The drawing-room curtains at Windy Corner had been pulled to meet, for the carpet was new and deserved protection from the August sun. They were heavy curtains, reaching almost to the ground, and the light that filtered through them was subdued1 and varied2. A poet--none was present--might have quoted, "Life like a dome3 of many coloured glass," or might have compared the curtains to sluice-gates, lowered against the intolerable tides of heaven. Without was poured a sea of radiance; within, the glory, though visible, was tempered to the capacities of man.
Two pleasant people sat in the room. One--a boy of nineteen--was studying a small manual of anatomy4, and peering occasionally at a bone which lay upon the piano. From time to time he bounced in his chair and puffed5 and groaned6, for the day was hot and the print small, and the human frame fearfully made; and his mother, who was writing a letter, did continually read out to him what she had written. And continually did she rise from her seat and part the curtains so that a rivulet7 of light fell across the carpet, and make the remark that they were still there.
"Where aren't they?" said the boy, who was Freddy, Lucy's brother. "I tell you I'm getting fairly sick."
"For goodness' sake go out of my drawing-room, then?" cried Mrs. Honeychurch, who hoped to cure her children of slang by taking it literally8.
Freddy did not move or reply.
"I think things are coming to a head," she observed, rather wanting her son's opinion on the situation if she could obtain it without undue9 supplication10.
"Time they did."
"I am glad that Cecil is asking her this once more."
"It's his third go, isn't it?"
"Freddy I do call the way you talk unkind."
"I didn't mean to be unkind." Then he added: "But I do think Lucy might have got this off her chest in Italy. I don't know how girls manage things, but she can't have said 'No' properly before, or she wouldn't have to say it again now. Over the whole thing--I can't explain--I do feel so uncomfortable."
"Do you indeed, dear? How interesting!"
"I feel--never mind."
He returned to his work.
"Just listen to what I have written to Mrs. Vyse. I said: 'Dear Mrs. Vyse.'"
"Yes, mother, you told me. A jolly good letter."
"I said: 'Dear Mrs. Vyse, Cecil has just asked my permission about it, and I should be delighted, if Lucy wishes it. But--'" She stopped reading, "I was rather amused at Cecil asking my permission at all. He has always gone in for unconventionality, and parents nowhere, and so forth11. When it comes to the point, he can't get on without me."
"Nor me."
"You?"
Freddy nodded.
"What do you mean?"
"He asked me for my permission also."
She exclaimed: "How very odd of him!"
"Why so?" asked the son and heir. "Why shouldn't my permission be asked?"
"What do you know about Lucy or girls or anything? What ever did you say?"
"I said to Cecil, 'Take her or leave her; it's no business of mine!'"
"What a helpful answer!" But her own answer, though more normal in its wording, had been to the same effect.
"The bother is this," began Freddy.
Then he took up his work again, too shy to say what the bother was. Mrs. Honeychurch went back to the window.
"Freddy, you must come. There they still are!"
"I don't see you ought to go peeping like that."
"Peeping like that! Can't I look out of my own window?"
But she returned to the writing-table, observing, as she passed her son, "Still page 322?" Freddy snorted, and turned over two leaves. For a brief space they were silent. Close by, beyond the curtains, the gentle murmur12 of a long conversation had never ceased.
"The bother is this: I have put my foot in it with Cecil most awfully13." He gave a nervous gulp14. "Not content with 'permission', which I did give--that is to say, I said, 'I don't mind'--well, not content with that, he wanted to know whether I wasn't off my head with joy. He practically put it like this: Wasn't it a splendid thing for Lucy and for Windy Corner generally if he married her? And he would have an answer--he said it would strengthen his hand."
"I hope you gave a careful answer, dear."
"I answered 'No'" said the boy, grinding his teeth. "There! Fly into a stew15! I can't help it--had to say it. I had to say no. He ought never to have asked me."
"Ridiculous child!" cried his mother. "You think you're so holy and truthful16, but really it's only abominable17 conceit18. Do you suppose that a man like Cecil would take the slightest notice of anything you say? I hope he boxed your ears. How dare you say no?"
"Oh, do keep quiet, mother! I had to say no when I couldn't say yes. I tried to laugh as if I didn't mean what I said, and, as Cecil laughed too, and went away, it may be all right. But I feel my foot's in it. Oh, do keep quiet, though, and let a man do some work."
"No," said Mrs. Honeychurch, with the air of one who has considered the subject, "I shall not keep quiet. You know all that has passed between them in Rome; you know why he is down here, and yet you deliberately19 insult him, and try to turn him out of my house."
"Not a bit!" he pleaded. "I only let out I didn't like him. I don't hate him, but I don't like him. What I mind is that he'll tell Lucy."
He glanced at the curtains dismally20.
"Well, I like him," said Mrs. Honeychurch. "I know his mother; he's good, he's clever, he's rich, he's well connected--Oh, you needn't kick the piano! He's well connected--I'll say it again if you like: he's well connected." She paused, as if rehearsing her eulogy21, but her face remained dissatisfied. She added: "And he has beautiful manners."
"I liked him till just now. I suppose it's having him spoiling Lucy's first week at home; and it's also something that Mr. Beebe said, not knowing."
"Mr. Beebe?" said his mother, trying to conceal22 her interest. "I don't see how Mr. Beebe comes in."
"You know Mr. Beebe's funny way, when you never quite know what he means. He said: 'Mr. Vyse is an ideal bachelor.' I was very cute, I asked him what he meant. He said 'Oh, he's like me-- better detached.' I couldn't make him say any more, but it set me thinking. Since Cecil has come after Lucy he hasn't been so pleasant, at least--I can't explain."
"You never can, dear. But I can. You are jealous of Cecil because he may stop Lucy knitting you silk ties."
The explanation seemed plausible23, and Freddy tried to accept it. But at the back of his brain there lurked24 a dim mistrust. Cecil praised one too much for being athletic25. Was that it? Cecil made one talk in one's own way. This tired one. Was that it? And Cecil was the kind of fellow who would never wear another fellow's cap. Unaware26 of his own profundity27, Freddy checked himself. He must be jealous, or he would not dislike a man for such foolish reasons.
"Will this do?" called his mother. "'Dear Mrs. Vyse,--Cecil has just asked my permission about it, and I should be delighted if Lucy wishes it.' Then I put in at the top, 'and I have told Lucy so.' I must write the letter out again--'and I have told Lucy so. But Lucy seems very uncertain, and in these days young people must decide for themselves.' I said that because I didn't want Mrs. Vyse to think us old-fashioned. She goes in for lectures and improving her mind, and all the time a thick layer of flue under the beds, and the maid's dirty thumb-marks where you turn on the electric light. She keeps that flat abominably--"
"Suppose Lucy marries Cecil, would she live in a flat, or in the country?"
"Don't interrupt so foolishly. Where was I? Oh yes--'Young people must decide for themselves. I know that Lucy likes your son, because she tells me everything, and she wrote to me from Rome when he asked her first.' No, I'll cross that last bit out--it looks patronizing. I'll stop at 'because she tells me everything.' Or shall I cross that out, too?"
"Cross it out, too," said Freddy.
Mrs. Honeychurch left it in.
"Then the whole thing runs: 'Dear Mrs. Vyse.--Cecil has just asked my permission about it, and I should be delighted if Lucy wishes it, and I have told Lucy so. But Lucy seems very uncertain, and in these days young people must decide for themselves. I know that Lucy likes your son, because she tells me everything. But I do not know--'"
"Look out!" cried Freddy.
The curtains parted.
Cecil's first movement was one of irritation28. He couldn't bear the Honeychurch habit of sitting in the dark to save the furniture. Instinctively29 he give the curtains a twitch30, and sent them swinging down their poles. Light entered. There was revealed a terrace, such as is owned by many villas31 with trees each side of it, and on it a little rustic32 seat, and two flower-beds. But it was transfigured by the view beyond, for Windy Corner was built on the range that overlooks the Sussex Weald. Lucy, who was in the little seat, seemed on the edge of a green magic carpet which hovered33 in the air above the tremulous world.
Cecil entered.
Appearing thus late in the story, Cecil must be at once described. He was medieval. Like a Gothic statue. Tall and refined, with shoulders that seemed braced34 square by an effort of the will, and a head that was tilted35 a little higher than the usual level of vision, he resembled those fastidious saints who guard the portals of a French cathedral. Well educated, well endowed, and not deficient36 physically37, he remained in the grip of a certain devil whom the modern world knows as self-consciousness, and whom the medieval, with dimmer vision, worshipped as asceticism38. A Gothic statue implies celibacy39, just as a Greek statue implies fruition, and perhaps this was what Mr. Beebe meant. And Freddy, who ignored history and art, perhaps meant the same when he failed to imagine Cecil wearing another fellow's cap.
Mrs. Honeychurch left her letter on the writing table and moved towards her young acquaintance.
"Oh, Cecil!" she exclaimed--"oh, Cecil, do tell me!"
"I promessi sposi," said he.
They stared at him anxiously.
"She has accepted me," he said, and the sound of the thing in English made him flush and smile with pleasure, and look more human.
"I am so glad," said Mrs. Honeychurch, while Freddy proffered40 a hand that was yellow with chemicals. They wished that they also knew Italian, for our phrases of approval and of amazement41 are so connected with little occasions that we fear to use them on great ones. We are obliged to become vaguely42 poetic43, or to take refuge in Scriptural reminiscences.
"Welcome as one of the family!" said Mrs. Honeychurch, waving her hand at the furniture. "This is indeed a joyous44 day! I feel sure that you will make our dear Lucy happy."
"I hope so," replied the young man, shifting his eyes to the ceiling.
"We mothers--" simpered Mrs. Honeychurch, and then realized that she was affected45, sentimental46, bombastic--all the things she hated most. Why could she not be Freddy, who stood stiff in the middle of the room; looking very cross and almost handsome?
"I say, Lucy!" called Cecil, for conversation seemed to flag.
Lucy rose from the seat. She moved across the lawn and smiled in at them, just as if she was going to ask them to play tennis. Then she saw her brother's face. Her lips parted, and she took him in her arms. He said, "Steady on!"
"Not a kiss for me?" asked her mother.
Lucy kissed her also.
"Would you take them into the garden and tell Mrs. Honeychurch all about it?" Cecil suggested. "And I'd stop here and tell my mother."
"We go with Lucy?" said Freddy, as if taking orders.
"Yes, you go with Lucy."
They passed into the sunlight. Cecil watched them cross the terrace, and descend47 out of sight by the steps. They would descend--he knew their ways--past the shrubbery, and past the tennis-lawn and the dahlia-bed, until they reached the kitchen garden, and there, in the presence of the potatoes and the peas, the great event would be discussed.
Smiling indulgently, he lit a cigarette, and rehearsed the events that had led to such a happy conclusion.
He had known Lucy for several years, but only as a commonplace girl who happened to be musical. He could still remember his depression that afternoon at Rome, when she and her terrible cousin fell on him out of the blue, and demanded to be taken to St. Peter's. That day she had seemed a typical tourist--shrill, crude, and gaunt with travel. But Italy worked some marvel48 in her. It gave her light, and--which he held more precious--it gave her shadow. Soon he detected in her a wonderful reticence49. She was like a woman of Leonardo da Vinci's, whom we love not so much for herself as for the things that she will not tell us, The things are assuredly not of this life; no woman of Leonardo's could have anything so vulgar as a "story." She did develop most wonderfully day by day.
So it happened that from patronizing civility he had slowly passed if not to passion, at least to a profound uneasiness. Already at Rome he had hinted to her that they might be suitable for each other. It had touched him greatly that she had not broken away at the suggestion. Her refusal had been clear and gentle; after it--as the horrid50 phrase went--she had been exactly the same to him as before. Three months later, on the margin51 of Italy, among the flower-clad Alps, he had asked her again in bald, traditional language. She reminded him of a Leonardo more than ever; her sunburnt features were shadowed by fantastic rock; at his words she had turned and stood between him and the light with immeasurable plains behind her. He walked home with her unashamed, feeling not at all like a rejected suitor. The things that really mattered were unshaken.
So now he had asked her once more, and, clear and gentle as ever, she had accepted him, giving no coy reasons for her delay, but simply saying that she loved him and would do her best to make him happy. His mother, too, would be pleased; she had counselled the step; he must write her a long account.
Glancing at his hand, in case any of Freddy's chemicals had come off on it, he moved to the writing table. There he saw "Dear Mrs. Vyse," followed by many erasures. He recoiled52 without reading any more, and after a little hesitation53 sat down elsewhere, and pencilled a note on his knee.
Then he lit another cigarette, which did not seem quite as divine as the first, and considered what might be done to make Windy Corner drawing-room more distinctive54. With that outlook it should have been a successful room, but the trail of Tottenham Court Road was upon it; he could almost visualize55 the motor-vans of Messrs. Shoolbred and Messrs. Maple56 arriving at the door and depositing this chair, those varnished57 book-cases, that writing-table. The table recalled Mrs. Honeychurch's letter. He did not want to read that letter--his temptations never lay in that direction; but he worried about it none the less. It was his own fault that she was discussing him with his mother; he had wanted her support in his third attempt to win Lucy; he wanted to feel that others, no matter who they were, agreed with him, and so he had asked their permission. Mrs. Honeychurch had been civil, but obtuse58 in essentials, while as for Freddy--"He is only a boy," he reflected. "I represent all that he despises. Why should he want me for a brother-in-law?"
The Honeychurches were a worthy59 family, but he began to realize that Lucy was of another clay; and perhaps--he did not put it very definitely--he ought to introduce her into more congenial circles as soon as possible.
"Mr. Beebe!" said the maid, and the new rector of Summer Street was shown in; he had at once started on friendly relations, owing to Lucy's praise of him in her letters from Florence.
Cecil greeted him rather critically.
"I've come for tea, Mr. Vyse. Do you suppose that I shall get it?"
"I should say so. Food is the thing one does get here--Don't sit in that chair; young Honeychurch has left a bone in it."
"Pfui!"
"I know," said Cecil. "I know. I can't think why Mrs. Honeychurch allows it."
For Cecil considered the bone and the Maples60' furniture separately; he did not realize that, taken together, they kindled61 the room into the life that he desired.
"I've come for tea and for gossip. Isn't this news?"
"News? I don't understand you," said Cecil. "News?"
Mr. Beebe, whose news was of a very different nature, prattled62 forward.
"I met Sir Harry63 Otway as I came up; I have every reason to hope that I am first in the field. He has bought Cissie and Albert from Mr. Flack!"
"Has he indeed?" said Cecil, trying to recover himself. Into what a grotesque64 mistake had he fallen! Was it likely that a clergyman and a gentleman would refer to his engagement in a manner so flippant? But his stiffness remained, and, though he asked who Cissie and Albert might be, he still thought Mr. Beebe rather a bounder.
"Unpardonable question! To have stopped a week at Windy Corner and not to have met Cissie and Albert, the semi-detached villas that have been run up opposite the church! I'll set Mrs. Honeychurch after you."
"I'm shockingly stupid over local affairs," said the young man languidly. "I can't even remember the difference between a Parish Council and a Local Government Board. Perhaps there is no difference, or perhaps those aren't the right names. I only go into the country to see my friends and to enjoy the scenery. It is very remiss65 of me. Italy and London are the only places where I don't feel to exist on sufferance."
Mr. Beebe, distressed66 at this heavy reception of Cissie and Albert, determined67 to shift the subject.
"Let me see, Mr. Vyse--I forget--what is your profession?"
"I have no profession," said Cecil. "It is another example of my decadence68. My attitude quite an indefensible one--is that so long as I am no trouble to any one I have a right to do as I like. I know I ought to be getting money out of people, or devoting myself to things I don't care a straw about, but somehow, I've not been able to begin."
"You are very fortunate," said Mr. Beebe. "It is a wonderful opportunity, the possession of leisure."
His voice was rather parochial, but he did not quite see his way to answering naturally. He felt, as all who have regular occupation must feel, that others should have it also.
"I am glad that you approve. I daren't face the healthy person-- for example, Freddy Honeychurch."
"Oh, Freddy's a good sort, isn't he?"
"Admirable. The sort who has made England what she is."
Cecil wondered at himself. Why, on this day of all others, was he so hopelessly contrary? He tried to get right by inquiring effusively69 after Mr. Beebe's mother, an old lady for whom he had no particular regard. Then he flattered the clergyman, praised his liberal-mindedness, his enlightened attitude towards philosophy and science.
"Where are the others?" said Mr. Beebe at last, "I insist on extracting tea before evening service."
"I suppose Anne never told them you were here. In this house one is so coached in the servants the day one arrives. The fault of Anne is that she begs your pardon when she hears you perfectly70, and kicks the chair-legs with her feet. The faults of Mary-- I forget the faults of Mary, but they are very grave. Shall we look in the garden?"
"I know the faults of Mary. She leaves the dust-pans standing71 on the stairs."
"The fault of Euphemia is that she will not, simply will not, chop the suet sufficiently72 small."
They both laughed, and things began to go better.
"The faults of Freddy--" Cecil continued.
"Ah, he has too many. No one but his mother can remember the faults of Freddy. Try the faults of Miss Honeychurch; they are not innumerable."
"She has none," said the young man, with grave sincerity73.
"I quite agree. At present she has none."
"At present?"
"I'm not cynical74. I'm only thinking of my pet theory about Miss Honeychurch. Does it seem reasonable that she should play so wonderfully, and live so quietly? I suspect that one day she will be wonderful in both. The water-tight compartments75 in her will break down, and music and life will mingle76. Then we shall have her heroically good, heroically bad--too heroic, perhaps, to be good or bad."
Cecil found his companion interesting.
"And at present you think her not wonderful as far as life goes?"
"Well, I must say I've only seen her at Tunbridge Wells, where she was not wonderful, and at Florence. Since I came to Summer Street she has been away. You saw her, didn't you, at Rome and in the Alps. Oh, I forgot; of course, you knew her before. No, she wasn't wonderful in Florence either, but I kept on expecting that she would be."
"In what way?"
Conversation had become agreeable to them, and they were pacing up and down the terrace.
"I could as easily tell you what tune77 she'll play next. There was simply the sense that she had found wings, and meant to use them. I can show you a beautiful picture in my Italian diary: Miss Honeychurch as a kite, Miss Bartlett holding the string. Picture number two: the string breaks."
The sketch78 was in his diary, but it had been made afterwards, when he viewed things artistically79. At the time he had given surreptitious tugs80 to the string himself.
"But the string never broke?"
"No. I mightn't have seen Miss Honeychurch rise, but I should certainly have heard Miss Bartlett fall."
"It has broken now," said the young man in low, vibrating tones.
Immediately he realized that of all the conceited81, ludicrous, contemptible82 ways of announcing an engagement this was the worst. He cursed his love of metaphor83; had he suggested that he was a star and that Lucy was soaring up to reach him?
"Broken? What do you mean?"
"I meant," said Cecil stiffly, "that she is going to marry me."
The clergyman was conscious of some bitter disappointment which he could not keep out of his voice.
"I am sorry; I must apologize. I had no idea you were intimate with her, or I should never have talked in this flippant, superficial way. Mr. Vyse, you ought to have stopped me." And down the garden he saw Lucy herself; yes, he was disappointed.
Cecil, who naturally preferred congratulations to apologies, drew down his mouth at the corners. Was this the reception his action would get from the world? Of course, he despised the world as a whole; every thoughtful man should; it is almost a test of refinement84. But he was sensitive to the successive particles of it which he encountered.
Occasionally he could be quite crude.
"I am sorry I have given you a shock," he said dryly. "I fear that Lucy's choice does not meet with your approval."
"Not that. But you ought to have stopped me. I know Miss Honeychurch only a little as time goes. Perhaps I oughtn't to have discussed her so freely with any one; certainly not with you."
"You are conscious of having said something indiscreet?"
Mr. Beebe pulled himself together. Really, Mr. Vyse had the art of placing one in the most tiresome85 positions. He was driven to use the prerogatives86 of his profession.
"No, I have said nothing indiscreet. I foresaw at Florence that her quiet, uneventful childhood must end, and it has ended. I realized dimly enough that she might take some momentous87 step. She has taken it. She has learnt--you will let me talk freely, as I have begun freely--she has learnt what it is to love: the greatest lesson, some people will tell you, that our earthly life provides." It was now time for him to wave his hat at the approaching trio. He did not omit to do so. "She has learnt through you," and if his voice was still clerical, it was now also sincere; "let it be your care that her knowledge is profitable to her."
"Grazie tante!" said Cecil, who did not like parsons.
"Have you heard?" shouted Mrs. Honeychurch as she toiled88 up the sloping garden. "Oh, Mr. Beebe, have you heard the news?"
Freddy, now full of geniality89, whistled the wedding march. Youth seldom criticizes the accomplished90 fact.
"Indeed I have!" he cried. He looked at Lucy. In her presence he could not act the parson any longer--at all events not without apology. "Mrs. Honeychurch, I'm going to do what I am always supposed to do, but generally I'm too shy. I want to invoke91 every kind of blessing92 on them, grave and gay, great and small. I want them all their lives to be supremely93 good and supremely happy as husband and wife, as father and mother. And now I want my tea."
"You only asked for it just in time," the lady retorted. "How dare you be serious at Windy Corner?"
He took his tone from her. There was no more heavy beneficence, no more attempts to dignify94 the situation with poetry or the Scriptures95. None of them dared or was able to be serious any more.
An engagement is so potent96 a thing that sooner or later it reduces all who speak of it to this state of cheerful awe97. Away from it, in the solitude98 of their rooms, Mr. Beebe, and even Freddy, might again be critical. But in its presence and in the presence of each other they were sincerely hilarious99. It has a strange power, for it compels not only the lips, but the very heart. The chief parallel to compare one great thing with another--is the power over us of a temple of some alien creed100. Standing outside, we deride101 or oppose it, or at the most feel sentimental. Inside, though the saints and gods are not ours, we become true believers, in case any true believer should be present.
So it was that after the gropings and the misgivings102 of the afternoon they pulled themselves together and settled down to a very pleasant tea-party. If they were hypocrites they did not know it, and their hypocrisy103 had every chance of setting and of becoming true. Anne, putting down each plate as if it were a wedding present, stimulated104 them greatly. They could not lag behind that smile of hers which she gave them ere she kicked the drawing-room door. Mr. Beebe chirruped. Freddy was at his wittiest105, referring to Cecil as the "Fiasco"--family honoured pun on fiance. Mrs. Honeychurch, amusing and portly, promised well as a mother-in-law. As for Lucy and Cecil, for whom the temple had been built, they also joined in the merry ritual, but waited, as earnest worshippers should, for the disclosure of some holier shrine106 of joy.
风角客厅的窗帘被紧紧地拉拢了，因为地毯是新的，需要保护，不受八月骄阳的照射。窗帘十分厚实，几乎拖到地上，能透过的光线已大大减弱，但呈现各种颜色。一位诗人——事实上没有诗人在场——很可能会引用下面这行诗句，“生命像是五彩缤纷的玻璃圆顶①（译注：引自雪莱哀悼济慈的长诗《阿多奈伊斯》第52节第3行。），”也可能把窗帘比作放下的闸门，用来阻挡难以承受的空中涌来的潮水。帘外是一大片夺目的光芒；帘内，虽然可以看到亮光，但已调整到适应人的接受能力了。
房间里坐着两个令人感到愉快的人。一个——是十九岁的男孩——正在钻研一本小开本的解剖学手册，偶尔对放在钢琴上的一块骨头看上一眼。他还时不时在椅子上蹦跳一下，喘口气，哼一声，因为天气实在太热，印刷字体又小，而人体骨骼又构造得那么复杂；还有个是他的母亲，正在写信，不断把她所写的内容念给他听。她还不断地从椅子上站起来，把窗帘拉开一点，于是一小道亮光落到地毯上。她说了声他们（译注：②指正在外面谈心的露西和维斯太太的儿子塞西尔。）仍旧在那里。
“什么地方没有他们呀？”男孩说，他是露西的弟弟弗雷迪。“我告诉你我已经感到相当厌倦（译注：原文为getting...sick，当时尚被看作俚语，照字面可作”恶心、生病”解，所以他母亲叫他离开客厅去休息。）了。”
“那么看在老天的分上，离开我的客厅吧！”霍尼彻奇太太大声说，她希望通过从字面上理解一些话来治愈她的孩子喜欢用俚语的毛病。
弗雷迪动也没有动，也没有回答。
“我看事情快要见分晓了，”她说，巴不得听听她儿子对事态的意见，如果她不需要过分求他便可以得到的话。
“是时候了，他们不能再拖了。”
“我很高兴塞西尔又一次向她求婚。”
“这是他第三次‘上’了，是不是？”
“弗雷迪，我的的确确认为你这样讲话是很刻薄的。”
“我不是有意刻薄。”他接着说：“不过我的的确确认为露西满可以在意大利就把这件事讲清楚。我不知道姑娘们是怎样处理这种事情的，可是她以前一定没有好好说‘不’这个字，要不然她今天就不需要再说一遍了。对这整个事情——我说不清楚——我确实感到非常不舒服。”
“你真这样吗，亲爱的？太有意思了！”
“我觉得——不说算了。”
他继续看他的书。
“你听听我写给维斯太太的信，是这么写的：．亲爱的维斯太太——…
“唷，妈妈，你念给我听过了。写得蛮精彩。”
“我写道：‘亲爱的维斯太太，塞西尔刚才征求我对他婚事的同意，我将会感到很高兴，如果这是露西的愿望的话。不过——，．-她没有再往下念。“塞西尔居然来征求我的同意，我感到很有趣。他一向主张破除世俗观念，父母嘛根本不值一提，等等等等。可是到了紧要关头，他没有我就不行了。”
“没有我也不行。”
“你？”
弗雷迪点了点头。
“你这是什么意思？”
“他也征求过我的同意。”
她叫喊起来：“他这个人真怪！”
“这又有什么怪？”这位儿子兼继承人问。“为什么不该征求我的同意？”
“你对露西，对姑娘们，或者对其他事情又懂得些什么？你究竟说了些什么？”
“我对塞西尔说，‘你娶她或者不娶她都与我无关！”’
“你的回答真管用！”不过她自己的回答虽然措辞比较合乎习惯，意思却是相同的。
“伤脑筋的是这个，”弗雷迪说到这里。
接着他又钻研起他的功课来，他太怕难为情了，不敢说出到底什么事情伤脑筋。霍尼彻奇太太回到了窗边。
“弗雷迪，你得过来。他们还在那里！”
“我觉得你不应该这样偷看。”
“这样偷看！难道我不可以在自己家里朝窗外看？”
可是她还是回到了写字台前，在经过她儿子身边时看了看说，“还在看322页？”弗雷迪轻蔑地哼了一声，翻过去两页。两人沉默了一会儿。就在窗帘外面不远的地方，那两个人在长谈，柔声细语，没有间断过。
“伤脑筋的是这个：我对塞西尔讲错了话，弄得尴尬透了。”他神经紧张地咽了一口唾沫。“他对我的‘同意’不满足，要知道我的确表示过‘同意’——不过我说的是‘我不在乎’——得，他可不满意，想知道我是不是高兴得要发疯。他实际上是这样说的：要是他娶了露西，那么对露西也好，对风角总的来说也好，不是一件天大的好事吗？他一定要我回答——他说我的回答能加强他的求婚。”
“我希望你小心地回答他，亲爱的。”
“我的回答是‘不’，”男孩子咬牙切齿地说。“着！这下可闯下祸了！我实在没办法不这样说——我不得不这样说。我不得不说‘不’。他根本不该来问我。”
“你这孩子真荒唐！”他母亲嚷道。“你自以为那么神圣和真诚，实际上只是自高自大得令人作呕。难道你以为像塞西尔这样的人会把你说的真当一回事吗？我希望他给了你两下耳光。你怎么敢说‘不’？”
“噢，请保持安静，妈妈！当我没法说‘是’的时候，我只能说‘不’。我竭力大笑，好像我说的话只是开开玩笑，而塞西尔也大笑起来，我就乘这当儿走开了。也许不会有什么问题。不过我感到我讲错了话。哦，不过请保持安静，让人干一点工作。”
“不，”霍尼彻奇太太说，她的神气好像是对这个话题经过深思熟虑似的，“我不会保持安静的。你明明知道他们俩在罗马发生的一切；你明明知道他为什么到这里来，而你却故意侮辱他，想把他从我的家里赶走。”
“绝对没有这个意思！”他为自己辩护道。“我不过表示我不喜欢他罢了。我并不恨他，可是我不喜欢他。我担心的是他会去告诉露西。”
他瞥了一下窗帘，神情黯然。
“哦，我可喜欢他，”霍尼彻奇太太说。“我认识他的母亲；他人品好，又聪明，又有钱，有很多重要的社会关系——啊，你不必用脚踢钢琴！他有很多重要的社会关系——如果你喜欢，我可以再说一遍：他有很多重要的社会关系。”她顿住了，似乎刚在练习背诵她的颂词，不过脸上仍旧露出不满意的神情。她又补上一句：“而且举止潇洒。”
“到刚才为止我还很喜欢他。我想大概是因为他使露西回到家里过的第一个礼拜就那么扫兴的缘故；还有，因为毕比先生不了解情况，说了一些话。”
“毕比先生？”他的母亲问，一面试图掩盖她的好奇心。“我不明白这和毕比先生有什么关系。”
“你熟悉毕比先生的幽默风格，虽然你从来不太能理解他的话的意思。他说：-维斯先生是一位理想的单身汉。’我当时很惊觉。我问他这话是什么意思。他说：‘哦，他跟我一样——比较超脱。’我怎么问他也不肯说下去，不过这倒使我好好地思索。自从塞西尔追求露西以来，他并不那么讨人喜欢，至少——我也解释不清楚。”
“你永远也解释不清楚，亲爱的。不过我能解释。你嫉妒塞西尔，因为他可能使露西不再为你编织丝领带。”
这个解释看来合情合理，弗雷迪也准备接受。然而在他的脑海深处却潜伏着一种隐隐约约的不信任感。塞西尔对人爱好体育运动，评价过高。是这个缘故吗？塞西尔让人顺着他的方式讲话，而不是让人顺着他自己的方式讲话。这样使人感到厌倦。是这个缘故吗？还有，塞西尔是那种绝对不肯戴别人戴过的帽子的人。弗雷迪并未意识到自己有深刻的思考能力，便不再往下想了。他一定是在嫉妒塞西尔，不然他就绝不会因为这些愚蠢的原因而不喜欢一个人。
“这样写可以吗？”他的母亲大声说。“‘亲爱的维斯太太，塞西尔刚才征求我对他婚事的同意，我将会感到很高兴，如果这是露西的愿望的话。’接着我在顶上写道，‘而我已把这些话告诉露西了。’我必须把信重抄一遍——‘而我已把这些话告诉露西了。不过露西似乎万分举棋不定，而在当今，年轻人必须自己作出决定。’我所以这样写是为了不让维斯太太认为我们是老古董。她热衷于参加各种讲座，提高智力，而自始至终，她床下积了厚厚的一层灰尘，电灯开关上都是女用人的肮脏的指印。她把那套公寓弄得一团糟—一”
“假定露西嫁给了塞西尔，她将住公寓，还是住在乡下？”
“别胡乱打断我。我讲到哪里了？哦，是了——‘年轻人必须自己作出决定。我知道露西喜欢你的儿子，因为她什么都告诉我，而他第一次向她求婚，她就从罗马写信告诉我了。’不，我要把这最后一句划掉—一这听上去有点高高在上的味道。就停在‘因为她什么都告诉我’这里好了。要不，我把这一句也划掉？”
“把这一句也划掉，”弗雷迪说。
霍尼彻奇太太把这一句保留了。
“这样，这封信就成为这个样子：‘亲爱的维斯太太，塞西尔刚才征求我对他婚事的同意，我将会感到很高兴，如果这是露西的愿望的话，而我已把这些话告诉露西了。不过露西似乎万分举棋不定，而在当今，年轻人必须自己作出决定。我知道露西喜欢你的儿子，因为她什么都告诉我。可是我不知道——…
“注意！”弗雷迪叫道。
窗帘从中间分开了。
塞西尔的第一个动作便是恼怒的动作。他对霍尼彻奇一家为了保护家具而坐在黑暗里的习惯实在受不了。他本能地扯了一下窗帘，使它们顺着帘杆倏地分开了。光线进入了房间。于是露出了一个露台，这种露台许多郊区的别墅都有，两旁种着树木，上面有一把用带皮树枝制成的小椅，还有两块花坛。因为风角筑在俯瞰苏克塞斯郡威尔德地区的山坡上，这露台在远处风景的衬托下变了样。露西就坐在那把小椅上，倒像是坐在一块绿色的魔毯的边缘，而这块魔毯正在这颤抖的世界上空盘旋。
塞西尔进来了。
塞西尔这样晚才在故事中出现，因此必须立即加以描述。他富有中古遗风。像一座哥特式雕塑。他很高，很优雅，双肩似乎是靠_股意志的力量才撑得这么方正的，脑袋翘得比通常的视线水平略高一些，他很像那些守卫法国大教堂大门的爱挑剔的圣徒像。此人受过良好教育，有很好的天赋，体魄健全，然而未能摆脱某一魔鬼对他的控制，现代社会称这个魔鬼为自我意识，而中世纪人由于目光不太敏锐，把它看作禁欲主义来顶礼膜拜。哥特式雕像包含着禁欲的涵义，就像希腊雕像包含着享乐的涵义一样，也许毕比先生说的就是这个意思。而弗雷迪忽视了历史与艺术，无法想象塞西尔戴别人的帽子，也许是同样的意思。
霍尼彻奇太太把信留在写字台上，向她结识的这个年轻人走去。
“啊，塞西尔！”她叫道——“啊，塞西尔，快告诉我！”
“已成为约婚夫妇①（译注：①原文为意大利语，"I promessi sposi”，典出意大利小说家曼佐尼（1785-1873)代表作的书名，通译为《约婚夫妇》。）了，”他说。
他们急切地凝视着他。
“她已接受我了，”他说，用英语说这句话的声音使得他脸红，笑得很开心，看上去多了些人情味。
“我太高兴了，”霍尼彻奇太太说，同时，弗雷迪伸出一只因接触化学药品而发黄的手来。他们多么希望也懂得意大利语，因为我们英国人表示赞同及惊讶的词语多适用于小场合，我们害怕在大场面用这些词语。我们不得不用一些略微带点诗意的语汇，或者求助于对《圣经》的回忆。
“欢迎你成为我们家庭中的一员！”霍尼彻奇太太说，她向家具挥挥手。“今天真是个愉快的日子！我深信你将会使我们亲爱的露西幸福的。”
“我希望能这样，”青年人回答，把目光转向天花板。
“我们做妈妈的——”霍尼彻奇太太假笑着说，接着意识到她这样很做作，显得感情用事，夸夸其谈——其实她最讨厌这些。她为什么不能像弗雷迪那样？只见他正直挺挺地站立在房间中央，看上去满脸不高兴，但几乎可以说很英俊。
“喂，露西！”塞西尔叫道，因为谈话似乎在松弛下来。
露西从椅子上起来。她穿过草坪，向他们微笑，活像就要开口请他们去打网球似的。接着她看见了她弟弟的脸色。她嘴唇张开来，把他搂在怀里。他说，“冷静些！”
“不吻我一下吗？”她的母亲问。
露西也吻了她。
“你带他们到花园去，把一切都告诉霍尼彻奇太太好吗？”塞西尔建议道。“我就留在这里，写信通知我母亲。”
“我们跟露西走？”弗雷迪说，好像在接受命令。
“是的，你们跟露西走。”
他们走进阳光中。塞西尔看着他们穿过露台，走下台阶，消失了踪影。他知道他们的习惯——他们将继续往下走，经过灌木丛，经过草地网球场和大丽花花坛，一径走到菜园子。在那里，面对着土豆与豌豆，他们将议论这件大事。
他尽情地笑着，点了一支烟，把引导到这样一个快乐结局的各种事情在脑海里重新过了一遍。
他认识露西已有好几年，不过只把她当作一个恰巧爱好音乐的普普通通的女孩子。他仍然记得在罗马的那天下午的黯然心情，当时她和她的那位可怕的表姐像晴天霹雳一般向他袭来，坚决要求他把她们带到圣彼得教堂去。那天她像个典型的游客——嗓音很尖，没怎么打扮，由于旅途劳累，显得很憔悴。可是意大利在她身上制造了某种奇迹。它给了她光，并且——他认为更宝贵的是一它给了她影。不久，他发现她异常沉默寡言。她就像莱奥纳多.达.芬奇画中的一位女性，我们爱她主要不是爱她本人，而是爱她不愿告诉我们的那些事儿。可以断言，那些事儿不属于今世；莱奥纳多画中的女性不可能庸俗到有一番“经历”。她确乎一天天绝妙地成长起来了。
后来，他渐渐地从高高在上的彬彬有礼态度转变为即使说不上：是热情奔放，也至少是一种强烈的心神不定的感觉。在罗马其间，他已暗示过他们两人也许彼此很匹配。听了这种暗示，她没有和他断绝关系，这使他深受感动。她拒绝得很明确，也很婉转；自此以后——就像那句可怕的话所说的——她对待他完全和过去一样。三个月后，在意大利的北疆，长满鲜花的阿尔卑斯山里，他用赤裸裸的、传统的语言再次向她求婚。她让他比往常更想起莱奥纳多的画了；那些奇形怪状的大石头使得她那被日光晒得黝黑的脸蛋儿蒙上阴影；听到他说话，她转过身来，站在他和阳光之间，背后是一望无际的旷野。①（译注：①达.芬奇的人像画往往以岩石及平原为背景。）他陪她散步回家，并不感到羞愧，完全没有遭到拒绝的求婚者的那种感觉。真正至关紧要的东西没有动摇。
所以现在他又一次向她求婚，而她还是像过去那样明确而婉转，她接受了他，并没有忸怩作态地讲述她推迟的理由，只简单地说她爱他，将尽最大的努力使他幸福。他的母亲也将会很高兴；她曾劝他采取这一步骤；他必须写一封长信给她。
他看了看手，生怕弗雷迪手上的化学药品弄到他的手上来，然后走到写字台前。那里他看到了“亲爱的维斯太太”，后面有许多擦抹的痕迹。他吓了一跳，没有看下去，稍微犹豫了一下，就在别的地方坐下，把信纸搁在膝上，用铅笔写了一封短信。
然后他又点上一支烟，觉得这一支似乎不像第一支那样味道好，他开始动脑筋怎样可以使风角的客厅更具有特色。有了这样的景色，这客厅应该成为一间出色的房间，不过这里留有托特纳姆官路的痕迹。他几乎可以想象舒尔布雷德公司与梅普尔公司②（译注：②这两家家具陈设大公司当时都在托特纳姆宫路上。）的货运车到达门口，把这把椅子、那些漆得发亮的书柜、那张写字台放下。写字台使他想起了霍尼彻奇太太的信。他不想看那封信——这种事情从来没有对他产生过诱惑力；不过他还是有点担心。她要和他母亲议论他完全是他自己的不是所招来的；他为了赢得露西作出第三次努力，需要她的支持；他希望有这样一种感觉—一其他人，不管是谁，都赞同他，因此才去征求他们的同意。霍尼彻奇太太很客气，但是在一些主要问题方面却感觉很迟钝，至于弗雷迪——
“他不过是个孩子，”他思忖道。“我代表着他所鄙视的一切。他为什么要我做姐夫呢？”
霍尼彻奇一家是个受人尊敬的家族，不过他开始认识到露西是另一种材料制成的；也许一他没有把话说得非常明确——他应该尽早引导她进入与她的气质更加相投的圈子中去。
“毕比先生！”女仆说，于是夏街的新教区长被引进来了；由于露西从佛罗伦萨寄回家的信件中对他推崇备至，因此他一开始工作，大家就对他都很友好。
塞西尔带着挑剔的眼光同他打招呼。
“维斯先生，我是来喝茶的。你看我会有茶喝吗？”
“我说你会有的。在这里总是可以吃到东西的——嗬，别坐那把椅子；小霍尼彻奇在上面放了一根骨头。”
“唁！”
“我知道的，”塞西尔说。“我是知道的。我无法想象霍尼彻奇太太怎么会允许他这样做。”
这是因为塞西尔把骨头和梅普尔公司的家具分开来考虑的缘故；他没有认识到如果把这二者联系在一起，它们就会使这房间充满他所希望有的那种生气。
“我是来喝茶和聊天的。这不是新闻吗？”
“新闻？我不明白你讲的是什么，”塞西尔说。“什么新闻？”
毕比先生的新闻是一种完全不同性质的新闻，他唠唠叨叨地说开了。
“我来的时候遇见哈里·奥特韦爵士；我完全有理由指望自己是第一个了解这方面情况的人。他从弗拉克先生手里买下了希西和艾伯特！”
“真是这样吗？”塞西尔说，竭力使自己恢复镇定。他陷入了一个多么巨大的失误啊！难道一位牧师和一位绅士对他的订婚采取这样轻率的态度是可能的吗？不过他仍然保持了生硬的态度，尽管他问毕比先生希西和艾伯特是什么人，但是他仍旧认为毕比先生是个着实鲁莽的人。
“真是个不可饶恕的问题！在风角住了一个礼拜，竟还没见到希西和艾伯特，那是造在教堂对面的两幢半独立的小房子啊！我要把霍尼彻奇太太排到你的后面去了。”
“我对本地情况无知得到了惊人的地步，”那个年轻人懒洋洋地说。“我甚至对农村教区委员会与地方政府委员会有什么区别也搞不清楚。也许没有什么区别，也许我说的名称不对头。我到乡下来只是来看望朋友和欣赏风景而已。我实在太粗心了。只有在意大利和伦敦这两个地方我才感到我不是在勉强地活下去。”
塞西尔如此郑重其事地看待希西与艾伯特，使毕比先生感到难堪，决定改换话题。
“让我想想看，维斯先生--我记不起来了--你从事什么职业？”
“我没有职业，”塞西尔说。“这是我颓废的又一证明。我的态度--其实这种态度没有什么可以辩护的——是：只要我不给别人添麻烦，我就有权利我行我素。我知道我应该从别人身上赚钱，或者努力干那些我丝毫也不感兴趣的事情，不过，不知怎么着，我还没能开始这样做。”
“你真幸运，”毕比先生说。“拥有闲暇，这可是难能可贵的机会啊！”
他的嗓音很像地方教区人的那样，他不知道怎么样才能回答得自然。像所有有固定职业的人一样，他认为其他人也应该有。
“我很高兴你赞成我的看法。我可不敢对心地健康的人这样讲——譬如说，弗雷迪·霍尼彻奇。”
“哦，弗雷迪是个好人，可不是吗？”
“好得使人佩服。他就属于把英国建设成为今日英国的那种人。”
塞西尔对自己感到惊讶不已。为什么偏偏在今天这样大唱其反调呢？他试图纠正自己，便热情洋溢地问候毕比先生的母亲，其实他对这位老太太并不特别关注。接着他恭维起这位神职人员来，对他的开明思想以及对待哲学与科学所持的开明态度，赞扬备至。
“其他人在哪里？”毕比先生终于提出。“我坚持先喝茶再做晚礼拜。”
“我看安妮根本没有告诉他们你在这里。在这个家庭里，客人第一天到达就被谆谆告知众仆人的情况。安妮的缺点是她明明完全听清楚了，却要说对不起，让你再说一遍，而且一面用脚踢椅子的脚。玛丽的缺点是 我已经忘了玛丽的缺点是什么了，不过她的缺点是顶严重的。我们到花园里去看看好吗？”
“我知道玛丽的缺点，她把畚箕留在楼梯上。”
“尤菲米娅的缺点是她不愿意，就是不愿意把板油切成小块小块的。”
两人都笑了，气氛开始融洽起来。
“弗雷迪的缺点——”塞西尔继续说。
“啊，他的缺点可太多了。除了他妈妈，没人能记住弗雷迪的缺点。讲讲霍尼彻奇小姐的缺点吧；她的缺点可并不多得数不清。”
“她没有缺点，”年轻人说，态度既严肃又诚恳。
“我很同意。目前她没有缺点。”
“目前？”
“我并不是个玩世不恭的人。我只是在思考我的那套关于霍尼彻奇小姐的得意理论。想想看，她琴弹得这样出色，而生活得却这样宁静，这合乎情理吗？我想总有一天她在这两方面都会很出色的。她心头的水密舱将会被水冲破，于是音乐与生活将会结合在一起。那时我们可以说她好得不得了，或者坏得不得了——也许太突出了，说不上好，也说不上坏。”
塞西尔觉得这位伙伴很有意思。
“而目前，从生活方面来看，你认为她并不怎么出色，是吗？”
“唔，我必须说我只是在顿桥井见过她，她在那里并不怎么样，还有就是在佛罗伦萨了。我来到夏街后，她一直不在这里。你以前见过她的，不是吗？在罗马和阿尔卑斯山区。哎呀，我忘记了；当然，你是早就认识她的。是的，她在佛罗伦萨也不怎么样，不过我一直期望着她会变得很出色的。”
“在什么方面？”
他们谈得很投机，两人在露台上走来走去。
“我可以毫无困难地告诉你她要弹的下一支曲调是什么。我的感觉只是她已经找到了翅膀，而且很想使用它们。我可以给你看我在意大利写的日记中的一幅美丽的图画：把霍尼彻奇小姐当作一只风筝，巴特利特小姐握着绳子。第二幅画：绳子断了。”
他的日记中有这幅素描，不过这是他后来用艺术的眼光观察事物时画的。当时，他本人也曾有几次偷偷地拉过绳子。
“难道这绳子永远拉不断？”
“是的。我可能没有看到霍尼彻奇小姐飞起来，可是我肯定应该听到巴特利特小姐摔倒。”
“绳子现在断了，”年轻人低声说，声音在颤抖。
他立刻意识到在所有宣布订婚的方式中，狂妄自大的也好，荒谬可笑的也好，为人不齿的也好，他的这种方式是最糟糕的了。他诅咒自己喜欢运用隐喻；他刚才讲的话听起来会不会使人认为他是一颗星，而露西正向高空飞去，为的是得到他？
“断了？你这是什么意思？”
“我的意思是，”塞西尔生硬地说，“她将要嫁给我。”
这神职人员感到某种苦涩的失望，他不想流露，可是从他的声音里还是听得出来。
“对不起；我必须向你道歉。我没有想到你和她是这样亲密，不然我绝不会这样随便并肤浅地议论她。维斯先生，你应该制止我。”他看到露西本人正在花园远处；是的，他感到失望。
塞西尔自然宁愿要祝贺而不要道歉，他的嘴角顿时下垂了。难道社会就这样来对待他的行动？当然哕，把社会作为整体来看，他对社会是蔑视的；每个有思想的人都应该如此；这几乎是人是否具有高雅气质的试金石。然而他对以后遇到的连续发生的小事却很敏感。
偶尔他能变得相当粗鲁。
“很抱歉我使你大吃一惊了，”他干巴巴地说。“我怕露西的选择不会得到你的赞同。”
“不是这个意思。不过你应该制止我。从交往的时间来看，我对霍尼彻奇小姐了解得还不多。也许我不应该这样随便地同别人谈论她；当然更不应该同你谈论她啰！”
“你是感到你说了些不够谨慎的话吗？”
毕比先生恢复了镇定。说真的，维斯先生具有一种置人于极不痛快的处境的本领。毕比先生被迫使用他的职业所赋予他的特权。
“不，我没有讲什么不够谨慎的话。在佛罗伦萨时，我就预料到她那平静无事的童年一定会结束，而它已经结束了。我模模糊糊地感到她可能采取某种重大的步骤。现在她已经采取了。她已经懂得——请允许我毫不拘束地谈，因为我一开始就毫不拘束地谈的——她已经懂得谈情说爱意味着什么：有些人会告诉你它是我们在尘世的生活所能提供的最伟大的课程。”这时他应该向走过来的三位挥帽致意了。他并没有忘记这样做。“她是通过你才懂得的，”如果说他的声音仍然带着神职人员的腔调，这时却也是诚挚的，“希望你关心的是她所获得的知识对她有好处。”
“非常感谢！”塞西尔用意大利语说，他不喜欢教区长这一类人。
“你听到了吗？”霍尼彻奇太太嚷道，一面艰巨地爬上花园里的坡地。“啊，毕比先生，你听到了消息没有？”
弗雷迪这时可是春风满面，用口哨吹奏着《婚礼进行曲》。青年人对既成事实往往不加批评。
“我当然听到了！”他嚷道。他注视着露西。当着她的面，他可不再能扮演教区长的角色了——无论如何不能不带着歉意来扮演这一角色。“霍尼彻奇太太，我将要做我经常被认为应该做的事，不过通常的情况是我这个人太怕难为情。我要祈求神灵赐各种福给他们，庄严的和欢乐的福，大福和小福。我要他们作为夫妻也好，作为父母也好，整个一生都十分善良和十分幸福。现在我要喝茶了。”
“你提出这个请求可真是时候，”太太回嘴道。“在风角你怎么竟敢一本正经起来？”
他采用了她的语气。于是再也没人提出什么深深祝福之类的话，再也没人引用诗句或《圣经》典故来增强隆重气氛。他们中间再也没人敢或者能够使自己一本正经起来。
婚约的效应无比强大，它使谈论的人迟早都陷入这种叫人既高兴又敬畏的心情。离开了这场合，一个人关在房间里，毕比先生，甚至弗雷迪，都可能会重新变得挑剔起来。可是在当场，彼此都在场，他们真心诚意地感到兴高采烈。婚约有一种奇异的力量，因为它不但使人口服，而且使人心服。主要的类比——拿一件重要的事情与另一件重要的事情进行比较——是某种不同信仰的教堂对我们所施加的影响。站在外面，我们会嘲笑它，反对它，至多感到有一点伤感罢了。可是到了里面，虽然那些神仙圣徒都不属于我们所信奉的宗教，如果有真正的信徒在场，我们也会成为真正的信徒的。
于是在这下午经历了种种试探与疑虑后，他们振奋起精神，欢天喜地地坐下来吃茶点。如果他们是伪君子，他们自己并不知道，而环境为他们的伪善提供了各种机会，有可能得以实现。安妮把每只盘子都当作结婚礼品一样放在桌上，使得大家十分兴奋。她用脚推开客厅门以前，总要朝大家笑一笑，大家对笑也不甘落后。毕比先生不时发出咂嘴声。弗雷迪说出了他最最风趣的话，称塞西尔为“败北将军”——这是这一家送给未婚夫婿的引以为荣的双关语。（译注：败北将军原文是Fiasco，意为惨败，未婚夫的原文是Fiancé．两词的拼法与发音都很相似。弗雷迪称塞西尔为“败北将军”，确实很幽默。）霍尼彻奇太太为人诙谐，长得一副福相，完全有希望成为一位好岳母。至于露西和塞西尔，那教堂正是为他们建造的，他们也参与了这个欢乐的仪式，不过像虔诚的信徒应该做的那样，正等待着某种更加神圣的幸福殿堂出现。
收听单词发音 |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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profundity
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| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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asceticism
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| n.禁欲主义 | |
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celibacy
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| n.独身(主义) | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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52
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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visualize
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| vt.使看得见，使具体化，想象，设想 | |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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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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maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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62
prattled
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的过去式和过去分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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63
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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remiss
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| adj.不小心的，马虎 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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decadence
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| n.衰落，颓废 | |
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effusively
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| adv.变溢地，热情洋溢地 | |
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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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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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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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compartments
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| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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80
tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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86
prerogatives
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| n.权利( prerogative的名词复数 )；特权；大主教法庭；总督委任组成的法庭 | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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88
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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90
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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invoke
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| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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dignify
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| vt.使有尊严；使崇高；给增光 | |
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scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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100
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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101
deride
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| v.嘲弄，愚弄 | |
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102
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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103
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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104
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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105
wittiest
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| 机智的，言辞巧妙的，情趣横生的( witty的最高级 ) | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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