Diana Paget left the Kursaal, and walked slowly along the pretty rustic1 street; now dawdling2 before a little print-shop, whose contents she knew by heart, now looking back at the great windows of that temple of pleasure which she had just quitted.
“What do they care what becomes of me?” she thought, as she looked up at the blank vacant windows for the last time before she left the main street of Forêtdechêne, and turned into a straggling side-street, whose rugged3 pavement sloped upward towards the pine-clad hills. The house in which Captain Paget had taken up his abode4 was a tall white habitation, situated5 in the narrowest of the narrow by-ways that intersect the main street of the pretty Belgian watering-place; a lane in which the inhabitants of opposite houses may shake hands with one another out of the window, and where the odour of the cabbages and onions so liberally employed in the cuisine6 of the native offends the nose of the foreigner from sunrise to sunset.
Diana paused for a moment at the entrance to this lane, but, after a brief deliberation, walked onwards.
“What is the use of my going home?” she thought; “they won’t be home for hours to come.”
She walked slowly along the hilly street, and from the street into a narrow pathway winding7 upward through the pine-wood. Here she was quite alone, and the stillness of the place soothed8 her. She took off her hat, and slung9 the faded ribbons across her arm; and the warm breeze lifted the loose hair from her forehead as she wandered upwards10. It was a very beautiful face from which that loose dark hair was lifted by the summer wind. Diana Paget inherited something of the soft loveliness of Mary Anne Kepp, and a little of the patrician11 beauty of the Pagets. The eyes were like those which had watched Horatio Paget on his bed of sickness in Tulliver’s-terrace. The resolute12 curve of the thin flexible lips, and the fine modelling of the chin, were hereditary13 attributes of the Nugent Pagets; and a resemblance to the lower part of Miss Paget’s face might have been traced in many a sombre portrait of dame14 and cavalier at Thorpehaven Manor15, where a Nugent Paget, who acknowledged no kindred with the disreputable Captain, was now master.
The girl’s reflections as she slowly climbed the hill were not pleasant. The thoughts of youth should be very beautiful; but youth that has been spent in the companionship of reprobates16 and tricksters is something worse than age; for experience has taught it to be bitter, while time has not taught it to be patient. For Diana Paget, childhood had been joyless, and girlhood lonely. That blank and desolate17 region, that dreary18 flat of fenny19 waste ground between Vauxhall and Battersea, on which the child’s eyes had first looked, had been typical of her loveless childhood. With her mother’s death faded the one ray of light that had illumined her desolation. She was shifted from one nurse to another; and bar nurses were not allowed to love her, for she remained with them as an encumbrance20 and a burden. It was so difficult for the Captain to pay the pitiful sum demanded for his daughter’s support — or rather it was so much easier for him not to pay it. So there always came a time when Diana was delivered at her father’s lodgings22 like a parcel, by an indignant nurse, who proclaimed the story of her wrongs in shrill23 feminine treble, and who was politely informed by the Captain that her claim was a common debt, and that she had the remedy in her own hands, but that the same code of laws which provided her with that remedy, forbade any obnoxious24 demonstration25 of her anger in a gentleman’s apartment. And then Miss Paget, after hearing all the tumult26 and discussion, would be left alone with her father, and would speedily perceive that her presence was disagreeable to him.
When she outgrew27 the age of humble28 foster-mothers and cottages in the dreariest29 of the outlying suburbs, the Captain sent his daughter to school: and on this occasion he determined30 on patronising a person whom he had once been too proud to remember among the list of his kindred. There are poor and straggling branches upon every family tree; and the Pagets of Thorpehaven had needy31 cousins who, in the mighty32 battle of life, were compelled to fight amongst the rank and file. One of these poor cousins was a Miss Priscilla Paget, who at an early age had exhibited that affection for intellectual pursuits and that carelessness as to the duties of the toilet which are supposed to distinguish the predestined blue-stocking. Left quite alone in the world, Priscilla put her educational capital to good use; and after holding the position of principal governess for nearly twenty years in a prosperous boarding-school at Brompton, she followed her late employer to her grave with unaffected sorrow, and within a month of the funeral invested her savings33 in the purchase of the business, and established herself as mistress of the mansion34. To this lady Captain Paget confided35 his daughter’s education; and in Priscilla Paget’s house Diana found a shelter that was almost like a home, until her kinswoman became weary of promises that were never kept, and pitiful sums paid on account of a debt that grew bigger every day — very weary likewise of conciliatory hampers36 of game and barrels of oysters37, and all the flimsy devices of a debtor38 who is practised in the varied39 arts of the gentlemanly swindler.
The day came when Miss Paget resolved to be rid of her profitless charge; and once more Diana found herself delivered like a parcel of unordered goods at the door of her father’s lodging21. Those are precocious40 children who learn their first lessons in the school of poverty; and the girl had been vaguely41 conscious of the degradation42 involved in this process at the age of five. How much more keenly did she feel the shame at the age of fifteen! Priscilla did her best to lessen43 the pain of her pupil’s departure.
“It isn’t that I’ve any fault to find with you, Diana, though you must remember that I have heard some complaints of your temper,” she said, with gentle gravity; “but your father is too trying. If he didn’t make me any promises, I should think better of him. If he told me frankly44 that he couldn’t pay me, and asked me to keep you out of charity,”— Diana drew herself up with a little shiver at this word — “why, I might turn it over in my mind, and see if it could be done. But to be deceived time after time, as I’ve been deceived — you know the solemn language your father has used, Diana, for you have heard him — and to rely on a sum of money on a certain date, as I have relied again and again, after Horatio’s assurance that I might depend upon him — it’s too bad, Diana; it’s more than any one can endure. If you were two or three years older, and further advanced in your education, I might manage to do something for you by making you useful with the little ones; but I can’t afford to keep you and clothe you during the next three years for nothing, and so I have no alternative but to send you home.”
The “home” to which Diana Paget was taken upon this occasion was a lodging over a toyshop in the Westminster-road, where the Captain lived in considerable comfort on the proceeds of a Friendly and Philanthropic Loan Society.
But no very cordial welcome awaited Diana in the gaudily-furnished drawing-room over the toyshop. She found her father sleeping placidly45 in his easy-chair, while a young man, who was a stranger to her, sat at a table near the window writing letters. It was a dull November day — a very dreary day on which to find one’s self thrown suddenly on a still drearier46 world; and in the Westminster-bridge-road the lamps were already making yellow patches of sickly light amidst the afternoon fog.
The Captain twitched47 his silk handkerchief off his face with an impatient gesture as Diana entered the room.
“Now, then, what is it?” he asked peevishly48, without looking at the intruder.
He recognised her in the next moment; but that first impatient salutation was about as warm a welcome as any which Miss Paget received from her father. In sad and bitter truth, he did not care for her. His marriage with Mary Anne Kepp had been the one grateful impulse of his life; and even the sentiment which had prompted that marriage had been by no means free from the taint49 of selfishness. But he had been quite unprepared to find that this grand sacrifice of his life should involve another sacrifice in the maintenance of a daughter he did not want; and he was very much inclined to quarrel with the destiny that had given him this burden.
“If you had been a boy, I might have made you useful to me sooner or later,” the Captain said to his daughter when he found himself alone with her late on the night of her return; “but what on earth am I to do with a daughter, in the unsettled life I lead? However, since that old harridan50 has sent you back, you must manage in the best way you can,” concluded Captain Paget with a discontented sigh.
From this time Diana Paget had inhabited the nest of the vultures, and every day had brought its new lesson of trickery and falsehood. There are men — and bad men too — who would have tried to keep the secret of their shifts and meannesses hidden from an only child; but Horatio Paget believed himself the victim of man’s ingratitude51, and his misdoings the necessity of an evil destiny. It is not easy for the unsophisticated intellect to gauge52 those moral depths to which the man who lives by his wits must sink before his career is finished, or to understand how, with every step in the swindler’s downward road, the conscience grows tougher, the perception of shame blunter, the savage53 selfishness of the animal nature stronger. Diana Paget had discovered some of her father’s weaknesses during her miserable54 childhood; and in the days of her unpaid55-for schooling56 she had known that his most solemn promises were no more to be relied on than the capricious breath of a summer breeze. So the revelations which awaited her under the paternal57 roof were not utterly58 strange or entirely59 unexpected. Day by day she grew more accustomed to that atmosphere of fraud and falsehood. The sense of shame never left her; for there is a pride that thrives amidst poverty and degradation, and of such pride Diana Paget possessed60 no small share. She writhed61 under the consciousness that she was the daughter of a man who had forfeited62 all right to the esteem63 of his fellowmen. She valued the good opinion of others, and would fain have been beloved and admired, trusted and respected; for she was ambitious: and the though that she might one day do something which should lift her above the vulgar level was the day-dream that had consoled her in many an hour of humiliation64 and discomfort65. Diana Paget felt the Captain’s shame as keenly as her mother had felt it; but the remorse66 which had agonised gentle Mary Anne, the tender compassion67 for others which had wrung68 that fond and faithful heart, had no place in the breast of the Captain’s daughter.
Diana felt so much compassion for herself, that she had none left to bestow69 upon other people. Her father’s victims might be miserable, but was not she infinitely70 more wretched? The landlady72 who found her apartments suddenly tenantless73 and her rent unpaid might complain of the hardness of her fortune; but was it not harder for Diana, with the sensitive feelings and keen pride of the Pagets, to endure all the degradation involved in the stealthy carrying away of luggage and a secret departure under cover of night?
At first Miss Paget had been inclined to feel aggrieved74 by the presence of the young man whom she had seen writing letters in the gloomy dusk of the November afternoon; but in due time she came to accept him as a companion, and to feel that her joyless life would have been drearier without him. He was the secretary of the Friendly and Philanthropic Loan Society, and of any other society organised by the Captain. He was Captain Paget’s amanuensis and representative — Captain Paget’s tool, but not Captain Paget’s dupe; for Valentine Hawkehurst was not of that stuff of which dupes are made.
The man who lives by his wits has need of a faithful friend and follower75. The chief of the vultures must not be approached too easily. There must be a preparatory ordeal76, an outer chamber77 to be passed, before the victim is introduced to the sanctuary78 which is irradiated by the silver veil of the prophet. Captain Paget found an able coadjutor in Valentine Hawkehurst, who answered one of those tempting79 advertisements in which A. B.C. or X. Y. Z. was wont80 to offer a salary of three hundred a year to any gentlemanly person capable of performing the duties of secretary to a newly-established company. It was only after responding to this promising81 offer that the applicant82 was informed that he must possess one indispensable qualification in the shape of a capital of five hundred pounds. Mr Hawkehurst laughed aloud when the Captain imparted this condition with that suave83 and yet dignified84 manner which was peculiar85 to him.
“I ought to have known it was a dodge86 of that kind,” said the young man coolly. “Those very good things — duties light and easy, hours from twelve till four, speedy advancement87 certain for a conscientious88 and gentlemanly person, and so on — are always of the genus do. Your advertisement is very cleverly worded, my dear sir; only it’s like the rest of them, rather too clever. It is so difficult for a clever man not to be too clever. The prevailing89 weakness of the human intellect seems to me to be exaggeration. However, as I haven’t a five-pound note in the world, or the chance of getting one, I’ll wish you good morning, Captain Paget.”
There are people whose blood would have been turned to ice by the stony90 glare of indignation with which Horatio Paget regarded the man who had dared to question his probity91. But Mr. Hawkehurst had done with strong impressions long before he met the Captain; and he listened to that gentleman’s freezing reproof92 with an admiring smile. Out of this very unpromising beginning there arose a kind of friendship between the two men. Horatio Paget had for some time been in need of a clever tool; and in the young man whose cool insolence93 rose superior to his own dignity he perceived the very individual whom he had long been seeking. The young man who was unabashed by the indignation of a scion94 of Nugents and Cromies and Pagets must be utterly impervious95 to the sense of awe96; and it was just such an impervious young man that the Captain wanted as his coadjutor. Thus arose the alliance, which grew stronger every day, until Valentine took up his abode under the roof of his employer and patron, and made himself more thoroughly97 at home there than the unwelcome daughter of the house.
The history of Valentine Hawkehurst’s past existence was tolerably well known to the Captain; but the only history of the young man’s early life ever heard by Diana was rather vague and fragmentary. She discovered, little by little, that he was the son of a spendthrift littérateur, who had passed the greater part of his career within the rules of the King’s Bench; that he had run away from home at the age of fifteen, and had tried his fortune in all those professions which require no educational ordeal, and which seem to offer themselves invitingly98 to the scapegrace and adventurer. At fifteen Valentine Hawkehurst had been errand-boy in a newspaper office; at seventeen a penny-a-liner, whose flimsy was pretty sure of admission in the lower class of Sunday papers. In the course of a very brief career he had been a provincial99 actor, a manège rider in a circus, a billiard-marker, and a betting agent. It was after having exhausted100 these liberal professions that he encountered Captain Paget.
Such was the man whom Horatio Paget admitted to companionship with his only daughter. It can scarcely be pleaded in excuse for the Captain that he might have admitted a worse man than Valentine Hawkehurst to his family circle, for the Captain had never taken the trouble to sound the depths of his coadjutor’s nature. There is nothing so short-sighted as selfishness; and beyond the narrow circle immediately surrounding himself, there was no man more blind than Horatio Paget.
It was dusk when Diana grew tired of the lonely pathways among the hills, where the harmonies of a band stationed in the valley were wafted101 in gusts102 of music by the fitful summer breeze. The loneliness of the place soothed the girl’s feverish103 spirits; and, seated in a little classic temple upon the summit of a hill, she looked pensively104 downward through the purple mists at the newly-lighted lamps twinkling faintly in the valley.
“One does not feel the sting of one’s shabbiness here,” thought Miss Paget: “the trees are all dressed alike. Nature makes no distinction. It is only Fortune who treats her children unfairly.”
The Captain’s daughter walked slowly back to the little town in the deepening dusk. The lodging occupied by Horatio Paget and his household consisted of four roomy chambers105 on the second story of a big rambling106 house. The rooms were meanly furnished, and decorated with the tawdry ornamentation dear to the continental107 mind; but there were long wide windows and an iron balcony, on which Diana Paget was often pleased to sit.
She found the sitting-room108 dark and empty. No dinner had been prepared; for on lucky days the Captain and his protégé were wont to dine at the table d’h?te of one of the hotels, or to feast sumptuously109 à la carte, while on unlucky days they did not dine at all. Diana found a roll and some cream cheese in a roomy old cupboard that was flavoured with mice; and after making a very indifferent meal in the dusky chamber, she went out upon the balcony, and sat there looking down upon the lighted town.
She had been sitting there for nearly an hour in the same attitude, when the door of the sitting-room was opened, and a footstep sounded behind her. She knew the step; and although she did not lift her head, her eyes took a new brightness in the summer dusk, and the listless grace of her attitude changed to a statuesque rigidity110, though there was no change in the attitude itself.
She did not stir till a hand was laid softly on her shoulder, and a voice said — “Diana!”
The speaker was Valentine Hawkehurst, the young man whose entrance to the golden temple had been so closely watched by Captain Paget’s daughter.
She rose as he spoke111, and turned to him. “You have been losing, I suppose, Mr. Hawkehurst,” she said, “or you would not have come home?”
“I am compelled to admit that you are right in your premise112, Miss Paget, and your deduction113 is scarcely worth discussion. I have been losing — confoundedly; and as they don’t give credit at the board of green cloth yonder, there was no excuse for my staying. Your father has not been holding his own within the last hour or two; but when I left the rooms he was going to the Hotel d’Orange with some French fellows for a quiet game of écarté. Our friend the Captain is a great card, Miss Paget, and has a delightful114 talent for picking up distinguished115 acquaintance.”
There are few daughters who would have cared to hear a father spoken of in this free-and-easy manner; but Diana Paget was quite unmoved. She had resumed her old attitude, and sat looking towards the lighted windows of the Kursaal, while Mr. Hawkehurst lounged against the angle of the window with his hands in his pockets and a cigar in his mouth.
For three years Valentine Hawkehurst had lived in constant companionship with the Captain’s daughter; and in that time his manner to her had undergone considerable variation. Of late it had been something in the manner of an elder brother, whose fraternal breast is impervious to the influence of a sister’s loveliness or a sister’s fascination116. If Diana Paget had been a snub-nosed young person with red hair and white eyelashes, Mr. Hawkehurst could scarcely have treated her with a more friendly indifference117, a more brotherly familiarity.
Unhappily this line of conduct, which is perhaps the wisest and most honourable118 plan that a man can pursue when he finds himself thrown into a dangerously familiar association with a beautiful and unprotected woman, is the very line of proceeding119 which a beautiful woman can never bring herself to forgive. A chivalrous120 stiffness, a melancholy121 dignity, a frozen frigidity122, which suggest the fiery123 bubbling of the lava124 flood beneath the icy surface — these are delightful to the female mind. But friendly indifference and fraternal cordiality constitute the worst insult that can be offered to her beauty, the most bitter outrage125 upon the majesty126 of her sex.
“I suppose it will be midnight before papa comes home, Mr. Hawkehurst,” Diana said abruptly127, when her companion had finished his cigar, and had thrown the end of it over the balcony.
“Past midnight more likely, Miss Paget. May I ask how I have become Mr. Hawkehurst all of a sudden, when for the last three years I have been usually known as Valentine — or Val?”
The girl turned her head with a gesture in which the carelessness of his own manner was imitated. She stole a rapid look at him as she answered, “What does it matter whether I call you by one name or another?”
“What does anything matter? I believe Mr. Toots was an unconscious philosopher. There is nothing in the world of any consequence, except money. Go and look at those poor devils yonder, and you will see what that is worth,” he cried, pointing to the lighted Kursaal; “there you behold128 the one great truth of the universe in action. There is nothing but money, and men are the slaves of money, and life is only another name for the pursuit of money. Go and look at beauty yonder fading in the light and heat; at youth that changes to age before your eyes; at friendship which turns to hate when the chances of the game are with my friend and against me. The Kursaal is the world in little, Diana; and this great globe of ours is nothing but a gigantic gaming-table — a mighty temple for the worship of the golden calf129.”
“Why do you imitate those people yonder, if you despise them so heartily130?”
“Because I am like them and of them. I tell you that money is the beginning and end of all things. Why am I here, and why is my life made up of baseness and lies? Because my father was an improvident131 scoundrel, and did not leave me five hundred a year. I wonder what I should have been like, by the bye, if I had been blest with five hundred a year?”
“Honest and happy,” answered the girl earnestly. She forgot her simulated indifference, and looked at him with sad earnest eyes. He met the glance, and the expression of his own face changed from its cynical132 smile to a thoughtful sadness.
“Honest perhaps; and yet I almost doubt if anything under five thousand a year would have kept me honest. Decidedly not happy; the men who can be happy on five hundred a year are made of a duller stuff than the clay which serves for a Hawkehurst.”
“You talk about not being happy with five hundred a year!” Diana exclaimed impatiently. “Surely any decent existence would be happiness to you compared to the miserable life you lead — the shameful133, degraded life which shuts you out of the society of respectable people and reduces you to the level of a thief. If you had any pride, Valentine, you would feel it as bitterly as I do.”
“But I haven’t any pride. As for my life — well, I suppose it is shameful and degraded, and I know that it’s often miserable; but it suits me better than jog-trot respectability, I can dine one day on truffled turkey and champagne134, another day upon bread and cheese and small beer; but I couldn’t eat beef and mutton always. That’s what kills people of my temperament135. There are born scamps in the world, Diana, and I am one of them. My name is Robert Macaire, and I was created for the life I lead. Keep clear of me if you have any hankering after better things; but don’t try to change my nature, for it is wasted labour.”
“Valentine, it is so cruel of you to talk like that.”
“Cruel to whom?”
“To — those — who care for you.”
It was quite dark now; but even in the darkness Diana Paget’s head drooped136 a little as she said this. Mr. Hawkehurst laughed aloud.
“Those who care for me!” he cried; “no such people ever lived. My father was a drunken scoundrel, who suffered his children to grow up about him as he would have suffered a litter of puppies to sprawl137 upon his hearth138, only because there was less trouble in letting them lie there than in kicking them out. My mother was a good woman in the beginning, I know; but she must have been something more than a mortal woman if she had not lost some of her goodness in twelve years of such a life as she led with my father. I believe she was fond of me, poor soul; but she died six months before I ran away from a lodging in the Rules, which it is the bitterest irony139 to speak of as my home. Since then I have been Robert Macaire, and have about as many friends as such a man usually has.”
“You can scarcely wonder if you have few friends,” said Miss Paget, “since there is no one in the world whom you love.”
She watched him through the darkness after saying this, watched him closely, though it was too dark for her to see the expression of his face, and any emotion to which her words might have given rise could be betrayed only by some gesture or change of attitude. She watched him in vain, for he did not stir. But after a pause of some minutes he said slowly —
“Such a man as I cannot afford to love any one. What have I to offer to the woman I might pretend to love? Truth, or honour, or honesty, or constancy? Those are commodities I have never dealt in. If I know what they are, and that I have never possessed them, it is about as much as I do know of them. If I have any redeeming140 grace, Diana Paget, it lies in the fact that I know what a worthless wretch71 I am. Your father thinks he is a great man, a noble suffering creature, and that the world has ill-used him. I know that I am a scoundrel, and that let my fellow-men treat me as badly as they please, they can never give me worse usage than I deserve. And am I a man to talk about love, or to ask a woman to share my life? Good God, what a noble partner I should offer her! what a happy existence I could assure her!”
“But if the woman loved you, she would only love you better for being unfortunate.”
“Yes, if she was very young and foolish and romantic. But don’t you think I should be a villain141 if I traded on her girlish folly142? She would love me for a year or two perhaps, and bear all the changes of my temper; but the day would come when she would awake from her delusion143, and know that she had been cheated. She would see other women — less gifted than herself, probably — and would see the market they had made of their charms; would see them rich and honoured and happy, and would stand aside in the muddy streets to be splashed by the dirt from their carriage-wheels. And then she would consider the price for which she had bartered144 her youth and her beauty, and would hate the man who had cheated her. No, Diana, I am not such a villain as the world may think me. I am down in the dirt myself, and I’m used to it. I won’t drag a woman into the gutter145 just because I may happen to love her.”
There was a long silence after this — a silence during which Diana Paget sat looking down at the twinkling lights of the Kursaal. Valentine lighted a second cigar and smoked it out, still in silence. The clocks struck eleven as he threw the end of his cigar away; a tiny, luminous146 speck147, which shot through the misty148 atmosphere below the balcony like a falling star.
“I may as well go and see how your father is getting on yonder,” he said, as the spark of light vanished in the darkness below. “Good night, Diana. Don’t sit too long in the cold night air; and don’t sit up for your father — there’s no knowing when he may be home.”
The girl did not answer him. She listened to the shutting of the door as it closed behind him, and then folded her arms upon the iron rail of the balcony, laid her head upon them, and wept silently. Her life was very dreary, and it seemed to her as if the last hope which had sustained her against an unnatural149 despair had been taken away from her to-night.
Twelve o’clock sounded with a feeble little carillon from one of the steeples, and still she sat with her head resting upon her folded arms. Her eyes were quite dry by this time, for with her tears were very rare, and the passion which occasioned them must needs be intense. The night air grew chill and damp; but although she shivered now and then beneath that creeping, penetrating150 cold which is peculiar to night air, she did not stir from her place in the balcony till she was startled by the opening of the door in the room behind her.
All was dark within, but Diana Paget was very familiar with the footstep that sounded on the carpetless floor. It was Valentine Hawkehurst, and not her father, whose step her quick ear distinguished.
“Diana,” he called; and then he muttered in a tone of surprise, “all dark still. Ah! she has gone to bed, I suppose. That’s a pity!” The figure in the balcony caught his eye at this moment.
“What in goodness’ name has kept you out there all this time?” he asked; “do you want to catch your death of cold?”
He was standing151 by the mantelpiece lighting152 a candle as he asked this unceremonious question. The light of the candle shone full upon his face when Diana came into the room, and she could see that he was paler than usual.
“Is there anything the matter?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes; there is a great deal the matter. You will have to leave Forêtdechêne by the earliest train to-morrow morning, on the first stage of your journey to England. Look here, my girl! I can give you just about the money that will carry you safely to London; and when you are once there, Providence153 must do the rest.”
“Valentine, what do you mean?”
“I mean, that you cannot get away from this place — you cannot dissever yourself from the people you have been living with, too soon. Come, come, don’t shiver, child. Take a few drops of this cognac, and let me see the colour come back to your face before I say any more.”
He poured the dregs of a bottle of brandy into a glass, and made her drink the spirit. He was obliged to force the rim154 of the glass between her set teeth before he could succeed in this.
“Come, Diana,” he said, after she had drunk, “you have been a pupil in the school of adversity so long, that you ought to be able to take misfortunes pretty quietly. There’s a balance struck, somehow or other, depend upon it, my girl; and the prosperous people who pay their debts have to suffer, as well as the Macaire family. I’m a scamp and a scoundrel, but I’m your true friend nevertheless, Diana; and you must promise to take my advice. Tell me that you will trust me.”
“I have no one else to trust.”
“No one else in this place. But in England you have your old friend — the woman with whom you were at school. Do you think she would refuse to give you a temporary home if you sued to her in forma pauperis?”
“No, I don’t think she would refuse. She was very good to me. But why am I to go back to London?”
“Because to stay here would be ruin and disgrace to you; because the tie that links you to Horatio Paget must be cut at any hazard.” “But why?”
“For the best or worst of reasons. Your father has been trying a trick to-night which has been hitherto so infallible, that I suppose he had grown careless as to his execution of it. Or perhaps he took a false measure of the man he was playing with. In any case, he has been found out, and has been arrested by the police.”
“Arrested, for cheating at cards!” exclaimed the girl, with a look of unspeakable disgust and horror. Valentine’s arm was ready to support her, if she had shown any symptom of fainting; but she did not. She stood erect155 before him, very pale but firm as a rock.
“And you want me to go away?” she said.
“Yes, I want you to disappear from this place before you become notorious as your father’s daughter. That would be about the worst reputation which you could carry through life. Believe me that I wish you well, Diana, and be ruled by me.”
“I will,” she answered, with a kind of despairing resignation. “It seems very dreary to go back to England to face the world all alone. But I will do as you tell me.”
She did not express any sympathy for her father, then languishing156 under arrest, whereby she proved herself very wicked and unwomanly, no doubt. But neither womanly virtues157 nor Christian158 graces are wont to flourish in the school in which Diana Paget had been reared. She obeyed Valentine Hawkehurst to the letter, without any sentimental159 lamentations whatever. Her scanty160 possessions were collected, and neatly161 packed, in little more than an hour. At three o’clock she lay down in her tawdry little bed-chamber to take what rest she might in the space of two hours. At six she stood by Valentine Hawkehurst on the platform of the railway station, with her face hidden by a brown gauze veil, waiting till the train was wade162 ready to start.
It was after she was seated in the carriage that she spoke for the first time of her father.
“Is it likely to go very hard with him?” she asked.
“I hope not. We must try to pull him through it as well as we can. The charge may break down at the first examination. Good bye.”
“Good bye, Valentine.”
They had just time to shake hands before the train moved off. Another moment and Miss Paget and her fellow-passengers were speeding towards Liége.
Mr. Hawkehurst drew his hat over his eyes as he walked away from the station.
“The world will seem very dull and empty to me without her,” he said to himself. “I have done an unselfish thing for once in my life. I wonder whether the recording163 angel will carry that up to my credit, and whether the other fellow will blot164 out any of the old score in consideration of this one little bit of self-sacrifice.”
收听单词发音 |
1
rustic
|
|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
dawdling
|
|
| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
rugged
|
|
| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
abode
|
|
| n.住处，住所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
situated
|
|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
cuisine
|
|
| n.烹调，烹饪法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
soothed
|
|
| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
slung
|
|
| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
upwards
|
|
| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
patrician
|
|
| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
resolute
|
|
| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
hereditary
|
|
| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
dame
|
|
| n.女士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
manor
|
|
| n.庄园，领地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
reprobates
|
|
| n.道德败坏的人，恶棍( reprobate的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
17
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
fenny
|
|
| adj.沼泽的；沼泽多的；长在沼泽地带的；住在沼泽地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
20
encumbrance
|
|
| n.妨碍物，累赘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
lodging
|
|
| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
shrill
|
|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
obnoxious
|
|
| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
demonstration
|
|
| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
tumult
|
|
| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
outgrew
|
|
| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去式 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
dreariest
|
|
| 使人闷闷不乐或沮丧的( dreary的最高级 )； 阴沉的； 令人厌烦的； 单调的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
needy
|
|
| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
savings
|
|
| n.存款，储蓄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
confided
|
|
| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
hampers
|
|
| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
oysters
|
|
| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
debtor
|
|
| n.借方，债务人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
varied
|
|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
precocious
|
|
| adj.早熟的；较早显出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
degradation
|
|
| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
lessen
|
|
| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
placidly
|
|
| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
drearier
|
|
| 使人闷闷不乐或沮丧的( dreary的比较级 )； 阴沉的； 令人厌烦的； 单调的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
47
twitched
|
|
| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
peevishly
|
|
| adv．暴躁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
taint
|
|
| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
harridan
|
|
| n.恶妇；丑老大婆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
ingratitude
|
|
| n.忘恩负义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
gauge
|
|
| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
unpaid
|
|
| adj.未付款的，无报酬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
schooling
|
|
| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
paternal
|
|
| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
writhed
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
forfeited
|
|
| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
humiliation
|
|
| n.羞辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
discomfort
|
|
| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
wrung
|
|
| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
bestow
|
|
| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
landlady
|
|
| n.女房东，女地主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
tenantless
|
|
| adj.无人租赁的，无人居住的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
74
aggrieved
|
|
| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
follower
|
|
| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
ordeal
|
|
| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
sanctuary
|
|
| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
tempting
|
|
| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
promising
|
|
| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
applicant
|
|
| n.申请人，求职者，请求者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
suave
|
|
| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
dodge
|
|
| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
advancement
|
|
| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
conscientious
|
|
| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
prevailing
|
|
| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
stony
|
|
| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
probity
|
|
| n.刚直；廉洁，正直 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
reproof
|
|
| n.斥责，责备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
insolence
|
|
| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
scion
|
|
| n.嫩芽，子孙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
impervious
|
|
| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
invitingly
|
|
| adv. 动人地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
provincial
|
|
| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
wafted
|
|
| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
gusts
|
|
| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
feverish
|
|
| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
pensively
|
|
| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
chambers
|
|
| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
rambling
|
|
| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
continental
|
|
| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
sumptuously
|
|
| 奢侈地，豪华地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
rigidity
|
|
| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
premise
|
|
| n.前提；v.提论，预述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
deduction
|
|
| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
fascination
|
|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
proceeding
|
|
| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
chivalrous
|
|
| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
frigidity
|
|
| n.寒冷；冷淡；索然无味；（尤指妇女的）性感缺失 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
lava
|
|
| n.熔岩，火山岩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
outrage
|
|
| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
behold
|
|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
calf
|
|
| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
improvident
|
|
| adj.不顾将来的，不节俭的，无远见的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
cynical
|
|
| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
shameful
|
|
| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
champagne
|
|
| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
drooped
|
|
| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
sprawl
|
|
| vi.躺卧，扩张，蔓延；vt.使蔓延；n.躺卧，蔓延 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
hearth
|
|
| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
irony
|
|
| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
redeeming
|
|
| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
villain
|
|
| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
bartered
|
|
| v.作物物交换，以货换货( barter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
gutter
|
|
| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
luminous
|
|
| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
speck
|
|
| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
misty
|
|
| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
penetrating
|
|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
lighting
|
|
| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
rim
|
|
| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
languishing
|
|
| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
scanty
|
|
| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
neatly
|
|
| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
wade
|
|
| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
recording
|
|
| n.录音，记录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
blot
|
|
| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |