"My darling Sophia--"
The inevitable1 miracle had occurred. Her suspicions concerning that Mr. Peel-Swynnerton were well-founded, after all! Here was a letter from Constance! The writing on the envelope was not Constance's; but even before examining it she had had a peculiar2 qualm. She received letters from England nearly every day asking about rooms and prices (and on many of them she had to pay threepence excess postage, because the writers carelessly or carefully forgot that a penny stamp was not sufficient); there was nothing to distinguish this envelope, and yet her first glance at it had startled her; and when, deciphering the smudged post-mark, she made out the word 'Bursley,' her heart did literally3 seem to stop, and she opened the letter in quite violent tremulation, thinking to herself: "The doctor would say this is very bad for me." Six days had elapsed since her attack, and she was wonderfully better; the distortion of her face had almost disappeared. But the doctor was grave; he ordered no medicine, merely a tonic5; and monotonously6 insisted on 'repose7 the most absolute,' on perfect mental calm. He said little else, allowing Sophia to judge from his silences the seriousness of her condition. Yes, the receipt of such a letter must be bad for her!
She controlled herself while she read it, lying in her dressing- gown against several pillows on the bed; a mist did not form in her eyes, nor did she sob8, nor betray physically9 that she was not reading an order for two rooms for a week. But the expenditure10 of nervous force necessary to self-control was terrific.
Constance's handwriting had changed; it was, however, easily recognizable as a development of the neat calligraphy11 of the girl who could print window-tickets. The 'S' of Sophia was formed in the same way as she had formed it in the last letter which she had received from her at Axe12!
"MY DARLING SOPHIA,
"I cannot tell you how overjoyed I was to learn that after all these years you are alive and well, and doing so well too. I long to see you, my dear sister. It was Mr. Peel-Swynnerton who told me. He is a friend of Cyril's. Cyril is the name of my son. I married Samuel in 1867. Cyril was born in 1874 at Christmas. He is now twenty-two, and doing very well in London as a student of sculpture, though so young. He won a National Scholarship. There were only eight, of which he won one, in all England. Samuel died in 1888. If you read the papers you must have seen about the Povey affair. I mean of course Mr. Daniel Povey, Confectioner. It was that that killed poor Samuel. Poor mother died in 1875. It doesn't seem so long. Aunt Harriet and Aunt Maria are both dead. Old Dr. Harrop is dead, and his son has practically retired13. He has a partner, a Scotchman. Mr. Critchlow has married Miss Insull. Did you ever hear of such a thing? They have taken over the shop, and I live in the house part, the other being bricked up. Business in the Square is not what it used to be. The steam trams take all the custom to Hanbridge, and they are talking of electric trams, but I dare say it is only talk. I have a fairly good servant. She has been with me a long time, but servants are not what they were. I keep pretty well, except for my sciatica and palpitation. Since Cyril went to London I have been very lonely. But I try to cheer up and count my blessings14. I am sure I have a great deal to be thankful for. And now this news of you! Please write to me a long letter, and tell me all about yourself. It is a long way to Paris. But surely now you know I am still here, you will come and pay me a visit--at least. Everybody would be most glad to see you. And I should be so proud and glad. As I say, I am all alone. Mr. Critchlow says I am to say there is a deal of money waiting for you. You know he is the trustee. There is the half-share of mother's and also of Aunt Harriet's, and it has been accumulating. By the way, they are getting up a subscription15 for Miss Chetwynd, poor old thing. Her sister is dead, and she is in poverty. I have put myself down for L20. Now, my dear sister, please do write to me at once. You see it is still the old address. I remain, my darling Sophia, with much love, your affectionate sister,
"CONSTANCE POVEY.
"P.S.--I should have written yesterday, but I was not fit. Every time I sat down to write, I cried."
"Of course," said Sophia to Fossette, "she expects me to go to her, instead of her coming to me! And yet who's the busiest?"
But this observation was not serious. It was merely a trifle of affectionate malicious16 embroidery17 that Sophia put on the edge of her deep satisfaction. The very spirit of simple love seemed to emanate18 from the paper on which Constance had written. And this spirit woke suddenly and completely Sophia's love for Constance. Constance! At that moment there was assuredly for Sophia no creature in the world like Constance. Constance personified for her the qualities of the Baines family. Constance's letter was a great letter, a perfect letter, perfect in its artlessness; the natural expression of the Baines character at its best. Not an awkward reference in the whole of it! No clumsy expression of surprise at anything that she, Sophia, had done, or failed to do! No mention of Gerald! Just a sublime19 acceptance of the situation as it was, and the assurance of undiminished love! Tact20? No; it was something finer than tact! Tact was conscious, skilful21. Sophia was certain that the notion of tactfulness had not entered Constance's head. Constance had simply written out of her heart. And that was what made the letter so splendid. Sophia was convinced that no one but a Baines could have written such a letter. She felt that she must rise to the height of that letter, that she too must show her Baines blood. And she went primly22 to her desk, and began to write (on private notepaper) in that imperious large hand of hers that was so different from Constance's. She began a little stiffly, but after a few lines her generous and passionate23 soul was responding freely to the appeal of Constance. She asked that Mr. Critchlow should pay L20 for her to the Miss Chetwynd fund. She spoke24 of her Pension and of Paris, and of her pleasure in Constance's letter. But she said nothing as to Gerald, nor as to the possibility of a visit to the Five Towns. She finished the letter in a blaze of love, and passed from it as from a dream to the sterile25 banality26 of the daily life of the Pension Frensham, feeling that, compared to Constance's affection, nothing else had any worth.
But she would not consider the project of going to Bursley. Never, never would she go to Bursley. If Constance chose to come to Paris and see her, she would be delighted, but she herself would not budge27. The mere4 notion of any change in her existence intimidated28 her. And as for returning to Bursley itself ... no, no!
Nevertheless, at the Pension Frensham, the future could not be as the past. Sophia's health forbade that. She knew that the doctor was right. Every time that she made an effort, she knew intimately and speedily that the doctor was right. Only her will-power was unimpaired; the machinery29 by which will-power is converted into action was mysteriously damaged. She was aware of the fact. But she could not face it yet. Time would have to elapse before she could bring herself to face that fact. She was getting an old woman. She could no longer draw on reserves. Yet she persisted to every one that she was quite recovered, and was abstaining30 from her customary work simply from an excess of prudence31. Certainly her face had recovered. And the Pension, being a machine all of whose parts were in order, continued to run, apparently32, with its usual smoothness. It is true that the excellent chef began to peculate33, but as his cuisine34 did not suffer, the result was not noticeable for a long period. The whole staff and many of the guests knew that Sophia had been indisposed; and they knew no more.
When by hazard Sophia observed a fault in the daily conduct of the house, her first impulse was to go to the root of it and cure it, her second was to leave it alone, or to palliate it by some superficial remedy. Unperceived, and yet vaguely35 suspected by various people, the decline of the Pension Frensham had set in. The tide, having risen to its highest, was receding36, but so little that no one could be sure that it had turned. Every now and then it rushed up again and washed the furthest stone.
Sophia and Constance exchanged several letters. Sophia said repeatedly that she could not leave Paris. At length she roundly asked Constance to come and pay her a visit. She made the suggestion with fear--for the prospect37 of actually seeing her beloved Constance alarmed her--but she could do no less than make it. And in a few days she had a reply to say that Constance would have come, under Cyril's charge, but that her sciatica was suddenly much worse, and she was obliged to lie down every day after dinner to rest her legs. Travelling was impossible for her. The fates were combining against Sophia's decision.
And now Sophia began to ask herself about her duty to Constance. The truth was that she was groping round to find an excuse for reversing her decision. She was afraid to reverse it, yet tempted38. She had the desire to do something which she objected to doing. It was like the desire to throw one's self over a high balcony. It drew her, drew her, and she drew back against it. The Pension was now tedious to her. It bored her even to pretend to be the supervising head of the Pension. Throughout the house discipline had loosened.
She wondered when Mr. Mardon would renew his overtures39 for the transformation40 of her enterprise into a limited company. In spite of herself she would deliberately41 cross his path and give him opportunities to begin on the old theme. He had never before left her in peace for so long a period. No doubt she had, upon his last assault, absolutely convinced him that his efforts had no smallest chance of success, and he had made up his mind to cease them. With a single word she could wind him up again. The merest hint, one day when he was paying his bill, and he would be beseeching42 her. But she could not utter the word.
Then she began to say openly that she did not feel well, that the house was too much for her, and that the doctor had imperatively43 commanded rest. She said this to every one except Mardon. And every one somehow persisted in not saying it to Mardon. The doctor having advised that she should spend more time in the open air, she would take afternoon drives in the Bois with Fossette. It was October. But Mr. Mardon never seemed to hear of those drives.
One morning he met her in the street outside the house.
"I'm sorry to hear you're so unwell," he said confidentially44, after they had discussed the health of Fossette.
"So unwell!" she exclaimed as if resenting the statement. "Who told you I was so unwell?"
"Jacqueline. She told me you often said that what you needed was a complete change. And it seems the doctor says so, too."
"Oh! doctors!" she murmured, without however denying the truth of Jacqueline's assertion. She saw hope in Mr. Mardon's eyes.
"Of course, you know," he said, still more confidentially, "if you SHOULD happen to change your mind, I'm always ready to form a little syndicate to take this"--he waved discreetly45 at the Pension--"off your hands."
She shook her head violently, which was strange, considering that for weeks she had been wishing to hear such words from Mr. Mardon.
"You needn't give it up altogether," he said. "You could retain your hold on it. We'd make you manageress, with a salary and a share in the profits. You'd be mistress just as much as you are now."
"Oh!" said she carelessly. "IF _I_ GAVE IT UP, _I_ SHOULD GIVE IT UP ENTIRELY46. No half measures for me."
With the utterance47 of that sentence, the history of Frensham's as a private understanding was brought to a close. Sophia knew it. Mr. Mardon knew it. Mr. Mardon's heart leapt. He saw in his imagination the formation of the preliminary syndicate, with himself at its head, and then the re-sale by the syndicate to a limited company at a profit. He saw a nice little profit for his own private personal self of a thousand or so--gained in a moment. The plant, his hope, which he had deemed dead, blossomed with miraculous48 suddenness.
"Well," he said. "Give it up entirely, then! Take a holiday for life. You've deserved it, Mrs. Scales."
She shook her head once again.
"Think it over," he said.
"I gave you my answer years ago," she said obstinately49, while fearing lest he should take her at her word.
"Oblige me by thinking it over," he said. "I'll mention it to you again in a few days."
"It will be no use," she said.
He took his leave, waddling50 down the street in his vague clothes, conscious of his fame as Lewis Mardon, the great house-agent of the Champs Elysees, known throughout Europe and America.
In a few days he did mention it again.
"There's only one thing that makes me dream of it even for a moment," said Sophia. "And that is my sister's health."
"Your sister!" he exclaimed. He did not know she had a sister. Never had she spoken of her family.
"Yes. Her letters are beginning to worry me."
"Does she live in Paris?"
"No. In Staffordshire. She has never left home."
And to preserve her pride intact she led Mr. Mardon to think that Constance was in a most serious way, whereas in truth Constance had nothing worse than her sciatica, and even that was somewhat better.
Thus she yielded.
收听单词发音 |
1
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
literally
|
|
| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
tonic
|
|
| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
monotonously
|
|
| adv.单调地，无变化地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
physically
|
|
| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
expenditure
|
|
| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
calligraphy
|
|
| n.书法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
axe
|
|
| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
blessings
|
|
| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
subscription
|
|
| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
malicious
|
|
| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
embroidery
|
|
| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
emanate
|
|
| v.发自，来自，出自 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
tact
|
|
| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
skilful
|
|
| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
primly
|
|
| adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
sterile
|
|
| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
banality
|
|
| n.陈腐；平庸；陈词滥调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
budge
|
|
| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
intimidated
|
|
| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
machinery
|
|
| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
abstaining
|
|
| 戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的现在分词 )； 弃权（不投票） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
prudence
|
|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
peculate
|
|
| vt.挪用公款；盗用；贪污 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
cuisine
|
|
| n.烹调，烹饪法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
receding
|
|
| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
overtures
|
|
| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
transformation
|
|
| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
beseeching
|
|
| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
imperatively
|
|
| adv.命令式地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
confidentially
|
|
| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
discreetly
|
|
| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
miraculous
|
|
| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
obstinately
|
|
| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
waddling
|
|
| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |