The white curtains with red roses flowered on them were half drawn1 over the windows of Miss Hardacre’s bedroom. Miss Jilian’s room smelled mildly of musk2 and lavender-water, and there were flowers in the vases upon the mantle-shelf and in the cream-colored Wedgwood bowl upon the French occasional table. The bed was spread with a red silk quilt, the turned-down sheets looking white as milk when contrasted with the expanse of red below. The panels on the walls were painted with garlands, cherubs’ heads, and silly, fat Cupids straddling lambs. The door of the robe-cupboard was open, showing a hanging-garden of gowns.
On a couch by one of the windows lay Miss Jilian herself, wrapped in a pale-green bed-gown, red slippers3 on her feet, and one of Mr. Richardson’s novels in her hands. Through the open window came the constant drone of the bees that were working the honeysuckle under the window-ledge. The monotonous4 clicking of a needle imitated the ticking of a death-scarab against the wainscoting. A little old woman in a white mob-cap and a black-stuff gown sat sewing at a little distance from the couch, her red-knuckled hands moving busily over the lace and linen5 in her lap. Every now and again her peering, short-sighted eyes would fix themselves with a mute, inquiring kindliness6 on Miss Hardacre’s face, as though her thoughts were busy as her hands.
Alas7 for Miss Jilian’s tawny8 fleece of hair! The golden masses had fallen to the shears9, and nothing but a sharp, crisp aureole remained. On a little table beside the couch lay a black silk mask, a hand-mirror, a powder box and puff10, and a rosewood case that told of Dutch pink and Chinese paints, lip-salves, wash-balls, and ointments11 scented12 with orange and with jessamine. Even these inanimate things gave a pathetic significance to the scene, hinting at the havoc13 disease had wrought14 upon poor Jilian’s comeliness15. The truth was evident enough to the most casual of glances. Angry pits disfiguring cheeks and forehead, eyes injected and inflamed16, the lids red and half empty as to lashes17.
It was plain that Mr. Richardson’s sentimentalities tended rather to aggravate18 Miss Hardacre’s troubles to herself. She laid down the book betimes, took up her glass, toyed with it awhile as though dreading19 its candor20, and then compelled herself to snatch a glimpse at her own face. She frowned at the reflection, and put the glass aside with a gesture of impatience21. Poor child, the chastening she was receiving seemed over-hard and malicious22 despite the fact that she had been courting bitterness by the cultivation23 of her own vanities. For Jilian, a month’s sickness had changed the whole complexion24 of earth and of heaven. She had none of the comfortable religious spirit in her that creates a passive heroism25 out of the renunciation of her own comeliness. She was of the world, and loved every pretty stitch and glistening26 gew-gaw and silken flower in its gay attire27, and saw nothing in quiet sanctity that could recompense her soul.
The little old woman in black had been blinking her eyes and fidgeting with her work, while Miss Hardacre was suffering the ordeal28 of looking for the hundredth time at her own face. Jilian’s own maid had refused to attend on her mistress at the very beginning of her illness, and old Mrs. Martha, who had handled both Lot and his sister in their infancy29, had been brought from the cottage, where she had been pensioned, to nurse Jilian through the small-pox.
Mrs. Martha was unable to restrain the impatience of her loyalty30 and pride when Miss Hardacre’s hand wavered once more towards the mirror. She jumped up very briskly for so shrivelled an old lady, toddled31 across the polished floor, snatched up the mirror, and plunged32 it into the pocket of her voluminous apron33.
“The good Lord knows, my dear,” she said, with the affectionate familiarity of an old servant—“the good Lord knows why you should be for making yourself vaporish and miserable34 with this paltry35 bit of glass! You should forget to look into a mirror, my dear, and in a month you won’t be so much afraid of your own pretty face. I’ve seen ladies as have had the small-pox before, haven’t I? And very decent faces they managed to keep after it, though I’ll warrant they were more like plum dumplings afore the pock-marks healed.”
Jilian lay back looking piteously about the mouth, as though she were trying not to believe a word of what this silly old woman said. Mrs. Martha had toddled back to her chair with the air of a grandmother who has done her duty by a peevish36 child.
“I hope you may be right, Martha,” said Miss Hardacre, miserably37; “to be sure I look ugly enough now to make Mr. Richard go off into a faint.”
Mrs. Martha seated herself in her chair with solid precision. She fingered her work irritably38, and continued her declaiming as though some imaginary person were threatening her constantly with contradictions.
“And I should like to know who Mr. Richard Jeffray is, to give himself airs before a Hardacre of Hardacre? His grandfather was an ‘iron man,’ as we all know, I reckon; he made his money by turning the country-side upside down, and cutting down all the trees. And hasn’t Mr. Jeffray been down with the small-pox himself, and didn’t he give it to you, sure; for you must have had it of him, my dear, or I never heard Parson Jessel read the Bible. As for your purty face, my dear, it’ll just mend superb with all the fine stuffs you may be using in that there box. And the hair always grows stronger, like a tree, for being pruned39. And maybe Mr. Jeffray may be worse off than you in the matter of scars.”
Jilian looked round the room wearily, her eyes resting at last on the tulips and jonquils in the blue bowl, an offering from Rodenham. The old woman had uttered many of the thoughts in her busy, cackling way that had been moving in Miss Hardacre’s brain itself. Had not Jeffray given her the disease, and was it not his duty to be all the more tender and sympathetic in consequence? Jilian almost hoped that he had been more disfigured than herself so that his senses should have no cause to boast. And then, after all, her face would be fairer to look upon when her hair had grown and the red pock-marks had paled.
“So you have heard, Martha,” she asked, “of other ladies losing their scars?”
“I mind Lady Hankinson a-taking of the small-pox, my dear. She was a mighty41 fine woman in her day, and kept my lord in order with her looks. Well, she had the gentlemen round her like flies at the routs42, just as much as ever. She wasn’t quite so smooth and creamy, my dear, but she was a fine lady with as fine a pair of eyes as ever made a man feel hot as a live coal. And she had a figure, too; one of them big, duchessy-looking ladies she was, as would make you think as they’d need extra webbing in their beds.”
Jilian smiled more optimistically, and, taking a fan from the table, spread its painted sticks and seemed inclined to rehearse some of her charming affectations.
“The small-pox can’t spoil a gentlewoman’s figure, Martha,” she said.
“Don’t you fret43, my dear. Men like a slim waist and a plump bosom44. And there ain’t a lady in Sussex with hair like yours. And your nose is there with a purty eye peeping out like a jewel on either side, and a little red mouth below it as any gentleman would be proud to kiss. Don’t you fret yourself about young Mr. Jeffray, my dear.”
And Jilian, finding herself cheered and inspirited by the old woman’s flattering assertions, became ready as we all are to believe those things which are pleasant to the heart.
Much the same problem was discussed that night by Sir Peter and Mr. Lancelot as they drank their punch, with the ancestral faces peering down at them gravely from the walls. The light from the candles in their silver stands glimmered46 on the polished table that shone like brown water. The casements47 were open, the heavy red curtains undrawn, and a nightingale was singing in the shrubbery below the terrace. The punch-bowl, with its green dragons and blue mandarins, steamed near Sir Peter’s portly paunch. Mr. Lot slouched in his chair as usual, with his hands thrust deep into his pockets and a clay pipe hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He smiled very shrewdly at his father from time to time, chuckled48, and delivered himself of some forcible and oracular remarks.
“I take it that you had better see the lad,” quoth the baronet, as he ladelled out another glass of punch. “You can see what temper he shows, Lot, whether he’s inclined to shy or not.”
Mr. Lancelot twisted his mouth into an expressive49 pucker50, and appeared inspired by a sense of his own cleverness.
“I’ll snaffle him, sir,” he said.
“Poor Jill’s a deuced fright, but for God’s sake, boy, don’t tell her I said so.”
“She’ll wipe the spots out a bit in time. Give the girl a chance.”
Sir Peter grunted51 laboriously52, and unfastened the lower buttons of his waistcoat. His mottled face appeared heavy and lugubrious53 despite his frequent reversions to the punch-bowl and his confidence in his son’s astuteness54.
“It’s deuced hard luck on the wench, Lot,” he said; “and Richard gave her the ugly face, there’s no denying it.”
“I’ll rub that truth into him, sir, never fear.”
“He’s a nice, gentle lad.”
“Richard wants stroking the right way, sir, and taking on the high poetic55 horse. He’s a man of sentiment, and he’ll swallow the stuff like senna, and thrive on it, by gad56! I know my mount, sir,” and Mr. Lot laid a fat forefinger57 along his nose.
“Well, well,” said the baronet, reflectively, “I don’t want the lass jilted again; we’ve had enough of it before. And Dick Jeffray’s a pleasant lad with a useful pot of money to his name.”
“Don’t I know the color of a guinea, sir?” quoth Mr. Lot, with a thick laugh.
It may easily be gathered that Richard Jeffray was soon favored with a state visit from Mr. Lancelot Hardacre. Richard had been dreading some such interview not a little, even as a sensitive spirit dreads58 contact with the boisterous59, blustering60, physical barbarian61. Richard’s revulsion from the responsibilities he had created for himself in the past had waxed tenfold in strength since his discovery of Bess’s shame. His sense of bondage62 chafed63 his pride, the more so, perhaps, because he was honest enough to acknowledge the truth of his obligation.
There was always a suggestion of patronage64 in Mr. Lot’s manner that presupposed his cousin to be but half a man. It was so that morning when he dismounted before the priory porch. The genial65 swagger of the man, the glare of his red coat, the crunching66 of his heavy boots upon the gravel45 inspired Jeffray with an instinctive67 antagonism68. Mr. Lot had squeezed his cousin’s hand heartily69 enough and rallied him upon his looks. They walked the terrace together, for Richard had gone out to meet Lancelot at the porch.
There was nothing in Mr. Hardacre’s manner at first to betray the fact that he carried a possible declaration of war in his pocket. It was his policy to assume with the most glaring good-humor that Richard was thirsting to see Miss Jilian, even though she might appear red and disfigured about the face.
“We can’t cool your fever just yet, Richard,” he said, after an exchange of cousinly courtesies. “Poor Jill has had it rather bad, you know, and looks a bit weak about the eyes as yet. But, Lor’, when a young fellow’s in love, a pimple70 or two makes precious little difference.”
Lot showed his teeth, stared, and nudged Jeffray meaningly with his elbow. Their familiarity appeared complete; nevertheless, his cousin did not expand in the sun of Mr. Hardacre’s confidence. There was a compressed look about his mouth, a suggestion of sullenness71 in his eyes. All these genialities only exaggerated his aversion. He was no longer the lad whom Lot had bullied72 and teased of old, and his cousin’s loud patronage made his stiffening73 individuality revolt. His heart was afire for Bess at the moment, and she seized on the pity that should have been Jilian’s.
“I am vexed74 that your sister has been ill,” he said, speaking with sensible effort and with but little flow of feeling.
Mr. Lot stiffened75 at the remark. His blue eyes seemed to grow more prominent, as though the cold steadiness of Jeffray’s manner had put him suddenly on the alert.
“You will have to come and comfort Jill,” he said, staring hard at Richard, as though to watch for any betrayal of rebellion.
“Certainly, Lot, as soon as she will see me.”
“She had it of you, you know, cousin; you will have to make it up to her for a damaged complexion.”
Richard shuddered76 at the coarse suggestiveness of Lot’s words. There was something in his cousin’s manner that made him see of a sudden how cunningly the Lady Letitia had forecasted the future. Jilian’s comeliness had suffered, and the Hardacres were prepared to hold him like a culprit to his oath.
“I can promise you, cousin,” he said, bluntly, “that I shall not fail in doing my duty.”
There was an unconscious tinge77 of irony78 in the retort that penetrated79 Mr. Hardacre’s skin. He reddened a little, thrust out his lower lip, and looked at Jeffray with sinister80 shrewdness.
“Duty, sir; that is a damned poor word for a lover to use!”
Jeffray flushed.
“Egad, sir, I should hope so,” quoth the fire-eater, thrusting his chin forward over his cravat82. “You gave my sister the small-pox, sir, and if you are anything of a fellow you will behave decently to her and not from any confounded sense of duty. I am right there, Richard, I reckon.”
Jeffray, feeling humiliated83, shackled84, yet inwardly rebellious85, looked his cousin full in the face, and gave him his answer frankly86 and with some heat.
“I am a gentleman, Lot, and therefore you may spare your hectoring.”
“Deuce take you, sir; I suppose I may feel for my sister, eh?”
The two men were eying each other like dogs half inclined to fight.
“At present, sir,” quoth Jeffray, reddening and throwing back his head, “your sister’s honor is in my keeping.”
Lot Hardacre stared at him in silence for a moment. He was wondering how Jeffray had come by so much spirit as to stand up to a man who had always bustled87 him.
“Well, that’s spoken like a man,” he confessed.
“By gad, you are.”
“Then, sir, I am not conscious of having given you any excuse as yet to question my honor.”
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收听单词发音
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1
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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musk
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| n.麝香, 能发出麝香的各种各样的植物，香猫 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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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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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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shears
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| n.大剪刀 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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ointments
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| n.软膏( ointment的名词复数 )；扫兴的人；煞风景的事物；药膏 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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comeliness
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| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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18
aggravate
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| vt.加重(剧)，使恶化；激怒，使恼火 | |
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dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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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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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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toddled
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的过去式和过去分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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32
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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39
pruned
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| v.修剪（树木等）( prune的过去式和过去分词 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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viperish
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| adj.毒蛇般的，阴险的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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42
routs
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| n.打垮，赶跑( rout的名词复数 )；（体育）打败对方v.打垮，赶跑( rout的第三人称单数 )；（体育）打败对方 | |
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43
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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44
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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45
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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46
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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48
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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50
pucker
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| v.撅起，使起皱；n.（衣服上的）皱纹，褶子 | |
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51
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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52
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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53
lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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54
astuteness
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| n.敏锐；精明；机敏 | |
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55
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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56
gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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57
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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58
dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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59
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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60
blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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61
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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62
bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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63
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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64
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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65
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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66
crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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67
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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70
pimple
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| n.丘疹，面泡，青春豆 | |
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71
sullenness
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| n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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75
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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76
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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80
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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81
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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83
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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84
shackled
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| 给（某人）带上手铐或脚镣( shackle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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86
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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87
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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88
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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