章节正文
"I--I was so terribly afraid of seeming to expect YOU."
Wherewith she (and not he) ran away lightly up the stairs,
turning just one glance downward as she reached the landing.
Newhaven was looking up from below with an "enchanted" smile--the
word is Trix's own; I should probably have used a different one.
Was then the curate of Poltons utterly defeated--brought to his
knees, only to be spurned? It seemed so; and he came down to
dinner that night with a subdued and melancholy expression.
Trix, on the other hand, was brilliant and talkative to the last
degree, and the gayety spread from her all around the table,
leaving untouched only the rejected lover and Mrs. Wentworth; for
the last named lady, true to her distinguishing quality, had
begun to talk to poor Jack Ives in low, soothing tones.
After dinner Trix was not visible; but the door of the little
boudoir beyond stood half-open, and very soon Newhaven edged his
way through. Almost at the same moment Jack Ives and Mrs.
Wentworth passed out of the window and began to walk up and down
the gravel. Nobody but myself appeared to notice these
remarkable occurrences, but I watched them with keen interest.
Half an hour passed, and then there smote on my watchful ear the
sound of a low laugh from the boudoir. It was followed almost
immediately by a stranger sound from the gravel walk. Then, all
in a moment, two things happened. The boudoir door opened, and
Trix, followed by Newhaven, came in, smiling; from the window
entered Jack Ives and Mrs. Wentworth. My eyes were on the
curate. He gave one sudden, comprehending glance toward the
other couple; then he took the widow's hand, led her up to Dora,
and said, in low yet penetrating tones.
"Will you wish us joy, Mrs. Polton?"
The squire, Rippleby, and Algy Stanton were round them in an
instant. I kept my place, watching now the face of Trix
Queenborough. She turned first flaming red, then very pale. I
saw her turn to Newhaven and speak one or two urgent, imperative
words to him. Then, drawing herself up to her full height,
she crossed the room to where the group was assembled round Mrs.
Wentworth and Jack Ives.
"What's the matter? What are you saying?" she asked.
Mrs. Wentworth's eyes were modestly cast down, but a smile played
round her mouth. No one spoke for a moment. Then Jack Ives
said:
"Mrs. Wentworth has promised to be my wife, Miss Queenborough."
For a moment, hardly perceptible, Trix hesitated; then, with the
most winning, touching, sweetest smile in the world, she said:
"So you took my advice, and our afternoon walk was not wasted,
after all?"
Mrs. Polton is not used to these fine flights of diplomacy; she
had heard before dinner something of what had actually happened
in the afternoon; and the simple woman positively jumped. Jack
Ives met Trix's scornful eyes full and square.
"Not at all wasted," said he, with a smile. "Not only has
it shown me where my true happiness lies, but it has also given
me a juster idea of the value and sincerity of your regard for
me, Miss Queenborough."
"It is as real, Mr. Ives, as it is sincere," said she.
"It is like yourself, Miss Queenborough," said he, with a little
bow; and he turned from her and began to talk to his fiancee.
Trix Queenborough moved slowly toward where I sat. Newhaven was
watching her from where he stood alone on the other side of the
room.
"And have you no news for us?" I asked in low tones.
"Thank you," she said haughtily; "I don't care that mine should
be a pendent to the great tidings about the little widow and
curate."
After a moment's pause she went on:
"He lost no time, did he? He was wise to secure her before what
happened this afternoon could leak out. Nobody can tell her
now."
"This afternoon?"
"He asked me to marry him this afternoon."
"And you refused?"
"Yes."
"Well, his behavior is in outrageously bad taste, but----"
She laid a hand on my arm, and said in calm, level tones.
"I refused him because I dared not have him; but I told him I
cared for him, and he said he loved me. And I let him kiss me.
Good-night, Mr. Wynne."
I sat still and silent. Newhaven came across to us. Trix put up
her hand and caught him by the sleeve.
"Fred," she said, "my dear, honest old Fred; you love me, don't
you?"
Newhaven, much embarrassed and surprised, looked at me in alarm.
But her hand was in his now, and her eyes imploring him.
"I should rather think I did, my dear," said he.
I really hope that Lord and Lady Newhaven will not be very
unhappy, while Mrs. Ives quite worships her husband, and is
convinced that she eclipsed the brilliant and wealthy Miss
Queenborough.
Perhaps she did--perhaps not.
There are, as I have said, great qualities in the curate of
Poltons, but I have not quite made up my mind precisely what they
are. I ought, however, to say that Dora takes a more favorable
view of him and a less lenient view of Trix than I.
That is perhaps natural. Besides, Dora does not know the precise
manner in which the curate was refused. By the way, he preached
next Sunday on the text, "The children of this world are wiser in
their generation than the children of light."
VI.
WHICH SHALL IT BE?
It was a charmingly mild and balmy day. The sun shone beyond the
orchard, and the shade was cool inside. A light breeze stirred
the boughs of the old apple tree under which the philosopher sat.
None of these things did the philosopher notice, unless it might
be when the wind blew about the leaves of the large volume on his
knees, and he had to find his place again. Then he would exclaim
against the wind, shuffle the leaves till he got the right page,
and settle to his reading. The book was a treatise on ontology;
it was written by another philosopher, a friend of this
philosopher's; it bristled with fallacies, and this philosopher
was discovering them all, and noting them on the fly leaf at the
end. He was not going to review the book (as some might have
thought from his behavior), or even to answer it in a work of his
own. It was just that he found a pleasure in stripping any poor
fallacy naked and crucifying it.
Presently a girl in a white frock came into the orchard. She
picked up an apple, bit it, and found it ripe. Holding it in her
hand she walked up to where the philosopher sat, and looked at
him. He did not stir. She took a bite out of the apple, munched
it, and swallowed it. The philosopher crucified a fallacy on the
fly leaf. The girl flung the apple away.
"Mr. Jerningham," said she, "are you very busy?"
The philosopher, pencil in hand, looked up.
"No, Miss May," said he, "not very."
"Because I want your opinion."
"In one moment," said the philosopher apologetically.
He turned back to the fly leaf and began to nail the last fallacy
a little tighter to the cross. The girl regarded him, first with
amused impatience, then with a vexed frown, finally with a
wistful regret. He was so very old for his age, she thought; he
could not be much beyond thirty; his hair was thick and full of
waves, his eyes bright and clear, his complexion not yet divested
of all youth's relics.
"Now, Miss May, I am at your service," said the philosopher, with
a lingering look at his impaled fallacy. And he closed the book,
keeping it, however, on his knee.
The girl sat down just opposite to him.
"It's a very important thing I want to ask you," she began,
tugging at a tuft of grass, "and it's very--difficult, and you
mustn't tell anyone I asked you; at least, I'd rather you
didn't."
"I shall not speak of it; indeed, I shall probably not remember
it," said the philosopher.
"And you mustn't look at me, please, while I'm asking you."
"I don't think I was looking at you, but if I was I beg your
pardon," said the philosopher apologetically.
She pulled the tuft of grass right out of the ground and flung it
from her with all her force.
"Suppose a man----" she began. "No, that's not right."
"You can take any hypothesis you please," observed the
philosopher, "but you must verify it afterward, of course."
"Oh, do let me go on. Suppose a girl, Mr. Jerningham--I wish you
wouldn't nod."
"It was only to show that I followed you."
"Oh, of course you `follow me,' as you call it. Suppose a girl
had two lovers--you're nodding again--or, I ought to say, suppose
there were two men who might be in love with a girl."
"Only two?" asked the philosopher. "You see, any number of men
MIGHT be in love with----"
"Oh, we can leave the rest out," said Miss May, with a sudden
dimple; "they don't matter."
"Very well," said the philosopher. "If they are irrelevant, we
will put them aside."
"Suppose, then, that one of these men was--oh, AWFULLY in love
with the girl--and--and proposed, you know----"
"A moment!" said the philosopher, opening a notebook. "Let me
take down his proposition. What was it?"
"Why, proposed to her--asked her to marry him," said the girl,
with a stare.
"Dear me! How stupid of me! I forgot that special use of the
word. Yes?"
"The girl likes him pretty well, and her people approve of him
and all that, you know."
"That simplifies the problem," said the philosopher, nodding
again.
"But she's not in--in love with him, you know. She doesn't
REALLY care for him--MUCH. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly. It is a most natural state of mind."
"Well, then, suppose that there's another man--what are you
writing?"
"I only put down (B.)--like that," pleaded the philosopher,
meekly exhibiting his notebook.
She looked at him in a sort of helpless exasperation, with just a
smile somewhere in the background of it.
"Oh, you really are----" she exclaimed. "But let me go on. The
other man is a friend of the girl's; he's very clever--oh,
fearfully clever; and he's rather handsome. You needn't put that
down."
"It is certainly not very material," admitted the philosopher,
and he crossed out "handsome." "Clever" he left.
"And the girl is most awfully--she admires him tremendously; she
thinks him just the greatest man that ever lived, you know. And
she--she----" The girl paused.
"I'm following," said the philosopher, with pencil poised.
"She'd think it better than the whole world if--if she could be
anything to him, you know."
"You mean become his wife?"
"Well, of course I do--at least suppose I do."
"You spoke rather vaguely, you know."
The girl cast one glance at the philosopher as she replied:
"Well, yes. I did mean, become his wife."
"Yes. Well?"
"But," continued the girl, starting on another tuft of grass, "he
Wherewith she (and not he) ran away lightly up the stairs,
turning just one glance downward as she reached the landing.
Newhaven was looking up from below with an "enchanted" smile--the
word is Trix's own; I should probably have used a different one.
Was then the curate of Poltons utterly defeated--brought to his
knees, only to be spurned? It seemed so; and he came down to
dinner that night with a subdued and melancholy expression.
Trix, on the other hand, was brilliant and talkative to the last
degree, and the gayety spread from her all around the table,
leaving untouched only the rejected lover and Mrs. Wentworth; for
the last named lady, true to her distinguishing quality, had
begun to talk to poor Jack Ives in low, soothing tones.
After dinner Trix was not visible; but the door of the little
boudoir beyond stood half-open, and very soon Newhaven edged his
way through. Almost at the same moment Jack Ives and Mrs.
Wentworth passed out of the window and began to walk up and down
the gravel. Nobody but myself appeared to notice these
remarkable occurrences, but I watched them with keen interest.
Half an hour passed, and then there smote on my watchful ear the
sound of a low laugh from the boudoir. It was followed almost
immediately by a stranger sound from the gravel walk. Then, all
in a moment, two things happened. The boudoir door opened, and
Trix, followed by Newhaven, came in, smiling; from the window
entered Jack Ives and Mrs. Wentworth. My eyes were on the
curate. He gave one sudden, comprehending glance toward the
other couple; then he took the widow's hand, led her up to Dora,
and said, in low yet penetrating tones.
"Will you wish us joy, Mrs. Polton?"
The squire, Rippleby, and Algy Stanton were round them in an
instant. I kept my place, watching now the face of Trix
Queenborough. She turned first flaming red, then very pale. I
saw her turn to Newhaven and speak one or two urgent, imperative
words to him. Then, drawing herself up to her full height,
she crossed the room to where the group was assembled round Mrs.
Wentworth and Jack Ives.
"What's the matter? What are you saying?" she asked.
Mrs. Wentworth's eyes were modestly cast down, but a smile played
round her mouth. No one spoke for a moment. Then Jack Ives
said:
"Mrs. Wentworth has promised to be my wife, Miss Queenborough."
For a moment, hardly perceptible, Trix hesitated; then, with the
most winning, touching, sweetest smile in the world, she said:
"So you took my advice, and our afternoon walk was not wasted,
after all?"
Mrs. Polton is not used to these fine flights of diplomacy; she
had heard before dinner something of what had actually happened
in the afternoon; and the simple woman positively jumped. Jack
Ives met Trix's scornful eyes full and square.
"Not at all wasted," said he, with a smile. "Not only has
it shown me where my true happiness lies, but it has also given
me a juster idea of the value and sincerity of your regard for
me, Miss Queenborough."
"It is as real, Mr. Ives, as it is sincere," said she.
"It is like yourself, Miss Queenborough," said he, with a little
bow; and he turned from her and began to talk to his fiancee.
Trix Queenborough moved slowly toward where I sat. Newhaven was
watching her from where he stood alone on the other side of the
room.
"And have you no news for us?" I asked in low tones.
"Thank you," she said haughtily; "I don't care that mine should
be a pendent to the great tidings about the little widow and
curate."
After a moment's pause she went on:
"He lost no time, did he? He was wise to secure her before what
happened this afternoon could leak out. Nobody can tell her
now."
"This afternoon?"
"He asked me to marry him this afternoon."
"And you refused?"
"Yes."
"Well, his behavior is in outrageously bad taste, but----"
She laid a hand on my arm, and said in calm, level tones.
"I refused him because I dared not have him; but I told him I
cared for him, and he said he loved me. And I let him kiss me.
Good-night, Mr. Wynne."
I sat still and silent. Newhaven came across to us. Trix put up
her hand and caught him by the sleeve.
"Fred," she said, "my dear, honest old Fred; you love me, don't
you?"
Newhaven, much embarrassed and surprised, looked at me in alarm.
But her hand was in his now, and her eyes imploring him.
"I should rather think I did, my dear," said he.
I really hope that Lord and Lady Newhaven will not be very
unhappy, while Mrs. Ives quite worships her husband, and is
convinced that she eclipsed the brilliant and wealthy Miss
Queenborough.
Perhaps she did--perhaps not.
There are, as I have said, great qualities in the curate of
Poltons, but I have not quite made up my mind precisely what they
are. I ought, however, to say that Dora takes a more favorable
view of him and a less lenient view of Trix than I.
That is perhaps natural. Besides, Dora does not know the precise
manner in which the curate was refused. By the way, he preached
next Sunday on the text, "The children of this world are wiser in
their generation than the children of light."
VI.
WHICH SHALL IT BE?
It was a charmingly mild and balmy day. The sun shone beyond the
orchard, and the shade was cool inside. A light breeze stirred
the boughs of the old apple tree under which the philosopher sat.
None of these things did the philosopher notice, unless it might
be when the wind blew about the leaves of the large volume on his
knees, and he had to find his place again. Then he would exclaim
against the wind, shuffle the leaves till he got the right page,
and settle to his reading. The book was a treatise on ontology;
it was written by another philosopher, a friend of this
philosopher's; it bristled with fallacies, and this philosopher
was discovering them all, and noting them on the fly leaf at the
end. He was not going to review the book (as some might have
thought from his behavior), or even to answer it in a work of his
own. It was just that he found a pleasure in stripping any poor
fallacy naked and crucifying it.
Presently a girl in a white frock came into the orchard. She
picked up an apple, bit it, and found it ripe. Holding it in her
hand she walked up to where the philosopher sat, and looked at
him. He did not stir. She took a bite out of the apple, munched
it, and swallowed it. The philosopher crucified a fallacy on the
fly leaf. The girl flung the apple away.
"Mr. Jerningham," said she, "are you very busy?"
The philosopher, pencil in hand, looked up.
"No, Miss May," said he, "not very."
"Because I want your opinion."
"In one moment," said the philosopher apologetically.
He turned back to the fly leaf and began to nail the last fallacy
a little tighter to the cross. The girl regarded him, first with
amused impatience, then with a vexed frown, finally with a
wistful regret. He was so very old for his age, she thought; he
could not be much beyond thirty; his hair was thick and full of
waves, his eyes bright and clear, his complexion not yet divested
of all youth's relics.
"Now, Miss May, I am at your service," said the philosopher, with
a lingering look at his impaled fallacy. And he closed the book,
keeping it, however, on his knee.
The girl sat down just opposite to him.
"It's a very important thing I want to ask you," she began,
tugging at a tuft of grass, "and it's very--difficult, and you
mustn't tell anyone I asked you; at least, I'd rather you
didn't."
"I shall not speak of it; indeed, I shall probably not remember
it," said the philosopher.
"And you mustn't look at me, please, while I'm asking you."
"I don't think I was looking at you, but if I was I beg your
pardon," said the philosopher apologetically.
She pulled the tuft of grass right out of the ground and flung it
from her with all her force.
"Suppose a man----" she began. "No, that's not right."
"You can take any hypothesis you please," observed the
philosopher, "but you must verify it afterward, of course."
"Oh, do let me go on. Suppose a girl, Mr. Jerningham--I wish you
wouldn't nod."
"It was only to show that I followed you."
"Oh, of course you `follow me,' as you call it. Suppose a girl
had two lovers--you're nodding again--or, I ought to say, suppose
there were two men who might be in love with a girl."
"Only two?" asked the philosopher. "You see, any number of men
MIGHT be in love with----"
"Oh, we can leave the rest out," said Miss May, with a sudden
dimple; "they don't matter."
"Very well," said the philosopher. "If they are irrelevant, we
will put them aside."
"Suppose, then, that one of these men was--oh, AWFULLY in love
with the girl--and--and proposed, you know----"
"A moment!" said the philosopher, opening a notebook. "Let me
take down his proposition. What was it?"
"Why, proposed to her--asked her to marry him," said the girl,
with a stare.
"Dear me! How stupid of me! I forgot that special use of the
word. Yes?"
"The girl likes him pretty well, and her people approve of him
and all that, you know."
"That simplifies the problem," said the philosopher, nodding
again.
"But she's not in--in love with him, you know. She doesn't
REALLY care for him--MUCH. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly. It is a most natural state of mind."
"Well, then, suppose that there's another man--what are you
writing?"
"I only put down (B.)--like that," pleaded the philosopher,
meekly exhibiting his notebook.
She looked at him in a sort of helpless exasperation, with just a
smile somewhere in the background of it.
"Oh, you really are----" she exclaimed. "But let me go on. The
other man is a friend of the girl's; he's very clever--oh,
fearfully clever; and he's rather handsome. You needn't put that
down."
"It is certainly not very material," admitted the philosopher,
and he crossed out "handsome." "Clever" he left.
"And the girl is most awfully--she admires him tremendously; she
thinks him just the greatest man that ever lived, you know. And
she--she----" The girl paused.
"I'm following," said the philosopher, with pencil poised.
"She'd think it better than the whole world if--if she could be
anything to him, you know."
"You mean become his wife?"
"Well, of course I do--at least suppose I do."
"You spoke rather vaguely, you know."
The girl cast one glance at the philosopher as she replied:
"Well, yes. I did mean, become his wife."
"Yes. Well?"
"But," continued the girl, starting on another tuft of grass, "he
- terribly [´terəbli]
ad.可怕地 (初中英语单词) - lightly [´laitli] ad.轻微地，稍微 (初中英语单词)
- brilliant [´briliənt] a.灿烂的；杰出的 (初中英语单词)
- visible [´vizəbəl] a.可见的；明显的 (初中英语单词)
- squire [skwaiə] n.护卫，侍从；乡绅 (初中英语单词)
- actually [´æktʃuəli] ad.事实上；实际上 (初中英语单词)
- wealthy [´welθi] a.富有的；丰富的 (初中英语单词)
- generation [,dʒenə´reiʃən] n.发生；世代；同龄人 (初中英语单词)
- breeze [bri:z] n.微风；不费力的事 (初中英语单词)
- volume [´vɔlju:m, ´vɑljəm] n.卷；书籍；体积；容量 (初中英语单词)
- reading [´ri:diŋ] n.(阅)读；朗读；读物 (初中英语单词)
- review [ri´vju:] v.&n.复习；回顾；检查 (初中英语单词)
- orchard [´ɔ:tʃəd] n.果园 (初中英语单词)
- opening [´əupəniŋ] n.开放；开端 a.开始的 (初中英语单词)
- stupid [´stju:pid] a.愚蠢的；糊涂的 (初中英语单词)
- approve [ə´pru:v] v.赞成；同意；批准 (初中英语单词)
- helpless [´helpləs] a.无助的，无依靠的 (初中英语单词)
- background [´bækgraund] n.背景；经历；幕后 (初中英语单词)
- downward [´daunwəd] a.下降的，向下的 (高中英语单词)
- melancholy [´melənkəli] n.忧郁 a.忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- gravel [´grævəl] n.砾石 vt.铺砾石 (高中英语单词)
- positively [´pɔzətivli] ad.确实；断然；绝对 (高中英语单词)
- tidings [´taidiŋz] n.消息，音信 (高中英语单词)
- behavior [bi´heiviə] n.举止，行为 (高中英语单词)
- precisely [pri´saisli] ad.精确地；刻板地 (高中英语单词)
- philosopher [fi´lɔsəfə] n.哲学家；思想家；哲人 (高中英语单词)
- complexion [kəm´plekʃən] n.肤色；情况；局面 (高中英语单词)
- awfully [´ɔ:fuli] ad.令人畏惧地 (高中英语单词)
- proposition [,prɔpə´ziʃən] n.提议；主张；陈述 (高中英语单词)
- seeming [´si:miŋ] a.表面上的 n.外观 (英语四级单词)
- watchful [´wɔtʃfəl] a.注意的；戒备的 (英语四级单词)
- flaming [´fleimiŋ] a.熊熊燃烧的；热情的 (英语四级单词)
- urgent [´ə:dʒənt] a.急迫的，紧急的 (英语四级单词)
- drawing [´drɔ:iŋ] n.画图；制图；图样 (英语四级单词)
- winning [´winiŋ] n.&a.胜利(的) (英语四级单词)
- touching [´tʌtʃiŋ] a.动人的 prep.提到 (英语四级单词)
- sincerity [sin´seriti] n.真诚；诚意 (英语四级单词)
- shuffle [´ʃʌf(ə)l] v.洗(牌) n.搅乱 (英语四级单词)
- treatise [´tri:tiz, -tis] n.(专题)论文 (英语四级单词)
- impatience [im´peiʃəns] n.不耐烦，急躁 (英语四级单词)
- verify [´verifai] vt.检验；查对；证明 (英语四级单词)
- notebook [´nəutbuk] n.笔记本 (英语四级单词)
- tremendously [tri´mendəsli] ad.可怕地；极大地 (英语四级单词)
- vaguely [´veigli] ad.含糊地，暖昧地 (英语四级单词)
- untouched [ʌn´tʌtʃt] a.原样的；未触动过的 (英语六级单词)
- modestly [´mɔdistli] ad.谦虚地；有节制地 (英语六级单词)
- perceptible [pə´septəbl] a.看得出的；可理解的 (英语六级单词)
- diplomacy [di´pləuməsi] n.外交；交际手腕 (英语六级单词)
- scornful [´skɔ:nful] a.轻蔑的，藐视的 (英语六级单词)
- haughtily [´hɔ:tili] ad.傲慢地，高傲地 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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