But Lucy had developed since the spring. That is to say, she was now better able to stifle1 the emotions of which the conventions and the world disapprove2. Though the danger was greater, she was not shaken by deep sobs3. She said to Cecil, "I am not coming in to tea--tell mother--I must write some letters," and went up to her room. Then she prepared for action. Love felt and returned, love which our bodies exact and our hearts have transfigured, love which is the most real thing that we shall ever meet, reappeared now as the world's enemy, and she must stifle it.
She sent for Miss Bartlett.
The contest lay not between love and duty. Perhaps there never is such a contest. It lay between the real and the pretended, and Lucy's first aim was to defeat herself. As her brain clouded over, as the memory of the views grew dim and the words of the book died away, she returned to her old shibboleth4 of nerves. She "conquered her breakdown5." Tampering6 with the truth, she forgot that the truth had ever been. Remembering that she was engaged to Cecil, she compelled herself to confused remembrances of George; he was nothing to her; he never had been anything; he had behaved abominably7; she had never encouraged him. The armour8 of falsehood is subtly wrought9 out of darkness, and hides a man not only from others, but from his own soul. In a few moments Lucy was equipped for battle.
"Something too awful has happened," she began, as soon as her cousin arrived. "Do you know anything about Miss Lavish10's novel?"
Miss Bartlett looked surprised, and said that she had not read the book, nor known that it was published; Eleanor was a reticent11 woman at heart.
"There is a scene in it. The hero and heroine make love. Do you know about that?"
"Dear--?"
"Do you know about it, please?" she repeated. "They are on a hillside, and Florence is in the distance."
"My good Lucia, I am all at sea. I know nothing about it whatever."
"There are violets. I cannot believe it is a coincidence. Charlotte, Charlotte, how could you have told her? I have thought before speaking; it must be you."
"Told her what?" she asked, with growing agitation12.
"About that dreadful afternoon in February."
Miss Bartlett was genuinely moved. "Oh, Lucy, dearest girl--she hasn't put that in her book?"
Lucy nodded.
"Not so that one could recognize it. Yes."
"Then never--never--never more shall Eleanor Lavish be a friend of mine."
"So you did tell?"
"I did just happen--when I had tea with her at Rome--in the course of conversation--"
"But Charlotte--what about the promise you gave me when we were packing? Why did you tell Miss Lavish, when you wouldn't even let me tell mother?"
"I will never forgive Eleanor. She has betrayed my confidence."
"Why did you tell her, though? This is a most serious thing."
Why does any one tell anything? The question is eternal, and it was not surprising that Miss Bartlett should only sigh faintly in response. She had done wrong--she admitted it, she only hoped that she had not done harm; she had told Eleanor in the strictest confidence.
Lucy stamped with irritation13.
"Cecil happened to read out the passage aloud to me and to Mr. Emerson; it upset Mr. Emerson and he insulted me again. Behind Cecil's back. Ugh! Is it possible that men are such brutes15? Behind Cecil's back as we were walking up the garden."
Miss Bartlett burst into self-accusations and regrets.
"What is to be done now? Can you tell me?"
"Oh, Lucy--I shall never forgive myself, never to my dying day. Fancy if your prospects--"
"I know," said Lucy, wincing16 at the word. "I see now why you wanted me to tell Cecil, and what you meant by 'some other source.' You knew that you had told Miss Lavish, and that she was not reliable.
It was Miss Bartlett's turn to wince17. "However," said the girl, despising her cousin's shiftiness, "What's done's done. You have put me in a most awkward position. How am I to get out of it?"
Miss Bartlett could not think. The days of her energy were over. She was a visitor, not a chaperon, and a discredited18 visitor at that. She stood with clasped hands while the girl worked herself into the necessary rage.
"He must--that man must have such a setting down that he won't forget. And who's to give it him? I can't tell mother now--owing to you. Nor Cecil, Charlotte, owing to you. I am caught up every way. I think I shall go mad. I have no one to help me. That's why I've sent for you. What's wanted is a man with a whip."
Miss Bartlett agreed: one wanted a man with a whip.
"Yes--but it's no good agreeing. What's to be DONE. We women go maundering on. What DOES a girl do when she comes across a cad?"
"I always said he was a cad, dear. Give me credit for that, at all events. From the very first moment--when he said his father was having a bath."
"Oh, bother the credit and who's been right or wrong! We've both made a muddle19 of it. George Emerson is still down the garden there, and is he to be left unpunished, or isn't he? I want to know."
Miss Bartlett was absolutely helpless. Her own exposure had unnerved her, and thoughts were colliding painfully in her brain. She moved feebly to the window, and tried to detect the cad's white flannels20 among the laurels21.
"You were ready enough at the Bertolini when you rushed me off to Rome. Can't you speak again to him now?"
"Willingly would I move heaven and earth--"
"I want something more definite," said Lucy contemptuously. "Will you speak to him? It is the least you can do, surely, considering it all happened because you broke your word."
"Never again shall Eleanor Lavish be a friend of mine."
Really, Charlotte was outdoing herself.
"Yes or no, please; yes or no."
"It is the kind of thing that only a gentleman can settle." George Emerson was coming up the garden with a tennis ball in his hand.
"Very well," said Lucy, with an angry gesture. "No one will help me. I will speak to him myself." And immediately she realized that this was what her cousin had intended all along.
"Hullo, Emerson!" called Freddy from below. "Found the lost ball? Good man! Want any tea?" And there was an irruption from the house on to the terrace.
"Oh, Lucy, but that is brave of you! I admire you--"
They had gathered round George, who beckoned22, she felt, over the rubbish, the sloppy23 thoughts, the furtive24 yearnings that were beginning to cumber25 her soul. Her anger faded at the sight of him. Ah! The Emersons were fine people in their way. She had to subdue26 a rush in her blood before saying:
"Freddy has taken him into the dining-room. The others are going down the garden. Come. Let us get this over quickly. Come. I want you in the room, of course."
"Lucy, do you mind doing it?"
"How can you ask such a ridiculous question?"
"Poor Lucy--" She stretched out her hand. "I seem to bring nothing but misfortune wherever I go." Lucy nodded. She remembered their last evening at Florence--the packing, the candle, the shadow of Miss Bartlett's toque on the door. She was not to be trapped by pathos27 a second time. Eluding28 her cousin's caress29, she led the way downstairs.
"Try the jam," Freddy was saying. "The jam's jolly good."
George, looking big and dishevelled, was pacing up and down the dining-room. As she entered he stopped, and said:
"No--nothing to eat."
"You go down to the others," said Lucy; "Charlotte and I will give Mr. Emerson all he wants. Where's mother?"
"She's started on her Sunday writing. She's in the drawing-room."
"That's all right. You go away."
He went off singing.
Lucy sat down at the table. Miss Bartlett, who was thoroughly30 frightened, took up a book and pretended to read.
She would not be drawn31 into an elaborate speech. She just said: "I can't have it, Mr. Emerson. I cannot even talk to you. Go out of this house, and never come into it again as long as I live here--" flushing as she spoke32 and pointing to the door. "I hate a row. Go please."
"What--"
"No discussion."
"But I can't--"
She shook her head. "Go, please. I do not want to call in Mr. Vyse."
"You don't mean," he said, absolutely ignoring Miss Bartlett-- "you don't mean that you are going to marry that man?"
The line was unexpected.
She shrugged33 her shoulders, as if his vulgarity wearied her. "You are merely ridiculous," she said quietly.
Then his words rose gravely over hers: "You cannot live with Vyse. He's only for an acquaintance. He is for society and cultivated talk. He should know no one intimately, least of all a woman."
It was a new light on Cecil's character.
"Have you ever talked to Vyse without feeling tired?"
"I can scarcely discuss--"
"No, but have you ever? He is the sort who are all right so long as they keep to things--books, pictures--but kill when they come to people. That's why I'll speak out through all this muddle even now. It's shocking enough to lose you in any case, but generally a man must deny himself joy, and I would have held back if your Cecil had been a different person. I would never have let myself go. But I saw him first in the National Gallery, when he winced34 because my father mispronounced the names of great painters. Then he brings us here, and we find it is to play some silly trick on a kind neighbour. That is the man all over--playing tricks on people, on the most sacred form of life that he can find. Next, I meet you together, and find him protecting and teaching you and your mother to be shocked, when it was for YOU to settle whether you were shocked or no. Cecil all over again. He daren't let a woman decide. He's the type who's kept Europe back for a thousand years. Every moment of his life he's forming you, telling you what's charming or amusing or ladylike, telling you what a man thinks womanly; and you, you of all women, listen to his voice instead of to your own. So it was at the Rectory, when I met you both again; so it has been the whole of this afternoon. Therefore --not 'therefore I kissed you,' because the book made me do that, and I wish to goodness I had more self-control. I'm not ashamed. I don't apologize. But it has frightened you, and you may not have noticed that I love you. Or would you have told me to go, and dealt with a tremendous thing so lightly? But therefore-- therefore I settled to fight him."
Lucy thought of a very good remark.
"You say Mr. Vyse wants me to listen to him, Mr. Emerson. Pardon me for suggesting that you have caught the habit."
And he took the shoddy reproof35 and touched it into immortality36. He said:
"Yes, I have," and sank down as if suddenly weary. "I'm the same kind of brute14 at bottom. This desire to govern a woman--it lies very deep, and men and women must fight it together before they shall enter the garden. But I do love you surely in a better way than he does." He thought. "Yes--really in a better way. I want you to have your own thoughts even when I hold you in my arms," He stretched them towards her. "Lucy, be quick--there's no time for us to talk now--come to me as you came in the spring, and afterwards I will be gentle and explain. I have cared for you since that man died. I cannot live without you, 'No good,' I thought; 'she is marrying some one else'; but I meet you again when all the world is glorious water and sun. As you came through the wood I saw that nothing else mattered. I called. I wanted to live and have my chance of joy."
"And Mr. Vyse?" said Lucy, who kept commendably37 calm. "Does he not matter? That I love Cecil and shall be his wife shortly? A detail of no importance, I suppose?"
But he stretched his arms over the table towards her.
"May I ask what you intend to gain by this exhibition?"
He said: "It is our last chance. I shall do all that I can." And as if he had done all else, he turned to Miss Bartlett, who sat like some portent38 against the skies of the evening. "You wouldn't stop us this second time if you understood," he said. "I have been into the dark, and I am going back into it, unless you will try to understand."
Her long, narrow head drove backwards39 and forwards, as though demolishing40 some invisible obstacle. She did not answer.
"It is being young," he said quietly, picking up his racquet from the floor and preparing to go. "It is being certain that Lucy cares for me really. It is that love and youth matter intellectually."
In silence the two women watched him. His last remark, they knew, was nonsense, but was he going after it or not? Would not he, the cad, the charlatan41, attempt a more dramatic finish? No. He was apparently42 content. He left them, carefully closing the front door; and when they looked through the hall window, they saw him go up the drive and begin to climb the slopes of withered43 fern behind the house. Their tongues were loosed, and they burst into stealthy rejoicings.
"Oh, Lucia--come back here--oh, what an awful man!"
Lucy had no reaction--at least, not yet. "Well, he amuses me," she said. "Either I'm mad, or else he is, and I'm inclined to think it's the latter. One more fuss through with you, Charlotte. Many thanks. I think, though, that this is the last. My admirer will hardly trouble me again."
And Miss Bartlett, too, essayed the roguish:
"Well, it isn't every one who could boast such a conquest, dearest, is it? Oh, one oughtn't to laugh, really. It might have been very serious. But you were so sensible and brave--so unlike the girls of my day."
"Let's go down to them."
But, once in the open air, she paused. Some emotion--pity, terror, love, but the emotion was strong--seized her, and she was aware of autumn. Summer was ending, and the evening brought her odours of decay, the more pathetic because they were reminiscent of spring. That something or other mattered intellectually? A leaf, violently agitated44, danced past her, while other leaves lay motionless. That the earth was hastening to re-enter darkness, and the shadows of those trees over Windy Corner?
"Hullo, Lucy! There's still light enough for another set, if you two'll hurry."
"Mr. Emerson has had to go."
"What a nuisance! That spoils the four. I say, Cecil, do play, do, there's a good chap. It's Floyd's last day. Do play tennis with us, just this once."
Cecil's voice came: "My dear Freddy, I am no athlete. As you well remarked this very morning, 'There are some chaps who are no good for anything but books'; I plead guilty to being such a chap, and will not inflict45 myself on you."
The scales fell from Lucy's eyes. How had she stood Cecil for a moment? He was absolutely intolerable, and the same evening she broke off her engagement.
但是自从春天以来，露西变得成熟了。那就是说，她现在比原先善于压制那些为世俗与社会所不容的感情了。虽然危险性增加了，她可没有被内心的啜泣弄得身子哆嗦起来。她对塞西尔说，“我不进去喝茶了——告诉妈妈一声——我必须去写几封信，”说罢就上楼到自己的房间去了。在那里，她准备采取行动。感受到的与再度出现的爱情，我们的身体所要求的与我们的心灵加以美化的爱情，作为我们能体验的最最真实的东西的爱情，现在都以社会的敌人的面目重新出现，而她必须窒息它。
她差人去请巴特利特小姐。
这并非一次爱情与责任的较量。也许这样的较量从来也没有过。这是一次真与假之间的较量，而露西的首要目标便是击败自己。由于她的脑子很乱，关于风景的记忆已模糊不清，而小说里的词句已渐渐消失，她又回复到以前把一切归到神经紧张那句口头禅上去了。她“战胜了精神崩溃”。她窜改事实，忘记曾经有过这样的事实。她记得已和塞西尔订婚，却强迫自己混淆对乔治的记忆：他对她无足轻重；他对她从来就是这样；他的行为十分可恶；她从来也没有鼓励过他。谎言的盔甲是在黑暗中微妙地加工铸成的，它把一个男人隐藏起来，非但别人看不见，他自己的心灵也看不见。过了一会儿，露西已装备就绪，准备战斗了。
“发生了非常糟糕的事，”她表姐一到，她就开始发话。“你可知道有关拉维希小姐那本小说的任何情况吗？”
巴特利特小姐露出惊奇的神色，说她没有看过那本书，也不知道那本书已出版了；从本质上来说，埃莉诺是个守口如瓶的女人。
“小说里有一个场面。男女主人公在谈恋爱。这个你知道吗？”
“亲爱的——？”
“请问你知不知道？”她重复一遍。“他们在山坡上，远远望得见佛罗伦萨。”
“我的好露西亚，我一点儿也不明白。关于这个我什么也不知道。”
“那儿长着紫罗兰。我无法相信这仅仅是巧合。夏绿蒂，夏绿蒂啊，你怎么可以告诉她呢？我是经过考虑才这样说的：一定是你。”
“告诉她什么呀？”她问，显得愈来愈慌张。
“关于二月中那个可怕的下午的事。”
巴特利特小姐真正地激动了。“哎呀，露西，最亲爱的——她把那件事写进书里去了吧？”
露西点点头。
“写得不至于被人认得出来吧？”
“认得出来。”
“那么埃莉诺·拉维希将永远——永远——永远不再是我的朋友了。”
“这么说你的确告诉她了？”
“我是偶然——我和她在罗马喝茶——在谈话中——”
“可是夏绿蒂一我们收拾行李时，你答应过我，这怎么说呢？你甚至不让我告诉妈妈，可是为什么要告诉拉维希小姐？”
“我永远不会原谅埃莉诺。她辜负了我对她的信任。”
“然而你为什么要对她说呢？这是一件非常严重的事情。”
为什么要对人说？这是个永远无法回答的问题，因此巴特利特小姐的回答只是轻微地叹息一声，也就不足为奇了。她做错了——这一点她承认；她只希望她没有伤害人；她对埃莉诺说过要她绝对保守秘密的。
露西恼怒地蹬脚。
“碰巧塞西尔朗读了这一段给我和艾默森先生听；这扰乱了艾默森先生的心情，他就又一次侮辱了我。是背着塞西尔干的。哼！难道男人都这样粗暴，这可能吗？是在我们从花园里走过来的时候背着塞西尔干的。”
巴特利特小姐一下子说了许多自责和悔恨的话。
“现在该怎么办？你能告诉我吗？”
“唉，露西——我永远也不会原谅自己，到死也不原谅。想想看，要是你的前途——”
“我知道，”露西说，听到这个字眼，她的面孔抽搐了一下。“我现在明白了，你为什么要我去告诉塞西尔，还有你说的‘别处’是什么意思。你明知道已对拉维希小姐说了，也明知道她这个人不可靠。”
现在轮到巴特利特小姐的面孔抽搐了。
“话得说回来，”姑娘说，对她表姐的反复无常十分鄙视，“已经发生的事情已经发生了。你使我陷入了非常尴尬的境地。我怎么才能解脱呢？”
巴特利特小姐无法思考。对她说来，精力充沛的年代已属往事。她眼下只是一个客人，不是监护人，而且是个信誉扫地的客人。她双手交叉，站在那里，而姑娘却愈来愈激动，非常生气，这原是迫不得已的。
“必须对他——对那个人好好申斥一番，叫他一辈子也忘不了。可是由谁来申斥他呢？我现在没法对妈妈说——都是因为你的缘故。也没法对塞西尔说，夏绿蒂，也是因为你的缘故。我是到处碰壁。我想我要发疯了。没有人来帮助我，所以我请你来。现在需要的是一个手里握着鞭子的男人。”
巴特利特小姐同意：需要一个手里握着鞭子的男人。
“是啊——可是你光同意没用。应该怎么办呢？我们女人家只会唠叨个没完。一个女孩子碰到了无赖，究竟应该怎么办？”
“我一直说他是个无赖，亲爱的。不管怎么样，这一点你该称赞我。从一开始起—一从他说他父亲在洗澡那时候起。”
“哎呀，别管什么称赞不称赞，谁对谁不对啦！我们俩一起把这事情搞得一团糟。现在乔治·艾默森还在下面花园里，是让他逍遥自在，还是要惩罚他？我想知道。”
巴特利特小姐丝毫不能起什么作用。她自己做的错事的败露使她丧失了勇气，脑海里各种想法正痛苦地进行着交锋。她虚弱无力地走到窗前，试图在月桂丛中发现那个无赖的白色法兰绒长裤。
“在贝尔托利尼公寓你急着把我带到罗马去的时候，你可急着要和他谈啊！现在你不能再找他谈谈吗？”
“我愿意赴汤蹈火——”
“我希望讲得具体一些，”露西轻蔑地说。“你愿意和他谈谈吗？当然这是你起码可以做到的，考虑到都是由于你不守信用才发生了这一切。”
“埃莉诺·拉维希永远也不可能再成为我的朋友了。”
说真的，夏绿蒂的回答超出了她原有的水平。
“请你说是愿意还是不愿意；是愿意还是不愿意。”
“这种事情只有男士才能解决。”
乔治·艾默森手里拿着一只网球正在向花园上方走去。
“很好，”露西做了一个很生气的手势说。“没有人愿意帮助我，我要亲自去和他谈。”她立即意识到她表姐真是一直这样盘算的。
“喂，艾默森！”弗雷迪在下面喊道。“不见的那个球你找到了？真是个好人！要喝茶吗？”接着有人从屋子里冲到了露台上。
“啊，露西，你可真勇敢！我佩服你——”
他们围住了乔治，乔治招手示意，她感到这手势跨越了正开始干扰她心灵中那些无聊的杂念、纷乱的想法、隐秘的渴望。她一看到他怒气就消失了。唉！艾默森一家人，就他们的方式而论，都是好人。她不得不抑制住汹涌的热血，然后说：
“弗雷迪把他带到餐厅里去了。其他人都朝花园里面走去。来吧。我们赶快把这事了结算了。来吧。我当然要你留在屋里的。”
“露西，你这样做是不是很勉强？”
“你怎么会问这样可笑的问题？”
“可怜的露西——”她伸出她的手来。“看来不管我到什么地方，带来的只有灾难。”露西点点头。她记起她们在佛罗伦萨的最后一个晚上——整理行装的过程、那支蜡烛、巴特利特小姐的小圆帽在门上的影子。她不会让怜悯心第二次坑害自己。她避开了表姐的拥抱，率先走下楼去。
“尝尝这种果酱，”弗雷迪正在说。“这种果酱味道好极了。”
乔治头发蓬松，一副趾高气扬的样子，正在餐厅里踱来踱去。她走进去时，他停了步，说：
“不——没有什么可吃。”
“你到其他人那里去，”露西对弗雷迪说，“夏绿蒂和我会满足艾默森先生的一切要求的。妈妈呢？”
“她在记星期天的日记。正在客厅里。”
“没关系。你走吧。”
他唱着歌走了。
露西在桌边坐下。巴特利特小姐吓得胆战心惊，拿起一本书，装出看书的样子。
她不打算高谈阔论。她光是说：“艾默森先生，我不允许这样的事情发生。我甚至不可能和你讲话。离开这所房子，只要我住在这里，就永远也不要踏进这个门。”她讲话时脸颊涨红了，她用手指着门。“我最讨厌吵架。请你离开。”
“什么——”
“没有什么好说的。”
“不过我不能——”
她摇摇头。“请你离开。我不想叫维斯先生来。”
“你的意思是，”他说，完全不顾巴特利特小姐在场——“你的意思是你要和那个人结婚？”
这句话倒是出人意料。
她耸耸肩，似乎对他的粗野表现很厌倦。“你只是非常可笑罢了，”她平静地说。
接着他说话了，声音盖过了她的，而且很严肃：“你不可能和维斯一起生活。只能把他当作一般朋友。在社交和需要优雅谈吐的场合，他是顶行的。可是他不会和任何人很亲密，尤其是和女人。”
这倒是对塞西尔的性格的一个新的看法。
“你曾经和维斯谈话而不觉得枯燥吗？”
“我不想讨论——”
“好吧，不过你曾经觉得枯燥吗？他属于这样一种人，只要他们同物打交道——像书呀，画呀——他们是顶行的，可是同人打交道就让人受不了啦。这就是我为什么甚至在现在这样一团糟的情况下还要直言相告的原因。失去你，不管怎么说，已经够糟糕的了，不过一般说来，一个人应该舍弃幸福，但要是你的那位塞西尔不是那种人，我一定会克制自己。我绝对不会放纵自己。可是我第一次看到他是在国家美术馆，因为我爸爸把一些油画大师的名字读错了，他就直皱眉。后来他把我们带到这里，我们发现这完全是为了作弄一位好心肠的邻居。这个人就是这么回事——喜欢作弄人，对他能找到的最神圣的生活方式也开玩笑。接着我见到你们一起，发现他以保护人自居，指导你和你妈妈要显得大惊失色，其实该不该大惊失色完全应该由你们来决定。这又是塞西尔的本色。他不敢让一个女人来作出决定。他就是那种使欧洲落后一千年的人。他把生命的每时每刻都用来塑造你，告诉你怎么样才算妩媚，怎么样才讨人喜欢，或者怎么样才算是大家闺秀，还告诉你男人认为女人应该具有什么样的风度；而你，所有女性中的你，偏偏听信他的话，而不去倾听自己内心的呼声。后来我在教区长家里又见到你们时也是这样；今天整个下午也是这样。因此——‘因此我吻了你’，倒并不是那本小说促使我这样做的，再说，但愿我能更好地克制自己就好了。我并不感到羞愧。我也不向你道歉。不过你刚才受惊了，而且可能你没有觉察到我爱你。不然你怎么会叫我走，这样轻描淡写地对待这样一件大事呢？因此——因此我决定要和他斗。”
露西想出了一句很巧妙的话。
“艾默森先生，你说维斯先生要我听他的。请原谅我提出来，你也染上了这个习惯。”
他接受了这并不太高明的指责，略略加以发挥，使它成为一段不朽的名言。他说：
“是的，我也染上了，”他坐下来，似乎突然感到很疲倦。“从本质上说我也同样粗暴。这种想统治女人的欲望——是根深蒂固的，而男人和女人必须站在一起与之搏斗，才能进人伊甸乐园。可是我是真心爱你——我爱你的方式肯定比他的高明。”他想了一下。“是的——真的比他的高明。即使我把你抱在怀里时，我还是要你有自己的想法。”他向她伸出双臂。“露西，别犹豫了——我们现在没有时间谈这些——到我身边来吧，就像你在春天时那样，以后我会很耐心，给你作解释。自从那个人死了以后，我一直关心你。没有你我活不下去。‘这没有用，’我想，‘她要跟别人结婚了。’可是在阳光明媚、流水潺潺的环境里我又遇见了你。你从林子里走出来时，我明白除了你，其他一切我都无所谓。我就叫起来。我要活下去，要获得给我幸福的机遇。”
“那么维斯先生呢？”露西说，仍然很镇定，这确实值得称赞。“那么他也无所谓吗？还有我爱塞西尔，不久就要成为他的妻子呢？这一情节我看也不重要吧？”
但他把双臂越过桌子伸向她。
“我可以问一下你这番表白究竟想达到什么目的吗？”
他说：“这是我们的最后机会。我将尽力而为。”于是，似乎他已在其他方面尽了全力，他转向巴特利特小姐，只见她正坐在那里，像个不祥之兆，背后是布满暮色的天空。“要是你理解的话，你就不会第二次阻挠我们了，”他说。“我曾经进入过黑暗，我就要回到黑暗中去，除非你愿意设法理解我们。”
她那细长的头不断前倾后仰，似乎在摧毁某种看不见的障碍。她没有回答。
“正是因为年轻，”他平静地说，从地板上捡起网球拍，准备走了。“正是因为确信露西是真心爱我的。正是因为爱情与青春对心智方面来讲是重要的。”
两位女士默默地看着他。她们明白他的最后一句话完全是胡扯，然而他会不会追求到底呢？他，这个无赖，这个骗子，最后该不会有什么更加惊人的举动吧！不会。显然他已满足了。他离开了她们，小心翼翼地关上了前门；她们从过道的窗口望出去，看见他顺着车道，开始爬上屋后长满枯萎的羊齿植物的坡地。她们的舌头好像松了绑，忍不住表达出暗藏在心里的喜悦。
“哎呀，露西亚——到这里来——唉，他这个人实在太可怕了！”
露西没有反应——至少一时还没有反应。“说起来，他使我感到很有趣，”她说。“不是我疯了，就是他疯了，而我倾向于后一种看法。夏绿蒂，你又一次的庸人自扰结束了。非常感谢你。然而我想这是最后一次啦。我这位爱慕者大概不大会再来麻烦我了。”
巴特利特小姐也试着变得调皮起来：
“嗯，最亲爱的，不是每个人都可以夸耀能这样征服对方的心的，是不是？咳，说真的，我们不应该发笑。这件事本来很可能是非常严重的。不过你真明白事理，也真勇敢——完全不像我年轻时候的姑娘们。”
“我们下去找他们吧。”
可是她一到户外，就停了步。某种感情-怜悯，恐惧，爱恋，那是非常强烈的感情——控制了她，她不禁意识到秋意。夏天即将过去，薄暮中吹来了衰败的气息，使人倍加感伤，因为它使人想起了春天。真有什么东西对心智方面来讲是重要的吗？一片猛烈地颤动的树叶在她的身旁飞舞而过，而其他的树叶却一动也不动地躺在那里。大地正在迅速地重新进入黑暗，那些松树的阴影正在悄悄地笼罩风角？
“喂，露西！天还不太黑，还可以再打一盘球，不过你们两个得快一些。”
“艾默森先生不得不走啊。”
“真讨厌！这么一来我们就三缺一了。我说，塞西尔，你来打吧，真的，行行好吧。今天是弗洛伊德的最后一天。就陪陪我们打球吧，就这么一次。”
传来了塞西尔的声音：“我亲爱的弗雷迪，我对运动一窍不通。今天早晨你说得好，‘有些人除了读书以外，其他什么也不会’；我承认自己就是那种人，因此不想把自己强加给你们。”
露西眼睛前的障碍物给除去了。她怎么居然能够容忍塞西尔，即使是片刻？他这个人实在叫人受不了，于是当天晚上她就解除了婚约。
收听单词发音 |
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stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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shibboleth
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| n.陈规陋习；口令；暗语 | |
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breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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tampering
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| v.窜改( tamper的现在分词 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
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abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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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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flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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cumber
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| v.拖累，妨碍；n.妨害；拖累 | |
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subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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eluding
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的现在分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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31
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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32
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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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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commendably
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| 很好地 | |
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portent
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| n.预兆；恶兆；怪事 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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40
demolishing
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| v.摧毁( demolish的现在分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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41
charlatan
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| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
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42
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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43
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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44
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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45
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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