It was full late for the river, but the weather was lovely, and summer lingered below the yellowing leaves. Soames took many looks at the day from his riverside garden near Mapledurham that Sunday morning.
With his own hands he put flowers about his little house-boat, and equipped the punt, in which, after lunch, he proposed to take them on the river. Placing those Chinese-looking cushions, he could not tell whether or no he wished to take Annette alone. She was so very pretty — could he trust himself not to say irrevocable words, passing beyond the limits of discretion1? Roses on the veranda2 were still in bloom, and the hedges ever-green, so that there was almost nothing of middle-aged3 autumn to chill the mood; yet was he nervous, fidgety, strangely distrustful of his powers to steer4 just the right course. This visit had been planned to produce in Annette and her mother a due sense of his possessions, so that they should be ready to receive with respect any overture5 he might later be disposed to make. He dressed with great care, making himself neither too young nor too old, very thankful that his hair was still thick and smooth and had no grey in it. Three times he went up to his picture-gallery. If they had any knowledge at all, they must see at once that his collection alone was worth at least thirty thousand pounds. He minutely inspected, too, the pretty bedroom overlooking the river where they would take off their hats. It would be her bedroom if — if the matter went through, and she became his wife. Going up to the dressing-table he passed his hand over the lilac-coloured pincushion, into which were stuck all kinds of pins; a bowl of pot-pourri exhaled7 a scent8 that made his head turn just a little. His wife! If only the whole thing could be settled out of hand, and there was not the nightmare of this divorce to be gone through first; and with gloom puckered9 on his forehead, he looked out at the river shining beyond the roses and the lawn. Madame Lamotte would never resist this prospect10 for her child; Annette would never resist her mother. If only he were free! He drove to the station to meet them. What taste Frenchwomen had! Madame Lamotte was in black with touches of lilac colour, Annette in greyish lilac linen11, with cream coloured gloves and hat. Rather pale she looked and Londony; and her blue eyes were demure12. Waiting for them to come down to lunch, Soames stood in the open french-window of the diningroom moved by that sensuous13 delight in sunshine and flowers and trees which only came to the full when youth and beauty were there to share it with one. He had ordered the lunch with intense consideration; the wine was a very special Sauterne, the whole appointments of the meal perfect, the coffee served on the veranda super-excellent. Madame Lamotte accepted creme de menthe; Annette refused. Her manners were charming, with just a suspicion of ‘the conscious beauty’ creeping into them. ‘Yes,’ thought Soames, ‘another year of London and that sort of life, and she’ll be spoiled.’
Madame was in sedate14 French raptures15. “Adorable! Le soleil est si bon! How everything is chic16, is it not, Annette? Monsieur is a real Monte Cristo.” Annette murmured assent17, with a look up at Soames which he could not read. He proposed a turn on the river. But to punt two persons when one of them looked so ravishing on those Chinese cushions was merely to suffer from a sense of lost opportunity; so they went but a short way towards Pangbourne, drifting slowly back, with every now and then an autumn leaf dropping on Annette or on her mother’s black amplitude18. And Soames was not happy, worried by the thought: ‘How — when — where — can I say — what?’ They did not yet even know that he was married. To tell them he was married might jeopardise his every chance; yet, if he did not definitely make them understand that he wished for Annette’s hand, it would be dropping into some other clutch before he was free to claim it.
At tea, which they both took with lemon, Soames spoke19 of the Transvaal.
“There’ll be war,” he said.
“Ces pauvres gens bergers!” Could they not be left to themselves?
Soames smiled — the question seemed to him absurd.
Surely as a woman of business she understood that the British could not abandon their legitimate21 commercial interests.
“Ah! that!” But Madame Lamotte found that the English were a little hypocrite. They were talking of justice and the Uitlanders, not of business. Monsieur was the first who had spoken to her of that.
“The Boers are only half-civilised,” remarked Soames; “they stand in the way of progress. It will never do to let our suzerainty go.”
“What does that mean to say? Suzerainty!”
“What a strange word!” Soames became eloquent22, roused by these threats to the principle of possession, and stimulated23 by Annette’s eyes fixed24 on him. He was delighted when presently she said:
“I think Monsieur is right. They should be taught a lesson.” She was sensible!
“Of course,” he said, “we must act with moderation. I’m no jingo. We must be firm without bullying25. Will you come up and see my pictures?” Moving from one to another of these treasures, he soon perceived that they knew nothing. They passed his last Mauve, that remarkable26 study of a ‘Hay-cart going Home,’ as if it were a lithograph27. He waited almost with awe28 to see how they would view the jewel of his collection — an Israels whose price he had watched ascending29 till he was now almost certain it had reached top value, and would be better on the market again. They did not view it at all. This was a shock; and yet to have in Annette a virgin30 taste to form would be better than to have the silly, half-baked predilections31 of the English middle-class to deal with. At the end of the gallery was a Meissonier of which he was rather ashamed — Meissonier was so steadily32 going down. Madame Lamotte stopped before it.
“Meissonier! Ah! What a jewel!” Soames took advantage of that moment. Very gently touching33 Annette’s arm, he said:
“How do you like my place, Annette?”
She did not shrink, did not respond; she looked at him full, looked down, and murmured:
“Who would not like it? It is so beautiful!”
“Perhaps some day —” Soames said, and stopped.
So pretty she was, so self-possessed — she frightened him. Those cornflower-blue eyes, the turn of that creamy neck, her delicate curves — she was a standing34 temptation to indiscretion! No! No! One must be sure of one’s ground — much surer! ‘If I hold off,’ he thought, ‘it will tantalise her.’ And he crossed over to Madame Lamotte, who was still in front of the Meissonier.
“Yes, that’s quite a good example of his later work. You must come again, Madame, and see them lighted up. You must both come and spend a night.”
Enchanted35, would it not be beautiful to see them lighted? By moonlight too, the river must be ravishing!
Annette murmured:
“Thou art sentimental36, Maman!”
Sentimental! That black-robed, comely37, substantial Frenchwoman of the world! And suddenly he was certain as he could be that there was no sentiment in either of them. All the better. Of what use sentiment? And yet. . . .!
He drove to the station with them, and saw them into the train. To the tightened38 pressure of his hand it seemed that Annette’s fingers responded just a little; her face smiled at him through the dark.
He went back to the carriage, brooding. “Go on home, Jordan,” he said to the coachman; “I’ll walk.” And he strode out into the darkening lanes, caution and the desire of possession playing see-saw within him. ‘Bon soir, monsieur!’ How softly she had said it. To know what was in her mind! The French — they were like cats — one could tell nothing! But — how pretty! What a perfect young thing to hold in one’s arms! What a mother for his heir! And he thought, with a smile, of his family and their surprise at a French wife, and their curiosity, and of the way he would play with it and buffet39 it confound them!
The, poplars sighed in the darkness; an owl6 hooted40. Shadows deepened in the water. ‘I will and must be free,’ he thought. ‘I won’t hang about any longer. I’ll go and see Irene. If you want things done, do them yourself. I must live again — live and move and have my being.’ And in echo to that queer biblicality church-bells chimed the call to evening prayer.
收听单词发音 |
1
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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7
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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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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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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15
raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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chic
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| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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18
amplitude
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| n.广大；充足；振幅 | |
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19
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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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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22
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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25
bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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lithograph
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| n.平板印刷，平板画；v.用平版印刷 | |
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28
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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31
predilections
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| n.偏爱，偏好，嗜好( predilection的名词复数 ) | |
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32
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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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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35
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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36
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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38
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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39
buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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40
hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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