Nothing so dreadful of course could be final or even for many minutes prolonged: they rushed together again too soon for either to feel that either had kept it up, and though they went home in silence it was with a vivid perception for Maisie that her companion's hand had closed upon her. That hand had shown altogether, these twenty-four hours, a new capacity for closing, and one of the truths the child could least resist was that a certain greatness had now come to Mrs. Wix. The case was indeed that the quality of her motive1 surpassed the sharpness of her angles; both the combination and the singularity of which things, when in the afternoon they used the carriage, Maisie could borrow from the contemplative hush2 of their grandeur3 the freedom to feel to the utmost. She still bore the mark of the tone in which her friend had thrown out that threat of never losing sight of her. This friend had been converted in short from feebleness to force; and it was the light of her new authority that showed from how far she had come. The threat in question, sharply exultant4, might have produced defiance5; but before anything so ugly could happen another process had insidiously6 forestalled7 it. The moment at which this process had begun to mature was that of Mrs. Wix's breaking out with a dignity attuned8 to their own apartments and with an advantage now measurably gained. They had ordered coffee after luncheon9, in the spirit of Sir Claude's provision, and it was served to them while they awaited their equipage in the white and gold saloon. It was flanked moreover with a couple of liqueurs, and Maisie felt that Sir Claude could scarce have been taken more at his word had it been followed by anecdotes10 and cigarettes. The influence of these luxuries was at any rate in the air. It seemed to her while she tiptoed at the chimney-glass, pulling on her gloves and with a motion of her head shaking a feather into place, to have had something to do with Mrs. Wix's suddenly saying: "Haven't you really and truly any moral sense?"
Maisie was aware that her answer, though it brought her down to her heels, was vague even to imbecility, and that this was the first time she had appeared to practise with Mrs. Wix an intellectual inaptitude to meet her—the infirmity to which she had owed so much success with papa and mamma. The appearance did her injustice11, for it was not less through her candour than through her playfellow's pressure that after this the idea of a moral sense mainly coloured their intercourse12. She began, the poor child, with scarcely knowing what it was; but it proved something that, with scarce an outward sign save her surrender to the swing of the carriage, she could, before they came back from their drive, strike up a sort of acquaintance with. The beauty of the day only deepened, and the splendour of the afternoon sea, and the haze13 of the far headlands, and the taste of the sweet air. It was the coachman indeed who, smiling and cracking his whip, turning in his place, pointing to invisible objects and uttering unintelligible14 sounds—all, our tourists recognised, strict features of a social order principally devoted15 to language: it was this polite person, I say, who made their excursion fall so much short that their return left them still a stretch of the long daylight and an hour that, at his obliging suggestion, they spent on foot by the shining sands. Maisie had seen the plage the day before with Sir Claude, but that was a reason the more for showing on the spot to Mrs. Wix that it was, as she said, another of the places on her list and of the things of which she knew the French name. The bathers, so late, were absent and the tide was low; the sea-pools twinkled in the sunset and there were dry places as well, where they could sit again and admire and expatiate16: a circumstance that, while they listened to the lap of the waves, gave Mrs. Wix a fresh support for her challenge. "Have you absolutely none at all?"
She had no need now, as to the question itself at least, to be specific; that on the other hand was the eventual17 result of their quiet conjoined apprehension18 of the thing that—well, yes, since they must face it—Maisie absolutely and appallingly19 had so little of. This marked more particularly the moment of the child's perceiving that her friend had risen to a level which might—till superseded20 at all events—pass almost for sublime21. Nothing more remarkable22 had taken place in the first heat of her own departure, no act of perception less to be overtraced by our rough method, than her vision, the rest of that Boulogne day, of the manner in which she figured. I so despair of courting her noiseless mental footsteps here that I must crudely give you my word for its being from this time forward a picture literally23 present to her. Mrs. Wix saw her as a little person knowing so extraordinarily24 much that, for the account to be taken of it, what she still didn't know would be ridiculous if it hadn't been embarrassing. Mrs. Wix was in truth more than ever qualified25 to meet embarrassment26; I am not sure that Maisie had not even a dim discernment of the queer law of her own life that made her educate to that sort of proficiency27 those elders with whom she was concerned. She promoted, as it were, their development; nothing could have been more marked for instance than her success in promoting Mrs. Beale's. She judged that if her whole history, for Mrs. Wix, had been the successive stages of her knowledge, so the very climax28 of the concatenation would, in the same view, be the stage at which the knowledge should overflow29. As she was condemned30 to know more and more, how could it logically stop before she should know Most? It came to her in fact as they sat there on the sands that she was distinctly on the road to know Everything. She had not had governesses for nothing: what in the world had she ever done but learn and learn and learn? She looked at the pink sky with a placid32 foreboding that she soon should have learnt All. They lingered in the flushed air till at last it turned to grey and she seemed fairly to receive new information from every brush of the breeze. By the time they moved homeward it was as if this inevitability33 had become for Mrs. Wix a long, tense cord, twitched34 by a nervous hand, on which the valued pearls of intelligence were to be neatly35 strung.
In the evening upstairs they had another strange sensation, as to which Maisie couldn't afterwards have told you whether it was bang in the middle or quite at the beginning that her companion sounded with fresh emphasis the note of the moral sense. What mattered was merely that she did exclaim, and again, as at first appeared, most disconnectedly: "God help me, it does seem to peep out!" Oh the queer confusions that had wooed it at last to such peeping! None so queer, however, as the words of woe37, and it might verily be said of rage, in which the poor lady bewailed the tragic38 end of her own rich ignorance. There was a point at which she seized the child and hugged her as close as in the old days of partings and returns; at which she was visibly at a loss how to make up to such a victim for such contaminations: appealing, as to what she had done and was doing, in bewilderment, in explanation, in supplication39, for reassurance40, for pardon and even outright41 for pity.
"I don't know what I've said to you, my own: I don't know what I'm saying or what the turn you've given my life has rendered me, heaven forgive me, capable of saying. Have I lost all delicacy42, all decency43, all measure of how far and how bad? It seems to me mostly that I have, though I'm the last of whom you would ever have thought it. I've just done it for you, precious—not to lose you, which would have been worst of all: so that I've had to pay with my own innocence44, if you do laugh! for clinging to you and keeping you. Don't let me pay for nothing; don't let me have been thrust for nothing into such horrors and such shames. I never knew anything about them and I never wanted to know! Now I know too much, too much!" the poor woman lamented46 and groaned47. "I know so much that with hearing such talk I ask myself where I am; and with uttering it too, which is worse, say to myself that I'm far, too far, from where I started! I ask myself what I should have thought with my lost one if I had heard myself cross the line. There are lines I've crossed with you where I should have fancied I had come to a pretty pass—" She gasped48 at the mere36 supposition. "I've gone from one thing to another, and all for the real love of you; and now what would any one say—I mean any one but them—if they were to hear the way I go on? I've had to keep up with you, haven't I?—and therefore what could I do less than look to you to keep up with me? But it's not them that are the worst—by which I mean to say it's not him: it's your dreadfully base papa and the one person in the world whom he could have found, I do believe—and she's not the Countess, duck—wickeder than himself. While they were about it at any rate, since they were ruining you, they might have done it so as to spare an honest woman. Then I shouldn't have had to do whatever it is that's the worst: throw up at you the badness you haven't taken in, or find my advantage in the vileness49 you have! What I did lose patience at this morning was at how it was that without your seeming to condemn31—for you didn't, you remember!—you yet did seem to know. Thank God, in his mercy, at last, if you do!"
The night, this time, was warm, and one of the windows stood open to the small balcony over the rail of which, on coming back from dinner, Maisie had hung a long time in the enjoyment50 of the chatter51, the lights, the life of the quay52 made brilliant by the season and the hour. Mrs. Wix's requirements had drawn53 her in from this pasture and Mrs. Wix's embrace had detained her even though midway in the outpouring her confusion and sympathy had permitted, or rather had positively54 helped, her to disengage herself. But the casement56 was still wide, the spectacle, the pleasure were still there, and from her place in the room, which, with its polished floor and its panels of elegance57, was lighted from without more than from within, the child could still take account of them. She appeared to watch and listen; after which she answered Mrs. Wix with a question. "If I do know—?"
"If you do condemn." The correction was made with some austerity.
It had the effect of causing Maisie to heave a vague sigh of oppression and then after an instant and as if under cover of this ambiguity58 pass out again upon the balcony. She hung again over the rail; she felt the summer night; she dropped down into the manners of France. There was a café below the hotel, before which, with little chairs and tables, people sat on a space enclosed by plants in tubs; and the impression was enriched by the flash of the white aprons59 of waiters and the music of a man and a woman who, from beyond the precinct, sent up the strum of a guitar and the drawl of a song about "amour." Maisie knew what "amour" meant too, and wondered if Mrs. Wix did: Mrs. Wix remained within, as still as a mouse and perhaps not reached by the performance. After a while, but not till the musicians had ceased and begun to circulate with a little plate, her pupil came back to her. "Is it a crime?" Maisie then asked.
"Well, he won't commit a crime."
Mrs. Wix looked at her gloomily. "He's committing one now."
"Now?"
"In being with her."
Maisie had it on her tongue's end to return once more: "But now he's free." She remembered, however, in time that one of the things she had known for the last entire hour was that this made no difference. After that, and as if to turn the right way, she was on the point of a blind dash, a weak reversion to the reminder62 that it might make a difference, might diminish the crime for Mrs. Beale; till such a reflexion was in its order also quashed by the visibility in Mrs. Wix's face of the collapse63 produced by her inference from her pupil's manner that after all her pains her pupil didn't even yet adequately understand. Never so much as when confronted had Maisie wanted to understand, and all her thought for a minute centred in the effort to come out with something which should be a disproof of her simplicity64. "Just trust me, dear; that's all!"—she came out finally with that; and it was perhaps a good sign of her action that with a long, impartial65 moan Mrs. Wix floated her to bed.
There was no letter the next morning from Sir Claude—which Mrs. Wix let out that she deemed the worst of omens66; yet it was just for the quieter communion they so got with him that, when after the coffee and rolls which made them more foreign than ever, it came to going forth67 for fresh drafts upon his credit they wandered again up the hill to the rampart instead of plunging68 into distraction69 with the crowd on the sands or into the sea with the semi-nude bathers. They gazed once more at their gilded70 Virgin71; they sank once more upon their battered72 bench; they felt once more their distance from the Regent's Park. At last Mrs. Wix became definite about their friend's silence. "He is afraid of her! She has forbidden him to write." The fact of his fear Maisie already knew; but her companion's mention of it had at this moment two unexpected results. The first was her wondering in dumb remonstrance73 how Mrs. Wix, with a devotion not after all inferior to her own, could put into such an allusion74 such a grimness of derision; the second was that she found herself suddenly drop into a deeper view of it. She too had been afraid, as we have seen, of the people of whom Sir Claude was afraid, and by that law she had had her due measure of latest apprehension of Mrs. Beale. What occurred at present, however, was that, whereas this sympathy appeared vain as for him, the ground of it loomed75 dimly as a reason for selfish alarm. That uneasiness had not carried her far before Mrs. Wix spoke76 again and with an abruptness77 so great as almost to seem irrelevant78. "Has it never occurred to you to be jealous of her?"
It never had in the least; yet the words were scarce in the air before Maisie had jumped at them. She held them well, she looked at them hard; at last she brought out with an assurance which there was no one, alas79, but herself to admire: "Well, yes—since you ask me." She debated, then continued: "Lots of times!"
Mrs. Wix glared askance an instant; such approval as her look expressed was not wholly unqualified. It expressed at any rate something that presumably had to do with her saying once more: "Yes. He's afraid of her."
Maisie heard, and it had afresh its effect on her even through the blur80 of the attention now required by the possibility of that idea of jealousy—a possibility created only by her feeling she had thus found the way to show she was not simple. It struck out of Mrs. Wix that this lady still believed her moral sense to be interested and feigned81; so what could be such a gage55 of her sincerity82 as a peep of the most restless of the passions? Such a revelation would baffle discouragement, and discouragement was in fact so baffled that, helped in some degree by the mere intensity83 of their need to hope, which also, according to its nature, sprang from the dark portent84 of the absent letter, the real pitch of their morning was reached by the note, not of mutual85 scrutiny86, but of unprecedented87 frankness. There were broodings indeed and silences, and Maisie sank deeper into the vision that for her friend she was, at the most, superficial, and that also, positively, she was the more so the more she tried to appear complete. Was the sum of all knowledge only to know how little in this presence one would ever reach it? The answer to that question luckily lost itself in the brightness suffusing88 the scene as soon as Maisie had thrown out in regard to Mrs. Beale such a remark as she had never dreamed she should live to make. "If I thought she was unkind to him—I don't know what I should do!"
Mrs. Wix dropped one of her squints89; she even confirmed it by a wild grunt90. "I know what I should!"
Maisie at this felt that she lagged. "Well, I can think of one thing."
Mrs. Wix more directly challenged her. "What is it then?"
Maisie met her expression as if it were a game with forfeits91 for winking92. "I'd kill her!" That at least, she hoped as she looked away, would guarantee her moral sense. She looked away, but her companion said nothing for so long that she at last turned her head again. Then she saw the straighteners all blurred93 with tears which after a little seemed to have sprung from her own eyes. There were tears in fact on both sides of the spectacles, and they were even so thick that it was presently all Maisie could do to make out through them that slowly, finally Mrs. Wix put forth a hand. It was the material pressure that settled this and even at the end of some minutes more things besides. It settled in its own way one thing in particular, which, though often, between them, heaven knew, hovered94 round and hung over, was yet to be established without the shadow of an attenuating95 smile. Oh there was no gleam of levity96, as little of humour as of deprecation, in the long time they now sat together or in the way in which at some unmeasured point of it Mrs. Wix became distinct enough for her own dignity and yet not loud enough for the snoozing old women.
"I adore him. I adore him."
Maisie took it well in; so well that in a moment more she would have answered profoundly: "So do I." But before that moment passed something took place that brought other words to her lips; nothing more, very possibly, than the closer consciousness in her hand of the significance of Mrs. Wix's. Their hands remained linked in unutterable sign of their union, and what Maisie at last said was simply and serenely97: "Oh I know!"
Their hands were so linked and their union was so confirmed that it took the far deep note of a bell, borne to them on the summer air, to call them back to a sense of hours and proprieties98. They had touched bottom and melted together, but they gave a start at last: the bell was the voice of the inn and the inn was the image of luncheon. They should be late for it; they got up, and their quickened step on the return had something of the swing of confidence. When they reached the hotel the table d'hôte had begun; this was clear from the threshold, clear from the absence in the hall and on the stairs of the "personnel," as Mrs. Wix said—she had picked that up—all collected in the dining-room. They mounted to their apartments for a brush before the glass, and it was Maisie who, in passing and from a vain impulse, threw open the white and gold door. She was thus first to utter the sound that brought Mrs. Wix almost on top of her, as by the other accident it would have brought her on top of Mrs. Wix. It had at any rate the effect of leaving them bunched together in a strained stare at their new situation. This situation had put on in a flash the bright form of Mrs. Beale: she stood there in her hat and her jacket, amid bags and shawls, smiling and holding out her arms. If she had just arrived it was a different figure from either of the two that for their benefit, wan45 and tottering99 and none too soon to save life, the Channel had recently disgorged. She was as lovely as the day that had brought her over, as fresh as the luck and the health that attended her: it came to Maisie on the spot that she was more beautiful than she had ever been. All this was too quick to count, but there was still time in it to give the child the sense of what had kindled100 the light. That leaped out of the open arms, the open eyes, the open mouth; it leaped out with Mrs. Beale's loud cry at her: "I'm free, I'm free!"
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1
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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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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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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insidiously
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| 潜在地，隐伏地，阴险地 | |
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forestalled
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| v.先发制人，预先阻止( forestall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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expatiate
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| v.细说，详述 | |
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eventual
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| adj.最后的，结局的，最终的 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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appallingly
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| 毛骨悚然地 | |
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superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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proficiency
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| n.精通，熟练，精练 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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inevitability
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| n.必然性 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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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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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
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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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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vileness
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| n.讨厌，卑劣 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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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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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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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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gage
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| n.标准尺寸，规格；量规，量表 [=gauge] | |
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casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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ambiguity
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| n.模棱两可；意义不明确 | |
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59
aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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omens
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| n.前兆，预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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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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abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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portent
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| n.预兆；恶兆；怪事 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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suffusing
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的现在分词 ) | |
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squints
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| 斜视症( squint的名词复数 )； 瞥 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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forfeits
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| 罚物游戏 | |
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winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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attenuating
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的现在分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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proprieties
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| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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