When I got home there was a telegram waiting for me—it had been sentfrom Antibes.
Meet me tomorrow four-thirty usual place.
Ellie was different. I saw it at once. We met as always in Regent’s Parkand at first we were a bit strange and awkward1 with each other. I hadsomething I was going to say to her and I was in a bit of a state as to howto put it. I suppose any man is when he comes to the point of proposingmarriage.
And she was strange about something too. Perhaps she was consideringthe nicest and kindest way of saying No to me. But somehow I didn’t thinkthat. My whole belief in life was based on the fact that Ellie loved me. Butthere was a new independence about her, a new confidence in herselfwhich I could hardly feel was simply because she was a year older. Onemore birthday can’t make that difference to a girl. She and her family hadbeen in the South of France and she told me a little about it. And thenrather awkwardly2 she said:
“I—I saw that house there, the one you told me about. The one that ar-chitect friend of yours had built.”
“What—Santonix?”
“Yes. We went there to lunch one day.”
“How did you do that? Does your stepmother know the man who livesthere?”
“Dmitri Constantine? Well—not exactly but she met him and—well—Greta fixed3 it up for us to go there as a matter of fact.”
“Greta again,” I said, allowing the usual exasperation4 to come into myvoice.
“I told you,” she said, “Greta is very good at arranging things.”
“Oh all right. So she arranged that you and your stepmother—”
“And Uncle Frank,” said Ellie.
“Quite a family party,” I said, “and Greta too, I suppose.”
“Well, no, Greta didn’t come because, well—” Ellie hesitated, “—Cora,my stepmother, doesn’t treat Greta exactly like that.”
“She’s not one of the family, she’s a poor relation, is she?” I said. “Justthe au pair girl, in fact. Greta must resent5 being treated that way some-times.”
“She’s not an au pair girl, she’s a kind of companion to me.”
“A chaperone,” I said, “a cicerone, a duenna, a governess. There are lotsof words.”
“Oh do be quiet,” said Ellie, “I want to tell you. I know now what youmean about your friend Santonix. It’s a wonderful house. It’s—it’s quitedifferent. I can see that if he built a house for us it would be a wonderfulhouse.”
She had used the word quite unconsciously. Us, she had said. She hadgone to the Riviera and had made Greta arrange things so as to see thehouse I had described, because she wanted to visualize6 more clearly thehouse that we would, in the dream world we’d built ourselves, have builtfor us by Rudolf Santonix.
“I’m glad you felt like that about it,” I said.
She said: “What have you been doing?”
“Just my dull job,” I said, “and I’ve been to a race meeting and I putsome money on an outsider. Thirty to one. I put every penny I had on itand it won by a length. Who says my luck isn’t in?”
“I’m glad you won,” said Ellie, but she said it without excitement, be-cause putting all you had in the world on an outsider and the outsiderwinning didn’t mean anything to Ellie’s world. Not the kind of thing itmeant in mine.
“And I went to see my mother,” I added.
“You’ve never spoken much of your mother.”
“Why should I?” I said.
“Aren’t you fond of her?”
I considered. “I don’t know,” I said. “Sometimes I don’t think I am. Afterall, one grows up and—outgrows parents. Mothers and fathers.”
“I think you do care about her,” said Ellie. “You wouldn’t be so uncertainwhen you talk about her otherwise.”
“I’m afraid of her in a way,” I said. “She knows me too well. She knowsthe worst of me, I mean.”
“Somebody has to,” said Ellie.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a saying by some great writer or other that no man is a hero tohis valet. Perhaps everyone ought to have a valet. It must be so hard oth-erwise, always living up to people’s good opinion of one.”
“Well, you certainly have ideas, Ellie,” I said. I took her hand. “Do youknow all about me?” I said.
“I think so,” said Ellie. She said it quite calmly and simply.
“I never told you much.”
“You mean you never told me anything at all, you always clammed7 up.
That’s different. But I know quite well what you are like, you yourself.”
“I wonder if you do,” I said. I went on, “It sounds rather silly saying Ilove you. It seems too late for that, doesn’t it? I mean, you’ve known aboutit a long time, practically8 from the beginning, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” said Ellie, “and you knew, too, didn’t you, about me?”
“The thing is,” I said, “what are we going to do about it? It’s not going tobe easy, Ellie. You know pretty well what I am, what I’ve done, the sort oflife I’ve led. I went back to see my mother and the grim9, respectable10 littlestreet she lives in. It’s not the same world as yours, Ellie. I don’t know thatwe can ever make them meet.”
“You could take me to see your mother.”
“Yes, I could,” I said, “but I’d rather not. I expect that sounds very harshto you, perhaps cruel, but you see we’ve got to lead a queer11 life together,you and I. It’s not going to be the life that you’ve led and it’s not going tobe the life that I’ve led either. It’s got to be a new life where we have a sortof meeting ground between my poverty and ignorance12 and your moneyand culture and social knowledge. My friends will think you’re stuck upand your friends will think I’m socially unpresentable. So what are we go-ing to do?”
“I’ll tell you,” said Ellie, “exactly what we’re going to do. We’re going tolive on Gipsy’s Acre in a house—a dream house—that your friend San-tonix will build for us. That’s what we’re going to do.” She added, “We’llget married first. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said, “that’s what I mean. If you’re sure it’s all right with you.”
“It’s quite easy,” said Ellie, “we can get married next week. I’m of age,you see. I can do what I like now. That makes all the difference. I thinkperhaps you’re right about relations. I shan’t tell my people and you won’ttell your mother, not until it’s all over and then they can throw fits and itwon’t matter.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said, “wonderful, Ellie. But there’s one thing. I hatetelling you about it. We can’t live at Gipsy’s Acre, Ellie. Wherever we buildour house it can’t be there because it’s sold.”
“I know it’s sold,” said Ellie. She was laughing. “You don’t understand,Mike. I’m the person who’s bought it.”

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1
awkward
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adj.笨拙的,尴尬的,使用不便的,难处理的 | |
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2
awkwardly
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adv.笨拙地;困难地;难看地;尴尬地 | |
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3
fixed
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adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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4
exasperation
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n.愤慨 | |
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5
resent
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v.对...表示忿恨,对...怨恨 | |
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6
visualize
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vt.使看得见,使具体化,想象,设想 | |
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7
clammed
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v.(在沙滩上)挖蛤( clam的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
practically
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adv.差不多;几乎;实际地,从实际角度 | |
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9
grim
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adj.严酷的,令人害怕的,不愉快的,讨厌的 | |
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10
respectable
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n.品格高尚的人;adj.值得尊重的,人格高尚的,不少的 | |
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11
queer
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adj.奇怪的,异常的,不舒服的,眩晕的 | |
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12
ignorance
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n.无知,愚昧,不了解,(of,about)不知道 | |
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