It is so much easier to say, “Then we know where we are,” than to mean anything particular by the words. And in saying them Soames did but vent1 the jealous rankling2 of his instincts. He got out of the cab in a state of wary3 anger — with himself for not having seen Irene, with Jolyon for having seen her; and now with his inability to tell exactly what he wanted.
He had abandoned the cab because he could not bear to remain seated beside his cousin, and walking briskly eastwards4 he thought: ‘I wouldn’t trust that fellow Jolyon a yard. Once outcast, always outcast!’ The chap had a natural sympathy with — with — laxity (he had shied at the word sin, because it was too melodramatic for use by a Forsyte).
Indecision in desire was to him a new feeling. He was like a child between a promised toy and an old one which had been taken away from him; and he was astonished at himself. Only last Sunday desire had seemed simple — just his freedom and Annette. ‘I’ll go and dine there,’ he thought. To see her might bring back his singleness of intention, calm his exasperation5, clear his mind.
The restaurant was fairly full — a good many foreigners and folk whom, from their appearance, he took to be literary or artistic6. Scraps7 of conversation came his way through the clatter8 of plates and glasses. He distinctly heard the Boers sympathised with, the British Government blamed. ‘Don’t think much of their clientele,’ he thought. He went stolidly9 through his dinner and special coffee without making his presence known, and when at last he had finished, was careful not to be seen going towards the sanctum of Madame Lamotte. They were, as he entered, having supper — such a much nicer-looking supper than the dinner he had eaten that he felt a kind of grief — and they greeted him with a surprise so seemingly genuine that he thought with sudden suspicion: ‘I believe they knew I was here all the time.’ He gave Annette a look furtive10 and searching. So pretty, seemingly so candid11; could she be angling for him? He turned to Madame Lamotte and said:
“I’ve been dining here.”
Really! If she had only known! There were dishes she could have recommended; what a pity! Soames was confirmed in his suspicion. ‘I must look out what I’m doing!’ he thought sharply.
“Another little cup of very special coffee, monsieur; a liqueur, Grand Marnier?” and Madame Lamotte rose to order these delicacies12.
Alone with Annette Soames said, “Well, Annette?” with a defensive13 little smile about his lips.
The girl blushed. This, which last Sunday would have set his nerves tingling14, now gave him much the same feeling a man has when a dog that he owns wriggles15 and looks at him. He had a curious sense of power, as if he could have said to her, ‘Come and kiss me,’ and she would have come. And yet — it was strange — but there seemed another face and form in the room too; and the itch16 in his nerves, was it for that — or for this? He jerked his head towards the restaurant and said: “You have some queer customers. Do you like this life?”
Annette looked up at him for a moment, looked down, and played with her fork.
“No,” she said, “I do not like it.”
‘I’ve got her,’ thought Soames, ‘if I want her. But do I want her?’ She was graceful17, she was pretty — very pretty; she was fresh, she had taste of a kind. His eyes travelled round the little room; but the eyes of his mind went another journey — a half-light, and silvery walls, a satinwood piano, a woman standing18 against it, reined19 back as it were from him — a woman with white shoulders that he knew, and dark eyes that he had sought to know, and hair like dull dark amber20. And as in an artist who strives for the unrealisable and is ever thirsty, so there rose in him at that moment the thirst of the old passion he had never satisfied.
“Well,” he said calmly, “you’re young. There’s everything before you.”
Annette shook her head.
“I think sometimes there is nothing before me but hard work. I am not so in love with work as mother.”
“Your mother is a wonder,” said Soames, faintly mocking; “she will never let failure lodge22 in her house.”
Annette sighed. “It must be wonderful to be rich.”
“Oh! You’ll be rich some day,” answered Soames, still with that faint mockery; “don’t be afraid.”
Annette shrugged23 her shoulders. “Monsieur is very kind.” And between her pouting24 lips she put a chocolate.
‘Yes, my dear,’ thought Soames, ‘they’re very pretty.’
Madame Lamotte, with coffee and liqueur, put an end to that colloquy25. Soames did not stay long.
Outside in the streets of Soho, which always gave him such a feeling of property improperly26 owned, he mused27. If only Irene had given him a son, he wouldn’t now be squirming after women! The thought had jumped out of its little dark sentry-box in his inner consciousness. A son — something to look forward to, something to make the rest of life worth while, something to leave himself to, some perpetuity of self. ‘If I had a son,’ he thought bitterly, ‘a proper legal son, I could make shift to go on as I used. One woman’s much the same as another, after all.’ But as he walked he shook his head. No! One woman was not the same as another. Many a time had he tried to think that in the old days of his thwarted28 married life; and he had always failed. He was failing now. He was trying to think Annette the same as that other. But she was not, she had not the lure21 of that old passion. ‘And Irene’s my wife,’ he thought, ‘my legal wife. I have done nothing to put her away from me. Why shouldn’t she come back to me? It’s the right thing, the lawful29 thing. It makes no scandal, no disturbance30. If it’s disagreeable to her — but why should it be? I’m not a leper, and she — she’s no longer in love!’ Why should he be put to the shifts and the sordid31 disgraces and the lurking32 defeats of the Divorce Court, when there she was like an empty house only waiting to be retaken into use and possession by him who legally owned her? To one so secretive as Soames the thought of reentry into quiet possession of his own property with nothing given away to the world was intensely alluring33. ‘No,’ he mused, ‘I’m glad I went to see that girl. I know now what I want most. If only Irene will come back I’ll be as considerate as she wishes; she could live her own life; but perhaps — perhaps she would come round to me.’ There was a lump in his throat. And doggedly34 along by the railings of the Green Park, towards his father’s house, he went, trying to tread on his shadow walking before him in the brilliant moonlight.
收听单词发音 |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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rankling
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的现在分词 ) | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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eastwards
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| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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wriggles
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| n.蠕动，扭动( wriggle的名词复数 )v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的第三人称单数 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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itch
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| n.痒，渴望，疥癣；vi.发痒，渴望 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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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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reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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pouting
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的现在分词 ) | |
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colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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improperly
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| 不正确地，不适当地 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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28
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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30
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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32
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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