Mr. Stepney had become more bearable. A week ago she would have shrunk from taking luncheon1 with him, but now such a prospect2 had no terrors. His views of things and people were more generous than she had expected. She had anticipated his attitude would be a little cynical3, but to her surprise he oozed4 loving-kindness. Had she known Mr. Marcus Stepney as well as Jean knew him, she would have realised that he adapted his mental attitude to his audience. He was a man whose stock-in-trade was a knowledge of human nature, and the ability to please. He would no more have attempted to shock or frighten her, than a first-class salesman would shock or annoy a possible customer.
He had goods to sell, and it was his business to see that they satisfied the buyer. In this case the goods were represented by sixty-nine inches of good-looking, well-dressed man, and it was rather important that he should present the best face of the article to the purchaser. It was almost as important that the sale should be a quick one. Mr. Stepney lived from week to week. What might happen next year seldom interested him, therefore his courting must be rapid.
He told the story of his life at lunch, a story liable to move a tender-hearted woman to at least a sympathetic interest. The story of his life varied5 also with the audience. In this case, it was designed for one whom he knew had had a hard struggle, whose father had been heavily in debt, and who had tasted some of the bitterness of defeat. Jean had given him a very precise story of the girl's career, and Mr. Marcus Stepney adapted it for his own purpose.
"Why, your life has almost run parallel with mine," said Lydia.
"I hope it may continue," said Mr. Stepney not without a touch of sadness in his voice. "I am a very lonely man--I have no friends except the acquaintances one can pick up at night clubs, and the places where the smart people go in the season, and there is an artificiality about society friends which rather depresses me."
"I feel that, too," said the sympathetic Lydia.
"If I could only settle down!" he said, shaking his head. "A little house in the country, a few horses, a few cows, a woman who understood me...."
A false move this.
"And a few pet chickens to follow you about?" she laughed. "No, it doesn't sound quite like you, Mr. Stepney."
He lowered his eyes.
"I am sorry you think that," he said. "All the world thinks that I'm a gadabout, an idler, with no interest in existence, except the pleasure I can extract."
"And a jolly good existence, too," said Lydia briskly. She had detected a note of sentiment creeping into the conversation, and had slain6 it with the most effective weapon in woman's armoury.
"And now tell me all about the great Moorish7 Pretender who is staying at your hotel--I caught a glimpse of him on the promenade--and there was a lot about him in the paper."
Mr. Stepney sighed and related all that he knew of the redoubtable8 Muley Hafiz on the way to the rooms. Muley Hafiz was being lionised in France just then, to the annoyance9 of the Spanish authorities, who had put a price on his head.
Lydia showed much more interest in the Moorish Pretender than she did in the pretender who walked by her side.
He was not in the best of tempers when he brought her back to the Villa10 Casa, and Jean, who entertained him whilst Lydia was changing, saw that his first advances had not met with a very encouraging result.
"There will be no wedding bells, Jean," he said.
"You take a rebuff very easily," said the girl, but he shook his head.
"My dear Jean, I know women as well as I know the back of my hand, and I tell you that there's nothing doing with this girl. I'm not a fool."
She looked at him earnestly.
"No, you're not a fool," she said at last. "You're hardly likely to make a mistake about that sort of thing. I'm afraid you'll have to do something more romantic."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"You'll have to run away with her; and like the knights11 of old carry off the lady of your choice."
"The knights of old didn't have to go before a judge and jury and serve seven years at Dartmoor for their sins," he said unpleasantly.
She was sitting on a low chair overlooking the sea, whittling12 a twig13 with a silver-handled knife she had taken from her bag--a favourite occupation of hers in moments of cogitation14.
"All the ladies of old didn't go to the police," she said. "Some of them were quite happy with their powerful lords, especially delicate-minded ladies who shrank from advertising15 their misfortune to the readers of the Sunday press. I think most women like to be wooed in the cave-man fashion, Marcus."
"Is that the kind of treatment you'd like, Jean?"
There was a new note in his voice. Had she looked at him she would have seen a strange light in his eyes.
"I'm merely advancing a theory," she said, "a theory which has been supported throughout the ages."
"I'd let her go and her money, too," he said. He was speaking quickly, almost incoherently. "There's only one woman in the world for me, Jean, and I've told you that before. I'd give my life and soul for her."
He bent16 over, and caught her arm in his big hand.
"You believe in the cave-man method, do you?" he breathed. "It is the kind of treatment you'd like, eh, Jean?"
She did not attempt to release her arm.
"Keep your hand to yourself, Marcus, please," she said quietly.
"You'd like it, wouldn't you, Jean? My God, I'd sacrifice my soul for you, you little devil!"
"Be sensible," she said. It was not her words or her firm tone that made him draw back. Twice and deliberately17 she drew the edge of her little knife across the back of his hand, and he leapt away with a howl of pain.
"You--you beast," he stammered18, and she looked at him with her sly smile.
"There must have been cave women, too, Marcus," she said coolly, as she rose. "They had their methods--give me your handkerchief, I want to wipe this knife."
His face was grey now. He was looking at her like a man bereft19 of his senses.
He did not move when she took his handkerchief from his pocket, wiped the knife, closed and slipped it into her bag, before she replaced the handkerchief tidily. And all the time he stood there with his hand streaming with blood, incapable20 of movement. It was not until she had disappeared round the corner of the house that he pulled out the handkerchief and wrapped it about his hand.
"A devil," he whimpered, almost in tears, "a devil!"
收听单词发音 |
1
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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whittling
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| v.切，削（木头），使逐渐变小( whittle的现在分词 ) | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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cogitation
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| n.仔细思考，计划，设计 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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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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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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