How often had Lucy rehearsed this bow, this interview! But she had always rehearsed them indoors, and with certain accessories, which surely we have a right to assume. Who could foretell1 that she and George would meet in the rout2 of a civilization, amidst an army of coats and collars and boots that lay wounded over the sunlit earth? She had imagined a young Mr. Emerson, who might be shy or morbid3 or indifferent or furtively4 impudent5. She was prepared for all of these. But she had never imagined one who would be happy and greet her with the shout of the morning star.
Indoors herself, partaking of tea with old Mrs. Butterworth, she reflected that it is impossible to foretell the future with any degree of accuracy, that it is impossible to rehearse life. A fault in the scenery, a face in the audience, an irruption of the audience on to the stage, and all our carefully planned gestures mean nothing, or mean too much. "I will bow," she had thought. "I will not shake hands with him. That will be just the proper thing." She had bowed--but to whom? To gods, to heroes, to the nonsense of school-girls! She had bowed across the rubbish that cumbers the world.
So ran her thoughts, while her faculties6 were busy with Cecil. It was another of those dreadful engagement calls. Mrs. Butterworth had wanted to see him, and he did not want to be seen. He did not want to hear about hydrangeas, why they change their colour at the seaside. He did not want to join the C. O. S. When cross he was always elaborate, and made long, clever answers where "Yes" or "No" would have done. Lucy soothed7 him and tinkered at the conversation in a way that promised well for their married peace. No one is perfect, and surely it is wiser to discover the imperfections before wedlock8. Miss Bartlett, indeed, though not in word, had taught the girl that this our life contains nothing satisfactory. Lucy, though she disliked the teacher, regarded the teaching as profound, and applied9 it to her lover.
"Lucy," said her mother, when they got home, "is anything the matter with Cecil?"
The question was ominous10; up till now Mrs. Honeychurch had behaved with charity and restraint.
"No, I don't think so, mother; Cecil's all right."
"Perhaps he's tired."
Lucy compromised: perhaps Cecil was a little tired.
"Because otherwise"--she pulled out her bonnet11-pins with gathering12 displeasure--"because otherwise I cannot account for him."
"I do think Mrs. Butterworth is rather tiresome13, if you mean that."
"Cecil has told you to think so. You were devoted14 to her as a little girl, and nothing will describe her goodness to you through the typhoid fever. No--it is just the same thing everywhere."
"Let me just put your bonnet away, may I?"
"Surely he could answer her civilly for one half-hour?"
"Cecil has a very high standard for people," faltered15 Lucy, seeing trouble ahead. "It's part of his ideals--it is really that that makes him sometimes seem--"
"Oh, rubbish! If high ideals make a young man rude, the sooner he gets rid of them the better," said Mrs. Honeychurch, handing her the bonnet.
"Now, mother! I've seen you cross with Mrs. Butterworth yourself!"
"Not in that way. At times I could wring16 her neck. But not in that way. No. It is the same with Cecil all over."
"By-the-by--I never told you. I had a letter from Charlotte while I was away in London."
This attempt to divert the conversation was too puerile17, and Mrs. Honeychurch resented it.
"Since Cecil came back from London, nothing appears to please him. Whenever I speak he winces;--I see him, Lucy; it is useless to contradict me. No doubt I am neither artistic18 nor literary nor intellectual nor musical, but I cannot help the drawing-room furniture; your father bought it and we must put up with it, will Cecil kindly19 remember."
"I--I see what you mean, and certainly Cecil oughtn't to. But he does not mean to be uncivil--he once explained--it is the things that upset him--he is easily upset by ugly things--he is not uncivil to PEOPLE."
"Is it a thing or a person when Freddy sings?"
"You can't expect a really musical person to enjoy comic songs as we do."
"Then why didn't he leave the room? Why sit wriggling20 and sneering21 and spoiling everyone's pleasure?"
"We mustn't be unjust to people," faltered Lucy. Something had enfeebled her, and the case for Cecil, which she had mastered so perfectly22 in London, would not come forth23 in an effective form. The two civilizations had clashed--Cecil hinted that they might-- and she was dazzled and bewildered, as though the radiance that lies behind all civilization had blinded her eyes. Good taste and bad taste were only catchwords, garments of diverse cut; and music itself dissolved to a whisper through pine-trees, where the song is not distinguishable from the comic song.
She remained in much embarrassment24, while Mrs. Honeychurch changed her frock for dinner; and every now and then she said a word, and made things no better. There was no concealing25 the fact, Cecil had meant to be supercilious26, and he had succeeded. And Lucy--she knew not why--wished that the trouble could have come at any other time.
"Go and dress, dear; you'll be late."
"All right, mother--"
"Don't say 'All right' and stop. Go."
She obeyed, but loitered disconsolately27 at the landing window. It faced north, so there was little view, and no view of the sky. Now, as in the winter, the pine-trees hung close to her eyes. One connected the landing window with depression. No definite problem menaced her, but she sighed to herself, "Oh, dear, what shall I do, what shall I do?" It seemed to her that every one else was behaving very badly. And she ought not to have mentioned Miss Bartlett's letter. She must be more careful; her mother was rather inquisitive28, and might have asked what it was about. Oh, dear, should she do?--and then Freddy came bounding up-stairs, and joined the ranks of the ill-behaved.
"I say, those are topping people."
"My dear baby, how tiresome you've been! You have no business to take them bathing in the Sacred it's much too public. It was all right for you but most awkward for every one else. Do be more careful. You forget the place is growing half suburban29."
"I say, is anything on to-morrow week?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then I want to ask the Emersons up to Sunday tennis."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that, Freddy, I wouldn't do that with all this muddle30."
"What's wrong with the court? They won't mind a bump or two, and I've ordered new balls."
"I meant it's better not. I really mean it."
He seized her by the elbows and humorously danced her up and down the passage. She pretended not to mind, but she could have screamed with temper. Cecil glanced at them as he proceeded to his toilet and they impeded31 Mary with her brood of hot-water cans. Then Mrs. Honeychurch opened her door and said: "Lucy, what a noise you're making! I have something to say to you. Did you say you had had a letter from Charlotte?" and Freddy ran away.
"Yes. I really can't stop. I must dress too."
"How's Charlotte?"
"All right."
"Lucy!"
The unfortunate girl returned.
"You've a bad habit of hurrying away in the middle of one's sentences. Did Charlotte mention her boiler32?"
"Her WHAT?"
"Don't you remember that her boiler was to be had out in October, and her bath cistern33 cleaned out, and all kinds of terrible to-doings?"
"I can't remember all Charlotte's worries," said Lucy bitterly. "I shall have enough of my own, now that you are not pleased with Cecil."
Mrs. Honeychurch might have flamed out. She did not. She said: "Come here, old lady--thank you for putting away my bonnet--kiss me." And, though nothing is perfect, Lucy felt for the moment that her mother and Windy Corner and the Weald in the declining sun were perfect.
So the grittiness went out of life. It generally did at Windy Corner. At the last minute, when the social machine was clogged34 hopelessly, one member or other of the family poured in a drop of oil. Cecil despised their methods--perhaps rightly. At a11 events, they were not his own.
Dinner was at half-past seven. Freddy gabbled the grace, and they drew up their heavy chairs and fell to. Fortunately, the men were hungry. Nothing untoward35 occurred until the pudding. Then Freddy said:
"Lucy, what's Emerson like?"
"I saw him in Florence," said Lucy, hoping that this would pass for a reply.
"Is he the clever sort, or is he a decent chap?"
"Ask Cecil; it is Cecil who brought him here."
"He is the clever sort, like myself," said Cecil.
Freddy looked at him doubtfully.
"How well did you know them at the Bertolini?" asked Mrs. Honeychurch.
"Oh, very slightly. I mean, Charlotte knew them even less than I did."
"Oh, that reminds me--you never told me what Charlotte said in her letter."
"One thing and another," said Lucy, wondering whether she would get through the meal without a lie. "Among other things, that an awful friend of hers had been bicycling through Summer Street, wondered if she'd come up and see us, and mercifully didn't."
"Lucy, I do call the way you talk unkind."
"She was a novelist," said Lucy craftily36. The remark was a happy one, for nothing roused Mrs. Honeychurch so much as literature in the hands of females. She would abandon every topic to inveigh37 against those women who (instead of minding their houses and their children) seek notoriety by print. Her attitude was: "If books must be written, let them be written by men"; and she de- veloped it at great length, while Cecil yawned and Freddy played at "This year, next year, now, never," with his plum-stones, and Lucy artfully fed the flames of her mother's wrath38. But soon the conflagration39 died down, and the ghosts began to gather in the darkness. There were too many ghosts about. The original ghost-- that touch of lips on her cheek--had surely been laid long ago; it could be nothing to her that a man had kissed her on a mountain once. But it had begotten40 a spectral41 family--Mr. Harris, Miss Bartlett's letter, Mr. Beebe's memories of violets--and one or other of these was bound to haunt her before Cecil's very eyes. It was Miss Bartlett who returned now, and with appalling42 vividness.
"I have been thinking, Lucy, of that letter of Charlotte's. How is she?"
"I tore the thing up."
"Didn't she say how she was? How does she sound? Cheerful?"
"Oh, yes I suppose so--no--not very cheerful, I suppose."
"Then, depend upon it, it IS the boiler. I know myself how water preys43 upon one's mind. I would rather anything else--even a misfortune with the meat."
Cecil laid his hand over his eyes.
"So would I," asserted Freddy, backing his mother up--backing up the spirit of her remark rather than the substance.
"And I have been thinking," she added rather nervously44, "surely we could squeeze Charlotte in here next week, and give her a nice holiday while plumbers45 at Tunbridge Wells finish. I have not seen poor Charlotte for so long."
It was more than her nerves could stand. And she could not protest violently after her mother's goodness to her upstairs.
"Mother, no!" she pleaded. "It's impossible. We can't have Charlotte on the top of the other things; we're squeezed to death as it is. Freddy's got a friend coming Tuesday, there's Cecil, and you've promised to take in Minnie Beebe because of the diphtheria scare. It simply can't be done."
"Nonsense! It can."
"If Minnie sleeps in the bath. Not otherwise."
"Minnie can sleep with you."
"I won't have her."
"Then, if you're so selfish, Mr. Floyd must share a room with Freddy."
"Miss Bartlett, Miss Bartlett, Miss Bartlett," moaned Cecil, again laying his hand over his eyes.
"It's impossible," repeated Lucy. "I don't want to make difficulties, but it really isn't fair on the maids to fill up the house so."
"The truth is, dear, you don't like Charlotte."
"No, I don't. And no more does Cecil. She gets on our nerves. You haven't seen her lately, and don't realize how tiresome she can be, though so good. So please, mother, don't worry us this last summer; but spoil us by not asking her to come."
"Hear, hear!" said Cecil.
Mrs. Honeychurch, with more gravity than usual, and with more feeling than she usually permitted herself, replied: "This isn't very kind of you two. You have each other and all these woods to walk in, so full of beautiful things; and poor Charlotte has only the water turned off and plumbers. You are young, dears, and however clever young people are, and however many books they read, they will never guess what it feels like to grow old."
"I must say Cousin Charlotte was very kind to me that year I called on my bike," put in Freddy. "She thanked me for coming till I felt like such a fool, and fussed round no end to get an egg boiled for my tea just right."
"I know, dear. She is kind to every one, and yet Lucy makes this difficulty when we try to give her some little return."
But Lucy hardened her heart. It was no good being kind to Miss Bartlett. She had tried herself too often and too recently. One might lay up treasure in heaven by the attempt, but one enriched neither Miss Bartlett nor any one else upon earth. She was reduced to saying: "I can't help it, mother. I don't like Charlotte. I admit it's horrid48 of me."
"From your own account, you told her as much."
"Well, she would leave Florence so stupidly. She flurried--"
The ghosts were returning; they filled Italy, they were even usurping49 the places she had known as a child. The Sacred Lake would never be the same again, and, on Sunday week, something would even happen to Windy Corner. How would she fight against ghosts? For a moment the visible world faded away, and memories and emotions alone seemed real.
"I suppose Miss Bartlett must come, since she boils eggs so well," said Cecil, who was in rather a happier frame of mind, thanks to the admirable cooking.
"I didn't mean the egg was WELL boiled," corrected Freddy, "because in point of fact she forgot to take it off, and as a matter of fact I don't care for eggs. I only meant how jolly kind she seemed."
Cecil frowned again. Oh, these Honeychurches! Eggs, boilers50, hydrangeas, maids--of such were their lives compact. "May me and Lucy get down from our chairs?" he asked, with scarcely veiled insolence51. "We don't want no dessert."
行这样的鞠躬礼，这样的会面，露西已排练过无数次啦！不过她总是在室内排练的，身上佩戴着某些装饰品，我们当然有权这样设想。可是谁会预见到她和乔治竟会在文明丧失殆尽的场合中，在七歪八竖地散落在阳光灿烂的大地上的一大堆外衣、硬领和靴子之间会晤？她曾想象过一位年轻的艾默森先生，他可能有点腼腆，或者心理病态，或者态度冷淡，或者暗地里傲慢无礼。对上述情况，她都有思想准备。但是她从来也没有想到过这个人会高高兴兴地像晨星一样向她欢呼。
她本人坐在屋内，与老迈的巴特沃思太太一起用茶，想到人生真是难以逆料，不可能有丝毫的正确性，而对人生进行预先排练简直是不可能的。只要布景出一点差错，观众中有一张脸表示不满，有个观众突然冲上台来，我们所有精心设计的手势就都显得毫无意义，或者过火了。她曾经想过“我会鞠躬。我不会和他握T-。那样才最恰当”。她鞠了一躬——可是向谁鞠躬来着呢？向众神，向众英雄，向女学生们的胡思乱想！她是隔了一堆给世界制造很多麻烦的垃圾鞠躬的。
她就这样想着，而她的脑筋却集中在塞西尔身上。这是另一次可怕的订婚后的串门。巴特沃思太太想见见他，而他却不想让她见自己。他不想听她谈绣球花，为什么海边的绣球花颜色不一样。他也不想加入慈善机构协会（译注：该机构成立于1869年，其宗旨为调节贫民救济法的执行，协调各慈善团体之间的关系。1946年更名为家庭福利协会。）。他碰到不痛快时，总是煞费苦心地与人周旋，本来回答“是”或“不是”就可以的时候，他却要巧妙地讲上半天。露西使他平静下来，用一种可以指望他们婚后和谐的方式对他说的话做一些不太高明的修正和补充。世界上没有完美的人，在婚前发现对方的缺点还是比较明智的。巴特利特小姐虽然没有讲大道理，却在实践中使姑娘认识到我们生活中的一切都不是美满的。露西虽然不喜欢这位老师，却认为她教授的内容很深刻，便把它应用到她恋人身上。
她们回到家里，她的母亲说，“露西，塞西尔有什么不对头的地方吗？”
这句问话是个不祥的预兆。迄今为止，霍尼彻奇太太始终很宽容，也很有节制。
“不，我觉得没什么，妈妈；塞西尔没事。”
“也许他太累了吧。”
露西作了妥协：也许塞西尔是有点累了。
“因为倘使不是这样——”她把系帽子的别针一只只拔出来，显得愈来愈不高兴一“因为倘使不是这样，我就无法解释他的态度了。”
“我的确认为巴特沃思太太这个人很乏味，要是你指的是这件事的话。”
“是塞西尔叫你这样想的。你小时候就热爱她，生伤寒的时候，她对你可好得没法说。不——总是这么回事，哪儿都一样。”
“我来帮你把帽子收起来，好吗？”
“他对她维持半小时的礼貌总可以吧？”
“塞西尔对人有一种非常高的标准，”露西结结巴巴地说，她知道还会有麻烦。“这高标准是他的理想的一部分一正是他的理想使他有时候看来——”
“哼，完全是胡说八道！要是崇高的理想使一个年轻人可以对人粗暴无礼，那么这种崇高的理想愈早抛弃愈好，”霍尼彻奇太太一面说话，一面把帽子递给露西。
“可是，妈妈！你也有对巴特沃思太太不客气的时候，我看到过！”
“这个不一样。有时候我真恨不得把她宰了。可就是不一样。不。塞西尔完全就是那种人。”
“我想起来了——我以前没有告诉你。我在伦敦时收到过夏绿蒂的一封信。”
这一试图变换话题的做法实在太幼稚了，霍尼彻奇太太对此感到愤慨。
“塞西尔从伦敦回来后，好像对什么都不满意。只要我一开口．他就皱起眉头——我看到他的，露西；你否认也没有用。毫无疑问-我这个人既不懂艺术，又不懂文学，没有什么学问，对爵乐也是一窍不通，可是我对客厅的家具无能为力：是你爸爸买下的，我们只得将就着用，所以只好请塞西尔行行好记住这一点。”
“我——我明白你的意思，当然哕，塞西尔不应该那样。不过他不是故意失礼——有一次他说过——使他心烦的是东西——丑陋的东西很容易使他心烦——他不是对人不客气。”
“那么弗雷迪唱歌，是东西还是人？”
“你总不能指望真正懂得音乐的人会像我们那样对滑稽小调感到津津有味吧！”
“那么他为什么不到别的房间去呢？为什么要坐在那里，扭动着身躯，露出不屑一顾的神色，使每个人都感到扫兴呢？”
“我们不应该待人不公平，”露西支支吾吾道。有某种东西使得她变得软弱了，而她为了给塞西尔争面子，这在伦敦她把握得非常完美，可是现在却无法奏效。两种文明发生了冲突——塞西尔曾暗示过很可能会发生冲突——她感到眼花缭乱、不知所措，似乎聚在整个文明后面的光芒把她的眼睛都搞花了。高雅的情趣与低俗的情趣原不过是时髦的语汇、不同式样的衣服罢了；而音乐本身通过了松林，会渐渐消失，只剩下耳语般的声响，那时一首歌和一曲滑稽小调就没有什么区别了。
霍尼彻奇太太在换衣服，准备吃晚饭，这时露西仍然处在很尴尬的心情中；她虽然不时说上一两句话，但是仍旧无济于事。事实是无法掩饰的——塞西尔存心显得态度傲慢，而他成功了。但露西——她不知什么缘故——却希望麻烦不要在这个时候发生。
“去换衣服吧，亲爱的；你要迟到了。”
“好的，妈妈一”
“不要嘴上说‘好的’，两只脚却动也不动。走吧！”
她服从了，但是却在扶梯平台的窗前郁郁不乐地逗留下来。窗是朝北的，所以看不见什么景色，也看不见天空。现在松树就在她的眼前，像冬天那样。你就会把扶梯平台的窗子和忧郁联系在一起。并没有什么具体问题威胁着她，可是她却独自叹了口气说，“天哪，我该怎么办，我该怎么办呢？”在她看来，除了她自己外，所有的人的态度都非常不好。而且她不该提起巴特利特小姐的信。她必须更加小心：她的母亲相当好奇，很可能会问起信上写了些什么。天啊，她该怎么办呢？——就在那时，弗雷迪跳跳蹦蹦地上楼来了，他也成了态度不好的人中间的一员。
“喂，那些人真呱呱叫。”
“亲爱的宝贝，你多么令人讨厌啊！你没有必要带他们到神圣湖去游水；那个地方太公开了。你游游水倒无所谓，可其他人就很糟糕。以后务必小心一些。你忘了这地方已成为半郊区了。”
“我说，下个礼拜的今天有什么事吗？”
“就我所知道的，没有。”
“那么我要请艾默森爷儿俩来打星期天网球。”
“哦，弗雷迪，要是我就不想这样做，现在乱得一团糟，我就不想这样做。”
“网球场有什么问题吗？他们不会在乎有些隆起的地方的-再说，我已经去订购了新球。”
“我认为还是不请的好。我真的这样认为。”
他抓住了她的两肘，诙谐地带她顺着过道跳起舞来。她假装不在乎，但真想着恼地尖叫起来。塞西尔到盥洗室去时，扫视了他们一眼，玛丽正捧着一大叠热水罐过来，让他们给挡了道。就在这时．霍尼彻奇太太打开门说，“露西，你闹得真凶啊！我有话对你讲。你刚才说收到过夏绿蒂的信，是吗？”弗雷迪就此溜之大吉。
“是的。我实在不能留下来。我也必须去换衣服。”
“夏绿蒂怎么样？”
“很好。”
“露西！”
这倒霉的姑娘转回来。
“你有个坏习惯，别人的话才讲了一半，你就急着要离开。夏绿蒂提起她的锅炉没有？”
“她的什么？”
“难道你不记得她的锅炉十月份要检修，洗澡水的蓄水箱要清洗，还有各种要做的麻烦事儿？”
“我实在记不得夏绿蒂的所有烦恼了，”露西带着苦涩说。“既然你对塞西尔不满意，我自己的烦恼也将是够多的。”
霍尼彻奇太太原是可以发火的。但是她没有。她说：“过来，好姑娘——谢谢你替我把帽子收了起来——吻我一下吧。”虽然世界上的一切都不是完美的，但是那一瞬间，露西觉得她妈妈、风角以及斜阳照耀下的威尔德地区都是很完美的。
生活中的摩擦就这样消除了。在风角摩擦常常得到消除。社交机器到了无法运转的最后关头，这个家庭的某个成员就会给它加上一滴油。塞西尔看不起她们的这些办法——也许他是对的。不管怎么样，这些可不是他本人的办法。
七点半开晚饭。弗雷迪急匆匆地做了感恩祷告，大家把椅子拖近桌子，就吃起来。幸运的是男士们都饿了。一直到上布丁，没有发生过任何出格的事。这时弗雷迪说：
“露西，艾默森是怎么样的一个人？”
“我是在佛罗伦萨看到他的，”露西说，希望这样也能算是回答了。
“他属于聪明人那一类，还是是个正派人？”
“问塞西尔好了；他是塞西尔请来的。”
“他属于聪明人那一类，就像我本人一样，”塞西尔说。
弗雷迪带着狐疑的眼光看着他。
“你们住在贝尔托利尼公寓时，你跟他们熟悉到什么程度？”霍尼彻奇太太问。
“噢，只是泛泛之交而已。我想说的是夏绿蒂对他们甚至比我还不熟悉。”
“哦，这使我想起——你从没告诉过我夏绿蒂在信里讲了一些什么。”
“不过东讲讲，西讲讲罢了，”露西说，不知道她是否能不说谎话就把这顿饭吃完。“除了这些，还有她的一个令人望而生畏的女朋友曾骑自行车经过夏街，她说不知道是否来看望过我们，结果谢天谢地，她没有来。”
“露西，我真的想说你讲话很刻薄。”
“她是写小说的，”露西狡黠地说。这句话非常巧妙，因为霍尼彻奇太太最恼火的事情便是女人着手搞文学了。她会摒弃所有的话题，专门谴责那些不照料家务和孩子、一心想通过出书来沽名钓誉的女人。她的态度是：“如果必须写书，那就让男人来写好了。”她继续就题发挥，滔滔不绝，而塞西尔不断地打呵欠，弗雷迪则用李子核玩起一种叫做“今年成功、明年成功、要么现在就成功、要么永远也不成功”的游戏来，而露西却机灵地不断在她母亲的怒火上添柴加薪。不过不久这大火就熄灭了，幽灵开始在黑暗中聚集。幽灵实在太多了。最早的幽灵——在她脸颊上的那一吻——肯定早就被驱散r；在山上，曾有人一度吻了她一下，这对她说来算不了什么。可是这个幽灵却招来了一大帮幽灵——哈里斯先生、巴特利特小姐的信、毕比先生关于紫罗兰的回忆——而这些幽灵，不是这个，便是那个，必然会当着塞西尔的面来纠缠她。现在回来的幽灵正是巴特利特小姐，形象生动得叫人胆战心惊。
“露西，我一直在想夏绿蒂的那封信。她怎么样？”
“信给我撕了。”
“她没有说起自己怎么样吗？她信上的口气怎样？高兴吗？”
“哦，是的，我想是的——不——我想不太高兴。”
“那么，毫无疑问，准是因为锅炉的问题l罗。我自己就体会到水的问题多么折磨人。我宁可其他任何事情出问题——甚至肉烧坏了都没有关系。”
塞西尔把一只手蒙住了眼睛。
“我也是这样认为的，”弗雷迪表明自己的看法，支持他的母亲——支持他母亲说的话的精神，而不是支持它的内容。
“我一直在想，”她神情相当紧张地接着说，“我们当然可以挤出一些地方让夏绿蒂下星期来住下，等水暖工在顿桥井完工前，让她好好儿度个假期。我已经有好久没有见到可怜的夏绿蒂啦。”
露西感到她的神经承受不了啦。可是她妈妈刚才在楼上对她那么好，她实在不好意思强烈地反对。
“妈妈，这样不行！”她恳求道。“这是不可能的。我们不能不顾～切来考虑夏绿蒂的问题；拿目前的情况看，我们已经挤得要死了。弗雷迪的一个朋友星期二要来，还有塞西尔，而且由于怕白喉传染，你还答应让明妮·毕比来住。这简直是不可能的事。”
“胡说！就是可能。”
“除非让明妮睡在浴室里。没有其他办法。”
“明妮可以和你一起唾。”
“我不要。”
“如果你这样自私，那么弗洛伊德先生必须和弗雷迪合住一间了。”
“巴特利特小姐，巴特利特小姐，巴特利特小姐，”塞西尔低声抱怨道，又一次用手蒙住了眼睛。
“这是不可能的，”露西再次说。“我不想制造麻烦，可是这样把屋子挤得满满的，对女用人来说，确实也是不公平的。”
唉！
“亲爱的，事实的真相是你不喜欢夏绿蒂。”
“是的，我不喜欢她。塞西尔也同样不喜欢她。她使得我们心烦。你近来没有见到过她，不知道她可以多么讨人厌，尽管她是个大好人。妈妈，这是最后一个夏天了，所以请不要让我们心烦；不要请她来，就惯我们一次吧。”
“说得好，说得好！”塞西尔说。
霍尼彻奇太太的神情显得比平时严肃，带着比平时所流露的更多的激情，应道，“你们两个这样讲话太不厚道。你们彼此可以做伴，可以在所有这些林子里散步，有那么多的美景；而可怜的夏绿蒂连水源也切断了，只有几个水暖工做伴。亲爱的，你们很年轻，但不管青年人多么聪明，不管他们读过多少书，他们永远也无法体会变得愈来愈老是什么滋味。”
塞西尔把他的面包撕成碎块。
“我必须说那一年我骑自行车去探望夏绿蒂表姐时，她待我好极了，”弗雷迪插进来说。“她一而再地感谢我去看她，使我感到自已是个大傻瓜，还手忙脚乱地团团转，为的是煮一个鸡蛋给我！与点心，要煮得恰到好处。”
“亲爱的，这我知道。她待每个人都很好，可是当我们设法给她一点点回报时，露西却留难起来。”
但露西铁了心。待巴特利特小姐好可没有什么好报。她已试过好多次，最近还试过。一个人待人好可能使他在天堂里贮存一笔财富，但是他无法使巴特利特小姐或其他人在地球上富起来。她被逼得只好说：“妈妈，我实在没有办法。我不喜欢夏绿蒂。我承认我这样真要不得。”
“从你本人写的信来看，你早就对她这样说过了。”
“唉，你知道她一定要那么愚蠢地离开佛罗伦萨。她慌慌张张地——”
幽灵又回来了；那些幽灵布满了意大利，甚至正在侵占她童年时代就熟悉的那些地方。神圣湖再也不会是过去的神圣湖了，而下星期日，风角也会发生变化。她将怎样同幽灵搏斗呢？一刹那间，看得见的世界渐渐消失了，似乎只有回忆与感情才真正存在。
“依我看，巴特利特小姐鸡蛋煮得那么好，她是一定该来的，”塞西尔说，多亏晚餐烹调得非常出色，他的心情还比较愉快。
“我不是说鸡蛋煮得多么好，”弗雷迪纠正他，“因为事实上她忘了把鸡蛋从火上拿开，而且其实我也并不喜欢吃鸡蛋。我只是想说她看起来非常友好。”
塞西尔又皱起了眉。唉，霍尼彻奇这一家子啊！鸡蛋、锅炉、绣球花、女用人一这些就是他们生活的组成。“我和露西可以离开座位吗？”他问，丝毫也不掩饰他的傲慢态度。“我们不想吃甜点心。”
收听单词发音 |
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foretell
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| v.预言，预告，预示 | |
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rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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wedlock
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| n.婚姻，已婚状态 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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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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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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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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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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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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supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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cistern
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| n.贮水池 | |
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clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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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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craftily
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| 狡猾地，狡诈地 | |
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inveigh
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| v.痛骂 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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begotten
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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preys
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| v.掠食( prey的第三人称单数 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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plumbers
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| n.管子工，水暖工( plumber的名词复数 )；[美][口]（防止泄密的）堵漏人员 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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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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usurping
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的现在分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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boilers
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| 锅炉，烧水器，水壶( boiler的名词复数 ) | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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