The next morning was fair, and Catherine almost expected another attack from the assembled party. With Mr. Allen to support her, she felt no dread1 of the event: but she would gladly be spared a contest, where victory itself was painful, and was heartily2 rejoiced therefore at neither seeing nor hearing anything of them. The Tilneys called for her at the appointed time; and no new difficulty arising, no sudden recollection, no unexpected summons, no impertinent intrusion to disconcert their measures, my heroine was most unnaturally3 able to fulfil her engagement, though it was made with the hero himself. They determined4 on walking round Beechen Cliff, that noble hill whose beautiful verdure and hanging coppice render it so striking an object from almost every opening in Bath.
"I never look at it," said Catherine, as they walked along the side of the river, "without thinking of the south of France."
"You have been abroad then?" said Henry, a little surprised.
"Oh! No, I only mean what I have read about. It always puts me in mind of the country that Emily and her father travelled through, in The Mysteries of Udolpho. But you never read novels, I dare say?"
"Why not?"
"Because they are not clever enough for you -- gentlemen read better books."
"The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid. I have read all Mrs. Radcliffe's works, and most of them with great pleasure. The Mysteries of Udolpho, when I had once begun it, I could not lay down again; I remember finishing it in two days -- my hair standing5 on end the whole time."
"Yes," added Miss Tilney, "and I remember that you undertook to read it aloud to me, and that when I was called away for only five minutes to answer a note, instead of waiting for me, you took the volume into the Hermitage Walk, and I was obliged to stay till you had finished it."
"Thank you, Eleanor -- a most honourable6 testimony7. You see, Miss Morland, the injustice8 of your suspicions. Here was I, in my eagerness to get on, refusing to wait only five minutes for my sister, breaking the promise I had made of reading it aloud, and keeping her in suspense9 at a most interesting part, by running away with the volume, which, you are to observe, was her own, particularly her own. I am proud when I reflect on it, and I think it must establish me in your good opinion."
"I am very glad to hear it indeed, and now I shall never be ashamed of liking10 Udolpho myself. But I really thought before, young men despised novels amazingly."
"It is amazingly; it may well suggest amazement11 if they do -- for they read nearly as many as women. I myself have read hundreds and hundreds. Do not imagine that you can cope with me in a knowledge of Julias and Louisas. If we proceed to particulars, and engage in the never-ceasing inquiry12 of 'Have you read this?' and 'Have you read that?' I shall soon leave you as far behind me as -- what shall I say? -- I want an appropriate simile13. -- as far as your friend Emily herself left poor Valancourt when she went with her aunt into Italy. Consider how many years I have had the start of you. I had entered on my studies at Oxford14, while you were a good little girl working your sampler at home!"
"Not very good, I am afraid. But now really, do not you think Udolpho the nicest book in the world?"
"The nicest -- by which I suppose you mean the neatest. That must depend upon the binding15."
"Henry," said Miss Tilney, "you are very impertinent. Miss Morland, he is treating you exactly as he does his sister. He is forever finding fault with me, for some incorrectness of language, and now he is taking the same liberty with you. The word 'nicest,' as you used it, did not suit him; and you had better change it as soon as you can, or we shall be overpowered with Johnson and Blair all the rest of the way."
"I am sure," cried Catherine, "I did not mean to say anything wrong; but it is a nice book, and why should not I call it so?"
"Very true," said Henry, "and this is a very nice day, and we are taking a very nice walk, and you are two very nice young ladies. Oh! It is a very nice word indeed! It does for everything. Originally perhaps it was applied16 only to express neatness, propriety17, delicacy18, or refinement19 -- people were nice in their dress, in their sentiments, or their choice. But now every commendation on every subject is comprised in that one word."
"While, in fact," cried his sister, "it ought only to be applied to you, without any commendation at all. You are more nice than wise. Come, Miss Morland, let us leave him to meditate20 over our faults in the utmost propriety of diction, while we praise Udolpho in whatever terms we like best. It is a most interesting work. You are fond of that kind of reading?"
"To say the truth, I do not much like any other."
"Indeed!"
"That is, I can read poetry and plays, and things of that sort, and do not dislike travels. But history, real solemn history, I cannot be interested in. Can you?"
"Yes, I am fond of history."
"I wish I were too. I read it a little as a duty, but it tells me nothing that does not either vex21 or weary me. The quarrels of popes and kings, with wars or pestilences22, in every page; the men all so good for nothing, and hardly any women at all -- it is very tiresome23: and yet I often think it odd that it should be so dull, for a great deal of it must be invention. The speeches that are put into the heroes' mouths, their thoughts and designs -- the chief of all this must be invention, and invention is what delights me in other books."
"Historians, you think," said Miss Tilney, "are not happy in their flights of fancy. They display imagination without raising interest. I am fond of history -- and am very well contented24 to take the false with the true. In the principal facts they have sources of intelligence in former histories and records, which may be as much depended on, I conclude, as anything that does not actually pass under one's own observation; and as for the little embellishments you speak of, they are embellishments, and I like them as such. If a speech be well drawn25 up, I read it with pleasure, by whomsoever it may be made -- and probably with much greater, if the production of Mr. Hume or Mr. Robertson, than if the genuine words of Caractacus, Agricola, or Alfred the Great."
"You are fond of history! And so are Mr. Allen and my father; and I have two brothers who do not dislike it. So many instances within my small circle of friends is remarkable26! At this rate, I shall not pity the writers of history any longer. If people like to read their books, it is all very well, but to be at so much trouble in filling great volumes, which, as I used to think, nobody would willingly ever look into, to be labouring only for the torment27 of little boys and girls, always struck me as a hard fate; and though I know it is all very right and necessary, I have often wondered at the person's courage that could sit down on purpose to do it."
"That little boys and girls should be tormented28," said Henry, "is what no one at all acquainted with human nature in a civilized29 state can deny; but in behalf of our most distinguished30 historians, I must observe that they might well be offended at being supposed to have no higher aim, and that by their method and style, they are perfectly31 well qualified32 to torment readers of the most advanced reason and mature time of life. I use the verb 'to torment,' as I observed to be your own method, instead of 'to instruct,' supposing them to be now admitted as synonymous."
"You think me foolish to call instruction a torment, but if you had been as much used as myself to hear poor little children first learning their letters and then learning to spell, if you had ever seen how stupid they can be for a whole morning together, and how tired my poor mother is at the end of it, as I am in the habit of seeing almost every day of my life at home, you would allow that 'to torment' and 'to instruct' might sometimes be used as synonymous words."
"Very probably. But historians are not accountable for the difficulty of learning to read; and even you yourself, who do not altogether seem particularly friendly to very severe, very intense application, may perhaps be brought to acknowledge that it is very well worth-while to be tormented for two or three years of one's life, for the sake of being able to read all the rest of it. Consider -- if reading had not been taught, Mrs. Radcliffe would have written in vain -- or perhaps might not have written at all."
Catherine assented33 -- and a very warm panegyric34 from her on that lady's merits closed the subject. The Tilneys were soon engaged in another on which she had nothing to say. They were viewing the country with the eyes of persons accustomed to drawing, and decided35 on its capability36 of being formed into pictures, with all the eagerness of real taste. Here Catherine was quite lost. She knew nothing of drawing -- nothing of taste: and she listened to them with an attention which brought her little profit, for they talked in phrases which conveyed scarcely any idea to her. The little which she could understand, however, appeared to contradict the very few notions she had entertained on the matter before. It seemed as if a good view were no longer to be taken from the top of an high hill, and that a clear blue sky was no longer a proof of a fine day. She was heartily ashamed of her ignorance. A misplaced shame. Where people wish to attach, they should always be ignorant. To come with a well-informed mind is to come with an inability of administering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person would always wish to avoid. A woman especially, if she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal37 it as well as she can.
The advantages of natural folly38 in a beautiful girl have been already set forth39 by the capital pen of a sister author; and to her treatment of the subject I will only add, in justice to men, that though to the larger and more trifling40 part of the sex, imbecility in females is a great enhancement of their personal charms, there is a portion of them too reasonable and too well informed themselves to desire anything more in woman than ignorance. But Catherine did not know her own advantages -- did not know that a good-looking girl, with an affectionate heart and a very ignorant mind, cannot fail of attracting a clever young man, unless circumstances are particularly untoward41. In the present instance, she confessed and lamented42 her want of knowledge, declared that she would give anything in the world to be able to draw; and a lecture on the picturesque43 immediately followed, in which his instructions were so clear that she soon began to see beauty in everything admired by him, and her attention was so earnest that he became perfectly satisfied of her having a great deal of natural taste. He talked of foregrounds, distances, and second distances -- side-screens and perspectives -- lights and shades; and Catherine was so hopeful a scholar that when they gained the top of Beechen Cliff, she voluntarily rejected the whole city of Bath as unworthy to make part of a landscape. Delighted with her progress, and fearful of wearying her with too much wisdom at once, Henry suffered the subject to decline, and by an easy transition from a piece of rocky fragment and the withered44 oak which he had placed near its summit, to oaks in general, to forests, the enclosure of them, waste lands, crown lands and government, he shortly found himself arrived at politics; and from politics, it was an easy step to silence. The general pause which succeeded his short disquisition on the state of the nation was put an end to by Catherine, who, in rather a solemn tone of voice, uttered these words, "I have heard that something very shocking indeed will soon come out in London."
Miss Tilney, to whom this was chiefly addressed, was startled, and hastily replied, "Indeed! And of what nature?"
"That I do not know, nor who is the author. I have only heard that it is to be more horrible than anything we have met with yet."
"Good heaven! Where could you hear of such a thing?"
"A particular friend of mine had an account of it in a letter from London yesterday. It is to be uncommonly45 dreadful. I shall expect murder and everything of the kind."
"You speak with astonishing composure! But I hope your friend's accounts have been exaggerated; and if such a design is known beforehand, proper measures will undoubtedly46 be taken by government to prevent its coming to effect."
"Government," said Henry, endeavouring not to smile, "neither desires nor dares to interfere47 in such matters. There must be murder; and government cares not how much."
The ladies stared. He laughed, and added, "Come, shall I make you understand each other, or leave you to puzzle out an explanation as you can? No -- I will be noble. I will prove myself a man, no less by the generosity48 of my soul than the clearness of my head. I have no patience with such of my sex as disdain49 to let themselves sometimes down to the comprehension of yours. Perhaps the abilities of women are neither sound nor acute -- neither vigorous nor keen. Perhaps they may want observation, discernment, judgment50, fire, genius, and wit."
"Miss Morland, do not mind what he says; but have the goodness to satisfy me as to this dreadful riot."
"Riot! What riot?"
"My dear Eleanor, the riot is only in your own brain. The confusion there is scandalous. Miss Morland has been talking of nothing more dreadful than a new publication which is shortly to come out, in three duodecimo volumes, two hundred and seventy-six pages in each, with a frontispiece to the first, of two tombstones and a lantern -- do you understand? And you, Miss Morland -- my stupid sister has mistaken all your clearest expressions. You talked of expected horrors in London -- and instead of instantly conceiving, as any rational creature would have done, that such words could relate only to a circulating library, she immediately pictured to herself a mob of three thousand men assembling in St. George's Fields, the Bank attacked, the Tower threatened, the streets of London flowing with blood, a detachment of the Twelfth Light Dragoons (the hopes of the nation) called up from Northampton to quell51 the insurgents52, and the gallant53 Captain Frederick Tilney, in the moment of charging at the head of his troop, knocked off his horse by a brickbat from an upper window. Forgive her stupidity. The fears of the sister have added to the weakness of the woman; but she is by no means a simpleton in general."
Catherine looked grave. "And now, Henry," said Miss Tilney, "that you have made us understand each other, you may as well make Miss Morland understand yourself -- unless you mean to have her think you intolerably rude to your sister, and a great brute54 in your opinion of women in general. Miss Morland is not used to your odd ways."
"I shall be most happy to make her better acquainted with them."
"No doubt; but that is no explanation of the present."
"What am I to do?"
"You know what you ought to do. Clear your character handsomely before her. Tell her that you think very highly of the understanding of women."
"Miss Morland, I think very highly of the understanding of all the women in the world -- especially of those -- whoever they may be -- with whom I happen to be in company."
"That is not enough. Be more serious."
"Miss Morland, no one can think more highly of the understanding of women than I do. In my opinion, nature has given them so much that they never find it necessary to use more than half."
"We shall get nothing more serious from him now, Miss Morland. He is not in a sober mood. But I do assure you that he must be entirely55 misunderstood, if he can ever appear to say an unjust thing of any woman at all, or an unkind one of me."
It was no effort to Catherine to believe that Henry Tilney could never be wrong. His manner might sometimes surprise, but his meaning must always be just: and what she did not understand, she was almost as ready to admire, as what she did. The whole walk was delightful56, and though it ended too soon, its conclusion was delightful too; her friends attended her into the house, and Miss Tilney, before they parted, addressing herself with respectful form, as much to Mrs. Allen as to Catherine, petitioned for the pleasure of her company to dinner on the day after the next. No difficulty was made on Mrs. Allen's side, and the only difficulty on Catherine's was in concealing57 the excess of her pleasure.
The morning had passed away so charmingly as to banish58 all her friendship and natural affection, for no thought of Isabella or James had crossed her during their walk. When the Tilneys were gone, she became amiable59 again, but she was amiable for some time to little effect; Mrs. Allen had no intelligence to give that could relieve her anxiety; she had heard nothing of any of them. Towards the end of the morning, however, Catherine, having occasion for some indispensable yard of ribbon which must be bought without a moment's delay, walked out into the town, and in Bond Street overtook the second Miss Thorpe as she was loitering towards Edgar's Buildings between two of the sweetest girls in the world, who had been her dear friends all the morning. From her, she soon learned that the party to Clifton had taken place. "They set off at eight this morning," said Miss Anne, "and I am sure I do not envy them their drive. I think you and I are very well off to be out of the scrape. it must be the dullest thing in the world, for there is not a soul at Clifton at this time of year. Belle60 went with your brother, and John drove Maria."
Catherine spoke61 the pleasure she really felt on hearing this part of the arrangement.
"Oh! yes," rejoined the other, "Maria is gone. She was quite wild to go. She thought it would be something very fine. I cannot say I admire her taste; and for my part, I was determined from the first not to go, if they pressed me ever so much."
Catherine, a little doubtful of this, could not help answering, "I wish you could have gone too. It is a pity you could not all go."
"Thank you; but it is quite a matter of indifference62 to me. Indeed, I would not have gone on any account. I was saying so to Emily and Sophia when you overtook us."
Catherine was still unconvinced; but glad that Anne should have the friendship of an Emily and a Sophia to console her, she bade her adieu without much uneasiness, and returned home, pleased that the party had not been prevented by her refusing to join it, and very heartily wishing that it might be too pleasant to allow either James or Isabella to resent her resistance any longer.
第二天早晨，天晴气朗，凯瑟琳料想那一伙人大概又要来纠缠。有艾伦先生为她撑腰，她并不害怕他们来。不过她还是宁愿不和他们争执，即使争赢了也是痛苦的。因而，当她既没看见他们的影子，又没听见他们的消息时，她感到由衷的喜悦。蒂尔尼兄妹按照约定的时间来喊她．这回没再出现新的麻烦，谁也没有突然想起什么事情，或是出乎意料地被人叫走，也没有哪位不速之客突然闯入，来干扰他们的郊游计划，于是我的女主角能够极不寻常地实践了自己的约会，虽然这是同男主角的约会。他们决定周游一下比琴崖。那是一座挺秀的山崖，山上木青草葱，崖间半悬着一片片矮树丛，几乎从巴思的每个旷场上望去，都显得十分惹人注目。
“我每次见到这座山，”他们沿河畔漫步时，凯瑟琳说道，“总要想到法国南部。”
“这么说你到过国外？”亨利有点惊讶地问道。
“哦，不！我只是说在书里看到的。这座山总使我想起《尤多尔弗的奥秘》里埃米丽和她父亲游历过的地方。不过，你也许从不看小说吧？”
“为什么？”
“因为小说对你来说太浅薄。绅士们要看深奥的书。”
“一个人，不管是绅士还是淑女，只要不喜欢小说，一定愚蠢。我读过拉德克利夫夫人的全部作品，而且对大多数都很感兴趣。《尤多尔弗的奥秘》一旦看开了头，我再也放不下了。我记得两天就看完了，一直是毛骨悚然的。”
“是的，”蒂尔尼小姐补充道。“我记得你还念给我听。后来我给叫走了，去回张便条，仅仅五分钟你也不等我，把书带到了隐士径，我无奈只好等到你看完再说。”
“谢谢你，埃丽诺．一条难能可贵的证据。你瞧，莫兰小姐，你的猜测是不公正的。我迫不及待地要看下去，我妹妹只离开五分钟我都不肯等她。我答应念给她听，可是又不恪守诺言，读到最有趣的地方又叫她干着急听不到，我把书拿跑了。你要注意，那本书还是她自己的，的确是她自己的。我想起这件事就觉得自豪，我想这会使你对我有个好印象了。”
“我听了的确很高兴。今后我永远不会为自己喜爱《尤多尔弗》而感到羞愧了。不过我以前的确以为，青年男子对小说鄙视到令人惊奇的地步。”
“令人惊奇！他们如果真是那样，那倒可能真叫令人惊奇，因为男人看到的小说几乎跟女人看的一样多。我自己就看过好几百本。说起朱丽娅和路易莎的事，你休想和我比。我们要谈到具体的书，没完没了地问起‘你看过这本吗？’‘你看过那本吗？’我将马上把你远远抛在后面，就像——我该怎么说呢？我想用个恰如其分的比喻，就像你的朋友埃米丽远远抛下可怜的瓦兰库尔特，与她的姑妈一起来到意大利。你想想我比你多看了多少年小说。我是进牛津读书时开始的，而你却是个小乖姑娘，坐在家里绣花呢！”
“恐怕不是很乖吧。可是说真的。难道你不认为《尤多尔弗》是世界上最好的书吗？”
“最好的、我想你是指最精致的吧。那得看装帧了。”
“亨利，”蒂尔尼小姐说，“你真不客气。莫兰小姐、他待你就像待他妹妹一样。他总是挑剔我措词不当，现在又在对你吹毛求疵了。你用的‘最好’这个字不合他的意，你最好趁早把它换掉。不然他会拿约翰逊和布莱尔把我们奚落个没完。”
“的确．”凯瑟琳大声嚷道，“我并非有意要说错话。可那确实是一本好书。我为什么不能这么说呢。”
“很对，”亨利说道，“今天天气很好，我们进行一次很好的散步，你们是两位好姑娘。哦！这的确是个好字眼！什么场合都适用。最初，它也许只被用来表示整洁、恰当、精致、优雅，用来描写人们的衣着、感情和选择，可是现在，这个字眼却构成了一个万能的褒义词。”
“其实，”他妹妹嚷道，“它只该甩到你身上，而且没有丝毫的褒义。你这个人挺讲究而不聪明。来，莫兰小姐，我们让他用最严格的字眼对我们吹毛求疵去吧，我们还是用自己最喜爱的字眼来赞美《尤多尔弗》。这是一本极其有趣的作品。你喜欢这类书吗？”
“说实话，我不大爱看别的书。”
“真的。”
“这就是说，我可以看诗歌和戏剧这一类的作品，也不讨厌游记。但是对历史，正正经经的历史，我却不感兴趣。你呢？”
“我喜欢历史。”
“但愿我也喜欢。我是作为义务读点历史，但是历史书里的东西总是惹我烦恼，厌倦。每页上都是教皇与国王在争吵，还有战争与瘟疫。男人都是饭桶，女人几乎没有一个，真令人厌烦。然而我经常觉得奇怪，既然绝大部分是虚构的，却又那么枯燥乏味。英雄嘴里吐出的语言、他们的思想和雄图，想必大部分是虚构的，而在其他作品里，虚构的东西正是我所喜欢的。”
“你认为，”蒂尔尼小姐说，“历史学家不善于想象。他们想象出来的东西不能引起人们的兴趣。我喜欢历史，满足于真的假的一起接受。在那些主要事实中，它们以过去的史书和史料为资料来源，我可以断定，那些史书和史料就像你没能亲自目睹的事实一样真实可信。至于你说到的添枝加叶，那确实是添枝加叶，我喜欢这样的内容。如果哪一篇演讲写得很好，我也不管它由谁来作，都要高高兴兴地读下去。如果是出自休姆先生，或者罗伯逊博士的手笔，我很可能比读卡拉克塔库斯、阿格里科拉或者阿尔弗烈德大王的真实讲话，还要兴致勃勃。”
“你喜欢历史！艾伦先生和我父亲也是如此。我有两个兄弟，他们也不讨厌历史。在我这个小小的亲友圈圈里就有这么多例子，真是可观啊！这样一来，我就不再可怜写历史的人了。如果大家爱看他们的书，那当然很好。但是，我过去一直以为没人爱看他们费那么大功夫写出的一部部巨著。或者辛辛苦苦写出来只是为了折磨那些少男少女，我总觉得这是一种苦命。虽然我现在知道他们这样做是完全正确的。完全必要的，但是我过去经常感到奇怪，有人居然有勇气坐下来特意干这种事。”
“少男少女应该接受折磨、”亨利说道。“这是但凡对文明国度的人性多少有点了解的人所无法否认的。但是，我要为我们最杰出的历史学家说几句话：如果有人认为他们缺乏更加崇高的一目标。他们难免不感到气愤。他们凭着自己的写作方法和风格。完全有资格折磨那些最有理智的成年读者，我使用‘折磨’这个动词（我注意到这是你的措词），拿它代替了‘教育’这个字眼，就算它们现在是同义词吧。”
“你认为我把教育称作折磨很荒谬，可是，假使你以前像我一样，经常听见可怜的孩子最初如何学习字母，然后如何学习拼写，假使你看见他们整个上午如何愚不可及。临了我那可怜的母亲如何精疲力竭（就像我在家里几乎每天见到的那样），你便会承认：折磨和教育有时是可以当作同义词的。”
“很有可能。但是，历史学家对于学习认字时的困难并不负有责任。他似乎不特别喜欢勤奋好学，刻苦钻研、即便如此。你恐怕也得承认。为了一辈子能看书、受两三年折磨还是十分花得来的。请想想。倘若不教人念书，拉德克利夫夫人的作品常不是白写了，甚至也许压根儿写不出来。”
凯瑟琳表示同意。她热情洋溢地赞颂了那位夫人的功绩，随即便结束了这个话题、蒂尔。尼兄妹马上谈起了另一个话题，凯瑟琳对此无话可说。他们带着绘画行家的目光，观赏着乡间的景色，并且带着真正的鉴赏力，热切地断定这里可以作出画来。凯瑟琳茫然不知所措。她对绘画一窍不通——她对富有情趣的东西都一窍不通。她聚精会神地听着，可是得不到什么收获，因为他们用的字眼简直让她莫名其妙。她能听懂的一点点，却似乎与她以前对绘画所仅有的一些概念相矛盾。看来，从高山顶上似乎不能再取到好景了。清澈的蓝天也不再象征晴天了。她为自己的无知感到不胜羞愧——但是这种羞愧是不必要的。人们想要依依多情的时候。总应该表示自已知识浅薄才好。自恃渊博是无法满足别人的虚荣心的，这是聪明人要力求避免的。特别是女人，如果她不幸地有点知识的话，应该尽可能地将其掩盖起来。
一位姊妹作家，已经用神工妙笔阐述了姣美小姐天性愚笨的好处。对于她在这方面的论述，我只想为男人补充说一句公道话：虽然对于大部分比较轻浮的男人来说，女人的愚笨大大增添了她们的妩媚，但是有一部分男人又太有理智，太有见识，对女人的希求也只是无知而已。可是凯瑟琳并不了解自己的长处，不知道一个美丽多情而又愚昧无知的姑娘，定能迷住一位聪明的小伙子，除非机缘特别不利。在目前情况下，她承认自己知识贫乏，痛恨自己知识贫乏，并且公开宣布：她将不惜任何代价学会绘画。于是，亨利马上就给她讲授什么样的景物可以构画，他讲授得一清二楚、凯瑟琳很快从亨利欣赏的东西里看到了美。凯瑟琳听得十分认真，亨利对她也十分满意，认为她有很高的天然审美力。他谈到了近景、远景、次远景、旁衬景、配景法和光亮色彩。凯瑟琳是个大有希望的学生，当他们登上比琴崖顶峰时，她很有见地地说道，全巴思城不配采入风景画。亨利对她的长进感到很高兴，同时又怕一下子灌多了惹她发腻，便搁开了这个话题。他从一座嶙峋的山石和他假想长在山石近顶的一棵枯掉的栎树谈起，很容易就谈到—般的栎树——谈到树林，林场，荒地，王室领地和政府——不久就谈到了政治，一谈政治就很容易导致沉默。他对国事发表了一段简短的议论之后，大家便陷入了沉默。后来这沉默让凯瑟琳打破了，只听她带着严肃的口吻说道：“我听说，伦敦马上要出骇人听闻的东西。”
这话主要是对蒂尔尼小姐说的，蒂尔尼小姐不觉大吃一惊，赶紧答道：“真的！什么性质的？”
“这我可不知道，也不知道作者是谁。我只听说，这要比我们迄今接触到的任何东西都更可怕。”
“天哪！你能从哪儿听来的呢？”
“我的一个特别要好的朋友昨天从伦敦来信说的。据说可怕极了。我想一定是谋杀一类的内容。”
“你说起来泰然自若的，让人惊讶。不过我希望你的朋友是言过其实。如果这样的阴谋事先透露出来，政府无疑会采取适当措施加以制止的。”
“政府，”亨利说道，尽量忍住笑，“既不愿意也不敢干预这种事情。凶杀是免不了的，有多少起政府也不会管。”
两位小姐愣住了。亨利失声笑了，接着说道：“喂、是让我来帮助你们达到相互了解呢，还是由着你们自己去寻求解释？不，我要崇高一些。我要证明自己是个男子汉，不仅凭借清晰的头脑，而且凭借慷慨的心灵。我忍受不了某些男人，他们有时不屑于照顾女人的理解能力，不肯把话说得浅显一些。也许女人的才智既不健全也不敏锐，既不健康也不敏捷。也许她们缺乏观察力、辨别力、判断力、热情、天才和智慧。”
“莫兰小姐，别听他瞎说。还是请你给我说说这起可怕的骚动吧。”
“骚动！什么骚动？”
“我亲爱的埃丽诺，骚动只是你自己的想象。你胡思乱想的太不象话啦。莫兰小姐所谈论的，并不是什么可怕的事，只不过是一本即将出版的新书，三卷十二开本，每卷二百七十六页，一第，卷有个卷首插图，画着两块墓碑，一盏灯笼——你明白了吧？莫兰小姐，你说得再明白不过了，可全叫我那傻妹子给误解了。你谈到伦敦会出现恐怖，任何有理性的人马上就会意识到，这话只能是指巡回图书馆的事，可我妹妹却这么理解，她立即设想到圣乔治广场上聚集了三千名暴徒，袭击英格兰银行，围攻伦敦塔，伦敦街头血流成河，第十二轻骑兵团是全国的希望所在，它的一个支队从北安普敦召来镇压叛乱，英勇的弗雷德里克·蒂尔尼上尉率领支队冲锋的当儿，楼上窗口飞下一块砖头，把他击下马来。请原谅她的愚昧。我妹妹的恐惧增加了女人的缺陷。不过一般说来、她倒绝不是个傻瓜。”
凯瑟琳板起了脸。“好啦，亨利．”蒂尔尼小姐说，“你已经帮助我们相互了解了，你还应该让莫兰小姐了解了解你，除非你想让她认为你对妹妹极端粗鲁，认为你对女人的普遍看法极端残忍。莫兰小姐并不习惯你的古怪行为。”
“我倒很愿意让她多了解了解我的古怪行为。”
“毫无疑问。可那并不能解释眼下的问题。”
“那我该怎么办？”
“你知道你该怎么办。当着她的面，大大方方地表白一下你的性格。告诉她你十分尊重女人的理解力。”
“莫兰小姐，我十分尊重天下所有女人的理解力，特别是那些碰巧和我在一起的女人，不管她们是谁，我尤其尊重她们的理解力。”
“那还不够。请你放正经点。”
“莫兰小姐，没有人比我更尊重女人的理解力了。据我看来，女人天生有的是聪明才智，她们一向连一半都用不上。”
“莫兰小姐、我们从他那里听不到更正经的话了。他在嬉皮笑脸呢。不过我告诉你，如果他有时像是对哪个女人说了一句不公正的话，或者对我说了一句没情义的话，那他一定是给完全误解了。”
凯瑟琳不难相信亨利·蒂尔尼是绝对不会错的。他的举止有时可能让人感到诧异，但是他的用意却永远是公正的。她理解的事情也好，不理解的家情也好，她都照样崇拜。这次散步自始至终都十分令人愉快，虽然结束得过早，但是临了也是愉快的。她的两位朋友把她送到家里，临别的时候，蒂尔尼小姐恭恭敬敬地对凯瑟琳和艾伦太太说，希望凯瑟琳后天赏光去吃饭。艾伦太太没有表示异议，凯瑟琳的唯一困难在于掩饰内心的万分喜悦。
这个上午过得太快活了，她把友谊和手足之情全部置之了脑后，因为散步期间她压根儿没有想到伊莎贝拉和詹姆斯。等蒂尔尼兄妹走后，她又眷恋起他们，可是眷恋了半天也无济于事。艾伦太太没有消息可以让她消除忧虑。她没听到有关他俩的任何消息。可是快到晌午的时候，凯瑟琳急需一段一码左右的丝带，必须马上去买。她出门来到城里，在邦德街赶上索普家的二小姐，她夹在世上两位最可爱的姑娘中间．正朝埃德加大楼那边溜达。这
两位姑娘整个上午都是她的亲密朋友。凯瑟琳马上听那位二小姐说．她姐姐一伙人去克利夫顿了。“他们是今天早晨八点钟出发的，”安妮小姐说道．“我实在不羡慕他们这次旅行。我想你我不去反倒更好。那一定是天下最无聊事情，因为在这个时节，克利夫顿连一个人也没有。贝尔⑾是跟你哥哥去的，约翰的车子拉着玛丽亚。”
凯瑟琳一听说是这样安排的，心里的确感到很高兴，嘴里也照实这么说了。
“哦！是的。”对方接口说，“玛丽亚去了。她。心急火燎地要去。她以为那一定很好玩。我才不欣赏她的情趣呢。至于我，我从一开头就打定主意不去，他们就是硬逼我，我也不去。”
凯瑟琳有点不相信，于是情不自禁地说道：“你要能去就好了。真可惜，你们不能都去。”
“谢谢你这对我来说完全无所谓。的确，我无论如何也不会去的。你刚才追上我们时，我正跟埃米丽和索菲娜这么说呢．”
凯瑟琳仍然不肯相信。不过她很高兴，安妮居然能得到埃米丽和索菲娅这两个朋友的安慰。她告别了安妮，心里并不感到惴惴不安了。她回到家里，他们的出游没有因为她不肯去而受到妨碍，这使她感到高兴。她衷心祝愿他们玩得十分愉快，以至让詹姆斯和伊莎贝拉别再怨恨她没去。
收听单词发音 |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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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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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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pestilences
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| n.瘟疫， （尤指）腺鼠疫( pestilence的名词复数 ) | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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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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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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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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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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panegyric
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| n.颂词，颂扬 | |
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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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capability
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| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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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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untoward
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| adj.不利的，不幸的，困难重重的 | |
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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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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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quell
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| v.压制，平息，减轻 | |
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insurgents
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| n.起义，暴动，造反( insurgent的名词复数 ) | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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54
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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58
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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59
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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60
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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61
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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62
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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