She sat back, trembling and silent, staring out before her as if unconscious of the presence of Gerard Buckland, who, holding the side of the victoria with fingers which tightened2 as he stood, looked into the girl’s face with agony which he could not repress. For surely her exclamation was a confession3! If she had no connection with the working-girl whom he had seen in the crowd on the night of the fête, why should she mind what he told Lady Jennings? Yet at his suggestion that he should speak to the old lady about what he had seen, Rachel had shown the most helpless terror.
She presently recovered her composure, sat up in the carriage and smiled faintly.
“I don’t know,” she said, “why I should mind your telling Lady Jennings whatever you please. But it is, perhaps, a little disconcerting to be frankly4 and candidly5 disbelieved, and the experience is new and strange to me.”
Gerard hesitated what to say.
“All I want to say to her,” he said, in a low voice[54] which he could not keep steady, “is that I think you do rash things, and that you want someone to take care of you, as you are too reckless as to what you do yourself.”
Miss Davison looked at him with a frown.
“Do you still persist then,” said she, “in believing that it was I you saw that night in the crowd opposite Chislehurst House?”
Gerard met her eyes fairly and frankly.
“I’m quite sure of it,” he said simply.
“Most extraordinary!” said she.
“And I am sure,” he went on stubbornly, “that Lady Jennings has an idea that there is something strange going on.”
Miss Davison was prepared for this, evidently.
“I shouldn’t like to answer for all the fancies the dear old lady takes into her head,” she said. “But I’m sorry that you should think it necessary to encourage her in them.”
He could say nothing to this, but drew back, growing very red. Raising his hat, he was about to withdraw without another word, when Miss Davison, suddenly sitting up again, imperiously made an emphatic7 gesture of command to him to return. Then looking him full in the face she said coldly—
[55]“I don’t want to make mischief, Miss Davison; I want to get your friends to take more care of you.”
His tone was so quiet, so stubborn, that she looked frightened again. There was something feminine, helpless about her look and manner when she was threatened, which touched him and made him sorry that he had to seem so harsh. But remembering as he did the reference made by Lady Jennings to the doctrine9 of “doubles,” he was sure that the old lady guessed something, and he knew that, at all costs, he must find out the meaning of what he had seen.
After a short pause, Miss Davison burst into a light laugh.
“My friends, Mr. Buckland, my real friends,” she said coolly, “have a strong impression that I don’t need looking after, that I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, I’ve no doubt you can take all the care of yourself that a girl can take,” said he boldly; “but that is not enough, Miss Davison, if I may daresay so, in the case of a lady as beautiful as you are and as determined10 to let nothing stand in the way of carrying out her ambitions.”
“I can’t see what ambition would be served by standing12 about in a London crowd in clothes not one’s own,” she said. “It sounds to me like the act of a lunatic; but as Lady Jennings considers me[56] eccentric already, I have no doubt, if you were to choose to put the notion into her head, she would think me quite capable of what you suggest you saw me do. In that case I should simply have to leave her house, where I am very comfortable and very useful to her. For she would certainly worry my life out, and I would not submit to that from anybody.”
Gerard bowed, but he did not promise, as she wished him to do, to say nothing to Lady Jennings. There was another short silence.
“I am afraid you will think me a bore, Miss Davison, for obtruding13 upon you so long,” said he, in another attempt to get away.
She detained him instead.
“Are you going to speak to Lady Jennings—and—and my mother?” she asked imperiously.
“If there is nothing in my fancy, what harm is there in my mentioning to both the ladies the extraordinary coincidence?” said he. “It would prepare them, at any rate, for other such coincidences—which will most certainly arise in the future.”
And he tried to retreat.
“I can’t let you frighten my poor old mother, and worry Lady Jennings to death,” she said imperiously. “I must speak to you. I can’t here of course; but I must explain.”
Explanation was just what he wanted, and Gerard’s heart beat high at the word.
[57]“Shall I call—” he began.
She interrupted him by a shake of the head.
“No, no,” she said. “How can we talk before her? Let me see.” She took out an engagement book from her carriage pocket, and glanced at it reflectively.
“Will you meet me to-morrow somewhere and take me to tea?” she said.
“I shall be delighted.”
“I’ll get Lady Jennings to lend me the victoria to-morrow, and meet you outside Lyons’ tea room at four. Will that do?”
She spoke14 with the air of an angry empress, cold, reserved, with a suggestion of suppressed thunder in look and voice. Gerard went away in a state of bewilderment impossible to describe.
Not only was he now quite sure that it was she whom he had seen in the crowd, but he knew that she had the strongest possible objection to its being known that she led a double life. He could not understand it. If she had been a clever “sensational” journalist, with subjects to work up by actual observation, as he had at first supposed, there was no reason in the world why she should not have confessed the fact to him. Although he was not an intimate friend of hers, she knew him quite well enough for an ordinary girl to feel sure that he could be trusted with a paltry15 little secret such as that. It was true that she might naturally prefer[58] to keep her own counsel to her friends on such a point: old ladies would certainly feel nervous about such an undertaking16 on the part of a handsome young girl as the passing under a disguise.
But when she was found out, and by a man, surely common sense ought to have suggested to her that confession was the only safe course! If she had told him simply that she wore a disguise in the course of her professional pursuits, and had begged him to keep her little secret, she might have been sure of his delighted acquiescence17, and of his satisfaction in the thought that he knew something about her which she wished to keep unknown to the world in general.
Considering the high level of her intelligence, Gerard was greatly surprised and disturbed at her obstinacy18.
But he told himself that she would certainly be more open on the following day, and that she would tell him, if not all the truth, at least enough to endeavor to engage his loyalty19 in keeping her secret.
Yet in spite of these reflections, Gerard felt that there was still something ugly about what he had seen. That passing of the flashing stone to an unknown man, and then the prompt disappearance20 of the two persons! What was he to think of that? What would she say when he told her, pointblank, as he meant to do, that that was what he saw?
There was all the time underlying21 his admiration22 for this beautiful, spirited girl, a sickening horror[59] of what might be in store for him when he should learn all the truth. It was not, could not be possible that she was a common thief, that the money she earned was made by practices of absolute dishonesty. And yet, the longer he lingered upon the circumstances, the more he thought about that interview with Rachel that afternoon, the more he wondered whether there was something horrible, something dishonorable about the whole affair.
That she was not a designer or artist he was by this time quite sure: every circumstance confirmed him in his opinion. No artist worthy23 the name can live long without a pencil in his hand; yet no one appeared ever to have seen her at this mysterious work which brought in eight hundred a year!
That notion then he took to be disposed of.
He had suggested to her that she was a journalist, and if she had been one, common sense would have made her confess at once and add that she did not wish the fact generally known.
What then was left? She could not possibly be on the stage without the knowledge and consent of either Lady Jennings or her mother.
What other calling was open to her?
She had herself bewailed the fact that women can do so little, and that so few callings were really open to them.
Yet here was she, admittedly without training in any direction, making what must be a good income.
[60]Gerard tormented24 himself all that day and the next by these and similar thoughts, all leading in the same unpleasant and unwelcome direction.
The next day when he was waiting outside the tea room in Piccadilly, he was in such a state of morbid25 excitement and harassed26 thought, that he wished he had asked her to put off the appointment, to give him time to find out, before seeing her again, what he wanted to know about her mysterious way of life.
He had not to wait very long, for Rachel, being used to business appointments, was punctual. He soon saw Lady Jennings’ victoria driving up, and saw that Rachel herself, very quietly but well-dressed in striped black and white silk, with black hat, black gloves, and a black and white sunshade, was the sole occupant.
He helped her out of the carriage and saw that she looked rather flushed, a fact which added to her beauty, and then he led her into the tea room.
They were early, so they had their choice of a table, and seated themselves near enough to the little orchestra for the music to help to cover their conversation, which they knew was going to be serious.
It was some time, however, before Gerard dared to broach27 the subject upon which Miss Davison had promised to enlighten him.
He could not very well say, “And now for an explanation!” but had to wait her good pleasure.
[61]Miss Davison, however, seemed to have forgotten the reason of their meeting. She chatted gaily28, ate buttered scones29 hungrily, saying that she had been too hard at work to have any luncheon30, and enjoyed herself in looking about her, which she did with a certain keenness which was not at all like the casual glance of the ordinary girl out to tea.
It was not until they had nearly finished tea, and when there was a short silence, that Gerard dared to say—
“I have been thinking all night about our meeting yesterday, and about what you said to me.”
“And what was that?” she asked.
“You know you promised me an explanation of—of what I told you I saw—that night—in front of Lord Chislehurst’s—in the crowd.”
“And what was that? Tell me exactly what you did see,” said she imperiously.
And if she was disturbed she hid the fact very thoroughly33 indeed.
He hesitated, and then said steadily—
“I saw you—in a poor sort of dress, with a large, flopping34 black hat bent35 out of shape and with a feather out of curl that hung over it and shaded the eyes, standing alone—or you seemed to be alone,[62] in the crowd. Then I saw you hand something that flashed—I think,” he added, bending forward to speak low and hurriedly, “it was diamonds or a diamond—to a man, who took it from you. And then you disappeared, and so did he, so completely that I did not see a trace of either of you again.”
Miss Davison listened with an unmoved face.
“And what,” she said, when he had finished, as she put her elbows on the table, still with her hands laced together, and looked at him with a sort of scornful challenge, “did you think of that?”
Once more he hesitated. Then he said—
“I did not know what to think, Miss Davison.”
She smiled with the same superb scorn.
“Did you,” she asked majestically36, as she looked at him through her eyelashes with an air of ineffable37 contempt, “think I was a thief?”
The blood rushed to his cheeks.
“But,” persisted she, “I don’t know what else you can mean, if you really saw what you say you did, and if you put upon it the construction which anybody else would put.”
“Well,” said she, “what do you want me to say? Do you want me to assure you that I am not a thief?”
[63]“Of course not.”
“Do you want me to say that it was not I you saw?”
He drew a long breath.
“You can’t say that,” he retorted passionately40.
“Oh yes, I can, and I do,” said Rachel slowly. “Forgive me, Mr. Buckland, if I’ve seemed to take this too lightly, but the truth is that the whole affair is a desperately41 serious one for me. That girl has roused suspicions in more people than one, and will again, I’m afraid.”
“What girl?”
“The one you saw—my ‘double’—Maud Smith, as she calls herself, a well-known thief.”
Gerard sat back and looked at her incredulously. Then he bent forward again, and looking earnestly, entreatingly42 into her face, asked—
“Do you mean to tell me that the girl I saw that night was not you?”
“I can answer for that,” she said. “What should I be doing in a crowd at that time of night—and picking pockets?”
“Oh, I didn’t say that!”
“Didn’t you? I think you implied it, though. You saw this girl pass jewelry43 to another person. And then you saw no more of them. Is any other explanation possible than that they were a couple of thieves?”
It seemed to him callous44, horrible, for her to put[64] his unspoken dread45 into simple, straightforward46 speech. He shrank before her as she did so.
“I—I thought perhaps I was mistaken, and that—”
“But you were not,” she interrupted sharply. “It is the bane of my life, that this girl, who is, I am sorry to say, a relation of mine—”
“A relation?”
“A near relation,” she repeated solemnly. “I say it is the greatest trial I have to put up with that she should go about as she does, and lead the dishonest career she does, and that the likeness47 between us should be so strong that not you only, but two or three more of my friends have seen her and have thought—what you thought,” she added quickly.
He tried to look as if he believed her, but failed.
“And you say her name is Maud Smith?”
“No, I said she called herself so. Her real name, unfortunately, is much more like mine. So far she has escaped detection and conviction, though often only by the skin of her teeth. Until she is taken up and convicted I suppose I shall be exposed constantly to the same annoyance48 of having her mistaken for me.”
“But won’t it be a great scandal for the family?”
“Not necessarily. Her real name might not come out. But even if it did, I think it would be better than for me to suffer the constant misery49 of being mistaken myself for a pickpocket50, and by people who[65] ought to know me better,” she ended with a flash of anger.
Gerard hung his head, but he could not feel very guilty.
“The resemblance is indeed extraordinary,” he murmured.
She shook her head with a bitter little laugh.
“I see you don’t believe it is only a resemblance,” she said. “Then pray what do you think about it? At least I know. You must believe that I pick pockets for a livelihood51.”
“Miss Davison!”
“Well, what other explanation is possible?”
He sat back again, pained and uneasy.
“I wish,” he burst out suddenly, “that you would let me see you and this girl—side by side.”
She smiled contemptuously.
“I see you don’t believe what I’ve told you,” she said.
“Frankly, I can’t.”
“You can’t believe that a face seen for a few moments—in a crowd—in the darkness—surmounted by an old tawdry hat with a bedraggled feather—was any other than mine?”
Gerard replied stoutly—
“Well, no I can’t. I could believe myself mistaken with regard to any other person’s face. I could think I had let my imagination play tricks with me; but not with your face.”
[66]“Why not with mine?”
Their heads were close together, the music was playing, and there was nobody near enough to hear. So he blurted52 out the words which he had that morning thought it impossible that he should ever say to this woman who charmed him, but tantalized53 him at the same time.
“Because I love you.”
“You love a pickpocket?”
“No, no, no.”
“But it’s the same thing, isn’t it?”
“No. I don’t believe your explanation; I can’t. But I don’t believe either that you could be guilty of anything that was not absolutely honorable and right. I’d rather believe that my own senses had betrayed me than believe one word of anything but good about you.”
When he had once begun Gerard found himself fluent enough. He would rather have expected, if he had left himself time to expect anything, that Miss Davison would have affected54 to scoff55 at his abrupt56 confession, and would have laughed at him and as it were brushed him from her path with scorn, putting on airs of indignation that he should dare to make a sort of accusation57 against her in one breath, and a declaration of love to her the next.
But she did nothing of the sort. On the contrary, he saw her face change, the muscles tremble, the head bend, and a tear glitter in her eye.
[67]“Thank you,” she said, in a hoarse whisper. “I—I—we’d better go now, I think. Lady—Lady Jennings—”
She did not finish her sentence, but rose from her chair, put out a trembling hand for her sunshade, and began to walk up the long room.
When they were outside, Gerard, who was surprised and infinitely58 distressed59 at the unexpected effect of his words upon her, said humbly—
“Are you very angry with me?”
“Yes,” said Miss Davison.
He grew bolder.
“Not very angry, I think?” he suggested, as they stood in the gathering crowd on the curbstone, neither quite sure what they were going to do next.
“Yes, I’m very angry,” said she. “You’ve accused me of disgraceful things, and then you’ve dared—”
“Well, what have I dared?” ventured he, seeing that the anger she talked about was of the kind that usually melts on being challenged.
“Oh, don’t let us talk nonsense,” said Miss Davison.
“Is the carriage to meet you here? Or may I take you—”
“Where to?”
“Anywhere you want to go to.”
[68]“I sent the victoria away,” she said, “to meet Lady Jennings, and I don’t suppose it will come back for me.”
“Let me take you to see pictures, or something. Do.”
Something in her manner, in her tone, had suddenly made him forget everything in the consciousness that she was not so indifferent as she pretended. He felt that the explanation she had promised him having turned out so unsatisfactorily, he had a right to a better one, and he thought that, if she would only be coaxed61 into spending a little more time in his society, he should get it.
She hesitated. Then she looked at her watch.
“It’s five o’clock,” she said. “We might fill up the time somehow till seven, when I have to be home to get ready for dinner.”
Gerard hailed a hansom, and helped her in.
“Where are we going to?” asked she.
“To the park,” said he. “The part where the people aren’t, and where we can talk.”
Bold as the speech was, he had been confident that it would meet with no challenge.
And it did not.
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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obtruding
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| v.强行向前，强行，强迫( obtrude的现在分词 ) | |
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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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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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tormented
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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broach
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| v.开瓶，提出(题目) | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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scones
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| n.烤饼，烤小圆面包( scone的名词复数 ) | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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thoroughly
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flopping
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| n.贬调v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的现在分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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stammered
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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entreatingly
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| 哀求地，乞求地 | |
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jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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50
pickpocket
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| n.扒手；v.扒窃 | |
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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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52
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tantalized
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| v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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55
scoff
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| n.嘲笑，笑柄，愚弄；v.嘲笑，嘲弄，愚弄，狼吞虎咽 | |
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56
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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57
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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58
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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59
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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60
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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61
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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