hid her head and shoulders, the simple, perfectly30 hung black skirt, the neatly31 shod foot, the small, smoothly32 gloved hand with thin gold circlet at wrist, sufficed to convince him that here, by some strange chance, was one of those exquisite33 creatures who on Saturday afternoons drove past the end of Raphael Street on their way to Hurlingham or Barnes. He wondered what she did there, and tried to determine the subtleties34 of demeanour and costume which constituted the plain difference between herself and the other girls on the jetty. At that moment she stood erect35, and turned round. Why, she was quite young.... He approached her.... It was Adeline.
Astonishment36 was so clearly written on his face that she laughed as they exchanged greetings.
"You seem startled at the change in me," she said abruptly37. "Do you know that I positively38 adore clothes, though I've only just found it out. The first thing I did when I got here was to go over to Brighton, and spend terrific sums at a dressmaker's. You see, there wasn't time in London. You don't despise me for it, I hope? I've plenty of money—enough to last a long, long time."
She was dazzling, and she openly rejoiced in the effect her appearance had made on Richard.
"You couldn't have done better," he answered, suddenly discovering with chagrin39 that his own serge suit was worn and shabby.
"I'm relieved," she said; "I was afraid my friend might think me vain and extravagant40." Her manner of saying "my friend"—half mockery, half deference—gave Richard intense satisfaction.
They walked to the end of the jetty and sat down on a stone seat.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she exclaimed enthusiastically.
"What—the town, or the people, or the sea?"
"Everything. I've scarcely been to the seaside before in all my life, and I think it's lovely."
"The sea would be splendid if one could see it, but it blinds one even to glance at it in this heat."
"You shall have half my sunshade." She put it over him with a protective gesture.
"I say yes. Why don't men carry sunshades? It's only their pride that stops them.... So you don't like the town and the people?"
"Well—"
"I love to see plenty of people about. And you would, too, if you'd been fixed42 like me. I've never seen a real crowd. There are crushes when you go into theatres, sometimes, aren't there?"
"Yes. Women faint."
"But I shouldn't. I would have given anything not long ago to be in one of those crushes. Now, of course, I can just please myself. When we are back in London, do you think I could persuade you to take me?"
"You might," he said, "if you asked nicely. But young ladies who wear clothes like yours don't usually patronise the pit, where the crushes are. Stalls or dress circle would be more in your style. I propose we take the dress circle. You wouldn't enjoy your crush going in, but at the Lyceum and some other theatres, there is quite a superior crush coming out of the stalls and dress circle."
"Yes, that is better. And I shall buy more clothes. Oh! I will be shockingly wasteful43. If poor old uncle knew how his money was to be spent—"
A little child, chased by one still less, fell down flat in front of them, and began to cry. Adeline picked it up, losing her sunshade, and kissed both children. Then she took a paper of chocolates from her pocket and gave several to each child, and they ran away without saying thank you.
"Have one?" She offered the bag to Richard. "That's another luxury I shall indulge in—chocolates. Do have just one, to keep me company," she appealed. "By the way, about dinner. I ordered dinner for both of us at my rooms, but we can improve on that. I have discovered a lovely little village a few miles away, Angmering, all old cottages and no drains. Let us drive there in a victoria, and picnic at a cottage. I know the exact place for us. There will be no people there to annoy you."
"But you like 'people,' so that won't do at all."
"I will do without 'people' for this day."
"And what shall we have for dinner?"
"Oh! Eggs and bread and butter and tea."
"Tea for dinner! Not very solid, is it?"
"Greedy! If you have such a large appetite, eat a few more chocolates; they will take it away."
She rose, pointing to a victoria in the distance.
He looked at her without getting up, and their eyes met with smiles. Then he, too, rose. He thought he had never felt so happy. An intoxicating44 vision of future felicities momentarily suggested itself, only to fade before the actuality of the present.
The victoria stopped at Adeline's rooms. She called through the open window to Lottie, who came out and received orders to dine alone, or with the landlady if she preferred.
"Lottie and Mrs. Bishop45 are great friends," Adeline said. "The silly girl would sooner stay in to help Mrs. Bishop with housework than go out on the beach with me."
"She must indeed be silly. I know which I should choose!" It seemed a remark of unutterable clumsiness—after he had said it, but Adeline's faint smile showed no dissatisfaction. He reflected that he would have been better pleased had she totally ignored it.
The carriage ran smoothly along the dusty roads, now passing under trees, and now skirting poppy-clad fields whose vivid scarlet46 almost encroached on the highway itself. Richard lay back, as he had seen men do in the Park, his shoulder lightly touching47 Adeline's. She talked incessantly48, though slowly, in that low voice of hers, and her tones mingled49 with the measured trot50 of the enfeebled horse, and lulled51 Richard to a sensuous52 quiescence53. He slightly turned his face towards hers, and with dreamy deliberateness examined her features,—the dimple in her cheek which he had never noticed before, the curves of her ear, her teeth, her smooth black hair, the play of light in her eye; then his gaze moved to her large felt hat, set bewitchingly aslant54 on the small head, and then for a space he would look at the yellowish-green back of the imperturbable55 driver, who drove on and on, little witting that enchantment56 was behind him.
They consumed the eggs and bread and butter and tea which Adeline had promised; and they filled their pockets with fruit. That was Adeline's idea. She gave herself up to enjoyment like a child. When the sun was less strenuous57 they walked about the village, sitting down frequently to admire its continual picturesqueness58. Time sped with astonishing rapidity; Richard's train went at twenty-five minutes past seven, and already, as they stood by the margin59 of the tiny tributary60 of the Arun, some grandfather's clock in a neighbouring cottage clattered61 five. He was tempted62 to say nothing about the train, quietly allow himself to miss it, and go up by the first ordinary on Monday morning. But soon Adeline inquired about his return, and they set off to walk back to Littlehampton; the carriage had been dismissed. He invented pretexts63 for loitering, made her sit on walls to eat apples, tried to get lost in by-paths, protested that he could not keep the pace she set; but to no purpose. They arrived at the station at exactly a quarter past seven. The platform was busy, and they strolled to the far end of it and stood by the engine.
"I wish to heaven the train didn't leave so early," he said. "I'm sure the sea air would do me a lot of good, if I could get enough of it. What a beautiful day it has been!" He sighed sentimentally64.
"I never, never enjoyed myself so perfectly," she said emphatically. "Suppose we beseech65 the engine-driver to lie still for a couple of hours?" Richard's smile was inattentive.
"You are sure you haven't done too much," he said with sudden solicitude66, looking at her half anxiously.
"I! not a bit. I am absolutely well again." Her eyes found his and held them, and it seemed to him that mystic messages passed to and fro.
"How long do you think of staying?"
"Not long. It gets rather boring, being alone. I expect I shall return on Saturday."
"I was thinking I would run down again on Saturday for the week-end,—take a week-end ticket," he said; "but of course, if—"
"In that case I should stay a few days longer. I couldn't allow myself to deprive you of the sea air which is doing you so much good. By next Saturday I may have discovered more nice places to visit, perhaps even prettier than Angmering.... But you must get in."
He would have given a great deal just then to be able to say firmly: "I have changed my mind about going. I will stay at a hotel to-night and take the first train to-morrow." But it required more decision than he possessed67, and in a few moments he was waving good-bye to her from the carriage window.
There were several other people in the compartment,—a shy shop-girl and her middle-aged68 lover, evidently employés of the same establishment, and an artisan with his wife and a young child. Richard observed them intently, and found a curious, new pleasure in all their unstudied gestures and in everything they said. But chiefly he kept a watch on the shop-girl's lover, who made it no secret that he was dwelling69 in the seventh heaven. Richard sympathised with that man. His glance fell on him softly, benignantly. As the train passed station after station, he wondered what Adeline was doing, now, and now, and now.
On the following Saturday he took tea with Adeline at her lodgings70. The train had been late, and by the time they were ready for the evening walk without which no visitor to the seaside calls the day complete, it was close upon nine o'clock. The beach was like a fair or a north-country wake. Conjurers, fire-eaters, and minstrels each drew an audience; but the principal attraction was a man and woman who wore masks and were commonly supposed to be distinguished71 persons to whom fate had been unkind. They had a piano in a donkey-cart, and the woman sang to the man's accompaniment. Just as Richard and Adeline came up, "The River of Years" was announced for performance.
"Let us listen to this," said Adeline.
They stood at the rim72 of the crowd. The woman had a rich contralto voice and sang with feeling, and her listeners were generous of both applause and coppers73.
"I wonder who she is," Adeline murmured, with a touch of melancholy,—"I wonder who she is. I love that song."
"But she sang beautifully. She made me feel—you know—funny.... A lovely feeling, isn't it?" She looked up at him.
"Yes," he said, smiling at her.
"You're laughing."
"Indeed I'm not. I know what you mean perfectly well. Perhaps I had it just then, too—- a little. But the song is a bit cheap."
"I could listen to it every day, and never get tired of listening. Don't you think that if a song gives anyone that—feeling, there must be some good in it?"
"Of course it's far better than most; but—"
"But not equal to those classical songs you told me about—the first time I saw you, wasn't it? Yes, Schubert: was that the name? I mean to get those, and you must show me the best ones, and play the accompaniments, and then I shall judge for myself."
"Full of accidentals, are they? I sha'n't like them, then. I never do like that sort of song."
"But you will; you must."
"Must I?" she almost whispered, in tones of gentle, feminine surrender. And after a second or two: "Then I'll try, if it will keep you in a good temper."
They stood fronting the sea. She looked straight ahead into the darkening distance, and then turned round to him with a mock plaintive76 expression, and they both laughed.
"Wouldn't it be better up by the river," he suggested, "where there are fewer people?"
A little to his surprise, she agreed that it was certainly rather noisy and crowded on the beach on Saturday nights, and they turned their backs to the shore. The moon had risen, and shone at intervals77 through clouds. For a few score yards they walked in silence. Then Adeline said,—
"It's very dull here during the week for a poor single woman like me. I shall go home on Monday."
"But think of London in this weather."
"I do think of it. I think of the parks and the restaurants and the theatres."
"The good theatres are closed now."
"Well, the music-halls. I've never been in one, and if they are very naughty, then I want to go very much. Besides, there are lots of theatres open. I've read all the theatrical78 advertisements in the 'Telegraph,' and there must be plenty of things to see. You mayn't think them worth seeing, but I should enjoy any theatre."
"I believe you would," he said. "I used to be like that."
"Up to now I've had no real pleasure—what I call pleasure—and I'm just going to have it. I'll settle down afterwards."
"Didn't your uncle take you out much?"
"I should say he didn't. He took me to a concert once. That was all—in nearly two years. I suppose it never occurred to him that I was leading a dull life."
She made a movement with her hands, as if to put away from her all the drab dailiness of her existence in Carteret Street.
"You can soon recover lost time," Richard said cheerfully.
His fancy was in the rosy79 future, vividly80 picturing the light-hearted gaieties, Bohemian, unconventional, artistic81, in which he and she should unite. He saw himself and Adeline becoming dearer to each other, and still dearer, her spirit unfolding like a flower, and disclosing new beauties day by day. He saw her eyes glisten82 when they met his; felt the soft pressure of her hand; heard her voice waver with tenderness, expectant of his avowal83. And then came his own bold declaration: "I love you, Adeline," and her warm, willing lips were upon his. God! To dream of such beatitudes!
She had slightly quickened her step. The quays85 were silent and deserted86, save for these two. Presently masts rose vaguely87 against the sky, and they approached a large ship. Richard leaned over the parapet to decipher the name on her bows. "Juliane," he spelt out.
"That is Norwegian or Danish."
They lingered a few moments, watching the movements of dim figures on deck, listening to the musical chatter88 of an unknown tongue, and breathing that atmosphere of romance and adventure which foreign vessels89 carry with them from strange lands; then they walked on.
"What is it?" she asked when they had finished a verse.
"It must be a Norwegian folk-song. It reminds me of Grieg."
Another verse was sung. It began to rain,—warm, summer drops.
"You will be wet," Richard said.
"Never mind."
A third verse followed, and then a new air was started. It rained faster.
"Come under the shelter of the wall here," Richard urged, timidly taking her arm. "I think I see an archway."
"Yes, yes," she murmured, with sweet acquiescence91; and they stood together a long time under the archway in silence, while the Norwegian sailors, heedless of weather, sang song after song.
The next morning the sky had cleared again, but there was a mist over the calm sea. They walked idly on the level sands. At first they were almost alone. The mist intensified92 distances; a group of little children paddling in a foot of water appeared to be miles away. Slowly the mist was scattered93 by the sun, and the beach became populous94 with visitors in Sunday attire3. In the afternoon they drove to Angmering, Adeline having found no preferable haunt.
"You have no train to catch to-night," she said; "what a relief! Shall you start very early to-morrow?"
"I'm not particular," he answered. "Why?"
"I was thinking that Lottie and I would go up by the same train as you, but perhaps you won't care to be bothered with women and their luggage."
"If you really intend to return to-morrow, I'll wire to Curpet not to expect me till after lunch, and we'll go at a reasonable hour."
He left her at her lodging as the clock was striking eleven; but instead of making direct for his hotel, he turned aside to the river to have a last look at the "Juliane." Curiously95, it began to rain, and he sheltered under the archway where he had stood with Adeline on the previous night. Aboard the "Juliane" there was stir and bustle96. He guessed that the ship was about to weigh anchor and drop down with the tide. Just after midnight she slid cautiously away from the quay84, to the accompaniment of hoarse97 calls and the rattling98 of chains and blocks.
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收听单词发音
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1
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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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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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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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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creases
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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ebbing
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的现在分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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scoffs
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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garishly
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| adv.鲜艳夺目地，俗不可耐地；华丽地 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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subtleties
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| 细微( subtlety的名词复数 )； 精细； 巧妙； 细微的差别等 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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wasteful
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| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
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44
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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45
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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46
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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47
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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48
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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49
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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50
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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51
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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52
sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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53
quiescence
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| n.静止 | |
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54
aslant
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| adv.倾斜地；adj.斜的 | |
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55
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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56
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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picturesqueness
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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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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pretexts
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| n.借口，托辞( pretext的名词复数 ) | |
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sentimentally
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| adv.富情感地 | |
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beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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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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glisten
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| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
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avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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quays
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| 码头( quay的名词复数 ) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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