On the afternoon of the day that followed Ovid’s departure, the three ladies of the household were in a state of retirement1 — each in her own room.
The writing-table in Mrs. Gallilee’s boudoir was covered with letters. Her banker’s pass-book and her cheque-book were on the desk; Mr. Gallilee’s affairs having been long since left as completely in the hands of his wife, as if Mr. Gallilee had been dead. A sheet of paper lay near the cheque-book, covered with calculations divided into two columns. The figures in the right-hand column were contained in one line at the top of the page. The figures in the left-hand column filled the page from top to bottom. With her fan in her hand, and her pen in the ink-bottle, Mrs. Gallilee waited, steadily2 thinking.
It was the hottest day of the season. All the fat women in London fanned themselves on that sultry afternoon; and Mrs. Gallilee followed the general example. When she looked to the right, her calculations showed the balance at the bank. When she looked to the left, her calculations showed her debts: some partially3 paid, some not paid at all. If she wearied of the prospect4 thus presented, and turned for relief to her letters, she was confronted by polite requests for money; from tradespeople in the first place, and from secretaries of fashionable Charities in the second. Here and there, by way of variety, were invitations to parties, representing more pecuniary5 liabilities, incurred6 for new dresses, and for hospitalities acknowledged by dinners and conversaziones at her own house. Money that she owed, money that she must spend; nothing but outlay7 of money — and where was it to come from?
So far as her pecuniary resources were concerned, she was equally removed from hope and fear. Twice a year the same income flowed in regularly from the same investments. What she could pay at any future time was far more plainly revealed to her than what she might owe. With tact8 and management it would be possible to partially satisfy creditors9, and keep up appearances for six months more. To that conclusion her reflections led her, and left her to write cheques.
And after the six months — what then?
Having first completed her correspondence with the tradespeople, and having next decided10 on her contributions to the Charities, this iron matron took up her fan again, cooled herself, and met the question of the future face to face.
Ovid was the central figure in the prospect.
If he lived devoted11 to his profession, and lived unmarried, there was a last resource always left to Mrs. Gallilee. For years past, his professional gains had added largely to the income which he had inherited from his father. Unembarrassed by expensive tastes, he had some thousands of pounds put by — for the simple reason that he was at a loss what else to do with them. Thus far, her brother’s generosity12 had spared Mrs. Gallilee the hard necessity of making a confession13 to her son. As things were now, she must submit to tell the humiliating truth; and Ovid (with no wife to check his liberal instincts) would do what Ovid’s uncle (with no wife living to check his liberal instincts) had done already.
There was the prospect, if her son remained a bachelor. But her son had resolved to marry Carmina. What would be the result if she was weak enough to allow it?
There would be, not one result, but three results. Natural; Legal; Pecuniary.
The natural result would be — children.
The legal result (if only one of those children lived) would be the loss to Mrs. Gallilee and her daughters of the splendid fortune reserved for them in the Will, if Carmina died without leaving offspring.
The pecuniary result would be (adding the husband’s income to the wife’s) about eight thousand a year for the young married people.
And how much for a loan, applicable to the mother-in-law’s creditors? Judging Carmina by the standard of herself — by what other standard do we really judge our fellow-creatures, no matter how clever we may be?— Mrs. Gallilee decided that not one farthing would be left to help her to pay debts, which were steadily increasing with every new concession14 that she made to the claims of society. Young Mrs. Ovid Vere, at the head of a household, would have the grand example of her other aunt before her eyes. Although her place of residence might not be a palace, she would be a poor creature indeed, if she failed to spend eight thousand a year, in the effort to be worthy15 of the social position of Lady Northlake. Add to these results of Ovid’s contemplated16 marriage the loss of a thousand a year, secured to the guardian17 by the Will, while the ward18 remained under her care — and the statement of disaster would be complete. “We must leave this house, and submit to be Lady Northlake’s poor relations — there is the price I pay for it, if Ovid and Carmina become man and wife.”
She quietly laid aside her fan, as the thought in her completed itself in this form.
The trivial action, and the look which accompanied it, had a sinister19 meaning of their own, beyond the reach of words. And Ovid was already on the sea. And Teresa was far away in Italy.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck five; the punctual parlour-maid appeared with her mistress’s customary cup of tea. Mrs. Gallilee asked for the governess. The servant answered that Miss Minerva was in her room.
“Where are the young ladies?”
“My master has taken them out for a walk.”
“Have they had their music lesson?”
“Not yet, ma’am. Mr. Le Frank left word yesterday that he would come at six this evening.”
“Does Mr. Gallilee know that?”
“I heard Miss Minerva tell my master, while I was helping20 the young ladies to get ready.”
“Very well. Ask Miss Minerva to come here, and speak to me.”
Miss Minerva sat at the open window of her bedroom, looking out vacantly at the backs of houses, in the street behind Fairfield Gardens.
The evil spirit was the dominant21 spirit in her again. She, too, was thinking of Ovid and Carmina. Her memory was busy with the parting scene on the previous day.
The more she thought of all that had happened in that short space of time, the more bitterly she reproached herself. Her one besetting22 weakness had openly degraded her, without so much as an attempt at resistance on her part. The fear of betraying herself if she took leave of the man she secretly loved, in the presence of his family, had forced her to ask a favour of Carmina, and to ask it under circumstances which might have led her rival to suspect the truth. Admitted to a private interview with Ovid, she had failed to control her agitation23; and, worse still, in her ungovernable eagerness to produce a favourable24 impression on him at parting, she had promised — honestly promised, in that moment of impulse — to make Carmina’s happiness her own peculiar25 care! Carmina, who had destroyed in a day the hope of years! Carmina, who had taken him away from her; who had clung round him when he ran upstairs, and had kissed him — fervently26, shamelessly kissed him — before the servants in the hall!
She started to her feet, roused to a frenzy27 of rage by her own recollections. Standing28 at the window, she looked down at the pavement of the courtyard — it was far enough below to kill her instantly if she fell on it. Through the heat of her anger there crept the chill and stealthy prompting of despair. She leaned over the window-sill — she was not afraid — she might have done it, but for a trifling29 interruption. Somebody spoke30 outside.
It was the parlour-maid. Instead of entering the room, she spoke through the open door. The woman was one of Miss Minerva’s many enemies in the house. “Mrs. Gallilee wishes to see you,” she said — and shut the door again, the instant the words were out of her mouth.
Mrs. Gallilee!
The very name was full of promise at that moment. It suggested hope — merciless hope.
She left the window, and consulted her looking-glass. Even to herself, her haggard face was terrible to see. She poured eau-de-cologne and water into her basin, and bathed her burning head and eyes. Her shaggy black hair stood in need of attention next. She took almost as much pains with it as if she had been going into the presence of Ovid himself. “I must make a calm appearance,” she thought, still as far as ever from suspecting that her employer had guessed her secret, “or his mother may find me out.” Her knees trembled under her. She sat down for a minute to rest.
Was she merely wanted for some ordinary domestic consultation31? or was there really a chance of hearing the question of Ovid and Carmina brought forward at the coming interview?
She believed what she hoped: she believed that the time had come when Mrs. Gallilee had need of an ally — perhaps of an accomplice32. Only let her object be the separation of the two cousins — and Miss Minerva was eager to help her, in either capacity. Suppose she was too cautious to mention her object? Miss Minerva was equally ready for her employer, in that case. The doubt which had prompted her fruitless suggestions to Carmina, when they were alone in the young girl’s room — the doubt whether a clue to the discovery of Mrs. Gallilee’s motives33 might not be found, in that latter part of the Will which she had failed to overhear — was as present as ever in the governess’s mind. “The learned lady is not infallible,” she thought as she entered Mrs. Gallilee’s room. “If one unwary word trips over her tongue, I shall pick it up!”
Mrs. Gallilee’s manner was encouraging at the outset. She had left her writing-table; and she now presented herself, reclining in an easy chair, weary and discouraged — the picture of a woman in want of a helpful friend.
“My head aches with adding up figures, and writing letters,” she said. “I wish you would finish my correspondence for me.”
Miss Minerva took her place at the desk. She at once discovered the unfinished correspondence to be a false pretence34. Three cheques for charitable subscriptions35, due at that date, were waiting to be sent to three secretaries, with the customary letters. In five minutes, the letters were ready for the post. “Anything more?” Miss Minerva asked.
“Not that I remember. Do you mind giving me my fan? I feel perfectly36 helpless — I am wretchedly depressed37 to-day.”
“The heat, perhaps?”
“No. The expenses. Every year, the demands on our resources seem to increase. On principle, I dislike living up to our income — and I am obliged to do it.”
Here, plainly revealed to the governess’s experienced eyes, was another false pretence — used to introduce the true object of the interview, as something which might accidentally suggest itself in the course of conversation. Miss Minerva expressed the necessary regret with innocent readiness. “Might I suggest economy?” she asked with impenetrable gravity.
“Admirably advised,” Mrs. Gallilee admitted; “but how is it to be done? Those subscriptions, for instance, are more than I ought to give. And what happens if I lower the amount? I expose myself to unfavourable comparison with other people of our rank in society.”
Miss Minerva still patiently played the part expected of her. “You might perhaps do with only one carriage-horse,” she remarked.
“My good creature, look at the people who have only one carriage-horse! Situated38 as I am, can I descend39 to that level? Don’t suppose I care two straws about such things, myself. My one pride and pleasure in life is the pride and pleasure of improving my mind. But I have Lady Northlake for a sister; and I must not be entirely40 unworthy of my family connections. I have two daughters; and I must think of their interests. In a few years, Maria will be presented at Court. Thanks to you, she will be one of the most accomplished41 girls in England. Think of Maria’s mother in a one-horse chaise. Dear child! tell me all about her lessons. Is she getting on as well as ever?”
“Examine her yourself, Mrs. Gallilee. I can answer for the result.”
“No, Miss Minerva! I have too much confidence in you to do anything of the kind. Besides, in one of the most important of Maria’s accomplishments42, I am entirely dependent on yourself. I know nothing of music. You are not responsible for her progress in that direction. Still, I should like to know if you are satisfied with Maria’s music?”
“Quite satisfied.”
“You don’t think she is getting — how can I express it?— shall I say beyond the reach of Mr. Le Frank’s teaching?”
“Certainly not.”
“Perhaps you would consider Mr. Le Frank equal to the instruction of an older and more advanced pupil than Maria?”
Thus far, Miss Minerva had answered the questions submitted to her with well-concealed indifference43. This last inquiry44 roused her attention. Why did Mrs. Gallilee show an interest, for the first time, in Mr. Le Frank’s capacity as a teacher? Who was this “older and more advanced pupil,” for whose appearance in the conversation the previous questions had so smoothly45 prepared the way? Feeling delicate ground under her, the governess advanced cautiously.
“I have always thought Mr. Le Frank an excellent teacher,” she said.
“Can you give me no more definite answer than that?” Mrs. Gallilee asked.
“I am quite unacquainted, madam, with the musical proficiency46 of the pupil to whom you refer. I don’t even know (which adds to my perplexity) whether you are speaking of a lady or a gentleman.”
“I am speaking,” said Mrs. Gallilee quietly, “of my niece, Carmina.”
Those words set all further doubt at rest in Miss Minerva’s mind. Introduced by such elaborate preparation, the allusion47 to Carmina’s name could only lead, in due course, to the subject of Carmina’s marriage. By indirect methods of approach, Mrs. Gallilee had at last reached the object that she had in view.
收听单词发音 |
1
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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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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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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22
besetting
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| adj.不断攻击的v.困扰( beset的现在分词 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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30
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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31
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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34
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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39
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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40
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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46
proficiency
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| n.精通，熟练，精练 | |
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47
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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