“Oh, poor daddy! And are you going to write to Miss Eve?”
“Yes.”
“Give her my love, and tell her God’s been very nice. I heard Him promise inside me.”
“That’s very sensible of God.”
Lynette vanished, and Canterton looked across the breakfast-table at his wife, who was submerged beneath the usual flood of letters. She had not been listening—had not heard what Lynette had said. A local anti-suffrage campaign was the passion of the moment.
It struck Canterton suddenly, perhaps for the first time in his life, that his wife was a happy woman, thoroughly1 contented2 with her discontent. All this fussy3 altruism4, this tumult5 of affairs, gave her the opportunity of full self-expression. Even her grievances6 were harmonious7, chiming in with her passion for restless activity. Her egoism was utterly8 lacking in self-criticism. If a kettle can be imagined as enjoying itself when it is boiling over, Gertrude Canterton’s happiness can be understood.
“Gertrude, I want to have a talk with you.”
“What, James?”
“I want to have a talk with you.”
She dropped a type-written letter on to her plate, and looked at him with her pale eyes.
“What is it?”
“Something I want you to know. Shall we wait and turn into the library?”
“I’m rushed to death this morning. I have to be at Mrs. Brocklebank’s at ten, and——”
“All right. I’ll talk while you finish your breakfast. It won’t take long.”
She prepared to listen to him with the patient air of an over-worked official whose inward eye remains9 fixed10 upon insistent11 accumulations of business. It did not strike her that there was anything unusual about his manner, or that his voice was the voice of a man who touched the deeper notes of life.
“Eve Carfax is coming back as my secretary and art expert. She has given up her work in town.”
“I am really very glad, James.”
“Thanks. She got entangled12 in the militant13 campaign, but the extravagances disgusted her, and she broke away.”
“Sensible young woman. She might help me down here, especially as she has some intimate knowledge of the methods of these fanatics14.”
“It is possible. But that is not quite all that I want to tell you. In the first place, I built the new cottage with the idea that she would come back.”
His wife’s face showed vague surprise.
“Did you? Don’t you think it was a little unnecessary? After all——”
“We are coming to the point. I have a very great affection for Eve Carfax. She and I see things together as two humans very rarely see them. We were made for the same work. She understands the colour of life as I understand it.”
Gertrude Canterton wrinkled up her forehead as though she were puzzled.
“That is very nice for you, James. It ought to be a help.”
“I want you to understand the whole matter thoroughly. I am telling you the truth, because it seems to me the sane15 and honest thing to do. You and I are not exactly comrades, are we? We just happen to be married. We have our own interests, our own friends. As a man, I have wanted someone who sympathised and understood. I am not making this a personal question, for I know you do not get much sympathy from me. But I have found a comrade. That is all.”
His wife sat back in her chair, staring.
“Do you mean to say that you are in love with this girl?”
“Exactly! I am in love with her.”
“James, how ridiculous!”
Perhaps laughter was the last thing that he had expected, but laugh she did with a thin merriment that had no acid edge to it. It was the laughter of an egoist who had failed utterly to grasp the significance of what he had said. She was too sexless to be jealous, too great an egoist to imagine that she was being slighted. It appealed to her as a comedy, as something quite outside herself.
“How absurd! Why, you are over forty.”
“Just so. That makes it more practical. I wanted you to realise how things stand, and to tell you that I am capable of a higher sort of affection than most people indulge in. You have nothing to fear.”
“I don’t feel alarmed, James, in the least. I know you would never do common, vulgar things. You always were eccentric. I suppose this is like discovering a new rose. It is really funny. I only ask you not to make a fool of yourself in public.”
“My dear Gertrude, that is the very point I want to impress upon you. I am grimly determined19 that no one shall be made a fool of, least of all you. Treat this as absolutely between ourselves.”
“Oh, you big, eccentric creature! Falling in love! Somehow, it is so quaint21, that it doesn’t make me jealous. I suppose I have so many real and absorbing interests that I am rather above such things. But I do hope you won’t make yourself ridiculous.”
“I can promise you that. We are to be good friends and fellow-workers. Only I wanted you to understand.”
“Of course I understand. I’m such a busy woman, James, and my life is so full, that I really haven’t time to be sentimental22. I have heard that most middle-aged23 men get fond of school-girls in a fatherly kind of way.”
He crushed his serviette and threw it on the table.
“In a way, you are one of the most sensible women, Gertrude, I have ever met.”
“Am I?”
“I’m a woman of the world, James. And there are so many important things to do that I haven’t time to worry myself about harmless little romances. I don’t think I mind in the least.”
He pushed back his chair and rose.
“I did not think you would. Only we are all egoists, more or less. One never quite knows how the ‘self’ in a person will jump.”
He crossed the room and paused at the window, looking out. His thoughts were that this wife of his was a most amazing fool, without sufficient sexual sense to appreciate human nature. It was not serene26 wisdom that had made her take the matter so calmly, but sheer, egregious27 fatuity28, the milk-and-water-mindedness that is incapable29 of great virtues30 or great sins.
“Have you thought of Lynette?”
“What has Lynette to do with it, James?”
“Oh, nothing!”
He gave her up. She was hopeless. And yet his contempt made him feel sorry.
Her hand had gone out to her papers, and was stirring them to crepitations that seemed to express the restless satisfactions of her life.
“Don’t you over-work yourself, Gertrude?”
“I don’t think so. But sometimes I do feel——”
“You ought to have a secretary, some capable young woman who could sit and write letters for eight hours a day. I can easily allow you another three hundred a year.”
She flushed. He had touched the one vital part in her.
“Oh, James, I could do so much more. And there is so much to be done. My postage alone is quite an item!”
“Of course! Then it’s settled. I’m glad I thought of it.”
“James, it’s most generous of you. I feel quite excited. There are all sorts of things I want to take up.”
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收听单词发音
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1
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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3
fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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4
altruism
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| n.利他主义，不自私 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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6
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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7
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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8
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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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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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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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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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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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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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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egregious
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| adj.非常的，过分的 | |
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fatuity
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| n.愚蠢，愚昧 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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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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