“Well, how are you now? How are you? Brought you a few flowers!”
He was shy with the shyness of a big, good-natured creature who was slow to adapt himself to strange surroundings. A feminine atmosphere had always rendered John Parfit nervous and inarticulate. He could talk like a politician in an office or a railway carriage, but thrust him into a drawing-room with a few women, and he became voiceless and futile4.
“Well, how are we?”
He put his top-hat on the table, and stood the flowers in it as though it were a vase.
“But your poor hat!”
“Why, what’s the matter?”
“They are such sappy things. I must thank you for all the flowers. They helped me to get well.”
He removed the daffodils, and wandered round the room till he found an empty pot that agreed to rid him of them.
“Don’t you bother—don’t you get up! I’ll settle them all right.”
He came back to the fire, rubbing his hands and smiling. The smile died a sudden death when he dared to take his first good look at Eve, and with it much of his self-consciousness seemed to vanish. He sat down rather abruptly5, staring.
“I say, you have had a bad time!”
“I’m afraid I have.”
She looked thin, and ill, and shadowy, and plain, and her eyes were the eyes of one who was worried. A tremulous something about her mouth, the droop6 of her neck, the light on her hair, stirred in John Parfit an inarticulate compassion7. The man in him was challenged, appealed to, touched.
“I say, you’ve been bad, you know!”
“But I’m getting better.”
“You’re—you’re so white and thin!”
He spoke8 in an awed9 voice, his glance fixed10 on one of her hands that rested on the arm of her chair.
“I wanted to have a talk, you know. But I shall tire you.”
“No.”
She heard him draw a big breath.
“Look here, I’m a fool at expressing myself, but you’ve been having a bad time. I mean, as to the money. Beastly thing money. I’ve guessed that. Seems impertinent of me, but, by George! well, I can’t help it. It’s upset me, seeing you like this. It’s made me start saying something I didn’t mean to mention.”
He was out of breath, and sat watching her for one dumb, inarticulate moment, his hands clenched11 between his knees.
“Look here, you may think me a fool, but I tell you one thing, I can’t stand the thought of a girl like you having to scrape and scramble12. I can’t stand it. And I shouldn’t have had the cheek, but for feeling like this. I’ll just blurt13 it out. I’ve been thinking of it for weeks. Look here, let me take care of you—for life, I mean. I’m not a bad sort, and I don’t think I shall be a selfish beast of a husband. There’s nothing I won’t do to make you happy.”
He sat on the edge of the chair, his hands still clenched between his knees. As for Eve, she was distressed14, touched, and perhaps humbled15. She told herself suddenly that she had not faced this man fairly, that she had not foreseen what she ought to have foreseen. The room felt close and hot.
“I say, I haven’t offended you? It mayn’t seem quite sporting, talking like this, when you’ve been ill, but, by George! I couldn’t help it.”
She said very gently:
“How could I be offended? Don’t you know that you are doing me a very great honour?”
“Oh, I say, do you mean it?”
“Of course.”
Eve saw a hand come out tentatively and then recede16, and in a flash she understood what the possible nearness of this man meant to her. She shivered, and knew that in the intimate physical sense he would be hopelessly repellent. She could not help it, even though he had touched her spiritually, and made her feel that there were elements of fineness in him that were worthy17 of any woman’s trust.
He had been silent for some seconds, and his emotions could not be stopped now that they were discovering expression.
“Look here, I’m forty-six, and I’m going bald, but I’m a bit of a boy still. I was made to be married, but somehow I didn’t. I’ve done pretty well in business. I’ve saved about seven thousand pounds, and I’m making nine hundred a year. You ought to know. I’m ready to do anything. We could take a jolly little house out somewhere—Richmond, or Hampstead, say, the new garden place. And I don’t know why we shouldn’t keep a little motor, or a trap. Of course, I’m telling you this, because you ought to know. I’m running on ahead rather, but it’s of no consequence. I only want you to know what’s what.”
He was out of breath again, and she sat and stared at the fire. His rush of words had confused her. It was like being overwhelmed with food and water after one had been dying of hunger and thirst and fear in a desert. His essential and half pathetic sincerity18 went to her heart, nor could she help her gratitude19 going out to him. Not for a moment did she think of him as a fat, commonplace sentimentalist, a middle-aged20 fool who fell over his own feet when he tried to make love. He was more than a good creature. He was a man who had a right to self-expression.
She rallied her will-power.
“I don’t know what to say to you. I suppose I am feeling very weak.”
He rushed into self-accusation.
“There, I’ve been a selfish beast. I oughtn’t to have come and upset you like this. But I couldn’t help telling you.”
“I know. It hasn’t hurt me. But you have offered me such a big thing, that I am trying to realise it all. I don’t think I’m made for marriage.”
“Oh, don’t say that! I know I’m a blundering idiot!”
“No, no, it is not you! It is marriage.”
“You don’t believe in marriage?”
“Not that. I mean, for myself. I don’t think I could make you understand why.”
He looked puzzled and distressed.
“It’s my fault. I couldn’t do the thing delicately. I’m clumsy.”
“No, no. I have told you that it is not that.”
“Well, you think it over. Supposing we leave it till you get stronger?”
“But you are offering everything and I nothing.”
“Nonsense! Besides, I don’t believe in marrying a woman with money. I’d rather have the business on my own back. Of course, I should settle two or three thousand on you, you know, so that you would have a little income for pin-money. I think that’s only fair to a woman.”
She coloured and felt guilty.
“I think you are more generous than fair. Don’t say any more. I’ll—I’ll think it over.”
He got up and seized his hat.
“That’s it—that’s it. You think it over! I’m not one of those fellows who thinks that a woman is going to rush at him directly he says come. It means a lot to a woman, a dickens of a lot. And you’re not quite yourself yet, are you? It’s awfully21 good of you to have listened.”
He reached for her hand, bent22 over it with cumbrous courtesy, and covered up a sudden silence by getting out of the room as quickly as he could.
When John Parfit had gone, Eve lay back in her chair with a feeling of intense languor23. All the strength and independence seemed to melt out of her, and she lay like a tired child on the knees of circumstance.
And then it was that she was tempted—tempted in this moment of weariness, by the knowledge that a way of escape lay so very near. She had been offered a protected life, food, shelter, a generous allowance, love, leisure, all that the orthodox woman is supposed to desire. He was kind, understanding in his way, reliable, a man whose common sense was to be trusted, and he would take her away from this paltry24 scramble, pilot her out of the crowd, and give her an affection that would last. Her intuition recognised the admirable husband in him. This middle-class man had a rich vein25 of sentiment running through his nature, and he was not too clever or too critical to tire.
Dusk began to fall, and the fire was burning low. It was the hour for memories, and into the dusk of that little suburban26 room, glided27 a subtle sense of other presences, and she found herself thinking of Canterton and the child. If she were to have a child like Lynette. But it could not be Lynette—it could not be his child, the child of that one man. She sat up, shocked and challenged. What was she about to do? Sell herself. Promise to give something that it was not in her power to give. Deceive a man who most honestly loved her. It would be prostitution. There was only one man living to whom she could have granted complete physical comradeship. She was not made to be touched by other hands.
She rose and lit the gas, and sat down at the table to write a letter. She would tell John Parfit the truth; put the shame of temptation out of her way.
It was not a long letter, but it came straight from her heart. No man could be offended by it—hurt by it. It was human, honourable28, a tribute to the man to whom it was written.
When she had addressed and stamped it, she rang the bell for Mrs. Buss.
“I should be very much obliged if you could have this posted for me.”
“Certainly, miss. I’ll send Albert down to the pillar-box. Excuse me saying it; but you do look pounds better. You’ve got quite a colour.”
And she went out, simpering.
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收听单词发音
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1
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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2
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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3
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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4
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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5
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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6
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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7
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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8
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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9
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10
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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11
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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13
blurt
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| vt.突然说出，脱口说出 | |
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14
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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15
humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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16
recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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17
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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18
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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19
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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20
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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21
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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22
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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23
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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24
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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25
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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26
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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27
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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28
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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29
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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