哈维·罗尔夫（Harvey Rolfe）已经足够大了，可以从容地用餐，年轻又健康，可以用他精心挑选的菜肴来调味。你在他身上看到了一个不完美的享乐主义者。他的俱乐部在烹饪方面没有名气；晚餐还算可以接受。但罗尔夫未完成的味觉让这位二流厨师感到很高兴。他对葡萄酒一无所知；他对葡萄酒一无所知。他只要区分波尔多和勃艮第就足够了。但人们却看到他举起酒杯，以鉴赏家的眼光审视着酒液。一切不受影响；因为他意识到自己在精致生活艺术方面的缺点，并且从不夸耀自己的满足。他了解贫穷的滋味，也了解伦敦女房东摆的餐桌。回想起来这些事，就是庆幸自己今天吃饭了。

除了在大都会俱乐部取得了模糊的个人荣誉之外，他没有做任何事情来使自己成为一个著名的人物，并且是否有超过两三个成员真正喜欢他或真正对他感兴趣，这是值得怀疑的。他进入这个圈子要归功于一位老朋友休·卡纳比（Hugh Carnaby），他的社会地位更加明确：休·卡纳比，漫步者，运动员，现在担任阿斯科特·拉克菲尔德夫人的女婿十二个月。通过卡纳比，人们了解了他朋友的历史，因为它与任何人都有关：哈维·罗尔夫开始研究医学，后来厌恶地放弃了它，随后“从商”，并在继承了一项能力后退出了医学领域。 。他们是同一个县的本地人，在格雷斯通语法学校一起学习拉丁语，这个中部小镇因蒸汽公路而错过，因此保留了过去的大部分美丽和宁静。罗尔夫很少谈论自己的事情，但在谈论旅行时，人们听到他提到他的父亲设计了某些外国铁路线。哈维似乎除了享受生活之外没有任何人生目标。显然他读了很多书，卡纳比认为他拥有渊博的历史知识。但他既没有写信，也没有威胁这样做。他在谈论公共事务时显得有些愤世嫉俗。政治使他感到有趣，他的社会观点缺乏一致性，却倾向于懒惰的保守主义。尽管他性格开朗，但他却具有内向甚至不善交际的男人的特征：举止略显笨拙，对陌生人沉默羞涩，在日常谈话中犹豫不决，偶尔直率地断言或反驳，暗示着一种可能的蔑视。他无意。休·卡纳比宣称，真正的罗尔夫只有在喝了一瓶酒后才会显现出来；此外，他还坚称，自从哈维获得了可观的收入以来，他已经有了很大的进步。当罗尔夫五岁和二十岁时，休比他小两岁，他们在长期分离后相遇，并发现彼此无法忍受。十年后，他们的相遇产生了真挚的友谊。罗尔夫已经变得独立，并在十二个月的旅行中尝到了自由的滋味。有一天，这些人在塞得港一艘轮船的甲板上面对面。罗尔夫的外表变化太大，对方很难认出他来。从道德上讲，这种变化同样明显，卡纳比很快就意识到了这一点。到了三十七岁，这个发展过程丝毫没有停止，但其缓慢而微妙的运作却没有被观察到，除非是哈维·罗尔夫本人。

今晚他的客人，在他通常坐的餐厅一个安静的角落里，是一个比他小十岁的男人，名叫莫菲：身材苗条，窄肩，沙色头发，面色苍白，精致，比他更感性。智力;他焦躁不安，活泼，说话声音低沉而急促，不停地说话，时常紧张地大笑，使他低垂的头向后仰去。服装上的差异——罗尔夫穿着晨礼服，莫菲穿着礼服——凸显了年轻人在先天和后天的优雅方面的优势。否则，他们就会表现出性格和微不足道的对比。罗尔夫的下巴剃光了，肤色饱经风霜，有一头浓密的棕色头发。中年的阴影笼罩着他的面庞，这里那里的线条变得柔和起来，透露着过度的气质。此刻，他的态度有些直率的玩笑，这在一定程度上是由于他面前的那瓶酒，还有他脸颊上的红晕。他简短地说了几句话，但带着微笑饶有兴趣地听着客人连续不断的谈话。这篇文章的主题是货币市场，年轻人吹嘘自己对货币市场有一些实际的了解。

“你根本不推测吗？”莫菲问道。

“不应该知道该怎么做，”另一个人在更深的笔记中回答道。

“在我看来，如果一个人满足于适度的利润，这似乎是世界上最简单的事情。作为生意上的事情，我会认真、谨慎地参与其中。我研究过这个东西——就像我以前为了考试而做的那样。在这里，你看，我一下子就赚了五磅——五磅！假设我时不时地这样做，那么麻烦是值得的，你知道的——它会增加。我永远不会失去太多。你看，我应该盈利，这是 Tripcony 的利益。”

“我不太确定这一点。”

'哦，但是它 is！让我解释-'

两人在一年前在特殊的情况下相识。罗尔夫当时在布鲁塞尔，按照他出国时的习惯，住在一家英国人不常光顾的旅馆里。一天晚上，他从剧院回来后，得知一名同国籍的年轻人病得很重，躺在房子顶楼的一个房间里。哈维被同情心所感动，拜访了这个不幸的英国人，听了他的胡言乱语，并扮演了好撒玛利亚人的角色。恢复后，陌生人完全公开了他的立场。在布鲁塞尔度假时，他结识了一群赌徒，在赢了一大笔钱（他宣称是一万法郎）后，不仅输掉了这笔钱，还输掉了其他一切。他拥有的一切，包括他的珠宝。他是故意赌博的；他想要钱，钱，而且看不出有其他方法可以得到它。在康复期的广阔心情中，塞西尔·莫菲没有留下任何未透露的故事细节。他出身高贵，拥有三百英镑的私人收入，由一位远房亲戚的遗产承担。他的职业（律师）多年来无法获得报酬，而且他也没有其他前景。他处境的悲惨之处在于，他极度地爱着那些认为他比乞丐好不了多少的人的女儿。女孩已向他发誓，但未经父母同意，她不会结婚，除非他的收入至少增加三倍，否则这是没有希望的。他对职业的选择是荒谬的，仅仅是由社会舆论决定的。他应该在商业办公室里努力工作，或者从事一些露天的活动。自然地，他又开始考虑赌博，这一次是合法化的大型冒险游戏，他在赌博中像布鲁塞尔的黑腿一样，不可能发家致富。罗尔夫喜欢他的天真烂漫和诗意的气质。这段恋情仍在继续，但莫菲很少提及此事，他经验丰富的朋友认为这是一种年轻时的疾病，会过去并被遗忘。

“我相信，”年轻人立刻说道，“任何一个真正下定决心的人都能在投机中取得一定的成功。看看那些大人物——经纪人和公司发起人等等；我见过他们中的一些人，但他们身上什么也没有——什么也没有！现在，班尼特·弗罗辛汉姆来了。我想你认识他吧？

罗尔夫点点头。

‘嗯，你觉得他怎么样？他不是一个很普通的人吗？他是如何获得这样的职位的？我听说他只是以一种很小的方式开始的——纯属偶然。毫无疑问 he 发现赚钱是如此容易，他对自己的成功感到惊讶。 Tripcony 告诉了我很多关于他的事。哎呀，“不列颠尼亚号”每年给他带来一万五千人；他一定还从事其他许多事情。

“我对这些数字一无所知，”罗尔夫说，“我不应该对 Tripcony 抱有太大的信心；但你可以肯定，弗罗辛汉姆并不是一个普通人。

“啊，好吧，当然有一定的诀窍——然后，经验——”

莫菲倒空了杯子，又重新斟满。现在房间里几乎所有的桌子都被占满了，谈话声为亲密的对话提供了安全感。年轻人脸色通红，眼睛明亮，身体前倾。

“如果我能指望到五百，她就会迈出这一步。”

'确实？'

是的，就这样决定了。你怎么认为？很多人靠更少的钱生活得很好。”

“你想听我认真的意见吗？”

'如果你 能够 严肃点。'

“那么我认为，受过教育但结婚年数不足一千的男人要么是疯子，要么是罪犯。”

波什！我们不会谈论它。

他们站起来，朝吸烟室走去，罗尔夫在经过熟人身边时时不时地点点头。大厅里有人对他说话。

“卡纳比如何看待这件事？”

“什么事情？”

'你不知道吗？他们的房子被抢劫了——被洗劫一空。这是晚报上的。

罗尔夫走进吸烟室，读了关于他朋友不幸遭遇的报道。卡纳比一家在汉密尔顿露台拥有一所房子。昨晚他们不在家的时候，所有那些容易被拿走的值钱的东西都被清扫得一干二净。他们的管家失踪了，而且这个女人故意让仆人从九点到午夜都不在，这一切都没有给这件事留下什么神秘的地方。俱乐部成员们饶有兴趣地谈论着这件事。可以肯定的是，这对卡纳比来说是艰难的，对他的妻子来说则更艰难，因为她失去了无数的珠宝。但这件事做得如此干净利落、完整，一定会让人笑。一两个享受着管家奢华生活的丈夫流露出了他们的不安。一场关于管家一般特征的讨论出现了，并扩展到了家庭管理的广阔主题，而大都会俱乐部并不经常对此进行辩论。罗尔夫从未参与过此类一般性谈话。他抽着烟斗，边听边笑，时不时陷入沉思。塞西尔·莫菲（Cecil Morphew）靠在柔软的椅子上，迅速吸起香烟，指出这个故事的寓意是支持简朴的家庭生活。

半小时后，客人告辞后，罗尔夫穿上大衣，走进寒冷、潮湿的十一月夜晚。他被一位大都会同僚追上——一个头发花白、喉咙干瘪、眼睛凹陷的男人，他用颤抖的手搭在他的手臂上。

“请问，罗尔夫先生，您最近见过弗罗廷汉姆吗？”

“一个月都没有。”

'啊！我想也许——我想知道他对科尔布鲁克的粉碎有什么看法。说实话，我听到过一些令人不快的谣言。你——你应该认为科尔布鲁克事件会对“不列颠尼亚号”产生任何影响吗？

这已经不是这个人第一次向哈维·罗尔夫吐露自己的疑虑和胆怯了；他对班尼特·弗罗辛汉姆影响广泛的事务兴趣不大，但对他来说却很重要，而且似乎把大部分时间都花在征求有关这位金融家稳定性的意见上。

“如果你把钱放在其他类型的证券中，”罗尔夫相当直白地说，“你不是会舒服得多吗？”

“啊，但是，亲爱的先生，百分之十二半——十二半！”我持有原发行的优先股。

“那么恐怕你必须抓住机会了。”

“但是，”另一个人惊慌地说道，“你的意思不是——”

“我什么意思也没有，我什么也不知道。我是最后一个咨询此类事情的人。

罗尔夫突然说了句晚安，向一辆路过的双轮马车招手。他给出的地址是休·卡纳比的地址，位于汉密尔顿露台。

这匹马已经两次在泥泞的十字路口滑倒，在摄政街顶端附近，它完全摔倒，突然停止导致车轮与另一辆双轮马车相撞，而另一辆马车正全速朝同一方向驶过。罗尔夫按照平常的方式下了车，立刻听到另一辆出租车里传来熟悉的声音。他的熟人面色苍白、憔悴、几乎苍白，友善的微笑下隐藏着痛苦或疲倦的眼睛。阿博特是这个人的名字。他原是一所省立学院的讲师，因结婚而辞去职务，从事新闻工作。

“我想和你谈谈，罗尔夫，”他急忙说道，“但我没有时间。”要去尤斯顿——你能陪我几分钟吗？

车辆没有受损；阿博特的司机很快就从人群中钻了出来，两人继续交谈。

“你了解瓦格吗？”记者一脸困惑地问道。

“他几天前晚上来看过我——很晚了。”

哈，他做到了！借钱，不是吗？

'嗯，是。'

'我是这么想的。他也是为了同样的目的来找我的。说他已经在南安普顿找到了位置。当然是撒谎。那家伙失踪了，留下了他的孩子们——把他们留在了哈默史密斯的一家寄宿处。这么残忍的行为怎么样？女房东找到了我妻子的地址，来看望她。我敢说，地址是故意留下的。除了照顾这些可怜的小家伙之外，别无他法。——哦，该死！

'怎么了？'

“神经痛——让我发疯。”牙齿，我想。如果这种情况继续下去，我会把所有人都从我的脑海中夺走。没关系。你觉得赌注怎么样？

“我记得，当我们在盖伊家的时候，他曾经主张将后代国有化。即使在那时，他也可能对此事有一些个人兴趣。

'猎犬！我不知道要不要派警察来追捕他。这对孩子们没有好处。我想，为他的家人打猎是没有用的吧？

“我应该说，不多。”

“好吧，幸运的是我们没有自己的孩子。最糟糕的是，我不喜欢这些可怜的小家伙，我的妻子也不喜欢。我们必须为他们找到一个家。

“我说，阿博特，你必须让我一半。”

'挂它，不！你为什么要支持韦格的孩子？不幸的是，他们是我们的亲戚。但我想告诉你我要去沃特伯里。他看着他的手表。 “十三分钟——我可以吗？当地有一份不错的报纸 自由新闻，并且我有部分所有权的提议。如果可能的话，我会买东西，在乡下住一两年，以恢复健康。不能说我爱伦敦。可能会永远进入乡村新闻业。诅咒这种折磨！

在托特纳姆法院路，罗尔夫向他的朋友告别，出租车继续前行。

十点半，罗尔夫敲响了汉密尔顿露台的门。他从仆人那里得知卡纳比先生在家，并且有人陪伴。在那个被称为图书馆的房间里，有四个男人坐着抽烟。门一打开，大厅里就响起了他们的声音，迎接新来者的到来迎来了热烈的欢迎。

“来吊唁吗？” “休喊道，他大步向前，伸出了他的大手。 “毫无疑问，他们在俱乐部度过了一段美好的时光。他们满意吗？这会让他们发痒吗？

'为什么，当然。这是补偿，我的孩子——你为你朋友的欢乐做出了贡献。

卡纳比是有教养、吃得好的英国人的典范——高大、强壮、灵活，并不难看，有红色的脖子、有力的下巴和敏锐的眼睛。如果他有更多的平静、沉着，再加上稍微理智一点的眉毛，就会使他成为最好的征服者、文明的英国人。他出身于良好的家庭，但继承的遗产很少。他的舌头诉说着长期的统治；他的体格和举止展现了骑手、狩猎者和游牧者的特征。自从休拒绝上大学并获准参加博斯沃思上校在高加索地区的探险队那天起，他就再也没有埋头于书本上。在度过了一个贫困的童年之后，他从熟练的管理工作中受益匪浅，这使他能够希望每年获得大约七百美元的收入。他的哥哥迈尔斯是个好人，为了休和妹妹露丝的利益，他参军了，掐自己。迈尔斯现在是卡纳比少校，活跃在西北边境。路得是沼泽地一位传教士的妻子。气候注定，但精神不屈不挠。奇怪的是，休已经五岁了，三十岁了，却没有做什么特别的事情。也许他的收入可以解释这一点——对于传统目的来说太少了，但足以助长懒惰。因为休甚至没有兑现他成为一名探险家的诺言；他只是在闲逛，主要是为了追赶家禽或四足动物。当他结婚时，他所有的希望都破灭了。一个时尚寡妇的美丽而聪明的女儿，她的收入比卡纳比的多一点点；致力于城市生活，她在城市中闪耀；一个咒语不会轻易被打破的女巫，她的丈夫在她面前高兴地屈从地鞠躬——这样的女人可能会讨好休的骄傲，但很难指望能激发他潜在的能量和能力。今年，他第一次没有去过任何荒野；他的旅程只到达了巴黎、维也纳。在适当的季节，他在某人的松鸡沼泽上打了五十次球，但这项运动并没有让他兴奋。

休·卡纳比和哈维·罗尔夫之间的联盟奇怪而不可思议。然而在很多方面他们都很适合。过去的记忆与此有一点关系，但关系不大。问题的更本质是他们的相似与不同的感觉。十年前，卡纳比倾向于称他的老同学为“无赖”。哈维在休身上只看到了强烈的势利。如今，他们在大多数问题上都令人愉快地相互理解，结果是真诚的相互钦佩。一个人的体力充沛、机灵，另一个人的思想活跃、思想开明、勤奋好学，事实证明，彼此都具有吸引力。尽管方式不同，但两者都非常现代。最近，似乎一个露天的人，检查了他的自然课程，回到了他的冥想中，转向学生，希望在新的道路上得到指导，在不熟悉的障碍中得到建议。对于善于观察的罗尔夫来说，他朋友的立场充满了投机兴趣。随着岁月的流逝，每个人都失去了许多严厉的性格，而内心却逐渐成熟。也许两人都没有意识到，他们以前的关系正在逐渐逆转。但即使在今晚哈维到来时他们之间的笑话中，休·卡纳比也显然不再觉得他的朋友低人一等。

这个房间被称为图书馆，里面有一小箱书籍，涉及旅行和体育方面的书籍。普通的家具还很新，讲述着轻松的环境和家庭的舒适。墙壁周围挂着几幅画和照片，其中夹杂着在追逐中被杀死的动物的毛绒头颅，尤其是长着华丽角的大野山羊的头颅。

“来吧，现在告诉我这一切，”罗尔夫一边说，一边给自己倒了一杯威士忌和水。 “我没看到这个房间里有任何东西消失了。”

“你不这么认为吗？”主人轻蔑地笑道。 “我的银枪手枪在哪里？哪里有把野山羊蹄做成镇纸的？而且”——他提高了声音，发出滑稽绝望的喊叫——“我的支票簿在哪儿？”

'我懂了。'

'我希望 I 做过。它一定打破了抢劫房屋的记录，你不觉得吗？他们永远不会被抓到——我敢跟你打赌，他们不会被抓到。这项工作是几周前就计划好的；那个女人进屋没有其他目的。”

“但是你的妻子对她一无所知吗？”

“对于这样的人，我们能了解些什么呢？我相信，有一些参考资料——和通常的参考资料一样有价值。她一定是个老手了。但我厌倦了这个话题；让我们放弃吧。——你被打断了，霍林斯。那只鸨呢？

一个身材高大、精力充沛的男人似乎从午睡中醒来，继续讲述去年春天在西班牙追踪鸨的故事。卡纳比对这个国家很了解，他饶有兴趣地听着，接着讲述了他自己的回忆。他讲述了一头在内华达山脉被射杀的野猪，它重约四百磅。他还谈到了瓜达尔基维尔河“marismas”上的火烈鸟。日复一日地在黄褐色的水域上划船；在沙岛上用柽柳和蓟生火做饭；在潮湿寒冷的夜晚，睡不着觉，听着青蛙和海鸥的叫声。又是他在卡斯蒂利亚山脉狩猎野山羊时，他打倒了那个好家伙，他的头装饰着他的房间，角只有三十八英寸长。在这些回忆的欢乐中，似乎响起了一种遗憾的调子，仿佛他在谈论那些已经过去、无法挽回的事情，不再适合他了。

在场的一名男子最近去过塞浦路斯，并厌恶地提及此事。罗尔夫也曾访问过该岛，并且对它的记忆更加愉快，他的印象似乎主要是美食。他回忆起塞浦路斯野兔的精致风味、肥美的鹧鸪、康德里亚葡萄酒中美味的贝卡菲科斯。卡纳比开着玩笑，自称鄙视一个除了味道之外对野味一无所知的人。谈话又回到了体育的技术细节，充满了哈维无法理解的术语和短语。讲述“女皇”和“悖论”的壮举，“高音 A”或“高音巢蛞蝓”的致命结果，并吹嘘“6 号左右”。休似乎完全忘记了他的家庭灾难。只有当他的客人起身时，他才重新提起这件事，而且带着轻蔑的不耐烦的神情。但他向罗尔夫做了个手势，请求他留下来，午夜时分，两个朋友单独坐在一起。

“西比尔去了她母亲那儿。”休变了声调说道。 '可怜的女孩勇敢地接受了它。你知道，对于一个女人来说，失去戒指和手镯之类的东西是一件该死的事情——即使是像西比尔这样的女人。她试图一笑置之，但我看得出来——我们必须再次购买，仅此而已。这提醒了我——你对弗罗辛汉姆的真实看法是什么？

哈维笑了。

“当这么多人问这个问题时，就会让人 me 如果我有什么危险的话，我会感到相当不安。

'他们是这样？这让我很震惊。事实是，我们有很多事情处于危险之中。太后对弗罗廷汉姆发誓。我相信她的每一分钱都在“不列颠尼亚”，不管怎样。

“这是一张宽阔的网，”罗尔夫若有所思地说。 “大不列颠贷款、担保、投资和银行有限公司”。非常好的名字，我常常想。

'是的;但是，看这里，你并没有严重怀疑——”

'我的意见毫无价值。我对金融的了解并不比对卡巴拉的了解多。我个人比较喜欢Frothingham，这就是我能说的。

“事实上，我一直在考虑放一些我自己的东西——但我认为我不会这样做。我们要出去过冬。西比尔想要放弃房子，我认为她是对的。对于我们这样的人来说，为房子和大量仆人而担心简直是愚蠢的。我们都不适合做那种事。西比尔讨厌做家务。好吧，你不能指望像她这样的女人能管理一群偷窃、撒谎、懒惰的仆人。你看，管家的想法并没有取得明显的成功，除了酒店或寄宿处之外，没有什么可以实现的。

“如果你还记得的话，”罗尔夫说，“我一年前就暗示过类似的事情。”

'是的;但是——嗯，你知道，当人们结婚时，他们通常会寻求某种自然的结果。如果我们没有孩子，那就没问题了。”

罗尔夫沉思了一会儿。

“你还记得那个叫瓦格的家伙吗——就是你在雅培店遇到的那个人？他的妻子一年前去世了，现在他已经逃走了，把两个孩子留在了寄宿屋里。

“真是个该死的恶棍！”休喊道，语气中带着真诚的愤慨。

'嗯，是;但有话要对他说。这是对家庭束缚的自然反抗。当然，既然如此，麻烦和费用就得由别人来承担。但这只是我们的野蛮状态。一个有两个孩子、没有收入的鳏夫——想象一下这个处境吧。当然，他应该能够以某种合法的方式——国家机构——任何你喜欢的、符合理性的方式摆脱它们。

“我不知道这是否有效。”

'总有一天会的。人们对孩子谈论如此多愁善感的废话。我希望父母在他们十岁或十二岁之前对他们一无所知。它们是负担、障碍、忧虑和痛苦的永恒根源。大多数妻子都是为了下一代而牺牲的——这是一种令人发指的荒谬。人们为婴儿的死亡而哭泣；我看不出有什么可悲伤的。如果一个孩子死了，为什么，概率是多少 应该 去死;如果它活着，它就活着，你就会得到适者生存。我们不想让这个世界充满人，他们中的大多数都摇摇晃晃、气喘吁吁；让我们保持健康，有喘息的空间。”

'我相信 这，”卡纳比说。

‘那你就走吧。去哪儿？'

“这就是重点，”休回答道，不安地移动着。 “你看，和西比尔——。我建议达沃斯。那里有她认识的一些人——那些喜欢平底雪橇的女孩，她们玩得很开心。但西比尔害怕寒冷。我无法让她相信，这与我们在伦敦的严冬中所忍受的一切无关。她讨厌冰雪和山脉。非常遗憾；这对她有无穷的好处。我想我们必须去里维埃拉。

他耸了耸肩，一时间沉默了。

“顺便说一句，”他继续说道，“我收到了迈尔斯的一封信，你想看看。”

他从桌上的一堆信中挑选了一封写在两张薄纸上的信，递给了罗尔夫。文笔豪放，风格刚健，事情新鲜有趣。卡纳比少校的表情毫无优雅可言。但更引人入胜的是他对山地战争的简短叙述，每一笔都宣告了它的真实性。

'不错的人！'罗尔夫读完后喊道。 “好家伙！”

'不是吗！他看到了生活。

“这就是你应该去的地方，我的孩子，”罗尔夫一边抽烟一边说道。

'我敢说。想了也没用。为时已晚。'

“如果我有一个儿子，”哈维继续说道，对这个假设微笑着，“我想我会让他成为一名战士，或者尝试这样做。”无论如何，他应该出去某个地方，以某种方式敲响英国的大鼓。我相信这是我们唯一的希望。我们在家里腐烂——我们中的一些人陷入了野蛮状态，一些人则过度精致地溺爱自己。当我们知道英国刚刚开始她的大战——这场将使所有历史黯然失色的战斗时，宣扬和平与文明又有什么用呢！我们必须引领世界；这是我们的命运；我们必须打破常规来做到这一点。这就是人类动物的本性，并且将在未来的岁月里继续存在。”

卡纳比点头同意。

“如果我们都像你哥哥那样就好了，”罗尔夫继续说道。 “我很高兴他在印度作战，而不是在非洲。我不能爱那个海盗般的店主，那个拿着步枪的威士忌酿酒师——呃！”

'我讨厌那样的事情。黄金采集者和钻石推销员！但这是前进的一部分。我们必须有钱，你知道。

说话的人额头皱了起来，动作再次不安。罗尔夫用沉思的神情看着他。

“你今晚在这里看到的那个人，”卡纳比继续说道，“那个又矮又粗的家伙——他的名字叫丹多——他刚从昆士兰回来。我不太清楚他在做什么，但他显然对地雷很了解。他说他发明了一种从矿石中提取黄金的新工艺——我对此一无所知。他说，在采矿的早期，无数有价值的东西被遗弃，因为他们无法熔炼它们。关于黄铁矿的一些事情——我对旧化学课有一些模糊的记忆。丹多希望在北昆士兰州的某个地方开始他的新工艺的冶炼工作。

“我敢说，还想要钱。”听者眨着眼睛说道。

'我想是这样。一周前，卡尔顿第一次带他来这里。 可能 值得思考，你知道。

'我没有意见。我对一切的无知使我永远处于怀疑的状态。我敢说，它有它的优点。

“罗尔夫，你在财务方面非常保守。”

'非常。'

'非常正确，毫无疑问。你能在尼斯或者类似的地方加入我们吗？

'为什么，我宁愿坚持我的书本。但如果雾气很严重的话——”

“你会认真地建议我们放弃房子吗？”

“我亲爱的朋友，你怎么能犹豫呢？你妻子说得很对；对于英国家庭的平凡生活，没有什么好词可以形容的。逃离它！在任何地方、以任何方式生活，但不要在英国呆着房子。无论我走到哪里，都会听到同样的呼声：家庭生活已经结束了。没有仆人可供使用——除非你是公爵并在你自己的庄园里饲养它们。所有普通的管家都受到拖尾、读中篇小说的女性民主的肮脏和无礼的摆布。不久之后，我们将训练一支由男仆组成的军队，并把女人送去见魔鬼。

“奇怪的是，罗尔夫，”他的朋友笑着插话道。 “我最近注意到了，你开始成为一个普通的讨厌女人的人了。”

'一点也没有。我讨厌肮脏、撒谎、无能的生物，仅此而已，无论男人还是女人。毫无疑问，它们在衬裙中更常见。

“最近去过弗罗廷汉姆一家吗？”

'不。'

“我以前以为你经常在那儿。”

罗尔夫咕哝了一声，然后保持沉默。

“在我看来，”另一个人继续说道，“阿尔玛最好的一点就是她欣赏我的妻子。她确实非常钦佩西比尔；我确信这不是假的。我并不假装对女性了解甚多，但我认为这种事情并不常见——她们之间真正的友谊和钦佩。无论如何，人们总是这么说。

“我再次寻求庇护，”罗尔夫说，“我深不可测的无知。”

他从椅子上站起来，又在桌角坐下。卡纳比站起来，双臂举过头顶，猛烈地打着哈欠，表情是一种难以忍受的倦怠。

“我们所有人都出了问题——这是唯一可以肯定的一件事。”

“一方面是懒惰，”罗尔夫说。

'是的。而且我已经太老了，什么都做不了。我为什么不跟随迈尔斯入伍？我想我比其他任何事情都更适合这个。我经常觉得我应该去南非，发起一场属于我自己的小战争。

罗尔夫大笑起来。

“这主意不错，毫无疑问，这是世界上最简单的事情。”

“狩猎黑鬼；一场精彩的大型比赛。

“在南非要做的事情远不止这些，”哈维说。 “有一天，我在斯坦福大学窗户上看一张地图，这让我很有趣。谁相信英格兰会对这里那里的一些小事感到满意呢？当然，我们必须全部吞下。我们将继续战斗和吞并，直到——直到大英帝国的衰落和崩溃。那还没有开始。我们中的一些人过于文明，以致于其他人表现出健康的野蛮行为。我们将在二十世纪像火焰一样战斗。这是唯一让英国人保持健康的东西；商业主义是他们的诅咒。令人高兴的是，他们一胖起来就会踢腿，有人的小腿就会受到影响；然后他们会击退多余的肉。战争是英格兰的班廷。

“你最好不要这样对西比尔说话。”

“为什么，坦白说，老兄，我认为这是你的错误。但你会正确地告诉我，管好我自己的事。”

'废话。你到底是什么意思？你认为我应该——”

休犹豫着，神情有些不安。

“那么，”他的朋友小心翼翼地追问，“你认为压抑你的本能是正确的吗？如果她稍微接受你的观点，难道不会给她的生活带来新的兴趣吗？

“奇怪的是，我们多么不同，不是吗？”卡纳比说，他的语气突然变得和蔼可亲、天真无邪。 '但是，你知道；我们相处得很好。

'为了确定。然而，当你想去喜马拉雅山时，你就会在里维埃拉生锈。暂时放弃书本和音乐，呼吸新鲜空气，对你的妻子不是有好处吗？

“我怀疑她是否足够坚强。”

'这会让她变得更坚强。这是一个好机会。如果你放弃家政（和管家），为什么不彻底改变你的生活呢？去澳大利亚看看吧。

“西比尔讨厌大海。”

“她很快就会克服这个问题。说真的，你应该考虑一下。

卡纳比抿紧嘴唇，低下了头。

'你说得很对。但-'

“有点勇气，老伙计。”

“我会看看能做些什么。还有一杯威士忌吗？

他们走进大厅，昏暗的灯光透过彩色玻璃照亮了一座赤土雕像、一些巨大的雕刻、巨大的麋鹿鹿角以及雕花橡木家具。

“一种奇怪的空虚感，”卡纳比压低声音说道。 “我感觉他们好像把一切都拿走了，只剩下光秃秃的墙壁。西比尔不能留在这个地方。我要吹口哨叫出租车吗？天哪！这提醒我，哨声已经消失；它恰好是银色的。那个傻瓜本森送给他的结婚礼物，他在三周后的一次障碍赛中摔断了脖子。哈维笑了，走进了水雾之中。

一辆出租车在露台上端爬行，很快把他送回了家。当教堂的钟敲响时，他拿着门锁钥匙进来了。

那是一座大房子，距离皇家橡树车站只有几分钟的步行路程。哈维划了一根火柴，点燃了大厅桌子上的一根蜡烛（表明他是今晚最后一个进来的人），然后挂上门链，转动了钥匙，然后悄悄地上楼了。他的房间在一楼。五年的租约，以及长期的缺席，使他能够将这个毫无特色的郊区的利基视为他的家。当他打开门时，一股熟悉的书香和烟草味迎面而来。篝火的余烬使空气保持温暖，散发着宜人的光芒。几乎遮住墙壁的书架上，放着一系列相当可观的书籍，最底层主要是二手书商在受邀购买时通常称之为“墓碑”的东西，也就是说，旧的对开本，没有什么伟大的。市场价值，尽管制造它们需要聪明的头脑和无限的劳动力。一张大桌子占据了地板的中央，桌子的一端放着一个托盘，上面放着玻璃杯和一个水瓶。靠近壁炉的是一张小写字台。几乎没有空间可以容纳照片；但壁炉架上方挂着一幅精美的水彩画，画的是底格里斯河的洪水和巴格达的屋顶在金色的夕阳下燃烧。哈维不久前在蓓尔美尔的画廊买了它；这是一个他一无所知的人的作品；它代表了他自己旅行的最远点，并深刻地触动了他模糊的历史诗意情感。

桌子上放着三封信。他一点燃灯，把靴子换成拖鞋，看了一眼信封，选了一个写着女人手写地址的信封。作者是班尼特·弗罗辛厄姆夫人。

“我们刚刚从卡纳比夫人那里听说你回到了城里。 莫非 明天晚上你放过我们吗？你真是太好了。四重奏将演奏贝多芬的F小调，阿尔玛说会做得很好——这孩子的自负！我们希望有一些有趣的人 可怜的卡纳比夫人的事情真是令人震惊！我从来不知道任何事 相当 太糟糕了。——我们共同致以诚挚的问候。

哈维撇了撇嘴，表情暧昧，把床单扔到一边。他若有所思地打开下一封信。事实证明，这内容令人震惊：几行随意潦草的文字，没有注明日期，也没有签名。瞥一眼邮戳就发现了“利物浦”。

“孩子们在我最后的地址——你知道的。我不能为他们做更多的事了。如果破旧的阿伯特一家拒绝——我敢说他们会的——那么让他们远离济贫院也不会有什么坏处。但这是一个残酷的世界，他们必须抓住机会。”

哈维看了一眼，皱了皱眉，然后用喧闹的笑声唤醒了回声。已经很久没有任何书面文章如此令人难以抗拒地激发他的幽默感了。好吧，他必须让阿伯特知道这件事。也许，如果他明天去拜访阿博特夫人，消除她心中可能存在的任何疑虑。赌注同伙是他的老熟人，他在这件事上无法摆脱一种遥远的责任感；不过，令人高兴的是，瓦格与阿博特夫人的表弟的会面并导致了婚姻和痛苦，这完全是独立于他而发生的。

他打开最后一封信时并没有好奇，但带着平静的兴趣和愉悦。它的年代是来自格雷斯通；作家巴兹尔·莫顿在他最早的记忆中占有一席之地，因为作为邻居的孩子，早在他和休·卡纳比结盟的文法学校之前，他们就在一起玩耍。

“据我所知，”莫顿开始说道，“此刻你可能正在幼发拉底河上漂流，或者在亚历山大·埃斯查特遗址上沉思。是你欠我一个交代；尽管如此，我还是被提示写信，只是为了告诉你我刚刚得到了整套拜占庭历史学家。目录吸引了我，我确实买了。

以此类推，直到谈到更近的事情时，他的风格变得更加简单。

“我们的大男孩开始让我陷入困境。正如我告诉过你的，他是在最正统的英国圣公会的教育下长大的。他的母亲——最好的母亲和最好的妻子，但在这方面是返祖的——已经放开了手，我不明白事情会怎样。但现在这个小伙子开始问一些尴尬的问题，把我逼到了墙角。这个年轻的流氓是一位充满活力的辩证学家和理性主义者——这种训练的奇怪结果。我该如何行事成为一个严肃的问题。我不忍心让他母亲心疼，但我怎么能告诉他我确实相信那些古怪的古老寓言呢？ 解决方案当然，就像其他事情一样，但现在我有点担心。一般来说，我可以看到一个相当清晰的职责范围；在这里，职责是分开的，而且是严重的。你有什么建议吗？

哈维·罗尔夫不耐烦地咕哝道。所有的家庭事务都在考验着他的神经。在他看来，与一个在生命根源问题上截然不同的女人结婚是一种莫名其妙的愚蠢行为。而对于孩子，他根本无法思考，他们使社会问题变得更加复杂，违背了常识。他不喜欢孩子；在大多数情况下，他们会逃避他们的视线和声音，而当不可能时，他们就会带着忧虑、焦虑、疲倦、毫无兴趣地看着他们。巴兹尔·莫顿陷入了困惑之中，似乎除了他的应得之外一无所有。 “最好的母亲和妻子”，确实如此！毫无疑问，她是一位优秀的管家，但是在1886年的这一年，做妻子和做母亲的资格还有什么影子呢？整个问题对于一个理性的人来说是令人厌恶的——尤其是对于班上那个名叫哈维·罗尔夫的充满活力的榜样。

虽然已经很晚了，他却没有心思去睡觉。今天早上，他从伦敦图书馆带了一批书回家，满怀期待地开始翻阅它们。最近，哈维常常沾沾自喜，因为他对知识的热情不断增长，同时他的低级欲望也明显下降，长期以来，他一直受到折磨和阻碍。他现在的年龄是七岁和三十岁。四十岁的时候，他可能希望将与精神平静相冲突的本能彻底踩在脚下。他看到了多年的愉快的友谊、令人振奋的旅行和精心指导的勤奋。让性和社会问题悬而未决吧！他找到了更好的方法。

回顾他的一生，这似乎是多么不可能，这种幸福的结果源于粗鲁、动荡、缺乏目标、软弱、不真诚、无知。首先，也是最重要的，他必须感谢格雷斯通的好心老哈维医生。然后，他的妹妹在她喜爱的古老钟声下睡在坟墓里；然后，当然是他自己，他内心那颗善良的种子，在所有不利影响下幸存下来——当然，受到他无意识的自我的注视，长期守护，现在又刻意培育。或许他对自己的看法不太好。

他的图书馆虽然大部分是晚年购买的，但里面的书籍却让他想起了自己人生的每个时期。那边最上面的架子上有两本属于他父亲的乐谱，当他和他的妹妹进行指定的划分时，这部分就落到了他的手里：过时的科学论文、一本旧杂志、旧的旅行书籍。奇怪的是，在他愚蠢的时候，他并没有把这些当成沉重的垃圾来卖。他现在非常高兴，因为对过去的事物的热爱和尊敬开始占据他的心。在那里，在同样的高度，放着一排教科书，是他姐姐一直保存到她去世为止的。旁边是医学著作，以及他既不是男孩也不是成人时失败的研究的遗物。向下，目光落在黄色和绿色的封面上，里面有几十本法国小说，从他成年那一年到前几天，他随时都可以买到这些小说。总的来说，他们让他想起了一个泡沫时期，当时他吹嘘着廉价的高卢语，并对所有英国事物嗤之以鼻。零星的文学占了十年甚至更久的时间，他几乎不关心收集书籍，当他的感官在他体内肆虐时，奇迹般地没有把他扔下许多陡峭的地方。最后是重要的收购，他的图书馆的大部分：坚实而昂贵的作品——历史学家、考古学家、旅行家的作品，其中有大量精美的版画，还有笨重的古代传说大部头。罗尔夫对这一切还没有完全消化，但他越来越喜欢拥有触手可及的博学多才。他开始缺乏足够的空间来存放漂亮的物品。一个大书架已经闯入了他的卧室。如果他继续购买，他必须给自己提供更充足的住房；但一想到要搬走，他就感到害怕。

他知道得足够多，并且可以在宿舍里度过余生。他的经历始于他还是个小伙子时，来到盖伊医院，当时伦敦的所有住所都闪烁着自由的光辉。当他掌握了自己的小遗产后，他向狗扔药，过着逍遥自在的绅士生活，这需要更大的范围。在那些日子里，他逐渐熟悉了多种“公寓”和其中的游牧居民。在浪费了自己的财产后，他在一家移民代理办公室找到了庇护所，在那里，他慢慢地证明了自己每年能赚到几百英镑。当人们向休·卡纳比询问他朋友的历史时，他含糊地提到了这件事。

如果哈维具有商业精神，他在这个办公室的职位可能会更有利可图。他名义上是一名职员，从一开始就承担了各种只有具有特殊能力的人才能完成的职责。例如，他的雇主向考虑移民的公众发行的诱人小册子和大报的文学修订。他现在创作的这些广告，从效果来看，做得非常好。这样的工作在多大程度上值得一个诚实的人去做，这是另一个问题，多年来这个问题几乎没有困扰过他的良心。不久之后，他微薄的医学造诣就被发现有用武之地。他的职责之一是回答那些来办公室询问有关这个或那个新国家的气候特征以及他们作为殖民者外出的身体状况的信息。当然，人们要求他表现出一种彻底的不择手段，而他常常证明自己能够应对这种情况。但随着时间的推移，大脑和性格的发展缓慢，他发现这些个人访谈一点也不令人愉快。他不断地看到人类的苦难和失败的景象，时不时地以如此可怕的形式出现，以至于他的心沉了下去，他的舌头拒绝撒谎。当厌恶让他考虑寻找更体面的工作的可能性时，明显的困难却阻止了他。

他担任这个职位近十年了，最后生活得如此节俭，以至于他的两百英镑似乎是一笔可观的收入。这使他能够在大陆旅行中度过每年的一个月假期，这与他开始谋生之前在法国或比利时逃学的意义截然不同。两次死亡（两次死亡之间相隔一年）使他离开了办公室。他没有考虑到这些事件及其后果。独立对他来说是一个巨大的惊喜，在自我认识的道路上，他还有很长的路要走，直到他向后的目光中清楚地认识到独立的意义和许多其他转折点。

为了寻找舒适的住所，他在贝斯沃特发现了这些房间。他们要出租家具，房子里住着一个寡妇，她不完全是普通类型的女房东，她只招待单身汉，而且相当认真地履行自己的义务。六个月后，在哈维不在国外期间，这个女人去世了，当他回来时，房子里的家具已经被抢走了。有一瞬间，他想拥有一栋属于自己的房子，但从这次危险的实验中，他被一个暗示拯救了：如果他愿意为自己提供家具和服务，新来的房客就会让他占用他原来的住所。哈维抓住了这个提议。他的房东是一位名叫邦库姆（Buncombe）的男子，是一名桁架制造商，有两个孩子，似乎没有妻子。邦库姆将最顶层的楼层分配给了他自己的亲戚——一位中年妇女，汉多佛夫人，她有一个体弱多病的成年儿子，儿子参与了桁架生意。几个星期以来，罗尔夫一直由一名女佣侍候，他付给女佣的钱非常多，但她的肮脏和不舒服却让罗尔夫感到很不舒服。然后，那个不满意的人病了，哈维在咒骂他的困难的同时，对汉多弗夫人的来访感到惊讶，汉多弗夫人提出了一个意想不到的建议——罗尔夫先生是否会接受她的服务，而不是女佣的服务，无论他得到什么，都要付给她钱习惯给予？这个提议让他吃了一惊。汉多弗太太似乎与他的生活水平相当。一想到要吩咐她擦地板、洗盘子，他就感到震惊。事实上，他已经开始意识到，对于一个年收入九百多的人来说，他的生活毫无必要地不舒服。在他考虑删除的回复后，汉多弗夫人陷入了深深的抑郁之中，并开始透露她的历史。她很早就嫁给了一个地位比她低得多的男人，这是自然的结果。经过几年的争吵，最终导致丈夫的个人暴力，她获得了司法分居。这个男人已经很长一段时间不再给她寄钱了，他确实成了一个流浪的乞丐，从他那里什么也得不到。她依靠她的儿子和善良的邦库姆，邦库姆不收房租。如果她能通过工作赚一点钱，她会更高兴，她怀着颤抖的希望采取了向家里的邻居呼吁的这一步。

哈维无法抗拒这些陈述。当新的安排实施一周左右后，哈维开始反思汉多弗夫人的个人叙述，并在某些方面修改了他最初对此的冲动判断。在他看来，汉多弗先生目前的流浪乞丐状况并非不可能，这可能是由于他与一个从未学会过家庭责任的女人的婚姻所致。汉多弗夫人本意十足，但却是最无能的家庭主妇。然而，哈维·罗尔夫是如此的温柔，他的道德怯懦如此强烈，以至于他年复一年地忍受着汉多弗太太的缺点，微笑着付给她两个一流仆人的工资。他身上积满了厚厚的灰尘。他已经习惯了这种行为，就像习惯了许多其他形式的放荡一样。毕竟，他拥有一个可以安静学习的地方，还有一个还算可以的睡觉的地方，好处是，当他选择闲逛时，可以将信件转发给他。可以肯定的是，这还不是最终的结果。人不愿意在这样的环境中变老、死去；迟早，环境会促成理想的改变。在哈维职业生涯的这个阶段，环境是他的上帝。他以一种智慧、成熟的哲学态度等待着它的指引。

关于他的房东邦库姆，他逐渐了解了他想知道的一切。邦科姆变得更加保密的时刻到来了，他也有一段婚姻史需要披露。贫穷与其中无关。他的生意蒸蒸日上，邦科姆夫人在五年的同居过程中，对自己的命运没有任何抱怨。突然——邦库姆断言——这位女士开始谈论迟钝。她闷闷不乐地度过了几个月，然后突然离家出走，一两天后就写信宣布她已在一家音乐厅担任酒吧女招待。邦库姆说，随后夫妻俩进行了一次面谈，结果他们分手了最好的朋友，但双方达成一项谅解，邦库姆夫人应该可以自由地走自己的路，并获得适度的零用钱来补充生活所需。她可以赚钱。那是五年前。邦库姆夫人现在在二流歌厅唱歌，并享有一定的知名度，在她看来，这充分证明了她所声称的独立性。她才三十岁，相貌还算不错，充满了生活的享受。她的孩子们原本由邦库姆抚养的母亲照顾，现在则由家里的两个仆人照顾，邦库姆在这方面似乎没有什么良心上的麻烦。在哈维·罗尔夫看来，这对兄妹显然是作为邪恶的小野蛮人长大的，但他不允许自己对这个问题发表评论。

经过几次交谈，他了解到了邦库姆购买一栋比他需要的大得多的房子的动机。这种富丽堂皇的目的是为了吸引这位漫游的妻子，很明显，邦库姆希望并希望不久之后就能欢迎她回来。她偶尔会去那所房子，尽管只待一两个小时。邦科姆说，只是为了表明没有任何不愉快的感觉。显然，他什么也没有。一个随和、头脑简单的小伙子，四十岁左右，脾气好，孩子气，没有什么可说的，他似乎从来没有怀疑过妻子的诚实，无论如何，至少可能会同意。说服，让过去的事情过去。他相当自豪地谈到邦科姆夫人的艺术成就。

“罗尔夫先生，你知道，不是每个女人都能做到这一点。”

“事实并非如此，”哈维表示同意。

只有小家庭使用的那些房间才配备家具，总共有五六间。两三个空着，天气不好时就充当孩子们的游乐场。邦库姆从未谈及他身居高层的亲戚。他要么不知道，要么冷漠地看待汉多弗夫人以卑微的身份为他的房客服务的事实。大约每个月他都会邀请三四个男性朋友来吃一顿套餐，欢闹声一直持续到午夜过后很久。总而言之，这是一个奇怪的家庭，当哈维在附近的街道上走来走去时，他常常想知道，在这些令人尊敬的房屋正面毫无意义的统一背后，可能隐藏着什么更引人注目的反常现象。作为房客，他很乐意住在这里。但有时，他凭着一种怪异的想象力，想象自己是一个已婚男人，与妻子和孩子一起被囚禁在这些沉闷、荒凉的砖砌建筑中，一种巨大的恐惧降临在他身上。

不。在他的一生中，他经历了无数的愚蠢，但由于婚姻阻碍了自己的极端愚蠢，仁慈的命运保护了他。这可能是他一生中最引人注目的事实。这增强了他的自尊，似乎让他确信如此保护性的命运会在他生命的最后时刻平静而满足。

想到这里，他躺下休息。半小时以来，巴兹尔·莫顿的信占据了他的思绪：他试图思考其中提出的问题，不让他的朋友完全没有得到答复；但他的朋友却没有得到任何答复。但疲倦感占了上风，随之而来的是旧有的沾沾自喜的情绪。

第二天早上，天气晴朗；也就是说，无需人造光就可以阅读，也不会下雨，屋顶上方远处出现一道蓝色的微光，时不时地射出淡黄色。哈维决定去拜访阿伯特夫人。她住在基尔伯恩，他在十二点前不久开车去了那里。他被安排进一间非常舒适的房间，女主人坐在篝火旁读书，周围是书籍和图画。不管出于什么原因，他觉得他的欢迎不够热情，他赶紧为自己这么早闯进来道歉。

“昨晚我收到一封信，我想你最好立即知道这封信。”

”来自那个人——先生。赌注？'艾伯特夫人满怀希望地快速说道，她的脸色变得明亮起来。

'是的。但其中并没有什么令人满意的地方。他从利物浦写信，只是说孩子们在他的住处，他无法为他们做更多的事情。

艾伯特夫人的嘴唇表情几乎是阴沉的。罗尔夫从未见过她这样的表情，但这证实了他对她的怀疑。为什么，他几乎不知道——因为她总是表现出和蔼可亲的表情，并且用温柔、女性化的语气说话——对艾伯特家庭幸福的怀疑萦绕在他的脑海里。也许他现在第一次看到她，就像她在丈夫眼中通常出现的那样——有点脾气暴躁，不愿意被打扰，当事情进展不顺利时就会不耐烦。

“你昨天看到我丈夫了吗？”这是她的下一句话，语气不太客气。

“昨晚我们在街上见面——在我收到韦格的信之前。他患有严重的神经痛。

哈维忍不住补充了这个细节，但他软化了声音并微笑着。

“我对此并不奇怪，”那位女士回答道。 “他不照顾自己。”

哈维环视了一下房间。它的家具可以说是豪华的，而且整个房子都具有同样的舒适标准。考虑到罗尔夫所知，埃德加·阿博特的婚姻收入微薄，而且他坚持不懈地辛勤工作养家糊口，但他很少能享受一个小时的闲暇，似乎不难解释他对自己健康的忽视。来访者突然意识到，艾伯特夫人可能考虑到了这些因素，并且更加同情地谈论了这个好人。事实上，哈维不太喜欢阿博特夫人。她的年龄大约是七岁和二十岁。她出身贫苦，曾是一名高中老师。据说非常聪明而且成功，哈维对此深信不疑。她五官端正，不乏甜美；然而，除非观察者弄错了，过去一两年已经强调了某种有意识的优越感，这可能源于教室。她有一个孩子；它在病弱的生活中挣扎了几个月，并在母亲缺席花园聚会时死于抽搐。从表面上看，她因失去亲人而感到悲伤，这代表着最温柔的感情。半年后，当她再次来到世上时，发生了变化。她的性格似乎焕发了新的活力，表现出更广泛的兴趣，从幕后走出来，成为熟人小圈子中的领导者。

“你读过这个吗？”女主人突然问道，递给他一本法语书，里博特的 心理学遗传.

'不。我对这种事不太感兴趣。

'的确！我找到了 强烈 有趣的。'

哈维站了起来；他没心情闲聊。但他一离开椅子，阿博特夫人就把书扔到一边，用另一种语气严肃地说，尽管仍然带着明显的恼怒口音。

“当然，那个人的孩子在这里，我想我们有责任照顾他们，直到做出其他安排。但我认为我们应该将此事交给警方处理。是吗，罗尔夫先生？

“恐怕让他们的父亲支持他们的机会很小。”他现在肯定已经离开英格兰了，不会轻易被抓到。”

“最糟糕的是，他们绝不是 不错 孩子们。对于这样的父亲，人们还能指望什么呢？自从他们可怜的母亲去世后，他们就落入了可怕的人手中——毫无疑问是下层女房东；他们的谈话让我震惊。他们最后的乐趣就是被人带去杜莎夫人蜡像馆，现在他们只能谈论“被追捕的凶手”——你知道，人们在墙上看到它；他们扮演杀人犯和警察，一个试图逃脱另一个。对于五岁和七岁的孩子来说，这是很有趣的游戏，不是吗？

罗尔夫做了个厌恶的手势。

“我知道那些可怜的东西是无法控制的，”阿博特夫人带着柔和的心情继续说道，“但这让我开始反对他们。”由于很少见到父亲，他们甚至开始用粗俗的发音说话，就像街上的孩子一样。太可怕了！当我想起我的表妹时——她是一个多么可爱、多么善良的女孩， 这些 她的孩子们——哦，太可怕了！

“他们还很年轻，”哈维低声说道，不由自主地感到不安。 “经过良好的训练——”

“是的，我们当然必须把它们交给可靠的人照顾。”

显然，阿博特夫人从来没有想到过，这样的任务，即使是暂时的，也可以由她自己来承担。她唯一的愿望就是摆脱这些不幸的孩子，以免他们的粗俗让她感到痛苦，而照顾他们会妨碍她礼貌的闲暇。

哈维再次为这次电话道歉，并听到这次他的道歉更加亲切地受到欢迎后，哈维退出了舒适的书房，把艾伯特夫人留给了她。 遗传心理学。在进城吃午饭的路上，他想起了那位因神经痛而呻吟的疲惫不堪的记者，并想知道阿博特夫人会如何享受搬到沃特伯里镇的感觉。

哈维直到最后一刻都还不确定，最终他还是赶紧穿上礼服，向菲茨约翰大道出发。他对半时尚人群和业余音乐没什么兴趣，但他无法用任何有效的借口来回答班尼特·弗罗辛汉姆太太，毕竟她对他是善意的。为什么他如此受这位女士的青睐，这并不容易理解。他们之间不可能有理智上的同情，至于个人喜好，他这边也不过是一个心地善良、头脑灵活、相当漂亮的女人自然会兴奋的，她的活泼从来没有超出礼节的限度，而且她似乎拥有比她蝴蝶般的存在更好的品质。也许他让她感到好笑，因为他与她习惯见到的那种男人如此不同。他与这个家族的相识可以追溯到他们的社会交配时期，当时，他们在南郊的默默无闻的繁荣之后，飘飘然地来到了北方的高地，并被观察到了段落作者。早在这之前，班尼特·弗罗辛汉姆就在货币市场上广为人知。正是“不列颠尼亚”（贷款、担保、投资和银行有限公司）使他在全国享有盛誉，并为他的妻子（第二次婚姻）和女儿（第一次婚姻）提供了机会。三年前，当卡纳比（已经被西比尔·拉克菲尔德的魅力所吸引）把他的朋友罗尔夫介绍为“去过巴格达的人”时，阿尔玛·弗罗廷汉姆还不到二十一岁，正在皇家音乐学院学习，据她的朋友们说，她承诺在钢琴和小提琴上都表现出色，同时拥有“非常出色”的女低音声音。最近，这位年轻的女士放弃了唱歌，很少使用钢琴，并且似乎满足于成为一名小提琴家。她成立了一个业余四重奏协会，经常在菲茨约翰大道的房子里听到他们的表演。

去年冬天，哈维在莱比锡布商大厦的一场音乐会上偶然见到了阿尔玛和她的继母。他被邀请和他们一起去圣托马斯教堂听男孩们唱的经文歌。通过这次交往，他们的关系开始从单纯的认识转变为类似友谊的关系。第二年春天，罗尔夫成了弗罗辛汉姆家的熟悉人物。但这种快乐很快就让他感到厌倦，他很高兴能在六月逃离伦敦。他知道那种阴暗而间歇性的诱惑正在召唤他去那所房子。音乐对他有魔力，他开始意识到，他对阿尔玛·弗洛廷汉姆的兴趣太浓厚了，她白色的小下巴放在棕色的小提琴上。当‘那个家伙’赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫，一个百万富翁，或者类似的人，开始以同样的勤奋参加这些聚会，并在弗罗辛汉姆小姐的谈话中赢得更多的份额时，哈维感到一种不安，很高兴地表现为厌恶的形式，而且很容易收拾他的行李箱。

透过各种调性的喋喋不休的声音，谈话声与或多或少悠扬柔和的笑声交织在一起，他登上了巨大的楼梯。当他接近楼梯平台时，响起了小提琴的尖锐吱吱声和大提琴低沉的和声咆哮声。他的女主人身材娇小，身材苗条，皮肤白皙，还不到四十岁，脖子上戴着一颗宝石，光滑的低额头上戴着皇冠，她向前一步迎接他。

'真的吗？多么令人愉快啊！我冒险开枪，结果很成功！”

“他们才刚刚开始？”

'四重奏——是的。维伦斯基先生答应随后参加比赛。

他继续前行，穿过一间小客厅，进入了音乐圣地的大房间，在千钧一发之际找到了座位。弗洛廷厄姆小姐肩上扛着小提琴，最后看了一眼会场，这种目光在没有立即造成肃静的情况下，可以传达出一种崇高的严肃态度。片刻的安静，四重奏开始了。有两位女士，两位男士。弗洛辛厄姆小姐拉第一小提琴，埃涅阿斯·派珀先生拉第二小提琴。大提琴在加斯纳先生手中，中提琴的音色则交给了多拉·利奇小姐。哈维认识他们所有人，但只关注其中一个。事实上，只有一项观察得到了回报。利奇小姐是一位身材瘦削的金发女郎，她的身材、脸庞和态度与第一小提琴家的优雅形成鲜明对比。阿尔玛的脸容光焕发——可能是因为艺术家的喜悦，也许只是因为满足了虚荣心。当她变得温暖时，玫瑰色的血液覆盖着她的脸颊，染红了她的脖子。她的每一块肌肉和神经都像她弹奏音乐时所用的琴弦一样紧张，不久她的脚尖就向前摇晃，似乎身材越来越高，成为一种更具威严的类型。她的容貌既没有表现出智慧的力量，也没有表现出性格的独创性：但它们有美丽，而且还有更多。她对男性气质具有吸引力、诱惑力。哈维·罗尔夫从来没有对这个女孩的这种品质产生过如此强烈的反应。当他看着她时，脸上的笑容消失了。对于她作为音乐家的技巧，他无法作出判断。但在他看来，她弹得很好，而且他还听到了解此事的人称赞她；例如，艺术大师维伦斯基先生，阿尔玛正在向他上课——这本身就是一种极大的赞美。

他移开目光，开始在观众中寻找熟悉的面孔。他无法发现他的主人；弗罗廷厄姆先生今晚肯定不在家；他很少缺席阿尔玛的音乐会。但靠近前面坐着的是阿斯科特·拉克菲尔德夫人，她的身材令人眼花缭乱，远处坐着她的女儿卡纳比夫人，她英俊的面容上没有一丝忧郁的阴影。休不在视线范围内。也许他没有心情参加聚会。卡纳比夫人旁边坐着“那个家伙”，赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫，他一如既往地微笑着，低垂着眉毛，打量着身边的人，头微微低着。雷德格瑞夫先生的头发稀疏，但留着浓密的小胡子和短尖的胡须。他的脸色像步枪一样蜡黄。他懒洋洋地靠在椅子上，有时他的头几乎擦到了卡纳比夫人的肩膀。

早在乐曲结束之前，罗尔夫就已经不再听了，他的思绪在浑浊的情感洪流中飘忽不定。在最后一段中——慢板快板——他感到周围有一阵动静，让人松了口气，当最后一个音符响起（熟悉的含糊不清）快乐和掌声的声音时，他立刻站了起来。但他无意挤进迅速包围乐师的人群。看到雷德格雷夫先生已经腾出位置，而卡纳比夫人仍然坐着，他走上前去与他朋友的妻子交谈。她抬头对他微笑，举起戴着手套的手指。

'不！请不要！

“不坐在你身边吗？”

'哦，当然。但我在你脸上看到了哀悼，我对此感到厌倦。此外，这只是你的虚伪。

哈维无声地笑了一声。他曾试图了解西比尔·卡纳比，但在不同时期对她得出了截然不同的结论。所有的女人都让他感到困惑，而且常常感到不安。和西比尔在一起时，他永远无法自由交谈，不知道该不喜欢她还是钦佩她。他并不是按照赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫的模式塑造的，赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫可能本能地蔑视女性，但他对女性的奉承却让所有人都感到高兴。

“好吧，那么，我们就不谈这件事了，”他说，同时注意到她身上并不缺少珠宝的装饰。也许她在抢劫发生的那天晚上碰巧就穿了这些东西；但罗尔夫坚信，在任何情况下，西比尔都不会没有戒指和手镯。

“他们确实进步了，”她用扇子尖指着四重奏说道。

无论主题如何，她的观点都是平静而自信地表达的。无限的自尊在她的大眼睛里闪闪发光，在她美丽的嘴唇曲线上闪烁着，平静得丝毫不显出庸俗的自负。没有哪张脸的轮廓比它更纯粹，也没有比它更不性感的暗示了。它有时带着一种冷漠抽象的气氛，几乎是朴素的。罗尔夫认为她是最自私的女人，认为她没有感情。然而，除了假设她爱上了休·卡纳比之外，如何解释她的婚姻呢？这样的女人肯定会出卖自己以获得巨大的利益。然而，奇怪的是，她并没有给人留下社会雄心勃勃的印象。她的母亲，这位永远年轻的寡妇，从一个集会赶到另一个集会，除了时尚的旋风之外，无法生存。西比尔则不然。她是不是太骄傲、太以自我为中心了？她又怀有怎样的野心呢？

或者这一切都是感官的错觉？假设她只是一个雕刻的形象，空洞、虚无。可以说她只是一个英俊的女人，有着某个非凡的祖先的面孔，有着足以被卡纳比这样的好人的旺盛热情所征服的温暖。总的来说，罗尔夫更喜欢这个假设。他从来没有听她说过任何真正聪明、诙谐或有意义的话。但休谈到了她头脑和心灵的优良品质；阿尔玛·弗罗廷汉姆让她成为了榜样，难道一个女人不会看穿另一个女人的空虚自命不凡吗？

他不由自主地凝视着她，试图从她的脸上看出端倪。

“所以你认为我们应该去澳大利亚，”西比尔轻声说道，也看了他一眼。

休重复了昨晚的谈话；不谨慎，但很自然。人们无法想象休对他的妻子隐瞒了许多秘密。

'我？'他很困惑。 “哦，我们正在谈论家政的痛苦——”

“我讨厌这些新国家的名字。”

这话是笑着说的，但“恨”字却是带着怎样的表情啊！

“从老树上剪下的有力枝条，”罗尔夫说。 “这就是英格兰的未来。”

'也许是这样。目前他们是野蛮的，而我对文明有着明确的偏好。我很确定你也是如此。

罗尔夫低声表示同意。于是西比尔站了起来，只是向他低下头，然后优雅而慵懒地走开了。

“现在她讨厌 me”哈维在心里说道； “我很关心！”

出于礼貌，他认为最好朝弗罗廷汉姆小姐的方向走去。人群渐渐稀少。他毫不费力地走到了离她几码远的地方，并与中提琴演奏者利奇小姐聊了一两句话——他一直认为她是一个善良、天真的人；但他并没有放弃。这对任何人的安宁都没有危险，反而更伤感，因此应该避免。说话间，他听到身后传来一个男人的声音，自命不凡，粗俗，在音乐讨论中制定法律。

'不，不;贝多芬不是 克拉维尔马齐格。他的思想就像交响乐一样——他们需要管弦乐队……。弦乐四重奏之于交响乐，就像精致的水彩之于油画……。哦，我根本不关心他的演奏！他没有——我该怎么称呼它？——Sehnsucht“。

罗尔夫终于转过头来看。一眼望去，他是一个身材高大、瘦骨嶙峋的年轻人，头发蓬乱，脸刮得光光的。性格粗暴，感性，完全缺乏文雅。他询问利奇小姐这可能是谁，得知这个人的名字叫菲利克斯·戴姆斯。

“他不是个骗子吗？”

少妇心痛又震惊。

“哦，他很聪明，”她低声说道。 “他创作了一首最美丽的歌曲——你不知道吗？——《玛戈特》。”托普汉姆很可能会在一场民谣音乐会上演唱这首歌。

‘现在我冒犯了 这里”罗尔夫自言自语道。 '不管。'

看到机会，他走了几步，站在阿尔玛·弗罗廷汉姆面前。她非常亲切地接待了他，直视着他的脸，带着他永远无法理解的有趣的微笑。这是否意味着她认为他“很有趣”？她有没有和西比尔·卡纳比讨论过他，听到过他的一些让她高兴的事情？还是活泼女孩的纯粹善良、精神饱满？

“你能来真是太好了，罗尔夫先生。你觉得我们怎么样？

这是有特点的。阿尔玛很高兴听到赞美，并毫不犹豫地提出要求。她热切地等待着他尚未准备好的话语。

“当我谈论音乐时，我只会表现出我的无知。当然，我喜欢它。

'啊！那你就觉得不太好。我懂了 - '

'但是我 做了！只有我的意见是没有价值的。

阿尔玛看着他，似乎犹豫了一下，笑了。哈维确信，由于荒唐的真诚，他在女孩眼中损害了自己。这有什么关系呢？

“我每天练习五个小时，”阿尔玛语气急促而热情地说。她的声音和她的脸一样悦耳。富有女性气质，唤起情感。 “这还不错，不是吗？”

“巨大的能量！”

“哦，音乐是我的宗教，你知道。我经常为自己不能以此谋生而感到遗憾；作为一个业余爱好者是相当不幸的，你不觉得吗？

“宗教不应该有销路，”哈维开玩笑说。

哦，但是你知道我的意思。你太挑剔了，罗尔夫先生。我好心请求父亲把我赶出家门，只需要半个克朗。那我可能真的会做点什么。那就太棒了！——哦，你对汉密尔顿露台那件可耻的事情怎么看？卡纳比夫人像天使一样接受它。他们将放弃家政服务。我说，非常明智。不久之后每个人都会这样做。为什么我们要为私人住宅所困扰呢？

“有困难——”

“当然有，而且男人们似乎很喜欢指出它们。他们认为，如果女性讨厌家政的麻烦和痛苦，那就是犯罪。

“我没那么保守。”

他试图与她对视，她的眼睛正盯着他，闪烁着光芒。但他的目光却垂了下来，很快就从那美妙的白色肩膀、跳动的喉咙、在天鹅绒毛的映衬下显露出颜色的脖子上移开。令他深感恼火的是，有人介入了——一位女士带来了另一个人来介绍。罗尔夫转身，与赛勒斯·雷德格雷夫面对面。没有什么比雷德格雷夫先生的搭讪更温和、更有礼貌的了。他说话就像一位优雅的绅士，而且据哈维所知，他并没有歪曲自己的说法。但罗尔夫有一个偏见：他尽可能少说，然后继续前进。

在较小的客厅里，他正在与女主人交谈。弗罗辛汉姆太太乐观而活泼的脾气似乎可以抵抗疲劳。无论是在家里还是在客人面前，她都表现出同样的享受。烦恼、竞争、责任，在她灿烂的脸上没有留下任何痕迹。她的感情是无数的；作为一个旁观者，很容易发现她的无知是巨大而深刻的。但她的一言一行都流露出取悦他人的愿望、一位“淑女”的机智和善良的心。她从来不冒犯人，也从来不完全可笑。她闲聊的口才惊人，语气和主题都取决于与她闲聊的人的特征。但她更喜欢谈论家常话题，回忆她不知道奢侈的时光。 “你可能不相信，”她自信地对他说，“但我向你保证，我是一个非常好的厨师。”罗尔夫不太相信这个保证，但他觉得弗罗廷汉姆夫人很可能会以务实的哲学接受命运的逆转；但他认为，弗罗廷汉姆夫人很可能会接受命运的逆转。他可以想象她用她的甜蜜的性情照亮了一座小房子，并以活泼的善意履行了卑微的职责。在这一点上，她在他所认识的富裕女性中是一个值得注意的例外。

“那你最近在做什么？”她问道，不是出于礼貌，而是用一种声音和一种真正感兴趣的表情。

“大部分时间都是在浪费我的时间。”

'所以你总是说；但这不可能是真的。我认识那种浪费时间的人，而你一点也不像他。没有什么比能够看着你一整天更能满足我的好奇心了。你觉得四重奏怎么样？

'首都！'

“我相信他们会取得巨大的进步，阿尔玛确实很努力！我只是担心她会损害她的健康。

“我还没有看到任何迹象。”

“她看起来确实非常好，”弗罗廷厄姆夫人说道，语气中流露出自豪和喜爱之情。谈到阿尔玛，她总是这样说；继母的一切都看不到。

'先生。弗罗廷汉姆今晚不在这里！

“我真的不知道为什么，”女主人回答道，眼睛环视着房间。 ” “我很期待他。但过去几周他一直忙得不可开交。人们确实让他担心。我们吃饭的时候有人打电话来，不相信弗罗辛汉姆先生不在家，并在门口大吵大闹——后来他们才告诉我。我有时真的很紧张；疯狂的人总是想见他——那些确实不应该逍遥法外的人。毫无疑问，他们也有过麻烦，可怜的事情；每个人都认为只要我丈夫愿意，他就能让他们变得富有。

一个身材矮胖、看上去很重要的男人在弗罗廷汉姆太太面前停了下来，用熟悉的语气说道。

“我在找BF，他还没露面吗？”

“我真希望他在别的地方玩得开心。”女主人笑着站起身回答道。 “你让他不得安宁。”

壮汉没有笑，而是严肃地看了一眼陌生的罗尔夫，然后转身走开。

演奏家维伦斯基先生正要演奏什么；客人们纷纷就座。然而，罗尔夫更愿意留在这个房间里，因为在那里他可以清楚地听到音乐。他还没有从与阿尔玛谈话被打断的懊恼中恢复过来——这种愚蠢让他对自己失去了耐心。与此同时，他不断地想起弗罗辛汉姆夫人轻描淡写地说的那些“疯狂的人”。像班尼特·弗罗辛汉姆这样的人必须熟悉多种形式的“疯狂”，他自己必须对大量导致彻底失常的愚蠢行为负责。哈维回想起弗罗辛汉姆夫人对自己生活的天真好奇，他希望自己能够花一整天的时间观察和理解一位伟大的金融赌徒的生意。在这种欢乐而美妙的存在的表面之下，可能隐藏着多么可怕的残忍和谎言！胖子为什么要找“BF”？他为何表情如此坚定地转身走开？为什么俱乐部里的那个老家伙对“不列颠尼亚”如此坐立不安？

哈！确实有小提琴声响起！它不需要任何技术情报来区分维伦斯基和阿尔玛·弗罗辛汉姆的演奏。她的宗教信仰，确实如此！可以肯定的是，维伦斯基先生很少谈论他的“宗教”。阿尔玛听后有何感想？她是否因艺术家灵魂在不成熟中挣扎而感到绝望？还是她一如既往地微笑着，祝贺自己每天工作了五个小时，并告诉自己，如果真的有必要的话，她多久就能达到完美？无法理解女人。感官与智慧交战；中暑时，人们看穿了光芒四射的薄雾。

他不喜欢“阿尔玛”这个名字。它有一种戏剧般的声音，一种不真实的暗示。

老师 了解他的听众；他只演奏了一刻钟，就又开始喋喋不休。罗尔夫在挂在这里的令人钦佩的画作前闲逛，这些画只是财富的象征，他听到肩膀上有一个声音。

'我很渴。你愿意带我下去吗？

他的心高兴得跳动起来；当他转身时，阿尔玛一定从他的眼中看到了这一点。

“维伦斯基演奏了什么？”当他们走向楼梯时，他困惑地问道。

“威尔布拉汉姆先生将演唱格里格的《Wie bist du, meine Koniginn》——勃拉姆斯，你知道。”但你并不真正关心音乐。”

“多么令人震惊的指控啊！”

'你并不真正关心它。自从我们来到莱比锡以来我就知道这一点。

“我从来没有假装像你一样欣赏音乐。这需要教育，甚至更多。不可否认，有些音乐让我感到厌倦。

“你喜欢F大调的旋律吗？”

'是的，我愿意。'

阿尔玛笑了，带着优越感，但并不恶意。

“我认为这很令人厌恶——但这当然不重要。当我谈论书籍时，你会认为我是个傻瓜。——当我还是个孩子的时候，这个词常常让我觉得好笑。我记得每当我看到或听到它时都会狂笑。它 is 一个有趣的词，不是吗？

“这是我对你说的最后一句话。”罗尔夫瞥见了她大笑的嘴唇间的洁白牙齿，心不在焉地低声说道。

他们走进晚饭室，那里还只有几个人在休息。一个团的给养在眼前铺展开来；无数美味佳肴令人垂涎欲滴：这所房子以其热情好客而闻名。阿尔玛请她的同伴给她拿了一些柠檬水，然后和两位女士聊了一会儿，她们已经开始认真地吃喝了。在等她的时候，罗尔夫喝了两杯酒，以抵消在这样的陪伴下他惯常出现的某种迟钝和直率的感觉。

“我不会坐下来，”她说。 “不，谢谢，没有东西吃。我想知道爸爸在哪里？现在， he 喜欢音乐，尽管他不是音乐家。我认为爸爸是一个很棒的人。多年来，他的睡眠时间从未超过六个小时；以及他所做的工作！他 不能 休假；懒惰使他生病。七月，我们和妈妈的一些亲戚一起去了汉普郡——那是最安静、最沉睡的村庄——爸爸试图和我们一起呆几天，但他不得不飞走；他可能会因为无聊而死去。

“生活压力很大，”罗尔夫说道，这是他能说出的最不具冒犯性的言论。

'是的;这不是比低贱的生活更好吗？女孩兴奋地喊道。 “大多数人在一生中都没有发挥过他们身上的所有力量。我应该不愿意死的时候想到我没有真正活过自己 输出。一年前，爸爸带我进城参观了 股票和股份，就在论文开始之后。我对此不太感兴趣。但我假装是这样，因为爸爸总是对 my 事务。但我发现还有别的东西。参观完印刷机械等后，他带我上了楼顶，进了一个小房间，里面只有一张桌子、一把椅子和一个书架，没有任何东西。他告诉我这是他的第一间办公室，三十年前他就是在这个房间里开始营业的。他一直把它据为己有，就像它原来一样——他的一个幻想。我告诉你并没有什么坏处；他对此感到非常自豪，我也是。这就是能量！

“确实非常有趣。”

“我必须再上去，”她很快补充道。 “哦，那是博福伊小姐；让我把你介绍给博福伊小姐吧。

她这样做了，没有意识到罗尔夫呻吟着不情愿，然后立即消失了。

晚餐室开始挤满了人。哈维一逃离博福伊小姐（她也有自己的骑士），就再次登上楼梯，找到一个安静的角落，不受打扰地坐了一刻钟。情侣和一群人停下来在他身边交谈，每当他听到一句话时，那只是最轻微的闲聊，毫无意义的重复陈词滥调，如果不是出于习惯，对于最不聪明的凡人来说，这一定是一种难以言表的疲倦。他决心不再来这里了；再也不会在这样的人群中做鬼脸，扰乱他内心的平静，玷污他的自尊了。他喜欢与人交往，及时享乐；但家里挤满了人，除了一两个例外，连打个响指都不在乎，这不是纯粹的庸俗吗？至于阿尔玛·弗罗廷汉姆，他很早以前就对她下定了决心。自然地，不可避免地，她吸收了她周围的粗俗气氛。她所做的一切都是为了效果：这是她冒充艺术家的暗示；这是她的暗示。她将终生坚持下去，并在香水中呼吸最后一口气，宣称她已经“活出了自己”。

他脾气暴躁，注意到吃完晚饭的女人们脸颊通红，眼睛有不自然的光泽。他们的神态和优雅掩盖了多么粗鄙的肉欲生活啊！他有点想明天就出发去叙利亚沙漠。

“让我们很快再见到你吧，”他告别时，女主人说道。 “周三五点钟进来，这是我们安静的一天；只有我们的几个 真实 朋友们。我们肯定会在城里待到圣诞节。

在楼梯上，他经过了《玛戈特》的作曲家费利克斯·戴姆斯先生。

“哦，这是世界上最容易的事情，”戴姆斯先生说，“创作一首流行的歌曲。”我会给你食谱，不收取任何费用。你必须突然改变小调，还有华尔兹副歌——仅此而已。哦，是的，里面有钱。我认识一个人——”

罗尔夫从来没有带着这么坏的脾气离开过家。

第二天早上醒来时，天气阴沉，他又认真地开始考虑离开伦敦。事实上，当他在更有趣的地方、在纯净的天空下生活会很容易时，为什么他要把伦敦当作他的家呢？他根本不是任何城市的公民，而且比以往任何时候都更不愿意将自己束缚在永久居住地。只要他和他的男性朋友在一起，在俱乐部和其他地方，一切都很好。但这个“社会”却在与他对弈，而他没有常识，也没有决心完全置身事外。

好吧，他今天早上必须去银行提取现金。

当他站在柜台前拿着支票等待时，已经是十二点左右了。他前面的那个人正在与出纳员交谈。

“你知道‘不列颠尼亚号’已经闭嘴了吗？”

'银行？不！'

'但确实如此。我刚刚经过，周围站着很多人。他们说十一点半关门。

哈维有一种奇怪的感觉，他的心在颤抖，脉搏跳动，忽冷忽热。然后他又平静下来，对自己说：“当然。”银行安静的日常工作暂停了一两分钟。消息传得沸沸扬扬。新来的人在柜台前聚集成一群八卦的人，哈维听着。总体语气是愤世嫉俗的。听上去几乎没有一丝愤慨。在场的人似乎都没有受到这场灾难的影响。班尼特·弗罗辛厄姆的名字经常被提及，并带有一些不讨人喜欢的评论。

“有人会把事情搞砸的，”一位发言者说道。其他人都笑了。

罗尔夫处理完自己的事情，就走开了。他突然想到要去那家关门的银行看看，但他不记得地址了；一个警察指引着他，他继续往前走，距离不是很远。在大楼所在的街道尽头，可以看到一些不寻常的迹象——郊区的一群人在热烈地交谈，就像经历了一些令人兴奋的事件一样；银行前聚集了一群人，名流的丝质帽子与下层人士的毛毡帽混在一起。到处都能听到愤怒的声音，但主要的情绪似乎只是好奇。这场冠冕堂皇的企业倒塌，受害最深的人们无法在半小时内赶到灾难现场；他们是不列颠群岛许多地方的居民，其中大多数人对伦敦市很陌生，但心里对大不列颠贷款、担保、投资和银行有限公司在当地的居住地只有一个模糊的印象。

他的手臂被抓住，耳边传来沙哑的声音——

'老天为证！为时已晚。'

休·卡纳比（Hugh Carnaby）从出租车里摔下来，在他走近并察觉到银行门关着的同时看到了他的朋友。

“盗贼们不失时机，”他补充道，脸色因愤怒而变得苍白。

“你有过警告吗？”

休把他拉到几码外，低声说道——

“班尼特·弗罗廷汉姆昨晚开枪自杀了。”

哈维再次经历了那种令人不快的心脏震动，伴随着冷热的交替。

'在哪里？在家里？'

'在办公室 股票和股份。走远一点吧。晚报上会直接刊登，但我不想让那些流氓听到我的声音。今天早上我起床晚了，当我正在吃早餐时，西比尔冲了进来。她带来了这个消息；这是从她母亲的某个朋友那里得到的，一个与她有某种联系的男人 股票和股份。我以为他们会关门，并试图挽救西比尔的余额——几百，仅此而已——但他们已经把它和剩下的一起吞掉了。

“剩下的呢？”

休嘲讽地笑道。

'她的。西比尔的运气真是太糟糕了。这只是一场折腾，我自己的很多东西都不在其中，不管怎样。

“你对弗罗廷汉姆还有更多了解吗？”

'不。只有事实。不知道是什么时候，也不知道什么时候知道的。我们很快就会从报纸上得到它。我想拉克菲尔德夫人的每一分钱都花在了身上。”

“但这可能并不意味着绝对的毁灭，”哈维敦促道。

“我知道当男朋友自杀时会怎么想。我们将会听到其他一些人已经逃跑的消息。这将像我们管家的小工作一样干净。

“我有一种奇怪的预感，”哈维低声说道。

'为什么，该死，我也是！所以有很多人。但没有人会采取任何行动，直到为时已晚。我必须带着好消息再次回家。我敢说你会去俱乐部吗？在接下来的一两个月里，他们将会有很多话题可以讨论。

“今晚试着来我家一趟。”

'也许。这取决于五十个机会。我只知道一件事——我会尽快离开这个被诅咒的国家。

他们分手了，哈维向西走去。他没有理由着急；他没有理由着急。像往常一样，世界事务的喧嚣与他擦肩而过。他只是一个旁观者。他突然想到，如果他第一次发现自己陷入了其他人所面临的焦虑之中，这可能是一个令人耳目一新、有益的改变。这种长期的豁免和安全感培养了一种过于排斥自我的态度，缺乏同情心，他认为这是他性格的缺陷。今天早上发生的事情让他大吃一惊，也震惊了他的想象力。但他已经以一种泰然自若的态度看待它们及其后果，这与漠不关心几乎没有什么不同。毫无疑问，班尼特·弗罗辛汉姆玩了一场无赖的游戏，他一直预见到失败的问题。至于他的妻子和女儿，如果不供养才怪呢？谁可能受苦，他们可能会过上物质舒适的生活，而现在这是首要考虑的。他很惊讶他们的灾难让他如此无动于衷。这最终表明他与这些人的关系是多么不自然。他绝不属于他们的世界。尽管阿尔玛·弗罗辛厄姆总是愚蠢地动摇，但他对他来说仍然是个陌生人，从个人、智力、社会的各个角度来看，她都是陌生的。昨晚挤进她演唱会的人中有多少人今天早上听到这个消息后会为她感到真正的痛苦呢？欣慰的嫉妒将成为普遍的情绪，那些因班尼特·弗罗辛汉姆的恶行或不幸而失败的人心中充满了怨恨的敌意。休·卡纳比的立场无需哀叹。他自己有足够的收入，现在很容易克服妻子的恶毒影响。无论有没有她，他都会摆脱腐朽的懒惰生活，在大洋彼岸的某个地方“敲响英国的鼓”——按照大自然的提示，运用他过剩的活力。

毕竟，它承诺要消除误会。这些爆炸是周期性的、不可避免的、有益健康的。大不列颠贷款，&c，&c，&c，已经经历了其瘟疫般的过程；令人兴奋的贪婪，用赌徒的热情扰乱了平静的工业，膨胀了庸俗的野心，现在终于散布了残骸和废墟。人类就是这样进步的。哈维·罗尔夫感到很高兴，因为没有神学或科学教条限制他为生命法则辩护。

午餐时间，报童开始大喊大叫。最早的标语牌以巨大的字体呼啸而过。大都会俱乐部里，被媒体压得湿漉漉的床单突然像雪一样飘落下来。罗尔夫站在窗边静静地读书。第一份报告告诉他的信息很少，他还没有了解到，但有一些关于自杀的细节。弗罗廷厄姆似乎总是去拜访 股票和股份 在出版前一天。昨天，他像往常一样，三点钟进去看了半个小时；没想到他又来了，是晚上七点，第三次是十一点左右，当时报纸正在印刷。 “后来他见到的人都认为，弗罗辛厄姆先生最终辞去了职务。他是否真的离开了大楼似乎仍不确定。如果是这样，他就会在没有被观察到的情况下重新进入，这似乎不太可能。今天凌晨两点到三点之间，当 股票和股份 几乎准备好分发时，据说该场所的一名雇员出于某种无法解释的原因，登上了大楼的顶层，并进入了一个通常未使用的房间。煤气喷射器正在燃烧，那人惊恐地发现弗罗辛汉姆先生的尸体，全身躺在地板上，手里拿着一把手枪。接到警报后，立即召集了医疗救助人员，很明显死亡发生在一个多小时前。没有人听到手枪的报告，可以很容易地用下面机器的噪音来解释。死者脸色平静。伤口中流的血很少，而且开枪的手一定非常稳定。”

“大楼顶层的一个房间，平时闲置——”昨晚阿尔玛·弗洛辛厄姆在参观公司办公室时讲述了一个什么样的故事。 股票和股份？罗尔夫当时并没有太注意这一点；现在他回想起这件轶事，对它的意义更加印象深刻。那个房间，他的第一个生意场所，也是班尼特·弗罗辛厄姆选择的他的死亡地点。也许他早就预见到了这种可能性，思考过这种结局的戏剧性的合适性；也许他早就预见到了这种可能性。因为这个人脸上有一种忧郁的表情，从他的脸上可以看出来，从他的私人谈话中也可以明显地看出。就在阿尔玛笑着讲述这个故事的时候，她的父亲一定正坐在楼上的房间里，想着他最后的想法；或者他可能已经死了。

后来的几期包含更全面的报告。发现尸体的人解释了他前往闲置房间的行为，这以喜剧的方式缓解了黑暗的事件。来上班之前，他和妻子吵了一架，所以一大早他没有回家，而是想到在公司里找个睡觉的地方，这样他就可以偷偷溜进去。 “我在自己家里睡得很少，”他对赢得他信任的记者说道。俱乐部成员对这件事感到很搞笑，猜测这件事发表后会对这个不检点的男人的家庭麻烦产生什么影响。

值得注意的是，从发现这起自杀事件到所有有兴趣将其广为人知的人听到这件事，已经过去了很长一段时间。除了两个人之外，所有从事报纸制作的人都在完全不知道发生了什么情况的情况下回家了，副编辑和他的线人处理这种情况是非常谨慎和成功的。当经过秘密传唤的医生检查后，需要与警方联系时，员工们都已经离开了，打印出来的单子已经转交给了分发人员。自然，副主编 股票和股份’在这件事上保持了一定的沉默；但是，人们很难错误地认为，大不列颠公司的董事们——无论如何，至少有两三个人——早在这一重大消息传出之前就有机会审视自己的立场。

关于公司的事务，目前只能进行猜测。鉴于业务立即停止，可以肯定地猜测，令人震惊的披露正在等待公众。当然，没有人有理由对这个不幸的人做出​​预先判断，他在看似辉煌的情况下被迫做出如此绝望的行为。

等等，等等，一本又一本，一版又一版。哈维·罗尔夫读它们直到他疲倦，听俱乐部的八卦直到他恶心。最后他带着头痛回到家，小心翼翼地避免与邦库姆或汉多弗夫人接触，努力让自己全神贯注于一本格雷戈罗维乌斯的书，这是他目前的研究。这一尝试是徒劳的。关于他的话题似乎仍然在流传。他的太阳穴一阵阵抽痛。他的思绪飘到了很远很远的地方。早在他习惯的时间到来之前，他就被送上床睡觉了，他听到刺耳的声音划破了夜色，从街道的这一边和另一边传来可怕的对声吼叫，半便士报纸的小贩们正在充分利用普罗维登斯送给他们的东西。

第二天早餐后，他第一件事就是给休·卡纳比发了一条消息。 “我有什么可以为你效劳的吗？如果你不这么认为，我明天就去格雷斯通待几天。我感觉我们都好像被卷入了一个可怕的漩涡，漩涡在无底深渊上咆哮。当然，如果我能做点什么，我会留下来，无论发生什么。否则，请向巴兹尔·莫顿寄信一周。

他把它扔进最近的邮筒里，趁着阳光灿烂的时候，他沿着街道走来走去，假装在锻炼身体。在他回来的​​路上，一个报童在他前面，他在邦库姆的前门停下来，用两次敲门声唤醒了回声。仆人还没来得及开门，哈维已经走到了台阶上。

'什么名字？'

“罗尔夫。”

“那么对我来说。”

他撕开信封。

'你能马上过来吗？发生了一些事情。——阿博特。”

男孩想知道是否会有答复。哈维摇摇头，走进大厅，站在那里思考。埃德加·阿博特召唤他会发生什么情况？他的妻子逃跑了吗？——啊，当然，这一定和韦格的孩子们有关——一场事故，一场死亡。但为什么要送去 他?

他稍微改变了一下衣服，然后立即开车前往基尔本。当出租车停下来时，他看到阿博特家前面的所有百叶窗都被拉了下来。死亡，那么，显然。他在敲门入院时，神经感到痛苦地颤抖。

'先生。阿博特——？”

丫鬟脸色拉长，什么也没说，将他留在原地，片刻就回来了，低声问道：“先生请进吧？”他跟着她来到了两天前他与阿博特夫人谈话的房间。而她又再次接待了他。她背对着灯光，一动不动地站着。

“你丈夫给我打了电报——”

挣扎着抽泣的声音粗重地回答道——

“不——我——他死了！”

最后一个单音节的口音令人心碎。在哈维看来，这个词似乎是新发明的，如此丰富，听起来充满了可怕的含义。

'死的？'

艾伯特夫人动了动，他能更清楚地看到她的脸。她一定哭了几个小时。

“他一直在服用吗啡——他睡不好觉——然后出现神经痛。今天早上七点钟，那个女孩在那里找到了他。”

她指着沙发。

“你的意思是他服药过量了——不小心——”

'它 必须 一直如此。他必须工作到很晚——然后他一定就躺下睡觉了。”

“为什么在这里？”

”一股巨大的痛苦淹没了她。她发出一声长长的呻吟，更可怕的是它的声音无法传出房间。她为自我控制所做的斗争使她的痛苦更加令人印象深刻，更加令人悲痛。

'先生。罗尔夫，我派人来找你是因为你是他的老朋友。我本想告诉你我所知道的全部真相。我 不能 在陌生人面前讲出来——在公共场合！我 不能 让他们知道——耻辱——耻辱！”

哈维的同情变成了惊讶和奇怪的猜测。他连忙恳求她不要透露目前的痛苦。等到她能够冷静地反思，更真实地看待事物。由于无法辨认这个女人就是他所认识的阿博特夫人，他更加尴尬了。她自我表现的变化似乎和她的处境一样巨大而突然。面容和声音虽然难以辨认，但变化还不如她的灵魂——正如哈维想象的那样。她以坚定、坚定的态度回答了这个恳求，这让他别无选择，只能听着。

“我不能、不敢认为他是故意这样做的。不！他太勇敢了。他绝不会以那种方式离开我——令我绝望。但是我的错让他生气了——不，不是生气；而是我的错。他对我从来没有那样的态度，或者说从来没有表现出来。但我的行为实在是太自私了——”

她的痛苦无法言表。她一屁股坐在椅子上，抽泣着，呻吟着。

“你的悲伤夸大了每一个小错误，”哈维说。

“不——你必须听到这一切——然后也许我可以向陌生人隐藏我的羞耻。如果他们知道了又有什么用呢？它不会改变任何东西——它只改变我自己的内心。我没有权利让你这样痛苦。我会悄悄地告诉你。你知道他去沃特伯里出差。他告诉过你了吗？——是购买当地一家报纸的股票。由于我的盲目和自私，我不喜欢这样。我想住在这里；去乡下生活的想法似乎难以忍受。埃德加劳累过度，又生病了，这对我来说似乎是一件小事。你不记得那天早上你来这里时我是怎么说的吗？——我自己都听不懂。我怎么会这么想，你就这么说吧！”

听者什么也没说。

“他按照他的意愿行事——讨价还价，然后回来通过信件完成了购买。但他的钱——他所指望的小资本——是“不列颠尼亚”股票；你知道昨天发生了什么——昨天，就在他去出售股票的那天，他认为这样做不会有任何困难。

哈维严肃地点点头。

“他回家了，我表现出我很高兴——”

'不！你无理地指责自己。

“我告诉你的是实话，我的良心知道这一点。我因自私和自负而疯狂。果然，他就任由我的胆怯脾气，又出去了，离开了很长一段时间。他回来吃晚饭，然后他脸上的痛苦几乎教会了我我在做什么。我想请求他原谅我——安慰他的损失；但骄傲阻止了我。我不能说话——我不能！晚饭后，他说他有很多工作要做，就走进了这个房间。十点钟我给他送了咖啡。我想亲自去拿——上帝啊！如果我这么做就好了！我 希望 接受它并与他交谈，但我仍然做不到。我知道他正在遭受酷刑；晚餐时我看到疼痛折磨着他。但我离开了，回到自己的床上睡觉——而他却躺在这里。

一阵泪水涌上心头，让她松了口气。哈维感觉自己的眼睛湿润了。

“只是他觉得太累了，”她追问道。 “我知道那是怎么回事。疼痛变得难以忍受，他上楼去喝水，然后——还没做完工作——他想在沙发上躺一会儿；但他没有做任何事。于是他就睡着了。他从来没有这个意思 Free Introduction。如果我这么想，我就活不下去了！

“毫无疑问，你是对的，”哈维带着确信的语气说道。 “我很了解他，但他不是做这种事的人。”

'不？你确定吗？你觉得不可能吗，罗尔夫先生？

” “完全不可能。有男人——哦，你可以向自己保证这纯粹是偶然。不幸的是，这种事经常发生。

她听着他的话，靠向他，眼睛睁得大大的，嘴唇张开。

'很经常！我在报纸上看到过很多案例。而他却心不在焉。但我有什么权利为自己寻求安慰呢？我是他的死因吗？但我必须公开说出这一切吗？你认为我应该这样做吗？

罗尔夫怀着轻松的诚意，除了阿博特的健康状况和经济困难之外，没有必要透露任何事情。

“我们之间的关系并不是不睦，”寡妇感激地叹了口气说道。 '除此之外什么都可以。直到最近我们才知道其中的区别，而随之而来的变化完全是我的错。我没有诚实地说出我的想法。我从未公开反对他离开伦敦的愿望。我假装同意一切，假装。他向我展示了他所有的理由，把一切简单、平实、友善地摆在我面前，如果我说出了我的想法，我相信他会立即放弃。无论哪种方式，都由我自己决定。”

“你为什么要因为他从未意识到的想法而如此责备自己呢？”

“哦，那是昨天，当他从城里回来的时候。他那时就知道我很高兴他无法实现他的目的。他以前所未有的方式看着我——一种惊讶和疏远的表情。我将永远在他脸上看到那种表情。

哈维带着安慰的语气说道，他感到自己的职位是多么的非同寻常，而在所有人中，他最不适合担任这样的职位。当他能够毫不唐突地谈论案件的实际紧迫性时，他松了口气。韦格的孩子们还在家里吗？唉!确实如此，阿博特夫人不知道该怎么办。

“你想不出有谁愿意接受它们——哪怕是一两天？”

在她的熟人中，没有一个她可以冒险要求这样的服务。 “人们非常害怕孩子。”她的姐姐是爱尔兰的一名家庭教师；她没有其他近亲。埃德加·阿博特的母亲住在沃特伯里附近，年老体弱。怎么把这个可怕的消息传达给她呢？

哈维激动起来。无论如何，这里呼吁人们积极发挥作用。他感受到了金钱和闲暇的特权。

“你能告诉我沃特伯里有谁适合向艾伯特夫人通报这个消息吗？”

提到了两个名字，他记下了它们。

“我会立即给双方发电报。”

“你会说这是一次意外——”

‘这一点应该说清楚。至于孩子们，我想今天早上我可以把他们带走。我住的房子里有一个正派的女人，我敢说她愿意暂时照顾他们。你能把这一切完全交给我吗？

“我很羞愧——我不知道如何感谢你。”

“不能浪费时间。”他起身。 “如果汉多弗夫人愿意帮助我们，我就带她来这里；然后我会再次见到你。无论如何，我当然会回来——还有别的事。但你应该有一个朋友——一位女士。

'有 没有 我可以问一个。

“哦，但是在你在伦敦认识的所有人中——当然是这样！”

“从这个意义上说，他们不是朋友。我现在明白了——五十个熟人；没有朋友。'

“但是让我想想——让我想想。我在这里遇到的那位女士叫什么名字，你曾经教过她的孩子？

'太太。朗兰。她非常善良和友好，但她住在冈纳斯伯里——到目前为止——我不能打扰她。

经过一次会面和简短的交谈，以及埃德加·阿博特随后的评论，罗尔夫对朗兰夫人产生了非常有利的看法。她在他的脑海中清晰地浮现为“一个没有废话的女人”，在目前这样的危机中可能会提供很大的帮助。他费了好大劲才说服阿博特夫人坐下来写了几句话，并立即寄到冈纳斯伯里。

“我还没敢叫她来。”但我说过我很孤独。

“我想，如果她在家的话就足够了。”

他告辞后开车返回贝斯沃特，途中寄出了这封信并发出了两封电报。

当然，他放弃了对格雷斯通的访问。

休·卡纳比对判决感到满意 重见天日。他对陪审团出人意料的诚实表示赞赏。人们理所当然地认为“暂时疯狂”这个愚蠢的标签是对每个人常识的侮辱。

“遗憾的是，他们不再将他埋在四个十字路口，并在他体内插上一根木桩。 （这是从哪里来的？我不知何故记得它。）这个例子不错。

“你是维多利亚早期的人，”西比尔回答道，她用这个词来表示艺术、文学、道德或社会情感中的野蛮或粗俗。 “此外，判决没有任何依据。这仅仅意味着市陪审团很愤怒。然而，如果他们敢于或有机会的话，他们中的每个人都会在如此大的范围内不诚实。

“我敢说，其中有一些东西，”休承认。

他比以往任何时候都更加钦佩他的妻子。西比尔在失去小饰品时表现得很平静，但在突然失去了全部财产（每年大约八百美元）后，她仍然表现出了自制力。她曾经说过，妻子以自己的名义拥有与丈夫同等的收入是令人愉快和适当的。但她却毫不犹豫地辞职了。事实上，西比尔从来没有对任何事情大惊小怪。她表达了自己的愿望，而且由于这些愿望总是有可能得到满足，所以理所当然地得到了它们。自然地，自从结婚以来，她和休就过着各尽其能的生活。卡纳比把他的资本减少了几千英镑作为初期开支，到第一个十二个月末，债务还清了两三百英镑。但西比尔并没有表现出任何惊慌。

“我们都是大傻瓜，”她说，暗指他们对班尼特·弗罗辛汉姆的信任。

'可以肯定的是 I 有，”她的丈夫回答道。 “我不应该让你母亲为所欲为。”如果有适当的解决方案，你就不会有风险。受托人不可能允许这样的投资。”

同一天，西比尔花了十五几尼买了一件毛皮戴在脖子上。天气变冷了，她在店里开了一个账户。

那天下午，她也去看望了她的母亲，六点钟回来时，她看了看图书馆，休坐在火边，手里拿着一本书。卡纳比发现现在的日子很漫长。他避开了他的俱乐部，大都会队和漫步者队，因为担心他与“不列颠尼亚”的联系众所周知。听到有关这个话题的谈话会让他变得野蛮。他对自己的地位和前景深感不安。缺乏锻炼已经开始影响他的健康。一如既往，他微笑着迎接妻子的到来，并起身为她放了张椅子。

“谢谢，我不会坐下来，”西比尔说。 “你看起来很舒服。”

'出色地？'

她若有所思地看着他，用平和的语气说道——

“我真的认为我可以夸耀拥有英国最自私的母亲。”

休对阿斯科特·拉克菲尔德夫人有自己的看法，但不敢冒险说出来。

'怎么样？'

“我从来不知道有谁能如此成功地以自己为中心、稳定地思考。自从这件事发生后，我一看到她就很恼火。我不会再去了。真不知道她的脾气有多么可恶。她的言论令人愤慨。她的举止不像个淑女。你能相信她给弗罗廷汉姆夫人写了一封充满暴力的信——正如她所说，“说出了她的想法”？这是可耻的！

“我很抱歉她这么做了。但并不是每个人都能像你一样承受伤害，西比尔。”

“我以为她能表现得很好。她提高声音，说出令人难以容忍的言语，并对仆人发脾气。我现在无论如何都不会在那所房子里呆上一天。毕竟，我发现她失去的并不比我多。她每年至少可以赚到六百美元。

卡纳比听到这个消息，脸上露出了笑容。

哦，来吧！就是这样。

“你看，她非常小心，不让自己冒一切风险。”

“有可能，”休说，“她无法控制自己所有的钱。”

哦，是的，她有。她在愤怒中忽略了这个事实——庆幸自己到目前为止还很谨慎。真的，我从来没有见过比她更可恨的女人了。

这句话的语气并不激烈，也没有像冒犯她那样提高声音：这是一种经过深思熟虑的判断，用的是精心挑选的措辞。休试图微笑，但无法完全控制他的表情。他们表达了一种不安的沉思。

“你今晚出去吗？”停顿了一下，他问道。

'不;我有点累了，心情不太好。晚餐时间是七点。我要早点睡觉了。

警方至今仍未能追踪到这位重罪女管家（即马斯克尔夫人）的踪迹。卡纳比夫人的其他仆人仍然坚守自己的位置，声称自己是无辜的，并且无疑不敢离开，以免引起怀疑。家庭管理现在掌握在厨师手中。西比尔总是宣称，她吃不了一顿她费了很大力气订的晚餐，而且她似乎毫不掩饰地回避卑微阶级的人，仿佛出于身体上的排斥。她不得不让女仆给她做头发，但她觉得这种必要性令人不快。

晚餐虽然简单，但煮得很好。西比尔从来不吃得饱饱的，凡是质量不好的东西她都会谢绝。与一般女性不同，她对酒很挑剔，但也很少喝。她也喜欢利口酒，还有很浓的咖啡。她坚决反对女人嘴里抽烟。这冒犯了她对未来的判断力，以及她对礼节的敏锐感知。当单独用餐或与休一起用餐时，她的穿着就像出席隆重场合一样精心。对西比尔来说，任何处理个人失调或忽视的方法都是不可想象的。她的丈夫偶然听到她被称为“伦敦最会打扮的女人”。他认为这种赞扬是当之无愧的，这让他感到受宠若惊。

在餐桌上，他们谈论的话题尽可能远离眼前的事情，并且带着一贯的幽默感。当他起身去开门时，休说道——

“客厅还是图书馆？”

'图书馆。你想抽烟。

他双臂放在桌子上坐了十分钟，他那双形状优美的大手松松地握在身前。他什么也没喝。他的目光盯着一盘水果，眼神变得越来越大，似乎越来越困惑。然后他回过神来，哼了一声，就去和妻子会合了。

西比尔正在看报纸。休默默地点燃了烟斗，在她对面坐下。不久，报纸掉了下来，西比尔的眼睛微笑着转向她的丈夫。

'出色地？'

'出色地？'

他们友好地互相微笑。

“你有什么建议，伯蒂？”

这个爱抚的名字不太合适，最近也没有再用过。卡纳比在度蜜月的时候突然想到了这一点，当时他说他的妻子就像一只可爱的小鸟，他这个粗鲁的家伙抓住了它，几乎不敢碰它，以免伤害它。休没有太多独创性的思想，也没有太多的表达能力。

“你知道，在有些地方，人们靠很少的钱生活得非常舒适，”西比尔说。

'是的;但它不会带来任何结果。

'什么 将 导致什么？

“嗯，你看，我有资本，应该好好利用一下。”如今每个人都从事某种业务。

她饶有兴趣地听着，微笑着，陷入沉思。

“很多人都走出了困境——希望他们以前就这么做过。”

“是的，”卡纳比说。 '这就是困难所在。今天早上我收到丹多的一封信。他有一个人相信他的新冶炼工艺——金融城里的一个人；一个人；一个人；一个人；一个人。谈论不久要去昆士兰。真的——如果我能在现场的话——”

他犹豫了一下，胆怯地表达了自己的想法。西比尔沉思着，缓缓摇了摇头。

'不;等待报告。

'是的;但你看，首先是那些参与其中的人。”

西比尔似乎忘记了眼前的主题，让她的思绪飘向愉快的方向。她说话的语气仿佛是一时高兴的冲动。

“有一个地方我想我应该喜欢——尽管我害怕航行。”

“那是什么？”

“檀香山。”

“是什么让你产生了这样的想法？”

哦，我读过相关内容。气候绝对完美，生活精致。你怎么到那的？'

'穿越美国，然后从旧金山出发。我相信这绝不是一个便宜的地方。

'不过，暂时如此。关键是要离开，你不这么认为吗？

“毫无疑问。——檀香山——天哪！这是一个想法。我想亲自看看那些岛屿。

“这并不常见，”西比尔说。 “人们会带着某种欢呼声离开。与以单调的方式出发前往欧洲大陆截然不同。

卡纳比越想越喜欢这个建议。西比尔竟然主动提出了这么长的旅程，这让他既惊讶又高兴。热带地区不是他最喜欢的地区，太平洋上的那些岛屿也没有提供有利可图的能源的空间；他不想爬火山，更不想在香蕉和面包树下休息，尽管这种逃离文明的方式乍一看似乎很愉快。结婚一年，在娱乐、奢侈、铺张浪费中无所事事，他不喜欢这些，自然而然地导致了男性的不安。他强健的体格和脾气，本质上是好斗的，在粗鲁或暴力的生活条件下要求自由。他不太可能在西比尔所共有的任何存在模式中找到令人满意的范围。但他抓住了任何一次广泛旅行的机会。可能有必要——肯定有必要——进一步削减他的资本，从而减少他未来可以指望的年回报；但当他的收入已经少得离谱时，那还有什么关系呢？独立的岁月已经过去了；无论如何，他必须赚钱。现在每个人都这样做，当然会出现一个“空缺”，当然会“出现”一些东西。

他舒展了四肢，突然感到如释重负。

太棒了！这个主意很棒。我们要卖掉所有这些东西吗？挥手示意家具。

'哦，我想不是。把它存起来。

休会很高兴将每张椅子和桌子都变成现金，不仅是为了钱，而且是为了随之而来的自由感；但他一如既往地同意妻子的意愿。他们说话时充满了不寻常的活力。一本伟大的地图集被打开，路线被指明；转眼间，地球的半周就消失了。迄今为止，西比尔一直沉浸在欧洲欢乐和放松的圈子里，突然间她的想象力飞扬起来——在她曾经畏缩的经历中尝到了一种新的奢华。

“我明天会订购衣服。我想是很轻的东西吧？谁能给我建议？

第二天她写的许多便条和信件中，有一封是写给弗罗廷汉姆小姐的。开头是“亲爱的阿尔玛”，结尾是“深情的您”——就像往常一样。

“这周的某一天你能来这里吗？我以前没有写过信，也没有尝试去见你，因为我确信你宁愿一个人呆着。同时我确信所发生的事情虽然会让我们双方都感到悲伤，但不会影响我们的友谊。我想见你，因为我们很快就要离开，首先 檀香山。指定您自己的时间；我会在这里。'

回信中收到了黑边的回答，以“最亲爱的西比尔”开头，以“永远深情”结束。

“我无法告诉你，收到你的善意的来信我感到多么欣慰。这些可怕的日子让我生病了，而让我更加痛苦的一件事就是担心我再也不会收到你的消息了。我不应该不敢写。你是多么高贵啊！——但我一直都知道这一点。我明天不能来——你知道为什么——但是第二天我会在三点钟来和你在一起，如果你不告诉我这个时间不方便的话。

他们在约定的时间见面了。卡纳比夫人对未来的敏锐洞察力在黑暗中显现出来。她的声音温柔地低沉。她的手的压力，她嘴唇的轻柔缠绵，都传达出一种同情，而完美的品味是不允许外露的。阿尔玛一开始什么也说不出来。她脸颊上淡淡的玫瑰色已经消失了。她的眼睛很沉重，缺乏活力。她的嘴不再动，不再挑衅，颤抖着哭泣，可怜而孩子气。她低垂着头，迈着慵懒、怯怯的步伐，看上去更小、更纤弱，一身时尚的悲哀服装助长了她不幸的转变。

“我不应该给你带来这个麻烦，”西比尔说。 “但也许你更愿意在这里看到我——”

“是的——哦，是的——好多了——”

‘坐下吧，亲爱的。我们不会谈论那些悲惨的事情，好吗？如果我对你有任何帮助的话——”

“我很害怕你永远不会——”

“哦，你比那更了解我，”卡纳比太太几乎是高兴地插话道，她的脸上已经摆脱了端庄的阴影，就像一件已经服役的斗篷。 “我希望我既不愚蠢，也不世俗。”

‘确实，确实不是！你本身就是善良。

“弗罗辛汉姆太太怎么样？”

这个问题问得很微妙，头和身体向前倾，眼睛飘忽地移开。

“恐怕真的病了。”她已经晕倒过好几次了——昨天昏迷了近半个小时。”

西比尔退缩了。一提到身体上的痛苦，她就感到最不舒服。她总是避开身体不好的人，感染的可能性让她感到恐慌。

'哦，我很抱歉。但它会过去的。

'但愿如此。我已经尽力了。

“我确信你有。”

“但这太难了——当每一个安慰的话语听起来都无情——当什么都不说是最仁慈的时候——”

“我们不会谈论这件事，亲爱的。你自己——我可以看到你所经历的一切。你必须尽快离开；这种阴沉的天气让一切变得更糟。

她停了下来，带着谨慎而感兴趣的神情等待着阿尔玛的答复。

“是的，我希望能够逃脱。我会看看是否可能。

女孩的神情带着一种疲倦的、不确定的神情。她的双手不停地移动和坐立不安。只有良好的教养习惯才能让她的身体保持静止。

“当然，现在制定计划还为时过早。”

“这太难了，”阿尔玛回答道，她的表情更加自然，眼睛也明亮了一些。 “你看，我完全依赖妈妈。我最好立刻告诉你——无论事情结果如何，妈妈都会有足够的钱维持生活。她有自己的钱；但当然我一无所有——什么都没有。我想，妈妈很可能会去乡下和她姐姐住一段时间。她无法忍受继续住在伦敦，也不喜欢国外的生活。要是我能如我所愿就好了！

“我猜那会是什么，”另一个温柔地微笑着说道。

“把音乐作为一种职业——是的。但我还没准备好。

哦，认真学习了半年；以你的天赋，我想你不会犹豫。你是一个天生的音乐家。

这句话起到了亲切的作用。阿尔玛醒了过来，抬起低垂的头，微笑着。

“这是朋友的称赞。”

“一个人的严肃意见并非完全不适合判断，”西比尔带着平静的自信态度回答道。 “此外，我们都同意——不是吗？——冲动就是一切。你想要什么，就努力去争取。刚才你已经失去了勇气；你不是你自己。等你恢复平衡。”

“我并不是想出名，或者做类似的事情，”阿尔玛说道，她的声音正在恢复正常的音调和旋律。 “我敢说我永远不应该；我可能只是养活自己，仅此而已。但我想要自由——我想要脱离。

'当然！'

“我一直在想，我应该求妈妈给我一点零用钱，然后我自己走。”我认识莱比锡的人——加斯纳一家，你记得吧。我可以在那里生活、工作、感到自由。当然，我真的没有理由不这样做。我一直感到如此束缚和无助；现在没有人有权利阻止我，你认为这是明智之举吗？

阿尔玛偶尔向她的朋友抱怨，就像她那天晚上向哈维·罗尔夫抱怨的那样，安逸的环境不利于艺术抱负，但在她的日常谈话中并没有表现出非常严重的不安。她现在使用的短语以及随之而来的表情让西比尔有些好笑。卡纳比夫人只比阿尔玛大两岁，在世界知识方面享有超乎比例的优势。她的教育更加稳定地朝着这个目标发展，她的学习天赋也更加明显。她确实喜欢阿尔玛，这一点似乎与她对同性中的其他人既没有感情也没有尊重一样确定。阿尔玛本人不太热衷于女性友谊，但她从一开始就自愿向西比尔的知识主张致敬，并认为能够与她建立亲密关系是一种荣幸；此外，她还相信，在西比尔身上，而且只有在西比尔身上，她才真正欣赏到自己的音乐天赋。西比尔对丈夫的选择让她暗自感到惊讶和失望，因为休·卡纳比不是她感兴趣的那种男人，而且在她看来，他完全不配拥有他的好运气；他的丈夫是一位非常优秀的丈夫。但这种困惑很快就过去了并且被遗忘了。她看到西比尔没有受到征服；她看到了西比尔的存在。不仅如此，已婚妇女只是在思想和情绪方面完善了自己，而她在少女时期就闪耀着光芒。在阿尔玛看来，这是力量与美德的结合，与理想的女性气质相差无几。这个例子以她所认识到的方式影响了她的性格发展，而在其他方面，她仍然完全没有意识到。

“我认为你不能做得更好了，”卡纳比夫人回答了最后一个问题。 “前提是——”

她故意停了下来，带着一种温柔的关心和温和的智慧。

“这正是我想要的，”阿尔玛急切地说。 “给我建议——告诉我你的想法。”

“你想独自生活，并摆脱所有愚蠢的习俗和礼节——事实上，我们的老朋友格伦迪夫人。”

'就是这样！你完全理解我，一如既往。”

“如果可以的话，我们就会住在一起。”

'啊！多么令人愉快啊！不要谈论不可能的事情。

“我想说，”西比尔若有所思地继续说道，“你会遇到各种各样的小麻烦和忧虑，而这些是你从未经历过的。”一方面，你知道”——她向后靠了靠，微笑着，轻松自在——“人们不会像你所习惯的那样对待你。金钱对于一个男人来说也是非常重要的。但对于一个女人来说，它的意义超乎你的想象。”

“哦，但我不会生活在这样的人中间——”

'不，不。也许你还不太理解我。重要的不是你寻找的人，而是那些愿意寻找的人 您;他们中的一些人会有非常奇怪的想法——确实非常奇怪。

阿尔玛看上去很不自在，低着眼睛，最后点了点头。

'是的。我想我明白。'

'这就是为什么我说“如果”。你不是一个普通的女孩，你不会想象我为你担心；我太了解你了。这是一个知情和警惕的问题。我想没有人会像这样和你说话。这不会冒犯你吧？

“西比尔！”

'那么，没关系。无论如何都要进入这个世界，但要做好准备——武装起来；据我所知，这个词并不太强烈。也许有一天——但现在没有必要谈论这些事情。

阿尔玛保持了短暂的沉默，最后带着欣喜的语气打破了沉默。

'我现在已经决定了。我只是想听听你会说什么。我不会再多等一天。旧的生活对我来说已经结束了。如果它以其他方式发生的话，我应该欣喜若狂地唱歌。我要开始生活了！

她因强烈的感觉而颤抖，或者因神经的兴奋而颤抖，这种兴奋模拟了某些本性中的强烈感觉。她的脸颊渐渐泛起红晕。她的双眸再次充满了光芒。西比尔敏锐而钦佩地看着她。

“你从来没有想过舞台，阿尔玛？”

'舞台？演戏？

'不;我看你从来没有这样做过。这是不行的——当然是不行的。你的眼神里有某种东西——我刚刚想到了这一点——但当然，你面前还有更伟大的事情。这意味着辛苦的工作，我只怕你会累死。”

“我不应该感到奇怪，”女孩回答道，脸上带着一丝自豪的笑声，对这种可能性感到自豪。

“好吧，我也要走了，你知道的。”

阿尔玛的脸色沉了下来，羞愧再次爬上脸庞，她低声说道：“西比尔啊——！”

“别因为我而让自己感到一点痛苦。这是可以理解的事情；我们之间从来没有提及，没有暗示。事实上，我的立场有点像你：总的来说，我很高兴。休迫切地想要到达世界的另一端，我敢说和他一起去是我能做的最好的事情。当然，不要粗暴地对待它；这不妨碍我。

“我不应该认为，确实如此！”

哦，我可能会达到那样的高度，谁知道呢！如果新的感觉似乎值得麻烦的话。——一两年后，我们将见面并交换意见。不要期待冗长的描述性信件；我不想漠不关心地去做其他人做得很好并付诸实践的事情——这是浪费精力。但你肯定有更多有趣和原创的事情要讲；我确信，在檀香山，它会读起来如此辛辣。

他们一起喝茶，聊了几个小时。当她起身离开时，阿尔玛除了穿着阴暗的窗帘外，已经完全不同于最初出现时那个软弱无力、愁容满面、畏缩的女孩了。

“没有人，”她说，“谁会对我表现得如此友善和高尚。”

'废话！但 这是 废话也。让我们互相敬佩；这对我们有好处，而且非常令人愉快。”

“除了你，我不会向任何人说再见。”让人们随心所欲地思考和评价我；我不在乎打响指。事实上，我 恨 人们。'

“男女一视同仁？”

他们亲密交谈的一个特点是，他们从不谈论男人，而这种玩笑足够新奇，足以使阿尔玛感到有点困惑。

“公正地——相当地，”她回答道。

“请破例支持休的朋友罗尔夫先生。我放弃了剩下的一切。

阿尔玛流露出惊讶之情。

'奇怪的！ “我真的以为你不太喜欢罗尔夫先生。”她说道，脸上没有任何尴尬的表情。

“当我第一次认识他的时候，我并没有意识到。”但他却在其中成长。我觉得他很有趣；他不太容易理解。

“他确实不是。”

他们带着女人那种无拘无束的自信微笑，并没有再谈论这个话题。

卡纳比回家吃晚饭时精神抖擞、心情愉快。他感觉比很多天都好。西比尔反应敏捷，欢迎他出现在客厅。

“在俱乐部见到了老罗尔夫一分钟。脾气暴躁。我不知道他是否真的赔了钱，还不肯承认？但我不这么认为。奇怪的老棍子。

'顺便说一句，什么 is 他的年龄？'阿尔玛漫不经心地问道。

‘三十七或八岁。但我一直认为他五十岁了。”

“我想他永远不会结婚吧？”

罗尔夫？天哪，不！太有道理了——挂了吧，你知道我的意思！它永远不适合 他。无法想象这样的事情。他变得越来越书呆子。他的情绪也很开放，他的沙文主义让我觉得好笑。与他以前的说话方式截然不同；但那时候我并不太关心他。好吧，现在，听着，我和一个我认识的人谈过关于檀香山的事，我有各种各样的事情要告诉你。——晚餐？非常高兴;我很饿。

大约十二月中旬，阿尔玛·弗罗廷厄姆离开了英国，她的心急不可耐，对所有的询问和建议都感到不满，假装计划已定，除了解放的前景之外，对一切都漠不关心。降临在她身上的灾难，她名誉上的耻辱，此刻似乎只是为了自由而付出的代价。悲伤和沮丧的冲击打破了无数的束缚，推翻了性格和力量成长的一切障碍。她因一种新的、令人陶醉的不负责任感而感到自豪。她认为理想的生活就是摆脱所有的责任和义务——除了她自己。

那个冬日，从安特卫普到德国的旅行者注意到了这位穿着考究、容貌迷人的英国女孩，她兴奋的面容和焦躁不安的态度表明这是一次匆忙的旅程，最后有一些最重要的、当然不会令人不快的事情。 。她独自一人，显然能够照顾自己。与代表性的英语不同 小姐，她没有拒绝陌生人的友好示好；她的德语很蹩脚，但她说得很愉快，还嘲笑自己的结巴和错误。她在火车车厢里带着一个小提琴盒。职业音乐家？她笑着回答：“Noch nicht”。她知道莱比锡吗？哦天哪，是的，还有德国的许多其他地方；去过很多地方；是一个完全自由和独立的人，完全没有民族偏见，实际上没有任何形式的偏见。与此同时，她轻蔑地（如果不是轻蔑的话）谈到英国和英国的一切。

在莱比锡，她一直待到四月底，与一个名叫加斯纳的家庭住在一起，他们是她认识多年的人。只有在她搬到这户人家居住的条件下，弗罗廷厄姆夫人才同意给她一些零用钱，并让她出国。阿尔玛对这种限制感到不安。她希望在寄宿处拥有一间自己的房间。但家庭生活提高了她的德语水平——这是有所收获的。与此同时，她对音乐却很少关注，并以一个又一个借口推迟了她认真学习的开始。她似乎完全忘记了音乐是她的“宗教”，而且就这一点而言，她似乎根本没有宗教信仰。 “生活”是她的兴趣，她的学习。她结识了很多朋友，参加音乐会和戏剧，阅读了大量的法国和德国小说。但她的习惯是节约的。她想要的所有快乐都可以用很少的费用来享受，而且她发现继母的汇款绰绰有余。

4月，她征得了弗罗廷汉姆夫人的同意，同意将她从莱比锡搬到慕尼黑。一个和她交上朋友的德国女孩要去慕尼黑学习艺术。她无法在莱比锡“定居”，原因连她自己也不清楚（她在给弗罗辛厄姆夫人的信中是这么说的）。气候似乎不适合她。她得了重感冒，总而言之，身体状况不佳。慕尼黑住着一位令人钦佩的小提琴家，他是维伦斯基先生的朋友，对她很有用。 “简而言之，亲爱的妈妈，在你看来，我在四岁和二十岁的时候竟然乞求允许去这里那里，做这做那，这不是很丢脸吗？”我知道你们对我的所有焦虑，我非常感激，并且我为以你们为代价而生活感到羞愧，但实际上我必须以自己的方式为自己创造事业。弗罗辛厄姆夫人屈服了，阿尔玛和她的德国朋友一起在慕尼黑寄宿。

英国报纸现在正在报道不列颠尼亚公司董事的审判，事情已经到了这一步。法庭的揭露满足了公众的好奇心，也激起了愤怒的叫嚣。阿尔玛读着，并试图将整个过程视为与他们无关的过程。但她的天却暗了下来，她的心也变得沉重。班尼特·弗罗辛厄姆（Bennet Frothingham）这个名字代表着鲁莽犯罪，代表着巨大的流氓。未来几年都会如此。她没有勇气拿起小提琴；音乐声让她感到厌恶，仿佛在嘲笑她破灭的野心。

自从她收到一封也是唯一一封来自檀香山的信以来，已经过去三个月了。距离她给西比尔写信已经两个月了。在春天的一个蓝色的日子里，当沮丧降临在她身上，所有的忙碌，所有的娱乐都似乎成为一种负担时，她被迫向世界另一端的朋友讲话，向梦想发出痛苦和绝望的呼喊——太平洋岛屿。

“从事音乐工作有什么用？简单的事实是，自从我离开英国以来，我就放弃了它。我靠着虚假的借口住在这里；我再也不想拉小提琴了。英国观众会给予我什么样的接待？如果我取另一个名字，当然就会知道我是谁，人们就会过来盯着我看——真是令人愉快的想法！而我对自己彻底失去了信心。即使有才华，困难也很大，而我觉得自己一无所有。我可能辛苦了很多年，却没有什么好处。我觉得我不是一个艺术家——我被殴打和羞辱。除了哭泣和痛苦之外，别无选择，就像其他失去金钱、希望和一切的女孩一样。你为什么不写信给我？如果你等到收到这个，我可能要六七周才能听到。你的一封信会对我有很大帮助。

有人敲她的门。她叫 '于此！'出现了一个小男孩，是她女房东的孩子，有时为她跑腿。他说有一位绅士要见她。

“德语？

“不。 Ein Englander, glaub'ich, und ein schnuriges Deutsch ist's, das er verbricht！

阿尔玛站起来，把未写完的信关进吸墨盒里，焦急地环顾房间。

'他叫什么名字？请他告诉你他的名字。

年轻人带着一张卡片回来，阿尔玛惊讶地读到“先生”的名字。菲利克斯·戴姆斯。为什么，她几乎忘记了这个男人的存在。他怎么到这里来了？他有什么权利打电话？但她还是很高兴——不，是高兴。令人高兴的是，今天早上她拥有了自己的客厅（与她学习艺术的朋友共用）。

“把他带到这里来，”她急忙对男孩说，“让他等我一下。”

她逃了出去，迅速换了衣服。因为阿尔玛不像西比尔·卡纳比那样永远注重个人的成就；她不像西比尔·卡纳比。她衣着随意，除非场合需要煞费苦心。她喜欢宽松的长袍和拖鞋、松散的头发和自由的喉咙。在过去的几个月里，她越来越喜欢这种感觉。但她并没有让戴姆斯先生等太久，当她进来时，戴姆斯先生用非常坦率的钦佩目光看着她。他的问候也是弗兰克——一位非常亲密的老朋友的问候，而不是客厅熟人的问候。他说，他是直接从英国来的；一个春假，因他的歌曲《玛戈特》的成功而得到保证，男高音托普汉姆在圣詹姆斯音乐厅演唱了这首歌。几天前，他碰巧见到了利奇小姐，利奇小姐给了他弗罗丁厄姆小姐的地址，他无法否认自己打电话的乐趣。一边聊天，他一边舒服地坐在椅子上，阿尔玛坐在他的对面。这个人声音大、自负、粗俗。但毕竟，他创作了非常甜美的音乐，有望吸引公众的注意。他带来了昔日幸福的气息。一个波西米亚人、一位艺术家怎么能指望有小礼节呢？阿尔玛开始热切而愉快地说话。

“弗罗丁厄姆小姐，你在做什么？”

‘哦，稍微摆弄一下。但我的情况不太好。

'我理解了。但从另一种意义上说，你看起来比以前更好了。”

他开始哼着小曲，环顾房间。

“你没有钢琴。听听这个；你认为会怎么样？他哼唱出完整的旋律。 '昨晚出现在我的脑海里。想要一些比较伤感的词语——那种受到英国公众欢迎的东西。空气相当好，你不觉得吗？

菲利克斯·戴姆斯有两种谈话方式。在一家非常隆重的公司里，当他需要给人留下深刻印象时，他会以艺术家和音乐专家的身份说话，用许多德语短语（他发音很糟糕）来填补他知识上的空白。他熟悉的谈话风格很不一样：抛弃了矫揉造作，有一种直接、一种活力，从来没有让人怀疑过他对生活的真实看法。任何种类的旋律如何能从如此明显不光彩的本性中发出，可能会让理想主义者感到困惑。阿尔玛认识了很多音乐界的人士，她并没有被这个困难所困扰。在她目前的心情中，她屈服于成功的傲慢，并在戴姆斯的虚张声势中感到一种快乐和一种鼓励 友情.

“让我试着用小提琴来捕捉它，”当他点着头，挥动手臂，再次哼唱着他的作品时，她说道。

她成功地做到了这一点，戴姆斯将他的嗡嗡声提高为感伤的咆哮，并对自己感到非常满意。

“我喜欢在这样的地方见到你，”他说。 “看起来更像是在做生意——就好像你真的想做某事一样。”你一个人住在这里吗？

'与朋友。'

戴姆斯的目光中有些奇怪的东西让她补充道：“一个德国女孩，一个艺术系的学生。”音乐家点点头并微笑着。

'那你有什么想法？来吧，我们来谈谈吧。我想知道我是否能对你有所帮助——如果能的话我会非常高兴。

阿尔玛感到羞愧，结结巴巴地讲述着她模糊的计划，在男人敏锐的目光下，她脸红了。

“看这里，”他以迷人的随意语气喊道，“你以前不是唱歌的吗？有人告诉我你的声音很好听。”

“哦，那是很久以前的事了。”

“我希望你能让我听到你的声音。”

'不，不！我根本不唱歌。

'可惜，如果这是真的的话。我想写一部严肃喜剧，一种新的东西，我突然意识到你就是适合唱这种歌。你有脸，还有——你知道的——文雅；那种东西不容易找到。恐怕以小提琴家的身份出身的机会很渺茫。

阿尔玛有点对他的无礼感到不满，但又被务实的语气和知识渊博的神情所折服，她脸上的表情很严肃。戴姆斯盘着双腿，继续谈论他所设想的项目，所有这些项目都是为了有利可图。他有资本；没什么了不起的，只是一笔舒适的钱，他决心充分利用它。他宣称，他的歌曲很快就能每年为他带来数百首收入，而他的生活理念是获得尽可能多的享受，而不需要过度努力。谈话持续了几个小时，戴姆斯变得更加和蔼可亲、更加保密，他的目光很少从阿尔玛的脸上移开。

“好吧，”他最后站起来说道，“这么久之后再次见到你真是太高兴了。”我将在这里住几天。你能让我明天打电话吗？

看到他离开，阿尔玛既高兴又遗憾，笑着给予了他想要的许可。那天晚上，当她看到那封未写完的信时，她觉得那是一种悲惨的哀鸣，于是她恼怒地把它撕碎了。戴姆斯的来访对她有好处。她即使没有重新燃起希望，至少也感受到了精神复苏带来的勇气。

第二天，她满怀期待地等待着他的到来。他进来时哼着一首曲子——又一首新曲子——她又从他那里听到了这首曲子，并用小提琴演奏。

'很好，你不觉得吗？我现在心情很好——总是在春天，天气好的时候。我说，你今天看起来好多了——明显更健康了。你来这里做什么运动？你去英国花园吗？现在来吧，好吗？我们开车去吧。

阿尔玛突然冷漠地告辞了。音乐家迅速打量着她，咬着嘴唇，扭头看向窗外。但很快他又恢复了他那种开朗的幽默感。

“你很难相信，但这是千真万确的事实，我大老远过来就是为了见你。在遇见利奇小姐并听说你之前，我并没有想到要来德国。现在我已经走了这么远，我还不如继续去意大利转一圈。我希望你也能来。

阿尔玛没有回答。他一如既往地打量着她，脸上的表情似乎带着某种情绪。然后，他突然提出了一个直率的问题。

“你认为热爱音乐、艺术之类的人应该结婚吗？”

“我根本没想过这个，”阿尔玛漫不经心地笑着回答，一边用手指敲击着放在膝上的小提琴琴弦。

“我们通常被告知他们不应该这样做，”戴姆斯继续说道，他的声音已经失去了喧闹的自信，而且有些不确定。 “但这一切都取决于情况，你知道。如果人们所说的婚姻是指普通的事情——当然，那就是平局。但不一定如此。现在很多人结婚了，过着理性的生活——没有房子，没有那种麻烦；随心所欲地生活，过着愉快、合理的生活。只要有一点钱就足够容易了。有时他们会互相帮助；有时他们会互相帮助。我认识那些设法做到这一点的人。

“哦，我敢说，”当他停下来时，阿尔玛说道。 “正如你所说，这一切都取决于情况。你马上就要去意大利吗？

她半遮半掩的眼睛里似乎隐藏着玩味，嘴唇上却带着幽默的轻蔑。戴姆斯的大胆程度令人难以置信，几乎让她笑了，戴姆斯没有理会她的询问，而是猛然说出了他抽象言论的个人应用。是的，这是一次求婚——按照新的计划结婚，没有任何牵挂，没有任何负担；建议而非请愿书；随性、不带感情色彩，但从表情和语气中可以看出，他非常严肃。

“你的观点有很多话要说，”阿尔玛幽默严肃地回答道，“但我一点也不想结婚。”

“嗯，我已经提到过了。”他挥了挥手，似乎是为了克服一种不寻常的尴尬。 “你不介意吗？”

“一点也不。”

“我希望我们很快就能再次见面，而且——有一天，你知道——你可能会以另一种眼光看待这件事。你千万别以为我在开玩笑。”

'但它 is 而是一个笑话。

'不;相信我，我从来没有对任何事情如此认真过。我确信这是一个好主意。然而，你知道一件事——如果我能对你有用，我就会的。我会仔细考虑一下——你的机会等等；有些事情可能会自行显现。你不适合日常事务。

“我试着希望不会。”

“啊，不过你可以相信我的话。”

带着这个令人欣慰的保证，菲利克斯·戴姆斯离开了。没有情节剧；当他下楼时，他握住了手，意味深长地点了点头，大声哼了一声。

阿尔玛随即开始给西比尔·卡纳比写一封新信。尽管被悲惨环境的阴影所感动，但它是用一种欢快的幽默写成的。她讲述了戴姆斯先生来访的故事，并为此感到高兴。 “我确信这是“提案”中最新的内容。虽然我的生活如此平淡、孤独，但这让我觉得我仍然与文明保持着联系。确实，如果最坏的情况发生了——但拿这样的事情开玩笑是很危险的。”她轻描淡写地谈到了她的立场的事实。 '恐怕我还没有做太多事情。也许这对我来说是一个休闲时光；我可能正在积蓄力量去取得伟大的成就。不幸的是，我有一个懒惰的同伴。斯坦菲尔德小姐（如果你收到我的上一封信，你就认识她了）只是假装在工作。我喜欢她，因为她的善良和智慧；但她只是一个小 忧郁的，所以不完全是我需要的伴侣。她刚才的想法是我们都需要“改变”，她想让我和她一起去博登湖的布雷根茨。也许当天气变热时我会这么做。

当菲利克斯·戴姆斯告诉她，他从利奇小姐那里得到了她在慕尼黑的地址时，她感到很惊讶，因为在英国，她唯一告知她离开莱比锡的人是她的继母。说起她，她在伦敦的熟人仍然不厌其烦地了解她的行踪。也许正是她所卷入的这场灾难的彻底性对她有利。当她的名字受到尊重时，她可能会引起比以往任何时候都更多的兴趣。这个想法有了新的生命。她给多拉·利奇写了一封简短的信，介绍了自己的情况，虽然本质上具有误导性，但并不是出于有意识的谎言。尽管阿尔玛很虚荣，但她从来没有故意故意表现出不真诚的行为来达到效果。利奇小姐被告知她的朋友没有太多时间进行通信。 “我生活在艺术的氛围中，耐心地努力着。有一天你会听到我的消息。当这封信寄出后，阿尔玛对它会产生的效果进行了长时间的思考。

与杰出的小提琴家一起；弗罗廷厄姆夫人谈到她是韦伦斯基先生的朋友时，她至今还没有进行任何交流，在初夏的日子里，她继续忽视她的音乐。她变得懒惰起来。有时她一整天都穿着晨衣，坐着或躺着，手里拿着一本书，或者完全无所事事。有时，公共花园里的军乐队会引诱她去散步，或者她会和斯坦菲尔德小姐一起在画廊里漫步。他们偶尔会到该国进行短途旅行。这位艺术系学生在慕尼黑有熟人，但见面不多，而且他们也不是阿尔玛愿意交往的那种人。

七月，他们决定去布雷根茨呆几周。他们的健康状况需要改变，正如斯坦菲尔德小姐所知道的那样，这是一个朴素的家庭。 养老金，可以用很少的费用获得。在他们出发之前，这位艺术系的学生离开了几天，为了缓解生活的沉闷，阿尔玛一天下午独自出去，打算乘坐蒸汽电车去宁芬堡的花园旅行。她步行到了有轨电车的起点斯蒂格梅尔广场，在那里站着等待。一辆马车驶过，伴随着英国人的声音，引起了她的注意。她看到了三个孩子，一位女士和一位先生。最后提到的那个人看着她，她认出了赛勒斯·雷德格雷夫。他是否认识她的脸似乎不确定。为了不被人发现而逃走，她迅速转身，走了几码。在她再次转身之前，一阵快速的脚步声向她走来，下一刻雷德格雷夫先生站了起来，手里拿着帽子，礼貌地声称认识她。

“我以为我不可能弄错了！”

马车停下来等他下车后，就开走了。

“那是我的妹妹和她的孩子们，”雷德格雷夫热情地握手并表达了他对这次会面的高兴时说道。 '你从来没有见过她。她的丈夫在印度，你会看到我过着完全的家庭生活。今天早上我给你贴了一张纸条；当然，你还没有收到。

阿尔玛尽力表现得有尊严。无论如何，她都会试图遇到像雷德格瑞夫这样的人——富有、优雅、社会人物，他一定认为她被驱逐出上流圈子；但她是一个有钱有势的人。穿着随意的服装，她感到非常羞愧。第一次，一种堕落感、社会自卑感威胁到了她的自尊。

“你怎么知道我的地址？”她问，语气不由自主地模仿着傲慢的样子，脸上的红晕和挥之不去的半笑让她显得很可怜。

'太太。弗罗廷汉姆好心地给了我。——我想，你是从这条路走来的吧？——我姐姐住在斯图加特，我恰好过来，充当她前往萨尔茨堡的信使。我们昨天到了，明天或者后天继续。我给你留了一张纸条，询问我是否可以打电话给你。”

“你最近在哪里见过妈妈？”阿尔玛问道，几乎没有注意他给她的解释。

“在伦敦，纯属偶然。事实上，那是在滑铁卢车站。弗罗廷汉姆夫人正出发去乡下，而我恰好要去温布尔登。我告诉她我可能会在经过慕尼黑的路上见到你。

阿尔玛开始恢复过来。赛勒斯·雷德格雷夫仍然对她感兴趣，这显然比菲利克斯·戴姆斯的古怪恭维更令人欣慰。她努力忘记被发现站在公共场所等待电车的耻辱。雷德格雷夫的态度没有明显的变化，除非他说话确实更加真诚，而这一定是出于善意。他们的认识只持续了一两年，几乎还没有达到所谓的友谊，但雷德格雷夫似乎对最近发生的不愉快事件浑然不觉。

“我很高兴你没有突然打电话来，”她说道，试图语气轻松一些。 “我现在是一名学生——不再是业余爱好者——并且像学生一样生活。”

'那就更好了。我自己就是一个天生的波西米亚人，最喜欢无视仪式。顺便说一句，这就是我从姐姐身边跑出来和你说话的原因；我知道你不喜欢拘谨。恐怕我很高兴能够逃脱。我们一直带着孩子们去兜风——可爱的小淘气，但目前我的家庭本能得到了满足。弗罗廷汉姆太太提到你和一位朋友住在一起——一位艺术系的学生。

“一两天后我们就出去度假，”阿尔玛更加轻松地说。 “去布雷根茨——你知道吗？”

'仅凭名字。你一两天就去吗？我希望你能让我知道你在那里的地址，”他坦率友好地补充道。 “我和姐姐一起前往萨尔茨堡，然后就自己离开了；我也许可以经过你的路，我非常想和你谈谈——一次真正的谈话，关于音乐和各种各样的事情。我有没有告诉过你我在加尔达湖源头里瓦的小地方？舒适的小角落，但我不常去那里；我有点想出去安静一两周。湖边那儿还蛮凉快的。但我真的必须设法在布雷根茨见你——请允许我。”

他请求这是一种恩惠、一种特权，阿尔玛毫不犹豫地告诉他她将住在哪里。

“几周？”哦，那么，我就特意从那条路过来。我希望你工作不是太辛苦吧？我知道你做事不会半途而废。当我第一次听说你认真从事音乐时，我对自己说：“坦特·米约，另一位伟大的小提琴家！”'

听者高兴得满脸通红。她的脚步变得有弹性；她英勇地抬起头，并不害怕雷德格雷夫投向她的目光。

“我已经学会了不谈论自己，”她说，对他微笑。 “这是业余皈依者要克服的第一个坏习惯。”

'首都！这是一条值得付诸印刷的公理，为了所有人的利益。现在我必须说再见了；那边那个家伙会带我回到家庭。他招呼了一辆空车厢。 “我们一定会在山间重逢。” 奥夫Wiedersehen！

阿尔玛继续沿着宁芬堡路行走，对外界的事物一无所知。她等待的电车经过了；她不再想去乡下。在明亮的阳光下继续前进并思考她的想法就足够了。

不;人们并没有忘记她。当她让自己陷入忧郁和懒散的时候，她的熟人显然使她成为人们谈论和猜测的话题。这正是她所渴望的，但却失去了相信的勇气。他们对她寄予厚望。她的个人声望和才华战胜了最不利的环境。人们并不认为她是班尼特·弗罗辛厄姆的女儿，除非将她未来的希望与背后的黑色灾难进行对比。

她变得富有哲理。这世上的一切都是多么的美好啊！她父亲去世后，她悲痛欲绝。这件事深深触动了她的心；他的轻率（即使在思想中，她也无法使用更严厉的词）让她痛苦，而不是羞辱，没有一天，她为他记忆中的耻辱而悲伤。然而，这些苦难和灾难不正是新生活的开始吗？ 这里！如果她繁荣昌盛的话，她会变成什么样子呢？没有什么比被抛入这个世界更能给她实现远大抱负所需的动力了。 '坦特·米约，另一位伟大的小提琴家！”这话是多么真诚，多么鼓舞人心啊！

阿尔玛的脚步又把她带回了家，然后她停下来反思，无论出于什么雄心壮志，过去的半年都完全被浪费了。没关系;从布雷根茨回来后！

她的桌子上放着雷德格雷夫的字条；一两条非常礼貌的电话，请求允许通话。还有一封黑边的信，是她继母寄来的。弗罗辛汉姆太太说，她已经准备好几天写信了，但各种令人不愉快的事情阻碍了她；即便是现在，她也只能匆匆地写着。在过去的两周里，她不得不两次去伦敦。 “我真的认为我不得不再次去那里住一段时间；有很多事情需要注意。如果我租一套小公寓，也许是最好的选择。不过，我想说的是，上次我上去的时候，我遇到了雷德格雷夫先生，我们聊了很长一段时间——关于 您。他对你的未来非常感兴趣；事实上，这让我很惊讶，因为我承认我对他从来没有很高的评价。我以为他受苦了 没有损失。他对我的举止就像一位绅士，与我能说出名字的一些人的举止截然不同。但它是 您 他谈到了大部分。他说他很快就要去德国，并恳求我告诉他你的地址，我真的认为这没有什么坏处。他可能会召唤你。如果是这样，请让我听听所有的情况，因为我对此非常感兴趣。”

阿尔玛有点想立刻回复，但转念一想，还是决定再等等。毕竟，雷德格雷夫先生可能不会遵守他来布雷根茨看她的诺言，在那种情况下，对所发生的事情做一个非常简短的报告就足够了。但她确信他一定会来。

她当然希望如此；为什么，她很乐意留下玫瑰色的模糊。

阿尔玛和她的德国朋友默默地同意，他们预见到他们不会再住在一起太久了。斯坦菲尔德小姐一开始急于说英语，后来又开始说她的母语，而阿尔玛懒洋洋地回避德语，他们用不同的语言交谈，每种语言都夹杂着一些外来短语。英国女孩可能会与一个更糟糕的伴侣结盟；因为，尽管斯坦菲尔德小姐有与阿尔玛相似的缺点，目的模糊，意志薄弱，但斯坦菲尔德小姐却有一定的道德原则，这使她的谈话有益于健康，她的愿望具有良好的影响力。她想象自己爱上了一位只见过两三次的艺术家，当她向富有同情心的阿尔玛吐露自己的恋情时，没有什么比这更令人兴奋的了。富有同情心，即在她的限度内；因为弗洛廷汉姆小姐从未谈过恋爱，也很少沉溺于感伤的情绪中。她当然没有流露出她特有的情感，只是无意识地流露出来，而斯坦菲尔德小姐对造成她朋友孤独的悲惨情况一无所知。

在布雷根茨的最初几天，他们在彼此的交往中重新感受到了快乐。阿尔玛的精神好多了。她喜欢风景，住在露天。攀登山脉，普凡德山 (Pfander) 给人以高贵的视野，而格布哈兹山 (Gebhardsberg) 则比较轻松，那里有悬空的树林。人们可以在湖上泛舟，也可以沿着湖岸漫步，在某个花园里休息和享用点心。斯坦菲尔德小姐的阅读能力和智力都优于阿尔玛，她喜欢探索罗马遗迹，在博物馆里流连忘返。阿尔玛无法长久地假装对布里甘提姆的遗迹感兴趣。但有一天她微笑着说道——

“我认识一个会喜欢这种事情的人——一个英国人——非常有学问——”

'老的？'她的朋友意味深长地问道。

'是的——不是。既不老也不年轻。一个奇怪的人；相当有趣。我很高兴，”她顽皮地补充道，“给他寄了一张照片。”

'你自己的？'

'哦，亲爱的，不！他不会关心这个。老城区的景色。

在她嬉戏的心情中，她按照这个想法行动了。她购买了两到三张照片，将它们整理好后寄给大都会俱乐部的哈维·罗尔夫先生。她不记得他的私人地址，但从西比尔的谈话中，俱乐部仍然留在她的脑海里。当包裹消失后，她当然后悔寄了它。罗尔夫先生很可能认为自己已经结束了与这个名誉扫地的家庭的所有交往，而且，如果他认出了她的笔迹，就会把照片扔到一边。让他;不管怎样，这都无关紧要。

一周过去了，新鲜感逐渐消失。朋友们开始疏远。斯坦菲尔德小姐在 养老金，阿尔玛陷入了孤独。两周后，她厌倦了一切，想要离开，渴望地想起英国。雷德格瑞夫先生显然不会来。他从来都不是认真的。他的 奥夫Wiedersehen 在街上赶走她只是一种礼貌。他为什么要费力去打听她的消息呢？当然，这并不重要——什么都不重要——但如果她能再见到他的话！阿尔玛尝试着表现出冷漠的轻蔑表情。

第二天，当她和朋友沿着林道路闲逛回来时，雷德格雷夫先生遇见了他们。他的穿着是她从未见过的，穿着法兰绒衣服，白色领带松松地打着结，戴着一顶草帽。直到他走近并敬礼时，她才认出他来。他看起来年轻了十岁。

他们的谈话就好像这次会议是每天都会发生的一样。雷德格瑞夫经常对斯坦菲尔德小姐说话，就像对阿尔玛说话一样，表现出优雅的举止。他今天一早就到达了，在奥斯特瑞奇霍夫酒店住了下来，对布罗根茨已经很满意了。斯坦菲尔德小姐致力于风景画吗？她在这里做过什么吗？弗洛廷汉姆小姐带了小提琴来吗？他们愉快地漫步到港口长廊，最后告别并保证会再次见面，仿佛不需要明确的约会。

“这就是我心目中的英国绅士，”斯坦菲尔德小姐后来说。 “我想我应该把他当作领主。毫无疑问他非常富有？

“噢，还不错。”阿尔玛假装漠不关心地回答道。 “我敢说，每年一万英镑。”

'万！ 利伯·希梅尔！结婚了吗？

'不。'

“我想是在议会吧？”

'不。'

“那么，他做什么呢？”

“哦，自娱自乐吧。”

每个人都沉浸在自己的思绪中。阿尔玛的态度如此令人愉快，斯坦菲尔德小姐看着她，自然陷入了浪漫的猜测中。

雷德格瑞夫很容易就想到，他的下一次散步应该是和弗罗廷汉姆小姐单独在一起。第二天早上，她刚离开家不久，他就追上了她，他们向格布哈兹贝格方向漫步。

“现在让我们进行约定的谈话，”他在一个有利的时机开始说道。 “我一直在想你。”

“你去加尔达湖的住处了吗？”

'是的;只是看看它，然后把它整理好。我希望不久之后还能再去那里。你不怀疑我应该来吗？

“你让它变得不确定。”

'为了确定。生活是不确定的。但如果我没有在这里找到你，我应该会非常失望。关于以音乐为职业，有很多话要说。我认为你有天赋，你有体力。他的目光让她从头到脚都受宠若惊。 “但是，要成为一名伟大的艺术家，一个人必须拥有的不仅仅是技术资格。这是必须发展的灵魂。

阿尔玛笑了。

'我知道这。那么你开发灵魂的收据是什么？

雷德格雷夫停下脚步。他微笑着，捻着小胡子，一副若有所思的样子。

“灵魂——嗯，它有一种自以为是的声音。让我们说一下性格；这是通过生活经验发展起来的。

“我明白了。”

'你是？在斯坦菲尔德小姐的陪伴下？恐怕这不会带你走多远。体验意味着情感；当然，对于一个女人来说。相信我，你还没有开始生活。你可能日夜练习小提琴，但它不会给你带来任何好处——除非你已经学会了。 生活“。

阿尔玛变得严肃起来。这些短语与她自己的虚无缥缈的想法和随意收集的观念非常吻合。当她准备逃离英国时，也使用了大致相同的语言。但归根结底，这意味着什么？赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫那富有表情的眼神和慵懒而真诚的语气到底是什么意思？

'你会说女孩机会很少。确实，这要归功于她受到社会的奴役。

“我不关心社会，”阿尔玛插话道。

'好的！我喜欢那种反抗的声音；它有正确的戒指。男人通常不会高兴地从他尊敬的女人那里听到这样的话。当然，违抗一个不属于的世界的法律是很容易的。但你，在你的圈子里是女王，随时可能在更广阔的范围内登上王位——当你拒绝在庸俗的偶像面前下跪、拒绝被迷信所束缚时，这意义重大。

他的目的对她来说是黑暗的，但她尝到了这种无视她社会地位的恭维的滋味。雷德格雷夫的谈话总体上保持平淡无奇——刻意礼貌，或温文尔雅地愤世嫉俗。看到他滔滔不绝地发表言论，真是一种全新的体验。但他并没有被带走，因为他说话很轻松，有一种自我克制，对于年长的人来说，这意味着技巧而不是感觉。他一点儿也没有年轻时的热情。他的镇定和深思熟虑与那二十年来在他面容上留下的微妙痕迹非常一致。他内心的激情是嬉戏的，半是幻想，仿佛它们与他的大脑一起成长为成熟的世俗。他并没有引起任何不信任；他的善良本性似乎无处不在。他给人一种慷慨无私的忠告之人的气质，并且很少用他轻率而丰富的言论来抬高自己。

“我见过很多艺术家；深入了解他们，研究他们的生活。总而言之，他们的成功源于一些充满激情的经历。从冷漠和传统的存在中只能产生冷漠和传统的艺术。你离开了英格兰，脱离了常规，脱离了做作和受人尊敬。这是不可或缺的第一步，我已经告诉过你我是如何赞扬它的。但你不能就此止步。我开始为你担心。有一种非传统的惯例：简陋的住所、艰苦的生活、有限的享乐——诸如此类的事情。我担心它会对你产生影响。

“我有什么选择呢？”阿尔玛大声说道，语气变得熟悉的坦率。 '如果我 am 穷，我一定活得很穷。

他对她亲切地微笑，举起手，仿佛要以令人放心的善意抚摸她。但这只是抚摸他修剪整齐的胡须。

“哦，你有选择，相信我，”他轻快地回答。 “贫穷持续太久并没有什么坏处。你可能已经从中获利；这是一种体验。但现在——别让我们走得太远，让你感到疲倦。是的，我们会转向。丰富多彩的生活、旅行、各种快乐和满足——这些都是你所需要的。

“如果它们不在我的范围之内呢？”她问，没有看他。

“顺便说一句，”他无视了她的问题，“你的朋友卡纳比夫人坐了长途飞机。”

'是。'

单音节词被去掉了。阿尔玛走路时眼睛盯着地面，拖着遮阳伞。

“我不认为她对旅行有多大兴趣。但你比我更了解她。”

“她玩得很开心，”阿尔玛说。

'不需要 您 能走这么远。那边”——他向南点点头——“前几天我在想，人们从世界不同地方的风景中得到的不同种类的快乐。我见过热带地区；他们让我在智力上处于原地踏步。人类对自然美的联想才是最重要的。你不想去太平洋岛屿吗？

“我不能说我有。”

'当然不是。艺术的源泉在旧世界。在葡萄藤和橄榄树中，人们听到一种声音。我真的必须尽力让你了解我在里瓦的小地方。

他开始了一段有趣的描述——很长，但绝不乏味；诱人，但缺乏热情——一种精致的快乐和奢华的梦幻暗示。

“我在比利牛斯山脉还有另一个地方，可以适应另一种心情；不久前，我对离安条克不远、位于奥龙特斯河谷的一栋房子很感兴趣——一栋由英国人建造的房子。迷人的地方，完全人迹罕至。住在安提阿附近的想法难道不令人着迷吗？远离无聊和市侩。没有格伦迪夫人和她那叮当作响的茶杯。我敢说这房子仍然有人要。——哦，请告诉我一些关于你的朋友弗劳林·斯坦菲尔德的事。她是认真的吗？她会做任何事吗？

他的雄辩到此结束了。从此以后，他用不带感情色彩的语言谈论平常的事情。当阿尔玛与他分开时，她感到疲倦和失望。

第二天，她根本就没有见到他。他不可能离开布雷根茨，因为他当然会让她知道。她不断地想起他，回顾他所有的谈话，翻阅这那句模棱两可的话，问自己他的意思是多还是少。她很自然地将他的行为与菲利克斯·戴姆斯的行为进行比较和对比。如果他的动机不一样，他为什么要来找她呢？如果是的话呢？如果他最终开口说话，将他的暗示简单地概括为她所缺乏的所有机会呢？

辉煌的诱惑。以阿尔玛·弗罗廷汉姆的身份离开世界，以赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫夫人的身份重返世界！

但是，在这种情况下，她的音乐野心又如何呢？他说她的艺术是最重要的，其他一切都必须服从它。当然，这就是他蔑视“无聊和市侩”的意思。为什么他的财富会妨碍她作为艺术家的进步？另一方面，他可能并不打算让她从事职业生涯。不站上公共平台就不能成为一名伟大的艺术家吗？培养她的才能是为了他自己和少数特权者的快乐吗？

她的大脑对解释和想象感到困惑。但她的自尊心再一次取得了进步。她可以充满自信和自豪地等待下一次会议，这与她在慕尼黑斯蒂格梅耶广场的感觉截然不同。

事情发生在第二天。这一次，雷德格雷夫没有等待意外发生。他寄了一张便条，恳求他能有幸再次与她交谈。他会在某个时间打电话，碰碰运气在家里找到她。当他出现时，阿尔玛正坐在学校的公共休息室里。 养老金 和两位德国女士；几分钟后他们就退出了，开始进行熟悉的谈话。由于窗户开着，阳台上有椅子，雷德格雷夫很快就提议朝那个方向移动。他们一起坐了半个小时。

雷德格雷夫离开时没有握手——也没有握手。 奥夫Wiedersehen。他微笑着，低声说着客套话；阿尔玛既没有微笑，也没有说话。她脸色苍白，极度激动。

那么这就是他的意思？——虽然用了最优雅的措辞，但终于说得很清楚了。幼稚的虚荣心和无知不允许她想到这样的问题。她一刻也没有领会她家庭的毁灭和耻辱对于这个世界上的男人的意义。理论上，她可能会称自己为上流社会的流放者；但实际上，她可能会称自己为“上流社会的流亡者”。尽管如此，她仍然想象自己仍然被社会光环所照亮，受到中上层阶级成员的神性的守护。她不是一位女士吗？谁敢对一位女士做出这样的侮辱？女店员、小演员、低等家庭女教师，自然要保持警惕。他们的不安全感是传统的；小说和戏剧代表了他们的道德变迁。但是一位女士，她住在一栋大房子里，有许多仆人，成立了一个业余四重奏协会，她的衣服下摆从未被不敬的手指碰过——可以 她 面临这样的侮辱的危险吗？

直到现在她才想起西比尔·卡纳比的警告，而在听到这些警告时，她根本不明白。 “人们，”西比尔说，“会带着奇怪的想法来接近她。”她可能将这一点应用于菲利克斯·戴姆斯的怪诞提议（在她看来），或者应用于因某些不太受人尊敬的经理人提出的商业报价而过早公开的风险。西比尔的意思现在已经很清楚了；但卡纳比夫人怎么也没有想到，她的警告会被她自己的一位朋友——一位富有且体贴的人——所证实。

她不敢离开家，因为害怕遇到雷德格雷夫，如果他们偶然经过，雷德格雷夫可能会认为她邀请了另一次会面。她害怕女人的观察，尤其是斯坦菲尔德小姐。唯一的隐居处是她的卧室，她把自己关在这里直到晚餐时间。这顿饭她必须要面对公司，否则会招致非议。她试图用平常的漠不关心来回报朋友的微笑。晚餐后，斯坦菲尔德小姐是不可避免的，她极其谨慎的神态表明她对事件有所了解，并等待着秘密。

'先生。雷德格雷夫已经走了——他打电话来告别。

“So？

由于自我意识的激怒，阿尔玛厌恶会伤害她虚荣心的误解，尽管这不太可能损害她的荣誉，阿尔玛求助于小说。

“我敢说你猜到了？——是的，但我拒绝了。”

斯坦菲尔德小姐很困惑。一个女孩每年拒绝一万英镑，她并不感到惊讶，因为她太高尚了。但她毫无疑问地认为阿尔玛已经心心相印了。在她看来，这似乎是对这位原始的年轻英国女人身上的一个谜团的解释。出乎意料的是，这位才华横溢的情人，这位秘密所爱的人，在她退休后找到了她。毕竟，这是一个错误。

“我一点也不关心他，”阿尔玛继续说道。 “这件事必须结束并完成，仅此而已。”

她为自己感到羞愧。童年时她曾随意说谎，但由于有必要做这种事，这个习惯就消失了。然而，安慰就在眼前，因为德国女孩用一种新的兴趣、一种新的同情心看着她，阿尔玛很容易将其解释为惊奇和钦佩，甚至是温柔的嫉妒。拒绝一个英俊富有的男人的求婚也许会被视为一种荣耀。阿尔玛一时的羞愧变成了一种满足，这让她表面上感到轻松自在。

不安的夜晚带来了心灵的折磨和精神的困扰。雷德格雷夫的求婚在她生活的空荡荡的房间里回响，听起来不再是一种冒犯，而是一种诱惑。确实，为什么她会如此不假思索地排斥它呢？这并不一定意味着丑闻。他并没有邀请她公开反抗世界。 '你绝对可以相信我；我本身就是自由裁量权。所有资源都在我的指挥之下。为什么她带着轻蔑和恐惧拒绝了也许是她的绝佳机会，是她挣扎和沉沦的野心的唯一希望？她对自己失去了信心；在于她克服环境的能力，而不在于她的天赋，在于她与生俱来的艺术权利。雷德格雷夫会让她的道路变得平坦。 “我保证你会在两三年内获得良好的声誉。”他宣称，在没有耻辱、没有怀疑的情况下，一切都会很容易地得到解决。她还有什么选择拒绝他呢？

雷德格瑞夫的睿智引导他达到了一定程度，但却忽视了对他的计划成功至关重要的一件事。也许是因为他已经四十岁了，也许是因为他经常来看望、征服，也许是因为他对班尼特·弗罗廷汉姆的女儿评价太低了——他根本就忽略了情感上的考虑。这是一个重大而致命的疏忽。他故意迎合阿尔玛的虚荣心。如果他相信她有较柔和的激情，并且不厌其烦地利用它们，无论如何，他都不会遭受如此突然的失败。具有雷德格雷夫特征的人变得粗心大意，而正是在这个时期，由于各种原因，隐藏艺术的艺术变得不可或缺。他并没有自以为阿尔玛已经准备好爱上他了；事实上，阿尔玛已经准备好爱上他了。在这里，他冷静的成熟对他不利。由于他自己的热情缺陷，他被习惯蒙蔽了双眼。毕竟，这件事没有产生什么后果。它只是在慕尼黑会议之后才出现的，也许——他对自己说——考虑到所有因素，这次活动也还好。

但阿尔玛却感受到了双重的侮辱：对她世俗的荣誉，对她的女性身份。这个男人甚至没有假装爱她；这虽然让她感到更加失望，但也使她更加坚定，要抛弃那些卑鄙的诱惑。她本来会接受婚姻，尽管她无疑会变得犹豫不决。如果没有一句温柔的话语，这个提议是不可能提出的（因为赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫与菲利克斯·戴姆斯不同），而且她并不认为嫁给这位优雅的资本家是不可能的。又一天过去了，她内心的混乱终于流露出了一种简单而公开的失望感。她已经抓住了这个奖品，并且对此充满了无限的想象力。克服了自然的不情愿、个人和道德上的反对；他准备坐下来写信给弗罗辛汉姆夫人，宣布这一精彩而令人震惊的消息。她在卧室里闲逛，荒凉、绝望，希望自己有勇气在晚上偷偷溜到博登湖的水域，结束这一切。

第三天，她告别了朋友，回到了慕尼黑，朋友已经做好了分别的准备。她从慕尼黑前往莱比锡，并在那里再次进入加斯纳家族的圈子。她无意停留太久；她不想待太久。音乐学习的假装无法维持；但她的下一步却相当不确定。

两周后，弗罗辛厄姆夫人这样写道：

“我给你寄了一封信，如果我没记错的话，是罗尔夫先生写的。请告诉我我是否正确。奇怪的是，如果是他的话，他竟然给你写信。你还没有告诉我你是否再次见到雷德格雷夫先生。但我看你并不太在意，或许也是如此。”

这封转发的信原本是寄给弗罗廷汉姆夫人的，阿尔玛一眼就认出了哈维·罗尔夫的字迹。他从伦敦约会。他开始说道，他认为布雷根茨的某些照片是弗罗辛汉姆小姐的好意送给他的，他是不是错了？就他而言，六月份他在法国西南部闲逛，主要是在多尔多涅河边，并穿过一片奇怪而有趣的沼泽地，名叫拉道布。 “我几乎不知道我是怎么到达那里的，而且我不会因为写任何有关这次探险的记录而让你担心。但在一个叫拉罗什查莱的悲惨村庄，我在那里吃了一顿最难消化的晚餐，睡了一张名不副实的床，我终于病倒了，并认真地想：“啊，这就是结局了！”它必须到达某个地方，为什么不到达某个地方呢？ 格拉巴特 在拉罗什查莱斯？一个失误;我又来到这里，一如既往地浪费生命。你能让我听到你的消息吗？我认为这对您发送意见的善意来说是一个很好的补充。因此，带着一切良好的愿望，他留下来了，等等。

阿尔玛无事可做，于是拿出一张法国地图，寻找拉罗什夏莱。但这个地方太微不足道了，无法标记。第二天，她依然闲着，回复了罗尔夫的信，语气颇为俏皮。她没有时间与那些“浪费生命”的人通信。对她来说，生活已经是一件严肃的事情了。但他对音乐家存在的辛苦的一面一无所知，并且可能怀疑其现实性。事后，她郑重地感谢他的来信，并希望有一天，当她真正“做了一些事情”时，他们可能会见面并恢复友谊。

九月的一个下午，哈维·罗尔夫在伦敦一家书店待了半个小时，翻阅有关基础教育理论和实践的书籍。他挑选了其中的两三个，并下令将其送给甘纳斯伯里的一位女士。在出去的路上，他遇到一个熟人正在商店的另一个部门购物。他已经有几个月没有见到塞西尔·莫菲了，塞西尔·莫菲看上去健康状况不佳，衣着也近乎破旧。他们一起昏倒了，莫菲拿着一本包裹好的书，他给了罗尔夫，让他明白这是一份生日礼物—— 这里。老者忍住了开玩笑的意思，询问事情进展如何。

“和平常一样，只是她父亲的健康状况很不好。这很残酷，但我希望他死掉。”

'自然。'

“你看，这就是一个人被驱使的目的。除了你之外，任何认识我的人都会认为我是一个自私、精于算计的野兽。没办法。我宁愿她身无分文。——你愿意和我一起来这里吗？我想买一些焦没食子酸。

再次在街上，莫菲提到他开始摄影。

“它让我有事可做，它带我到户外去。这个野兽般的小镇从各方面来说都是我的废墟。——到我的房间来一个小时，好吗？我将向您展示一些尝试；我刚刚尝试过开发。我们已经很久没有谈话了。”

他们驶向一辆切尔西公共汽车并上车。

“我以为你这个时候根本不在城里，”莫菲继续说道。 “我想逃离，却无力承担；跟我一起陷入了可怕的低潮。我必须有一辆自行车。有了这个和相机，我也许就能活下去了；常常似乎没有什么足够的生活。——Tripcony？噢，Tripcony 是个该死的骗子；我已经放弃他了猜测并不像我想象的那么简单。不过，我赚了几百——是的，却损失了近三。

年轻人的笑声不像以前那么好听了。总而言之，罗尔夫发现他在衰落，失去了优雅和活力。

“你为什么不去乡下？”他说。 '搭一间小屋，种卷心菜；每天挖三个小时。这对你有无穷的好处。

'当然会的。我希望我有勇气。

“我要去威尔士过冬，”哈维说。 “卡那封郡的一个世外桃源——有山有海。跟我来，把你身上的恶毒吹掉。你得了城镇病、街头疟疾、寄宿热。”

“天哪，我会想到的，”另一个回答道，脸上带着一种奇怪的渴望。 '但我不知道我是否可以。不，我不能确定。但我会尝试。

“什么支撑着你？”

“嗯，我喜欢靠近，你知道， 这里。然后——各种困难——”

莫菲目前的住所位于切尔西医院附近的一条街上，那是一个看上去很破旧的地方，比罗尔夫以前见过他的地方要差得多。他的两个房间在顶层，他把一间阁楼改成了一间暗室，供他摄影娱乐。客厅里又脏又乱，显得很不吸引人。罗尔夫环顾四周，想知道是什么腐败原则在这个年轻人的生活中起作用。

莫菲展示了他的未婚夫亨利埃塔·温特的新肖像；一张俊美的脸庞，笼罩着沉思的阴影。 '摄于托基；她一两天前发的。——我一直在考虑放弃她。如果我这样做，我会残忍地、野蛮地做，让她好过一点。我毁了她的生活，我很确定我也毁了我自己的生活。”

他拿出一瓶威士忌，给两个酒杯倒了半杯。他将自己的量稍微稀释了一下，然后立即喝掉了。

“你的表现很糟糕，我的孩子，”罗尔夫说。 '怎么了？我知道，比平常更多的事情。坦白说出来。

莫菲继续宣称，他只是因为长期的原因而情绪低落，虽然罗尔夫不相信他，但目前还无法得出更多的结论。谈话转向摄影，但仍然没有生气。

“我想你今晚最好和我一起吃饭，”哈维说。

'不可能的。我希望我能。订婚了。

年轻人拖着脚步，与尴尬作斗争后，在另一杯威士忌的帮助下，说出了他想说的话。

“很难问你，但是——你能借给我一些钱吗？”

'当然。多少？你为什么对这件事如此喋喋不休呢？

“我一直在出丑——陷入困境。你能给我五十英镑吗？

“是的，如果你答应立即清理这个垃圾箱，并在一个月左右的时间内进入威尔士。”

“你是一个非常好的小伙子，罗尔夫——而我却是个该死的傻瓜。我保证！我会！我会摆脱它，然后我会考虑和那个女孩分手。对我们双方都更好——但你应该给我建议。——有一天我会告诉你一切。我现在不能。我太为自己感到羞耻了。

哈维回到家后，写了一张五十英镑的支票，并立即寄出。

没过几天，他收到了弗罗廷汉姆夫人的一封信。自从去年十一月的灾难以来，他和这位女士就没有再联系过。他不知道如何在不给她带来超出同情心所能抵消的痛苦的情况下与她交谈，所以他保持沉默。她在瑞士小屋附近写信，在那里她租了一套公寓。如果可能的话，她希望“因公事”见他，并要求他预约。哈维很想知道他可以关心弗罗辛汉姆太太的什么事，他指定了时间，然后去拜访。他登上了许多楼梯，在一位整洁的女仆的带领下走进了一间令人愉快的小客厅，弗罗辛汉姆太太起身迎接他。她审视着他的脸，仿佛要看出他看待她的感情，她那令人放心的羞涩微笑并不缺乏悲情。

'先生。罗尔夫，我好像好几年没见到你了。

她苍老了一些，声音变得断断续续，与不到十二个月前的快乐、自信的叽叽喳喳形成了不愉快的对比。

“我在这里才安顿一周。我想过完全离开伦敦，但毕竟，我不得不经常来来回回——最好在这里有个家，我想，这套小公寓正适合我。

她似乎很想引起人们对其朴素比例的注意。

“我真的不需要房子，而且住处又那么简陋。这些公寓是一大福气——你不觉得吗？我将用一名仆人来管理这里，只有一名。

罗尔夫因不知道该说什么而苦苦挣扎。除了尽可能天真地谈论公寓的优点、公寓日益受欢迎以及这种特殊情况的特殊魅力之外，别无他法。弗洛辛厄姆夫人热切地同意了一切，并尽力不让任何人沉默。

“我想你已经收到了弗罗廷汉姆小姐的来信吧？”她很快就跌倒了，焦虑又回来了。

'不久前。来自莱比锡。

'是的。是的。——我不知道她是否会留在那里。你知道她正在考虑从事音乐专业吗？——是的。是的。——我确实希望她能找到可能，但当然，这种职业是非常不确定的。如果她转向其他事情，我不确定我是否应该感到高兴。

寡妇变得越来越紧张和自相矛盾。双手快速一动，她突然又恢复了语气。

'先生。罗尔夫，我非常希望您能让我与您私下交谈。我想就一件最微妙的事情请求你的帮助。当然，不是关于我的继女，尽管我不得不提到她。这对我来说是非常私人的事情。如果我能希望你不会觉得这很无聊的话——我有一个特殊的理由吸引你。

哈维说，他很乐意尽其所能。

“我想和你谈谈痛苦的事情，”女主人继续说道，语气充满活力，语气强调，这让她更像菲茨约翰大街的那位女士。 “你什么都知道——除了我自己的立场，这就是我想向你解释的。我不会详细介绍。我只想说，几年前，我丈夫给了我一大笔钱——我自己的钱都没有——而且它仍然属于我。我说属于我；但我有一个麻烦。我担心我没有权利称它为我的。有些人遭受了如此可怕的损失。其中一些你认识。有一个名叫阿伯特的家庭。我想问你关于他们的事。可怜的艾伯特先生——我记得读过——”

她闭上眼睛片刻，从她脸上的表情可以看出，这并不是痛苦记忆的故作。

“这是一次意外，”罗尔夫赶紧说道。 “陪审团认定其为意外死亡。”

“但也有损失——我把它全部读完了。他失去了一切。请告诉我他的家人怎么样了。有人告诉我他们是你的朋友。

“幸运的是他们没有孩子。有一份小额人寿保险。阿博特夫人曾经是一名教师，她将再次从事这一职业。

'可怜的东西！她很年轻吗？

“哦，我应该说大约三十岁。”

“她会去学校吗？”

'不。她自己家里的私人学生。她有足够的勇气，我想她会做得很好。”

“尽管如此，令人震惊的是，就在那个可怕的时刻，她失去了一切——还有她的丈夫。”这就是我想说的，罗尔夫先生。你认为可以要求她接受一些东西吗——？我确实觉得，”她急忙说道，“我应该尽我所能，对那些失去一切的人做出某种补偿。有人告诉我，事情并非完全没有希望。有一天可能会从沉船中找到一些东西。但这将是很长一段时间，而与此同时人们却在受苦。我在这里感到舒适——不仅仅是舒适。这是不对的；我不能休息，直到我做某事。我很高兴地说，我能够在这里或那里提供一些帮助，但仅限于那些容易帮助的人。像阿博特夫人这样的情况就更糟糕了，但做任何事都那么困难；一个人可能只会冒犯别人。我确信她一定讨厌我的名字——就像很多人一样。”

罗尔夫听着，心中暗暗惊讶。他从来没有对弗罗辛厄姆太太抱有任何恶意。但另一方面，除了肤浅的品质、轻松的脾气、热情好客、对她所认识的所有人都表现出随和的好脾气之外，她从未赋予她任何其他品质。他不会认为她有能力做出重大牺牲；最重要的是，代表陌生人并受到原则的启发。她说话的语气是最朴素的真诚；不可能怀疑她的动机。他以前对她的那种漫不经心的喜爱，现在却充满了尊敬。他变得严肃起来，用更柔和的声音回答。

“她一开始很痛苦，但正在克服它。说实话，我认为她会从这次审判中受益。我不喜欢cant中经常使用的词；我不相信苦难对大多数人有任何好处——事实上，我很清楚它通常会造成伤害。但艾伯特夫人似乎是个例外。她很有性格；也有一些情况——好吧，我只能说她非常勇敢地面对生活中的变化。

“我真希望我认识她。但我不敢这么问。期望她能够忍受见我、听我说的话，实在是太令人难以置信了。”

“我认为她越少想起过去越好。”

但难道就不能做点什么吗？我听说这笔钱大约是一千五百英镑。这一切我都无法挽回；但一半——我买得起这么多。我可以提出这样做​​吗？不是直接以我自己的名义，而是通过你？

哈维思考着，他的头和身体向前倾，双手交叉在一起。在楼下的公寓里，有人正在用钢琴弹奏一首轻歌剧，但钢琴的音调不太准。气氛中顽固的活泼气氛干扰了哈维认真对待事情的愿望。他开始想知道弗罗廷厄姆夫人有多大的资本可以支配。难道她不可能轻易地捐出一千五百英镑吗？但这个问题是不值得的。如果弗罗辛汉姆夫人真的下定决心要尽可能地弥补丈夫所犯下的错误，那么无论她的命运如何，她很可能会限制她的善行。

“我会做你想做的任何事，”他从容地说。 “我无法代表艾伯特夫人回答问题，但是，如果您愿意，她会知道您的想法。”

“我确实希望如此，”那位女士真诚地回答道。 “我恳求你把这件事摆在她面前，并尽你所能地说服她。如果她能让我的良心摆脱一点这种负担，我会非常非常高兴。只是我不敢说出来，我会尽力让你相信我正在做我亲爱的丈夫本人所希望的事情。你简直不敢相信；没有人会相信它；甚至阿尔玛，我担心——这太残酷了，太可怕了；但他并没有这样的意思来冤枉人。这不是他的本性。有谁比我更了解他呢？我知道——如果他能回到我们身边——”

她的声音哽咽了。下面的钢琴声比以往任何时候都更加欢快，尖锐的笑声划破了音符。罗尔夫不敢安静地坐着，以免显得缺乏同情心和多疑，他低声说了几句无伤大雅的话，结果导致了紧张的语无伦次。

“我非常想念阿尔玛，”寡妇恢复了自制力，接着说道。 “我非常不确定我对她的责任。就她自己而言，她一无所有；但我当然知道，她的父亲希望她分享他给我的一切。罗尔夫先生，这很奇怪，我应该像对待亲戚一样和你说话——就好像我有权用这些事情来麻烦你一样。但如果你知道我敢于说话的人有多么少。她过着平静的生活不是更好吗？所以我只给了她一点钱，只够她最简单的生活。我希望她厌倦了在陌生人中间，然后回来。现在我担心她认为我的行为卑鄙自私。我们彼此总是那么友善，是那么彻底的朋友。母亲和自己的孩子之间，没有一句不可以说的话。”

“我从她的信中了解到，”哈维插话道，“她很满足，并且在音乐上努力工作。”

'你也这么认为吗？我开始怀疑——她写得很情绪低落。当然，我们不能说她是否会成为一名成功的小提琴家。哦，我不喜欢去想它！我必须告诉你，我还没有对她说过我正在做的事。我的意思是，关于钱。我知道我应该考虑 这里 和其他人一样多。可怜的女孩，谁在很多方面遭受了更多的痛苦？但我认为我为自己保留的东西都是她的。罗尔夫先生，我并不是在奢侈的环境中长大的。在我看来，靠很少的钱生活并不困难。但在这一点上，我也必须考虑阿尔玛。我不敢失去所有的熟人。我必须为阿尔玛保留一个家，一个她不会感到羞耻的家。在这里，你看，她可以有她的朋友。我想过去莱比锡；但我更希望她来伦敦——哪怕只是为了让我们互相交谈和了解。”

哈维保持着最严肃的举止。谈到阿尔玛，他不允许自己谈论阿尔玛，除非是直接回答问题。这很快就发生了。

“我确信你认为我应该对她很坦诚？”

“对我来说，这似乎是最好的。”

'是的;她会知道我所有的想法。但对于艾伯特夫人，我非常清楚她会说什么。我请求你对我施以善意，罗尔夫先生。”

“我会立即写信给阿博特夫人。”

采访结束了；两人都没有什么可说的。他们以非常友好的眼神告别，哈维答应在收到阿博特夫人的答复后再打一次电话。

哈维与艾伯特夫人交换了信件后，去看望了她。为了双方的利益，他决心不留下任何误会的可能性。在讨论和思考中过了几天，然后，在通常的打电话时间，他再次登上许多楼梯，来到弗罗辛汉姆太太的公寓。雨下了一天，在这样的天气里，看来这位女士一定会在家。但是，当他走近门口时，哈维听到里面有声音，这让他感到不安。除了一个人之外，谁可能在这些房间里拉小提琴？他停了下来，犹豫不决地环顾四周，最后按下了电铃。

弗罗廷汉姆太太不在家。她可能很快就会回来。

“弗洛辛厄姆小姐在家吗？”

仆人没有立即承认他，只是记下了他的名字。当他走进客厅时，三道身影出现在他的面前。他看到了阿尔玛；他认出了利奇小姐。第三位女士被他称为利奇小姐的妹妹。

“你知道我在伦敦？”阿尔玛只是评论而不是询问。

“我不知道这一点——直到我听到你的小提琴声。”

“我的小提琴，但不是我的演奏。是利奇小姐。

从他进来时她说的第一句话——“啊，你好吗”——阿尔玛的语气和态度在他看来显得强迫、奇怪，与他记忆中的她完全不同。在纠正他时，她短促地笑了一声，用一种近乎无教养的方式看了多拉·利奇一眼。她的表情一点也不和蔼可亲，尽管她一直在微笑，当她邀请客人入座时，那种不经意的熟悉在他听来很不讨人喜欢。

“你当然是来看妈妈的。我敢说她不会长久。她不得不冒雨与某人或其他人做生意——也许你知道。你整个夏天都在伦敦吗？哦不，我记得你告诉我你去过法国的某个地方；在卢瓦尔河上，不是吗？

罗尔夫漫不经心地给出了肯定的答复。他的脾气促使他问弗罗辛厄姆小姐是否知道卢瓦尔河和加龙河的区别；但总的来说，他更多的是困惑而不是生气。这个年轻女子到底怎么了？从外表上看，她并没有太大变化——也许脸瘦了一些；她的眼睛看起来有点暗，更深邃。但就举止而言，她明显受到了影响。她的举止和说话方式对于男人来说堪称漫不经心。这是学生生活的结果吗？如果她那微薄的零用钱已经产生了这样的效果，弗罗辛汉姆夫人的不安也是有道理的。

他转向利奇小姐，与她单独交谈了几分钟。一旦礼貌允许，他就会起身逃跑。与此同时，阿尔玛正在与妹妹聊天，她称呼她为“格尔达”。然后门开了，弗罗辛厄姆太太走了进来，穿着她的户外服装，热情地欢迎他，尽管服装很少，而且很紧张。她用一种奇特的目光注视着罗尔夫，说道。

“你看，我不再孤单了。”她迅速地侧视了阿尔玛一眼。 “这是一种极大的乐趣。”

“妈妈，还下雨吗？”阿尔玛高声问道。

“亲爱的，不只是现在；但这是非常不愉快的。

“那我陪你步行去车站。”她对姐妹们说道。 “朵拉和格尔达不能留下来；他们约在五点钟。他们一两天后就会再来。

告别之后，当阿尔玛说她不会待太久时，她关上了身后的门，弗罗廷汉姆太太坐下来，开始脱下手套。她戴着的帽子和斗篷虽然很英俊而且很时尚，但让她看起来比罗尔夫上次来时更老。她现在已经是一个中年妇女了，重点是限定词；穿着家居服，她依然彰显着自己的性感、优雅的身材和清新的肤色，战胜了岁月和悲伤。此刻，她的脸上还浮现出疲倦，或许还有担忧。

“非常感谢你的到来，”她轻声说道。 “当你看到——时你一定很惊讶——”

“我确实是。”

“两天前，阿尔玛在没有任何警告的情况下走进了房间，这让我更加惊讶。但我很高兴，非常高兴。”

她轻轻叹了口气，环顾四周。

“阿尔玛没有给她的朋友们喝茶吗？我必须打电话——谢谢你。——噢，这不幸的一天！我似乎比以前更注意天气了。它对你有影响吗？

直到茶盘被送进来，她喝了茶后，弗洛辛汉姆太太才把这些陈词滥调放在一边。她最后以一种突然的严肃和柔和的声音询问了罗尔夫这项微妙任务的结果。

“我想，”他回答道，“我已经尽可能清楚、紧急地表达了你的愿望。”我见过阿博特夫人，并给她写过两次信。也许我请你读一下她的最后一封信是最好的。我得到她的许可可以给你看。

他从信封里抽出这封信，弗罗辛汉姆太太紧张地接过它仔细阅读。当她正忙着的时候，罗尔夫移开视线。当他知道她已经读完时，他看着她。她再次叹了口气，哈维不禁将其想象为一种不由自主的松了口气的信号。

“我很高兴读到这篇文章，罗尔夫先生。如果你只是告诉我艾伯特夫人拒绝了，我除了痛苦之外什么也感受不到。事实上，我明白她 可以 只能拒绝，我非常感谢她对我的评价。我比以往任何时候都更后悔我不认识她。”

当她把信递回来时，它像一片被风吹过的树叶一样摇晃着。她脸色苍白，说话很吃力。但过了一会儿，当谈话重新开始时，她的语气变得轻松而自由，这证实了罗尔夫的印象，即她已经摆脱了巨大的尴尬；他的这个猜测不可避免地与阿尔玛表现出的奇怪的坏脾气联系在一起。

没有再谈及这个话题。弗洛廷厄姆夫人频频朝门口扫视，又说了些老生常谈。哈维急于逃脱，很快就站了起来。

‘噢，你不去吗？阿尔玛一会儿就回来。

继母说话间，那位小姐又出现了。

“亲爱的，你为什么不给你的朋友喝茶？”

'我把这一切都忘了。这是独自生活的结果。朵拉创作了一首加沃特舞，妈妈。罗尔夫先生来的时候她正在弹奏。这是资本！罗尔夫先生要去吗？

哈维低声说出了他的专断决心。弗罗辛厄姆太太站起身来，说她下午几乎总是在家。这总是会给她带来如此多的快乐——

“你留在英国吗？”哈维问道，几乎没有碰阿尔玛傲慢地伸出的手。

'我真的不知道。也许我应该这样做，只是为了照顾妈妈。

弗洛辛厄姆太太发出一声小小的感叹，并试图笑出声来。哈维立刻退了出去。

第二天晚上的邮递中，他惊讶地收到一封信，地址是阿尔玛明确无误的亲笔写的。内容并没有减轻他的好奇心。

亲爱的罗尔夫先生，

我相信，如果我利用相识已久的特权，坦白地谈论一些我认为重要的事情，你不会介意的。我想说，我已经足够老了，并且感觉自己很有能力指导自己的人生进程。事实上，您对我所做的事情和我希望做的事情感兴趣，真是太好了，我相信妈妈会非常感激您为我提供的任何建议。但我觉得有必要明确地说，我必须处理好自己的事情。请原谅这种自由，并相信我，你真正的自由，

他喘着气，睁大眼睛一遍又一遍地阅读那封信。他的神经一平静下来，就坐了下来，如此回答道：——

亲爱的弗罗辛汉姆小姐，

你的坦白只能被视为一种赞美。对我来说，这也许是一件小事，但我觉得有必要说，我从未与弗罗廷汉姆夫人讨论过您的立场或前景，而且我既没有就这个问题提供建议，也没有被要求这样做。如果您觉得这个说法与此事有密切关系，我恳求您考虑一下。——而我，确实是您的，

哈维·雷德克利夫·罗尔夫

哈维收到这封回信后，庆幸自己与弗罗丁厄姆小姐分手了。她的信无论多么有趣，都是故意无礼的。如果用严肃的语气回答这个问题，就会助长无礼的自负，这种自负只能受到冷落。

但到底是什么激起了她的愤怒呢？弗洛辛汉姆太太是否犯了一些轻率的罪行，或者这仅仅是女孩方面鲁莽的猜测和怀疑的结果？显然，阿尔玛回到英国时心情并不好。既然已经向她解释过，她很可能对继母的行为感到不满。在这个古老而永恒的话题——金钱上，出现了“不愉快”的情况。够卑鄙的；但在阿尔玛的本性中发现不光彩的可能性，对他来说是一件新鲜事吗？

尽管如此，他的心思却一直在那个女孩身上。她的形象萦绕在他心头；他所有的男子气概都被她轻蔑的巫术所征服和嘲笑。她的眼睛从无限的遐想中走近，凝视着他——眼睛里闪烁着顽皮的光芒，充满了好奇；眼神时而傲慢，时而温柔顺从；所有在敏感时刻捕捉到的各种表达方式，并被过于忠实的记忆所存储。她的头发、她的嘴唇、她的脖子，都出现在他面前，用肆意的诱惑引诱着他。为了自卫——知识分子与肉体发生争执时所采取的可悲策略——他又求助于理想主义，这种理想主义一直致力于赋予一个美丽的女人美丽的灵魂。他努力忘记她的身体，沉思其背后可能潜藏的精神卓越。贬低她更简单，而且通常是他的习惯。但他的征服已经达到了另一个阶段。他为这个女孩召集了所有可能的恳求：她的才华，她的青春，她的悲惨考验。对古典音乐的热爱不能不说明某种崇高的心灵；事实上，它可能在某种程度上类似于“宗教”。回想起自己在四岁和二十岁时的愚蠢和恶习，在阿尔玛身上看到未来美好的希望，难道不是理性，不亚于慈善吗？不仅如此，如果真这么说的话，从任何意义上来说，她难道不比同龄的他体现出无限多的美德吗？

一个人必须公正地对待女性，无论其原因多么微不足道，都要尊重她们生活的清洁。没有任何迹象表明阿尔玛不值得日常尊重。即使在无礼的情况下，她也没有失去性的尊严。在经历了这一切之后，她的品格下降有足够的理由，更不用说失去良好教养了。她的这封信，除了被大大小小的苦难所激怒的独立精神的反抗之外，还意味着什么呢？他不应该用其他的方式回答吗？他这个充满激情、战斗力、经历丰富、在漫长而缓慢的成长过程中的世俗男人，值得对一个女孩的不幸进行讽刺吗？

他对自己很恼火。他的举止没有绅士风度。而他又多少次、多少次遭遇过这样的自责！

一周过去了，阿尔玛没有再收到任何消息，哈维也不再麻烦了。既然命运如此安排，那就这样吧。他开始收拾他要带去威尔士的书。

有一天，他发现自己在肯辛顿大街等待一辆城市火车。他懒洋洋地看着对面站台上从马车上下来的人们，在他们中间他看到了阿尔玛。在走向楼梯的路上，她不得不从他身边经过。他保持着原来的姿势，直到她走近时才看向她的脸。她似笑非笑地低下头，停了下来，低声说道，没有任何尴尬的迹象。

'我大错特错了。我写完后不久就发现了这一点，我想请你原谅。

“这是我的职责，”哈维回答道。 “我不应该这样回答。”

“也许不是——考虑到所有因素。我比较着急。早上好！'

转念一想，她伸出了手。哈维看着她走上楼梯。

第二天早上，他收到了她的一封信。 “亲爱的罗尔夫先生，”她写道，“你让妈妈知道我仓促而愚蠢的行为了吗？”如果没有——我非常希望您没有——请不要回复此邮件，但让我们周三下午以平常的方式与您见面。如果妈妈 具有 都说了，还是别费心写了，那样的话我敢说你就不会来了。如果你这个星期三订婚了，也许你可以下一个来。她真诚地在自己身上签名。

他没有回答，星期三看到他再次爬上那间小公寓。他为来到这里感到羞耻，但又不知道如何才能避免这种情况，除非离开伦敦。对于这次逃跑，他已经没有太多心思了。他很自觉地屈服于阿尔玛的迷恋，现在这种不安已呈现出一种新的形式。无论多么卑鄙和不负责任，这就是他的处境，而且，当他等待开门时，这让他感到比多年来更尴尬、更愚蠢。

弗洛廷汉姆太太和她的继女独自坐着，老太太忙着做杂事，脚边放着一篮子彩色丝绸，小女儿则拿着一本书。没有什么比这更安静、更有家的感觉了。他一进去，就克服了所有的拘束和疑虑。今天这里除了平静和良好的感觉、温柔的声音和安静的和蔼可亲之外，什么也没有。无论两位女士之间出现了什么阴影，都一定已经完全消失了。他们彼此交谈时都带着自然的善意，每个人都面带平静。

阿尔玛立即开始谈论他们共同的朋友卡纳比一家，询问罗尔夫是否知道他们在澳大利亚。

“我知道他们已经决定要走了，”他回答道。 “但我至少两个月没有收到消息了。”

“哦，那么我可以告诉你所有的消息；昨天我收到一封信。当卡纳比夫人写信时，他们已经在墨尔本呆了两周，正准备前往布里斯班。卡纳比先生将在昆士兰州做一些关于矿山的事情。我会读给你听那部分。

这封信就在她手里的书里。西比尔无限期地写了信，但哈维了解到采矿工程师丹多说服了卡纳比对他的项目产生了积极的兴趣。关于投机性企业的讨论并不适合现在的公司，罗尔夫只能表示希望他的朋友终于找到了自己感兴趣的事业。

“但在这种地方，西比尔真是太棒了！”阿尔玛饶有兴趣地喊道。 “当她回来时，我会多么好奇地想见到她啊！”在她离开英国之前，我确信她根本不知道布里斯班或墨尔本在澳大利亚的哪个地区。我不认识自己；不得不看地图。你会认为这是一个可耻的坦白，罗尔夫先生。

“我自己对澳大利亚地理的看法还很模糊。”

“哦，但是你没去过那里吗？”

“不针对任何新国家；我不关心他们。有缺陷，我承认。英格兰的未来在海外。我会让孩子们先教他们有关殖民地的所有知识，然后再用希腊和罗马的历史来打扰他们。我希望我小时候就去那里，长大后当一名牧羊人。

阿尔玛笑了。

“这是你为了迷惑人们而说的话之一。这与我在其他时候听你说过的各种事情相矛盾。——做 您 妈妈，你认为罗尔夫先生没有成为牧羊人就错过了他的职业吗？

弗罗辛汉姆太太轻轻地摇了摇头。今天她身上没有一丝紧张的迹象。她操纵着彩绸，只是时不时地小声说几句话，却饶有兴致地听着。

“但我真以为你去过澳大利亚，”阿尔玛继续说道。 “你看，这是非常理论化的，你对新国家的钦佩。我相信你宁愿立刻死在英国，也不愿去世界上任何这样的地方生活。”

“精神上的弱点，仅此而已。”

「不过，你还是承认了。这就是有所收获。你总是对别人的坦白微笑，却对自己的想法保持神秘。

'神秘？我一直认为我的缺点之一是过于坦率。

“这只能说明我们对自己的了解是多么的少。”

哈维正在反思他对阿尔玛的了解是不完整的。有意无意，此刻她以一种全新的眼光出现在他面前。他无法想象她的举止如此简单、如此直接、如此平静。麻烦似乎给了她一个假期，同时也让她从不自在的感觉中解脱出来。

“但是你从来没有告诉过我们，”她继续说道，“今年夏天你在法国的流浪经历。”英国人不太关注这部分，不是吗？

'不。我碰巧读到一本关于它的书。这是法语和英语的古老战场——对于任何一个足够迂腐、关心这些事情的人来说都是有趣的。

“但对于生来就是牧羊人的人来说就不是这样了。而且你得了重病。——亲爱的妈妈，罗尔夫先生有没有告诉过你，他差点死在某个破烂的路边旅馆里？

弗罗辛汉姆夫人看上去很吃惊，并宣称她对此一无所知。哈维被迫叙述，用尽可能少的语言叙述了此事，并驳回了此事。

“我想你有过很多这样的经历，”阿尔玛说。 “你什么时候开始下一次旅行？”

'我没有什么看法。我有点想去北威尔士的一个地方过冬——卡那封郡，在外海。

女士们请求提供更多信息，他讲述了去年春天与一位朋友（巴兹尔·莫顿）漫步时，他是如何来到这座山与海岸之间的小镇的，周围是一片闪烁着黄色金雀花的乡村，长满落叶松的山丘、长满石南花的沼泽地、长满蕨类植物的小巷，以及风吹过峭壁或石标的狂野高地。

“七英里内没有铁路。正是学究们逃往的地方，并带着发霉的书在那里过冬。

“但对于那些不学究气的人来说，这一定同样令人愉快！”阿尔玛喊道。

“毫无疑问，在春天或夏天，尽管即便如此，文明人也可能会觉得乏味。”

“这又是你最喜欢的矫揉造作。我敢肯定，当你轻蔑地谈论文明人时，这只不过是矫揉造作而已。

“我轻蔑地希望我永远不会这样做。”

“真的，妈妈，”阿尔玛笑着说，“先生。”罗尔夫今天的幽默感非常温和。我们决不能指望受到任何对我们有好处的责备。他很快就会告诉我们，我们是所有美德的典范。

弗洛廷厄姆夫人说话的语气更加严肃。

“但我确信，过于文明是有可能的——想要太多的舒适，而成为它们的奴隶。罗尔夫先生，自从我住在这里以来，你无法想象我如何享受这种简单的生活。一切都是那么容易；事情进行得如此顺利。只有一名仆人，他不能犯错误，因为几乎无事可做。难怪人们都搬进公寓了。

“这就是你所说的过度文明吗？”阿尔玛问罗尔夫。

'我什么也没说。但我想，住在又大又麻烦的房子里的许多人都会同意弗罗廷汉姆太太的观点。很容易想象有一天我们将无法容忍这样的负担。当然，我们的不幸是我们不够文明。

“仅仅放弃时髦的废话还不够。”我同意这一点。我们大多数人都是可怜的奴隶。

这是阿尔玛用罗尔夫听得出来的语气说的第一句话。有一瞬间，她的脸上失去了平静的微笑，哈维希望她能出于同样的目的说更多的话。但她沉默了。

“我确信，”弗洛廷厄姆夫人感慨地说，“最幸福的东西是在简单的家庭中找到的。”

“我们可以简单一点吗？”阿尔玛问道。 “你不认为我们生来就必须简单吗？”

“我不确定我是否知道你所说的这个词的意思，”哈维说。

“我不确定我是否了解自己。我想，妈妈的意思是贫穷。但我应该说，也许会有一种没有贫困的简单生活。我正在考虑无视别人的愚蠢意见；按照你感觉最轻松的方式生活——不要折磨自己，因为这是习俗。

“这正是需要勇气的事情，”罗尔夫说。

'是的;我想是的。人们知道，有些人生活在痛苦之中，只是因为他们不敢舒服；维持他们买不起的房子和东西，而如果他们只考虑自己，他们的收入足以满足他们真正想要的一切。如果你仔细想想，你会发现这太愚蠢了，令人难以置信。

哈维觉得这个话题越来越危险。他什么也没说，只是希望更多地了解阿尔玛在这方面的看法。它们似乎新鲜地触动了她的心。也许她以前从来没有这样想过这件事。

“这就是我的意思，”她继续说道，“当我说你必须生来简单时。”我认为没有人会仅仅因为认为奢侈时尚愚蠢而放弃它。人没有精神力量。我敢说，”她神色明亮地补充道，“任何人 是 强大到能做到这种事，会让人钦佩，让人羡慕。”

'通过谁？'罗尔夫问道。

“哦，是他们还是奴隶的熟人。”

'我不知道。仅仅合理的行为通常不会激发钦佩和嫉妒。

“但这不仅仅是合理的。”这将是一场革命的开始。

“亲爱的，”弗洛辛厄姆夫人悲伤地微笑着说道，“人们永远不会相信这并不意味着金钱损失。”

“他们可能会被迫相信这一点。当然，这完全取决于人。

阿尔玛似乎厌倦了这种猜测，并把它扔到一边。哈维再次注意到她脸上有阴影，但这次阴影并没有很快消失。

他坐在椅子上很舒服，女士们似乎完全闲着，他们周围是这样一种无声的平静，没有被任何新来的人打破，两个小时在不知不觉中过去了，带着挥之不去的不情愿，来访者发现是时候离开了。回顾下午的情况，哈维得出的结论是，这可能和事件一样毫无意义。阿尔玛再次与她的继母保持着友好的关系，此刻她对每个人都感到和蔼可亲，包括他自己。毫无疑问，这种无意义的幽默和无关紧要的谈话是为了道歉，这就是他所期望的。当然，这意味着对他个人的彻底冷漠。作为他们缩小的圈子中的一员，他值得保留。阿尔玛确信他的无理妄为是清白的，正如孩子们所说，她会再次成为朋友，一切都会顺利进行。

他度过了最悲惨的优柔寡断的一周，最后，当周三下午到来时，他再次爬上许多楼梯，来到弗罗廷汉姆的公寓。他比上次更紧张，更为自己感到羞愧，并对自己的接待感到完全怀疑。女仆二话不说就接纳了他，带他进了一间空房间。当他盯着看不到的物体等了五分钟后，阿尔玛进来了。

“妈妈出去吃午饭了，”她懒洋洋地和他握手，说道，“还没回来。”

任何问候都无法表达更少的鼓励。她毫无生气地坐了下来，看着他，微笑着，仿佛在履行职责。

“我想”——他结结巴巴地说——“那个星期三可能是你平常的下午。”

'还没有什么规律可言。我们的生活还没有安排好。每当我们的朋友来访时，我们都很高兴见到他们。——请坐下。

他这样做了，决定只待几分钟。在随后的沉默中，他们的目光相遇了，阿尔玛继续看着他，似乎很难移开目光。她又笑了，而且笑意更浓了。

“这么说你已经完全原谅我了？”就在哈维正要说话的时候，这句话从她嘴里掉了出来。

“正如我在车站告诉你的那样，我觉得我这边的错误更多。你是在如此奇怪的误解下写的，我应该耐心地解释一下。

'不好了！你严厉地对待我是对的。我不太记得我说了什么，但我知道那一定很令人愤慨。之后，我做了我应该做的事情，只是和妈妈谈谈。”

“那么你在没有任何证据的情况下就理所当然地认为我是一个爱管闲事或爱管闲事的人？”

他的声音非常幽默，阿尔玛也用同样的语气回答。

'一世 思想 有证据。妈妈一直在谈论她的事情，并提到她曾向你咨询过一件事——哦，关于艾伯特夫人的事。

“我必须说，非常合乎逻辑，”罗尔夫笑着说。

“我不认为逻辑是我的强项。”

她坐在安乐椅靠后的位置，头靠在椅背上，双手撑在椅臂上。她几乎没有努力克服的倦怠开始侵入她的同伴，就像来自空气的影响一样。他凝视着她，在她半仰的脸上看到了一种新的美丽，在她那苗条、被遗弃的身体上看到了一种新的诱惑。一件灰色丝质连衣裙，镶着黑色边饰，衬托出她象牙白的肌肤。当她移动时，微弱的沙沙声让哈维感到一阵美妙的兴奋。

“现在，”她继续说道，“我们没有理由不谈论它——我是说，你和妈妈讨论过的事情。我敢说，你想象我是自私地反对她所做的事情。根本不是这样的。我不太明白她为什么瞒着我，仅此而已。就好像她害怕我的贪婪一样。但我并不贪心；我不认为我比普通人更自私。我认为妈妈正在做她应该做的事；我很高兴她对事情有这样的感受。”

哈维点点头，用低沉的声音说道。

“他们只向我咨询过一个人的事，而我碰巧认识他。”

“是的——夫人。雅培。

她的目光再次落在他身上，他读出了他们的好奇心。他正要说话，仆人端着茶走了进来。阿尔玛慢慢地站了起来，当她履行女主人的职责时，哈维摆脱了阻碍他的愚蠢的帽子和棍子。他现在没有急着走的意思。

仿佛出于自然的需要，他们一边喝茶，一边没有什么特别的话题。哈维仍然拿着杯子，这时外门响起了“哒哒哒”的声音，让他无声地咒骂这个入侵者，不管是谁。阿尔玛漫不经心地谈论着一些琐事，就像没有听到一样。哈维的耳朵察觉到外面有动静，但没有人进来；一两分钟后，他又恢复了自由呼吸。

'太太。阿伯特——’

阿尔玛刚刚说出这个名字，好像要开始说一句话，但很快就陷入了沉默。

“我要告诉你关于她的一切吗？”罗尔夫说。 “她丈夫的去世给她带来了巨大的困难；她几乎一无所有。她的一位朋友，朗兰夫人，住在冈纳斯伯里，非常友善和乐于助人。他们商量了一下，阿博特夫人决定在冈纳斯伯里买一栋房子，教孩子们；——她结婚前是一名老师。

“她没有自己的孩子吗？”

'不。其中一人死亡。但不幸的是，她要照顾两个人，他们的母亲——她的表弟——去世了，父亲也逃跑了。

'逃跑？'

'字面上地。把孩子们留在旅馆的阁楼里挨饿，或者去济贫院，或者做其他事。一个有活力的人；独立，你看；没有愚蠢的偏见。

“阿博特夫人必须支持他们吗？”

“没有其他人能接受它们。他们和她住在一起。

“你没有向妈妈提起这件事。”

'不。我认为没有必要。

接下来的沉默让哈维感到尴尬。他突然改变话题，打断了谈话。

“你今天练习了很久吗？”

“不，”缺席的回答。

“我觉得你看上去很累，好像工作太辛苦了。”

“哦，我工作不太努力，”阿尔玛不耐烦地说。

'对不起。我记得这是一个禁止的话题。

'一点也不。你可能会问 me 你喜欢我自己的任何方面。我现在并没有特别努力；不过，想得很好。假设您让我了解您对同一主题的想法。无害。但我敢说我认识他们，不用你告诉我。”

“我认为你几乎不这么认为，”罗尔夫说道，目光坚定地看着她。 “无论如何，”——他的声音​​有点颤抖——“恐怕你不这么认为。”

'害怕的？哦”——她笑了——“别害怕。我有足够的勇气，也有足够的固执。当人们表现出对我不信任时，这反而对我有好处。

“你不明白，”哈维低声说道。

“那就让我明白吧，”她紧张地喊道，在椅子上动了动，好像要站起来，但仍然坐在座位上，身体前倾，眼睛以一种幽默的挑战的方式盯着他。 “我相信我一直都明白你的意思。正如我怀疑的那样，你没有和妈妈讨论我，但你像她一样思考我。——不，让我继续说下去，然后你就会承认我是对的。首先，你对我的力量没有信心。在你看来，一个你在社会上认识并了解一切的普通女孩不太可能发展成为一位伟大的艺术家。没有信仰——这是第一件事。那么你真是好心为我担心——是的，这是你自己说的。你以为你了解这个世界，而我却一无所知，并认为提出警告是一种义务。

哈维听着，坐立不安，脸上几乎是愤怒的表情突然阻止了她。

'出色地！你能否认你脑子里有这些东西吗？

“目前我脑子里没有他们，这一点很确定，”哈维直言不讳地说。

“那么，是什么？”

“当你非要跟我吵架的时候，有些话就不好说了。为什么用这种语气？我给你的印象是一个教育家、传教士之类的吗？

他的精力在一定程度上征服了她。她不安地笑了笑。

'不。我不这么看你。

'那就更好了。我想在你看来只是一个男人，一个可能不幸地看到了 您 只是一个非常美丽、非常令人向往的女人。

阿尔玛一动不动地坐着。她的笑容消失了，很快消失在一丝喜悦之中，这让她的面容虽然严肃，但却明亮。就在这时，外门再次响起了“哒哒”的声音。通过他旋转的感官，哈维意识到有人打扰他，他几乎大声咒骂起来。阿尔玛也怀着同样的期望，表现在她的举动中，以便采取更平常的态度。但她说出了她嘴里的话。

“你称之为不幸？”

哈维效仿她的做法，更加传统地处理他的四肢。还在于他的声音介于开玩笑和认真之间。

'我说 也许 不幸的是。

“这当然有影响。”她笑了笑，目光转向门口。 '也许 是一个伟大的词；语言中最有用的语言之一。——你不这么认为吗，妈妈？

弗罗廷汉姆太太刚刚进来。

不可思议的事情发生了。哈维的一句话和一个眼神，让他一直告诉自己的梦变成了现实，而且是一个无法形容的愚蠢梦。弗罗辛厄姆夫人无意识的干预对他毫无帮助。他已经说过了，而且必须再说一遍。对于一个对荣誉感敏感的人来说，对于像阿尔玛·弗罗辛汉姆这样的女孩来说，这样的事情是不可能发生的。难道他不因不再可能动摇而感到高兴吗？

这就是爱；但什么品质呢？他不再关心，也不敢去分析它。这一切都太晚了。他告诉阿尔玛他爱她，并且没有后悔。不，她热切地希望能从她的嘴唇里听到回响的音节。这只是疯狂的证明。摇头也许可以治愈他的病；但从那一刻起，他所有的血液都收缩了。

他必须考虑；他必须务实。如果他想向阿尔玛求婚（他当然这么做了），那么必不可少的第一步就是让人们知道他的世俗地位的基本事实。

好吧，他可以完全诚实地说，他一年有九百多英镑。这省略了每年五十英镑的支出，这一点他不必提及——他坚持付给阿博特夫人的这笔钱，以便她能够抚养瓦格的孩子。尽管经历了世界上所有的困难，他还是达到了目的。阿博特夫人不希望孩子们落入他人之手。她把让他们留在身边、教育他们视为良心问题，但在她面临着为生计而战的情况下，这似乎几乎是不可能的。阿博特夫人让步了，他们的握手巩固了一种健康的友谊——坦诚、毫无疑心——这是男女之间最罕见的关系。但这一切当然没有必要透露。

午夜时分，他正在写一封信。时间不能太长；它不能引起抒情的注意；但可以肯定的是，它读起来一定不能像商业提议。他很难写出任何看起来可以忍受的东西。然而事情必须如此，而且确实如此；上床睡觉之前，他把信扔进了邮筒里。他不敢把它留在晨曦中再重温。

然后是期待的折磨。整个人疼痛、酸痛、不耐烦；理性完全消失，智力陷入困惑和困惑；一个身体健康、能干的中年公民突然坐在角落里，戴着一顶傻瓜帽，紧张而愤怒地摆弄着拇指。悲惨的景象，同时又令人发笑。

他等了四个又二十个小时，然后紧紧抓住阿尔玛的答复。 “亲爱的罗尔夫先生，——您下周三再来吗？”就这些。让他保持悬念让她觉得有趣吗？这个邀请也许意味着他的希望得以实现，但阿尔玛的反复无常并没有带来任何确定性。一周的反思很可能会产生一个结果。对他来说，这意味着一周的孤独和空虚。

或者本来就是这个意思，如果不是因为他性格中的那种不那么活跃的因素，那种实用理性的拯救力量，正是这种力量使他在生活中走到了这一步，而没有被彻底推翻。收到阿尔玛神秘的短信一小时后，他被惯性所压抑。又过了一个小时，他开始自我保护，并为他提供了一个计划。那天晚上，他从哈里奇乘坐轮船前往安特卫普，在接下来的四天里漫步在荷兰，勾起了他对十五年前在截然不同的情况下的一次旅程的记忆。天气晴朗温暖。总的来说，他玩得很开心。星期三一早，他又回到了伦敦，下午，脸颊上带着一丝天气的影响，来到了阿尔玛家门口。

她独自一人在客厅里等他。这一次，他确信，不用担心被打扰；他迈着自信的步伐走进来，并愉快地打了个招呼。他一眼就看出他的常识对他很有帮助。阿尔玛面色苍白，心事重重，表现出胆怯，无法立即控制自己。

'你这阵子都在干什么？'她一边问​​道，一边观察着他的外表。

“闲聊了一下，”他幽默地回答道。

'在哪里？你看起来就像刚刚经历过一场航行。

“所以我有，一个简短的。”

他告诉她这一周是如何度过的。

“所以这就是你想要的生活方式——总是旅行？”

'不好了！我这样做是为了消磨时间。你必须记住，对于一个不耐烦等待的人来说，一周就像一年。”

她垂下了双眼。

'很抱歉让你久等了。但我从来没有觉得你很不耐烦。你似乎总是用哲学的眼光看待事物。”

“我通常会尝试这样做。”

一阵停顿。阿尔玛在椅子上身体前倾，眼睛一直低着，再次说话时也没有抬起眼睛。

“你让我感到惊讶、困惑和担忧。我想一周后我应该知道该说什么，但是——罗尔夫先生，你不觉得我们彼此之间的处境很奇怪吗？你对我知之甚少——我敢肯定，确实知之甚少。至于你，当我想到这一点时，我真正知道的是你根本不关心我一直以来最大的兴趣。

“这是用一种就事论事的方式来表述——或者你是这么认为的。我对事情的看法截然不同。从某种意义上说，我确实非常关心真正成为你生活一部分的一切。仅仅是因为我非常关心你自己。我不认识你；谁认识其他人？但我已经对你形成了一个想法，这个想法对我的思想、愿望、目的——一切都有着巨大的力量。它让我说出了我认为永远不应该对任何女人说的话，并且让我为自己说了这句话而感到高兴，并充满希望。

阿尔玛吸了一口气，微微一笑。但她仍然没有看他。

“当然，我已经对你产生了想法。”

“你能画出轮廓然后让我修改一下吗？”

“你认为我肯定是错的吗？”她抬起眼睛，焦虑地注视了他一会儿，问道。

“我应该说“完成”它。我希望我从来没有以一种完全错误的方式向你展示自己。

“这是我确信的一件事，”阿尔玛缓慢而若有所思地说。 '你看起来总是一样。你不会像人们通常所做的那样随着环境而改变。

哈维嘴上有一句话，但又忍住了，只是盯着她，直到她的目光再次与他的目光相遇。然后阿尔玛笑得更自然了。

“有件事你在信中没有提到。你向往什么样的生活？

'我不确定我是否理解了。我的实际目标——你是说？

“是的，”她尴尬地结结巴巴地说。

'为什么，恐怕我没有。我提到了我的立场的事实，我说我不能指望它的改善——”

'不不不！你误解我了。我不考虑钱。我讨厌这个词，希望我再也不会听到它了！”她说话的语气很急躁。 “我的意思是——你希望如何生活、住在哪里？你对未来有什么想法？

“我承认，没有一个非常明确的。主要是因为，如果我的愿望实现，我认为一切都取决于你。我在世界上没有立足之地。我没有比表兄弟姐妹更亲近的亲戚。这些年我变得有点书生气了，也比较喜欢安静——当然这是环境造成的。当一个男人求婚时，当然他通常会说：我的生活就是这样，这样；我的生活就是这样。你愿意参与其中并与我分享吗？我不想说类似的话。我的生活可以有各种各样的形式；当我要求你们分享它时，我要求你们分享自由，而不是限制。”

“吉卜赛人的生活？”她半开玩笑地问道。

“你有这样的倾向吗？”

Alma shook her head.

“不，我厌倦了无家可归。——而且，”她仿佛一时冲动地补充道，“我厌倦了伦敦。”

'那么我们就同意了。我也厌倦了两者。

她的态度改变了。她挺直了身子，说话更加镇定自若。

“那我的艺术——我的事业呢？”

“这个问题是由我来问的，”哈维回答道，目光坚定地盯着她。

‘You don’t mean that it would all necessarily come to an end.’

'为什么？当我谈到分享自由时，我是认真的。老天爷不允许我终结你的任何目标或希望——任何属于你一部分的东西。我希望你做你自己。如今许多人反对婚姻，因为它通常意味着束缚，而且他们有很多话要说。如果我注定要从事令人厌烦的职业和微薄的收入，我确信我永远不会向任何人求婚；我认为这不公平。也许在你看来，我没有多少权利称自己为一个独立的人——”

阿尔玛不耐烦地插话道。

‘不谈钱吗？你已经足够了——绰绰有余。

'在我看来是这样。你担心这会阻止你成为一名职业音乐家吗？

“我知道会的，”她平静地回答道。

“我永远不应该梦想在你的道路上设置障碍。请理解并相信我。我不想把你塑造成我自己的模式；我希望你做真正的自己，过你想要的生活。”

“尽管如此，你还是希望我没有成为一名职业音乐家。现在，对我诚实吧！凡事先要诚实。你不用回答，我很清楚；如果我嫁给你，我就会放弃我的音乐。”

罗尔夫仔细观察她的脸，观察她颤抖的嘴巴和紧张的眼睑。

“那么，”他说，“你最好不要嫁给我。”

房间里一片寂静，哈维能听到深深的呼吸声和丝绸的沙沙声。他惊讶地听到一个声音，语气很新，轻柔而悠扬。

“你很轻易就放弃了我。”

“这并不比放弃音乐更容易。”

'有一个区别。你还记得我们上周三说过的关于简单生活的内容吗？

'上周三？好像是一个月前的事了。是的，我记得。'

'我对此想了很多。我感觉大多数人的生活是多么庸俗。他们无能为力；他们认为不可能做任何其他事情。但我想完全摆脱它——按照我选择的方式生活，而不关心别人怎么说。

哈维和以前一样，在重视这些短语方面遇到了同样的困难。这些话听起来很愉快，因为它们与他自己的想法相呼应，但他无法非常严肃地回应。

“我想，像我这样收入的男人的妻子不会有太多选择。”

'你怎么能这么说呢？'阿尔玛喊道。 “你知道，大多数人都会在伦敦的大部分地区买一套房子，花光最后一分钱——这让每个人都认为他们的收入一定有两三千英镑。我对这类事情了如指掌，这让我感到恶心。要么是粗俗的展示和忧虑，要么是简单精致的生活和完美的舒适。你认为我应该在伦敦买一栋房子吗？

“我对此有什么想法。”

“但如果我说我宁愿住在小屋里，尽可能安静、简单，你会放心吗？”

“让我安心的——或者更确切地说，让我非常高兴的是，你不会拒绝考虑给我你的陪伴。”

Alma flushed a little.

'我还没答应过。我想了这么多，结果是——直到我把所有事情都和你谈完之后，我才下定决心。如果我结婚了，我必须知道我的生活会怎样。令我困惑的是，在你问她各种各样的问题之前，你竟然梦想着让任何人成为你的妻子。

哈维非常满足地笑了。

“理论上令人钦佩！”但一个人如何开始提问呢？在他被派去询问他的生意之前，他会问多少人？

“这正是检验他机会的方法！”阿尔玛欢快地说。 '如果他 is 派人去处理他的事情，对他来说比在一场误会中结婚要好得多。

“我完全同意你的观点。我从来没有听过有人在这个问题上谈论过更有意义的事情。”

阿尔玛看起来很高兴，就像她每次受到称赞时一样。

“那么，罗尔夫先生，您是否相信我是真心实意地讨厌炫耀、虚伪和铺张浪费，并希望以相反的方式生活？”

“如果你不再用那个正式的名字来称呼我，我就会相信——这是一种表演和伪装，而且有点奢侈。”

她的脸颊又变得温暖起来

“这让我想起了，”她说。 “我不知道你还有第二个名字——直到我收到那封信。”

“我自己都快忘记了，直到我回复了另一封信。直到那时我才知道 您 有第二个名字。你的“佛罗伦萨”喊出了我的“拉德克利夫”——听起来很火热，不是吗？我总觉得这个名字对我来说太重要了。我从我妈妈那里得到的。

“你的第一个——哈维？”

“我的第一个礼物是一位优秀的老医生给我的，有一天我会告诉你关于他的事——阿尔玛。”

'我命名了你的名字。我没有用它来称呼你。

'但是你将？'

“让我们认真地谈谈吧。——你能住在离伦敦很远、人们一无所知的地方吗？”

“和你在一起，我确实可以，如果我再也见不到伦敦了，我就很高兴了。”

阿尔玛欣喜若狂。她的眼睛变得非常明亮，凝视着仿佛脑海中的画面，当她继续说话时，她的手在颤抖。

“我并不是说我们要到荒野去隐居。我们的朋友必须来拜访我们——我们真正的朋友，没有别人；只是我们真正关心的人，而且这样的人不会很多。如果我放弃公共事业——我当然会这么做——那就没有必要放弃音乐。我可以以更好的精神继续下去，因为纯粹的热爱，没有任何赚钱和名誉的愿望。你不认为这只是一个梦吗？

哈维想的比他想说的要多。他惊讶于她突然对一个他想象不到的理想产生的热情。如果他现在才看清这个女孩的真实性格，通过她情绪的觉醒而显露出来，他的热情是多么高尚啊！他几乎因为爱她而鄙视自己，但他本能地选择了一个能够激励他过上高于自己生活的女人。 “如果我不是从你嘴里听到的，”他回答道，“我应该认为这是一场梦。”

'但这太容易了！我们保留所有最好的东西，只扔掉那些无价值的东西——那些浪费时间、伤害心灵的东西。没有拥挤的房间，没有令人厌烦的人为谈话，没有一大群仆人的担心，没有穿衣和大惊小怪。一整天都属于自己，工作和娱乐。一栋小房子——足够大，足够秩序和安静，并为来的朋友保留一个房间。有多少人向往这样的生活，却没有勇气过！

“阿尔玛，它会在哪里？”

“我没有做出任何承诺。我只是说这才是IJ应该喜欢的生活。也许你很快就会厌倦它？

'我？我想这并不容易。

“也可能有旅行，”她热情地继续说道。 “我们应该富有，而其他人却过着普通庸俗的生活，没有什么多余的。没有人群去的地方的游览；在偏远地区进行真正的旅行。

“你所描述的正是我应该为自己选择的东西；但我不应该敢向你提出这样的要求。

'为什么呢？我告诉过你，你对我了解太少了。我们才刚刚开始相互了解。”

“你想到什么地方？”

'没有任何。这必须要考虑一下。你不是说你要去威尔士某个美丽的地方吗？

哈维反思道。

“我不知道你是否愿意——”

“我们只是假设，你知道。但请告诉我它在哪里。如果你等一下，我去拿张地图。”

她迅速站了起来。他刚好有时间走到门口为她打开门。当她迅速从他身边走过时，他的目光移开，最淡淡、最甜美的香水味飘到了他的脸上。他站在那里直到她回来，他的脉搏在跳动。

“这是我以前的学校地图册，”她高兴地说。 “我现在仍然用它。”

She opened it upon the table and bent forward.

“你说的是北威尔士？给我看看 - '

他用颤抖的手指指着。他的脸颊离她的脸颊不远。淡淡的香水味弥漫在他的周围。他可以想象她头发和呼吸的自然香气。

“我明白了，”她低声说道。 “那是一种很远的地方，但也不算太远。火车站呢？

见他没有回答，她半转过头看向他。

“车站？——是的。——阿尔玛！——

弗洛辛厄姆夫人欣喜若狂。在与哈维的私下谈话中，她赞扬了她的继女，她宣称，任何男人都会为赢得她的继女而感到自豪。因为阿尔玛本人非常自豪；弗罗廷厄姆夫人说，这种性格给她的人生道路带来了危险，也威胁到了她幸福的前景。

“罗尔夫先生，我从来不敢抱有这样的希望，这并没有什么坏处。我想也许是你——但我担心阿尔玛不会听任何人的。最近，她似乎比一开始更能感受到自己的处境。是我的错;我的行为太愚蠢了；但我相信你们都会原谅我。几个月来我真的不是我自己了。这让这个可怜的女孩对我们所有人怀有怨恨。但她是多么高贵啊！多么高尚的心胸啊！与她独自奋斗相比，无论她能取得什么成就，她都会幸福得多。”

哈维很清楚，这位善意的女士不太理解阿尔玛突然对“简单生活”的热情，她只是对阿尔玛所渴望的理想感到困惑。但“经济”的建议得到了她的完全赞同。

“我确信你最好去乡下住一段时间。阿尔玛一开始在那里比在伦敦更快乐的原因有很多。我不知道北威尔士那个地方是否安静——但我不能插手与我无关的事情。你将彻底独立；你随时都可以做出改变。

有人建议她应该先跑到卡那封郡看看她提议的家，然后再采取任何实际步骤，阿尔玛回答说她完全相信哈维·罗尔夫的判断。哈维唯一的疑问是能否找到房子。他亲自踏上旅程，离开几天后回来，并没有带来任何有希望的报告。现在除了一间小屋，实际上是一个小屋，什么也没有，这是不行的。他带来了照片，阿尔玛对这个可爱的小海湾欣喜若狂，这里有长满青草的悬崖、溪流、光滑的沙滩，还有雄伟地延伸到海浪上方的陡峭山脊的深色山峰。 ‘一定有房子！那里 将 是一栋房子！哈维说，当然，人们可以建造，而且价格足够便宜；但这意味着很长的延迟。关于结婚日期尚未确定，但哈维已决定“在家”过圣诞节。当他大胆暗示这一点时，阿尔玛回避了这个问题。

如果有房屋无人居住，记者会通知他。 “我要贿赂某人，让他辞职！”他哭了。 “人们可能会打出广告说，所有费用都可以支付，还可以在其他地方租一套房子一年的租金。”哈维的精神状态非常好，尽管时间紧迫。

在指定的日子，女士们拜访了他的房间。汉多佛夫人被要求为一个半仪式性的场合准备茶水，她立刻心生疑虑，第一眼看到陌生人就让她陷入了深深的沮丧之中。她咨询了她冷漠的亲戚邦科姆。他是否意识到罗尔夫先生可能会改变他的状况？邦科姆什么都不知道，也不关心。他自己的家务事此刻比平常更让他焦虑。 “我认为他还不够傻”——因此只有他回答了汉多佛夫人焦急的问题。

阿尔玛环视了书架，饶有兴趣地取下了几本书。她翻阅了一系列照片，检查了塞浦路斯、巴勒斯坦和巴格达的旅行纪念品。弗洛辛汉姆太太心里注意到，一切都是灰尘。

“那个女人忽视了他，这是可耻的，”她后来对阿尔玛说道。 “我希望她工作时我必须照顾她。”

“我没有注意到任何疏忽。也许茶泡得不太好。

'我亲爱的孩子！房间处于一种可耻的状态——从未掸过灰尘，从未打扫过——天哪！”

阿尔玛笑了。

“我很确定，妈妈，你现在——在某种程度上——比你从不用考虑这些事情的时候要快乐得多。你在国内经营方面很有天赋。当我有了自己的房子时，我会相当害怕你的。

“哦，亲爱的，你当然会有好仆人。”

“妈妈，我已经告诉过你多少次了，我们根本不会那样生活！”最简单的家具，最简单的饭菜——一切 服从于更高的目标和快乐。”

“但是你必须有仆人，阿尔玛！你就不能自己打扫房间，自己做饭吗？

“我正在考虑。”女孩严肃地回答。 “当然，我不会把时间浪费在粗活上；但我确信我们只需要一个仆人——一个能干、值得信赖、合您心意的女人。以做家务为耻是势利；我想做的事情有很多，而且每个女人都更适合做。”

“确实如此，阿尔玛。我无法表达我多么钦佩你的这种想法。但 - '

“问题在于将此类工作减少到绝对必要的程度。想想人们在家里为了愚蠢的炫耀和奢侈而浪费的所有辛劳。我们一举扫除这一切！等你看到。我正在考虑，制定计划。”

在宜人的小客厅里，在炉边（因为现在是十月，天气寒冷），哈维和阿尔玛进行了很长很长的谈话。偶尔他们会说出令彼此惊讶的话，并引发解释、辩论，但和谐从未被打破。罗尔夫离开时变得更加受奴役。更令人印象深刻的是这个女孩的甜美理性，并为她炽热的理想主义所崇敬。透过多情的迷雾，他仍然努力辨别真正的阿尔玛。他不断地思考她的性格。然而，尽管她经常让他感到困惑，但他从来没有理由怀疑她不诚实。有时她可能显得过于兴奋，陷入过度的热情。毫无疑问，这意味着她惯于花在音乐上的富有想象力的热情在新的季度发生了转变。阿尔玛仍然是她自己——冲动、热情、热情，无论是渴望公众的胜利，还是渴望领导家庭生活的一场革命。她的健康状况明显改善；她不知道疲倦；她的脸颊呈现出一种温暖的色调，就像一朵精致的康乃馨，巧妙地回应了她的想法。

她厌恶多愁善感。这是她第一次亲密的宣言之一，哈维牢记在心。他可以将她赞美、荣耀、颂扬到极致，并得到她最甜美的微笑的回报；但她对那些愚蠢的爱情行为毫无兴趣。哈维在这个方向上犯错误的风险很小。他欣赏并尊敬她少女般的冷漠。他在她的尊严中找到了一种经久不衰的魅力，这是他自尊的巨大支撑。爱抚并非在任何时候都被禁止，但他却以战战兢兢的胆怯来维护这一特权。当他走进房间时，她很高兴以庄严而疏远的态度向他打招呼，就好像他们仍然在正式交谈一样。起初这让哈维感到困扰，但他逐渐理解并喜欢它。在弗洛廷汉姆太太面前，阿尔玛避免表现出任何熟悉的迹象，只谈论一些无关紧要的事情。

11月初，有消息称，威尔士小镇上的某个家庭很乐意搬出他们的住所，如果能立即找到租客的话。哈维当天向北航行，第二天他给阿尔玛发了一封电报。他已经拿走了房子，一两周后就可以拥有了。很快就收到了一封描述信。房子是石头建造的，很坚固，但很朴素。它孤零零地矗立在路边，距离城镇四分之一英里，面向大海。它有花园和原始的马厩。房间共有九个，不包括厨房；小，但不小。人们非常友好（哈维写道），并为他调查这个地方提供了一切帮助，以期进行修复等；留下几天，他就可以与建筑商协商，以便在现有居住者离开后立即安排必要的工作。

阿尔玛的订婚事宜一直严格保密。当哈维结束一周的活动回来时，他发现她仍然不愿意为他们的婚礼确定日子，甚至月份。他没有恳求，而是给她写了一封小信，说无论如何，房子可以在十二月的第二周之前准备好。然后他会与她协商家具事宜，并下去监督最后的整理工作。 “在那之后，你就可以决定何时拥有球权。我保证不再提起这件事，直到我走进房间看到你的地图册摊开在桌子上；这将成为我的一个迹象。

返回伦敦后，他收到了弗罗辛厄姆夫人的一张便条，要求他在某个时间到家，因为她想打电话与他私下交谈。这让他度过了一个不安的夜晚。他想象了各种令人烦恼或分散注意力的可能性；但弗洛丁厄姆夫人并没有带来什么坏消息。

“别害怕，”她开始说道，读懂了他焦虑的表情。 “一切都很好，我确信阿尔玛很快就会有话要对你说。我来是为了公事——纯粹是为了公事。

哈维感到一种新的不安。

“让我用简单的方式谈谈简单的事情，”寡妇继续说道，她脸上的阴影总是表明她正在回忆悲伤的过去。 “我知道阿尔玛和你都不会听说她接受我的钱；我知道我不应该谈论它。更好的是你不需要钱。但现在你是我的亲戚了——很快就会成为——我想告诉你我的事情怎么样了。你会让我吗？请这样做！

不可能拒绝听听这个善良的小女人，她喜欢秘密的八卦，并且很长一段时间以来一直渴望将这些细节倒入哈维的耳朵里。于是她把一切都摊开了。班尼特·弗罗辛厄姆去世时，她的资本达到一万六千多英镑，投资得非常好——没有“不列颠尼亚”股票或股票！其中，在过去的六个月里，她已经向大灾难的受难者捐赠了近六千人。她在这件事上的顾问和管理者是她丈夫的一位老朋友，一位享有荣誉的金融城人士。他煞费苦心地寻找值得接受她赏金的人，但至今仍不知道赏金的来源。

“我不能给予太多，”她说，用一种可悲的、不屑于批评的眼神看着哈维。 “我想保持三百英镑的收入。我的生活费可以少得多，少得多；但我仍然希望能时不时地做一点善事，并且我希望能够为我的妹妹或她的孩子们留下一些东西。事实是，罗尔夫先生——不，我会永远叫你哈维——事实是，如果不到处向比我贫穷的人提供一点帮助，我现在就活不下去。别以为这很愚蠢。她的声音颤抖着。 “我觉得这将以我可怜的丈夫的名义来做，就好像他自己在做这件事一样，并为他从未想过的错误做出弥补。”如果我放弃了一切——就像有些人说我应该做的那样——对我来说，事情就不一样了。我连自己的生活都没有，又有什么资格成为亲戚的负担呢？我希望我没有做错什么。当然，阿尔玛一结婚我就会放弃这套公寓。在接受它时，我真的更多地考虑了她而不是我自己的舒适。我将和我姐姐住在一起，必要时偶尔到城里来。”

听者感动不已，只能重重地点点头。

'还有一件事。阿尔玛在一切事情上都和我一起思考——但她说我应该让人们知道是谁给了这笔钱。她说这会让很多人对她父亲的记忆不再那么痛苦。现在，您有何看法？如果她是对的——”

哈维不会提供任何建议，弗罗辛厄姆夫人也没有催促他。她必须考虑一下。如果明智的话，可以随时进行披露。

“这就是我要说的，哈维。现在告诉我关于房子的事，然后去见阿尔玛。我在城里有事。

他去了，但结果却很失望。阿尔玛不在家。为了弥补这一点，她那天晚上给他发了一张纸条，请他第二天十二点打电话来，留下来吃午饭。当他走进房间时，他首先看到的就是一本旧学校地图册，打开在桌子上，上面有英格兰和威尔士的地图。

指定的日子是十二月二十日。

婚礼是最简单的。没有服装，没有伴娘或笨重的伴郎，没有邀请函；直到这一天过去，才向任何人宣布这一消息，除了多拉·利奇（Dora Leach）之外，她会像为了某种普通的友谊场合一样被召唤，然后被带到教堂。

“这将确保我在整个磨难中都能微笑，”阿尔玛对她的继母说。 “朵拉的脸真是太有学问了！”

“亲爱的，”弗洛辛汉姆太太非常认真地说道，“你是 相当 当然 - '

“如果可能的话，这是非常肯定的。哈维对如此轻易地被放走而感到愤怒。他害怕这个仪式。

这确实是事实，尽管罗尔夫没有透露。

他的个人物品现在要准备好搬走。这些书几乎代表了他能从旧房间带走的所有东西，但它们是家居装饰的坚实补充。有一瞬间他想到了卖几十卷。他真的想要那些不朽的巨著吗——比如穆拉托里的六开本，他喜欢拥有，但从未使用过？于是，一个重大的、无法回答的问题就悬而未决了：作为一个已婚男人，他将如何度过一生？他有可能成为一名认真的学生，甚至会像以前一样学习吗？没有预见；未来必须自我塑造，就像过去一样。毕竟，为什么要为了节省几个先令的车费而拆散他的图书馆呢？如果他自己不使用这些书的话——

一个念头在他脑海中闪过，让他的大脑有些不稳定。如果他自己不使用这些书籍，或许——

他想笑，但有五分钟的时间他非常清醒。不，不;他当然会完好无损地保存他的图书馆。

现在有一项义务要履行：他必须写信给他的朋友们，宣布他的婚姻；信件只在命运之日寄出。亲爱的老巴兹尔·莫顿——他会如何凝视！莫顿很快就会来到威尔士，人们会大口喝酒、抽烟、聊天，直到凌晨。令人愉快的期待！还有休·卡纳比！休会举起他的大臂，握紧他巨大的红色拳头，并发出嘲讽的笑声。好老男孩！在世界的另一边，也许在骗子的灵巧帮助下把他的钱扔掉了。还有可怜的小伙子塞西尔·莫菲！他肯定永远不会还那五十英镑——对此他表示衷心的欢迎。莫菲遵守了他的诺言，离开了切尔西的阁楼，但哈维不知道他后来怎么样了。当然，他们一起前往威尔士的计划已经失败了。

最后是玛丽·阿博特——哈维就是这么来命名他朋友的遗孀的。玛丽·艾伯特！她怎么会收到这个消息呢？这对她来说是最奇怪的惊喜。不仅仅是他结婚的事实，而是他从全世界范围内选择了班尼特·弗罗廷汉姆的女儿作为妻子。以后她还能善待他吗？谈到弗洛辛厄姆太太，她可以慷慨地谈论，似乎已经超越了自然的痛苦。但这个名字在她耳中一定总是不受欢迎。阿尔玛将不再使用这个名字，也许在未来的日子里，玛丽·阿博特可能会忘记它。他只能希望如此，两个女人能够走到一起。当然，阿尔玛这边不必担心不情愿。玛丽在经历了磨难之后，表现出了理智和品格，这赢得了人们的巨大信任。他会以最坦诚的方式给她写信；事实上，考虑到他们之间已经发展起来的关系，不可能有其他的语气。

他的小世界发生了多么大的变化啊！一年前，还有什么比他赢得阿尔玛·弗罗廷汉姆为妻并成为玛丽·阿博特的挚友更不可能的事情呢？

当这个消息不能再推迟时，他向汉多佛夫人宣布他即将结婚。这让他付出了非凡的努力，因为从双重意义上来说，他在这个女人面前感到羞耻。汉多弗夫人凭借自己的性别，本能地战胜了他。他在她愚蠢的眼睛里看到了永恒的女性胜利；他在她邋遢的女人面前低下头。然而，他又不敢向这个可怜的女人宣布她不能再靠他维持生计了。

‘I’m very sorry, Mr. Rolfe,’ she began, in her most despondent voice. ‘That is, of course, I’m very glad you’re going to be married, and I’m sure I wish you every happiness—I do indeed. But we are sorry to lose you—indeed we are.’

她的诚意是毫无疑问的。哈维咳嗽了一声，看了看窗户——窗户已经好几个月没有清理过了。

“请恕我冒昧地问一下，这位年轻女士是否来了——”

“是的，汉多弗夫人。”

他非常高兴阿尔玛的名字从未被提及。确实，那里会成为流言蜚语的话题。

“罗尔夫先生，一位非常英俊的年轻女士，我相信我祝她幸福，也祝您幸福。”她坐立不安。 “当然，我不知道您的计划是什么，先生，但是——也许我提一下也没什么坏处——如果您需要管家的话——您已经认识我很久了，先生—— ——”

“是的——是的——当然。”哈维出汗了。 “当然，我应该记住你。”

于是，他不得不听汉多弗夫人大谈她可疑的前景。采访结束时，他给了她一张十英镑的支票，藏在一个信封里。 “一份小礼物——当然，我会听到你的消息——每一个美好​​的愿望——”

结婚前夕，他站在拆掉的房间里，心里既喜悦又沉重。他的书藏在二十个包装箱里，贴上标签，准备寄走。尽管窗户开着，空气中仍然充满灰尘。自从打包开始，所有参与其中的人就不断地咳嗽、窒息。光秃秃的地板上，厚厚的绒状沉积物上留下了脚步声。这些房间的肮脏程度可以与伦敦的任何房间相媲美。然而在这里，他度过了几个小时的心满意足的时光。他曾在这里与志趣相投的朋友们坐在一起，听到墙壁上回响着他们爽朗的​​笑声。在这里，他感到宾至如归——他的青春就在这里逝去。

其他一切都是可疑的、推测的、偶然的，但有一件事他确实知道；他不再是一个年轻人了。岁月像影子一样过去了，没有被注意到，没有被计算过，让他到了这个暂停的时刻，这个重大变化的时刻，他必须需要前后审视。他的生命很可能已经消失了一半以上。他的母亲还不到三十岁；他的父亲四十多岁就去世了。他的祖父母并不长寿。他有什么机会在地球上行走超过一半的学期呢？难道每个人的生命都过得如此可笑吗？昨天还是个小学生；明天——“罗尔夫？你不这么说吗？可怜的老家伙！

他要结婚了。令人难以置信，令人发笑，但却是事实。与他生命中发生的任何其他变化一样，与岁月的流逝和青春的消失一样，这并不是刻意的目的的结果。命运如此安排，他就站在这里。

有人爬上楼梯，打破了他的沉思。那是邦库姆，他在平静的阴郁中微笑着。

'全做完了？我自己也不会在这里待太久了。房子对我来说太大了。”

'啊！它相当大。

“我正在考虑改变。——你对我的事情有所了解。——是的——改变——”

罗尔夫以前从未见过这个人如此沮丧。他试图激励他，但收效甚微。

“是孩子们让我烦恼，”邦库姆说。然后他压低了声音，把头凑近了一些。

“你要结婚了。”他的眼睛闪烁着幽暗的光芒。 “我——要离婚了。”

那人冷酷地点点头，走开了。

四月的一个早晨，哈维·罗尔夫结婚两年多后，发现他健康状况良好，精神也很好。按照往常，他八点半下来，早餐前在露天散步。整夜都在下雨；卡姆博德维安最高的落叶松树上仍然笼罩着灰色的薄雾，埃菲尔山的山峰也被浓密的包裹着。但春天的阳光和微风一定会如愿以偿。驱散云彩，在蔚蓝的大海上掀起白色的波浪，让金雀花绽放光彩，让所有的山丘都欢欣鼓舞。

一位园丁正在屋前工作。哈维与他谈论了他今年希望种植的某些花卉。在小马厩院子里，一个小伙子正在擦亮马具。主人也对他友好地说了几句话，然后走过去，看着那匹站在干净稻草中间的小母马。罗尔夫穿着粗糙的粗花呢套装，戴着不规则的花园帽，棕色的脸和欢快的眼睛，走来走去，仿佛天生就是这样的生活。他的身材已经丰满了；他比告别汉多佛夫人和她的可憎之物那天更加健壮，而且看起来确实更年轻。

九点钟，他走进餐厅，早餐已经准备好了，尽管还没有其他人上桌。太阳还有好几个小时才照到这扇窗户，但噼啪作响的火光让空气变得宜人，屋内也变得明亮起来。座位安排为三个人。这顿饭弥漫着咖啡的香气，没有一丝禁欲主义的味道。房间里的设备也与中产阶级住宅中常见的设备没有太大区别。壁炉架上的时钟两侧镶有青铜。墙上挂着版画和自画像；门窗都有合适的窗帘；橡木餐具柜闪烁着必要的银色光芒。一切都朴实无华；但正如人们普遍理解的那样，舒适感似乎并不缺乏。

一两分钟后，弗洛廷厄姆夫人出现了。自从守寡的第一年以来，她机敏、轻松，健康状况大有改善。她来这里已经两周了，明天就要回南方的家了。运动、变化、亲密的闲言碎语在痛苦中支撑着她，而这些似乎仍然在为她的道德良善发挥作用。她的赏金（或归还）早已不再是匿名的，但她并没有因牺牲财富而过分自豪；她很高兴她的熟人知道了这一点，因为在某些方面，这一事实使她摆脱了束缚，并恢复了友好的交往。事实证明，微薄的收入足以满足她的需要和乐趣。从表面上看，她在仁慈的同情心中找到了真正的、永远的满足感。

“阿尔玛不会下来，”她进来时说道。 “有点头疼——没什么。”我们要给她送些茶和干面包。”

“我觉得她昨晚看起来不太正常，”哈维一边切火腿一边说道。

Mrs. Frothingham made no remark, but smiled discreetly, taking a place at the head of the table.

“我们必须去某个地方，”哈维继续说道。 “这是一个漫长的冬天。恐怕她开始感到迟钝了。

'也许有一点。但她很好——没什么——”

“她为什么不继续画水彩画呢？”她开始做一些非常好的事情，但突然就放弃了。”

哦，她必须这么做！我认为最后的那些草图简直太棒了。任何人都会认为她为此奋斗了一生，而不是仅仅几个月。她多么聪明呀！

“阿尔玛可以做任何事，”哈维带着和蔼可亲的信念说道。

“几乎任何事情，我真的这么认为。现在 别 让她对它失去兴趣，就像她对音乐一样。你只需表明你认为她的画不错，并谈论它们。她更依赖于鼓励。

'我知道。但这并不是因为缺乏 my 鼓励她丢掉了小提琴。

'太不幸了！哦，我确信她会回来的。

当弗罗廷汉姆夫人第一次拜访这对新婚夫妇时，她发现事情的状况与她焦急的期望大不相同，这让她感到很有趣。诚然，他们的门内只有一名仆人，名叫露丝的女人，但她并不代表整个机构。哈维买了匹马和陷阱，并没有觉得有必要担任马夫，所以聘请了一个能胜任各种职务的人。此外，白天还有一个小伙子在这处地方发挥了作用。露丝是个还算可以的厨师，做女仆也不错。然后，房子的陈设虽然无可否认地“简单”，但也没有什么值得期待的地方。只有这样的事情才被回避，因为它们没有任何理性的目的，而且大多不利于人们。一眼就能看出，阿尔玛在家庭事务中并没有过度劳累的风险。她每天早上都会拿着羽毛刷走来走去，偶尔也会用不熟练的针线，但在厨房里她从来没有转身。弗洛廷厄姆夫人轻率地说，这种生活毕竟与其他人的生活很相似；阿尔玛对此表现出了严重的恼怒，这位好心的女士不得不道歉，承认他们没有“奢侈品”，饮食朴素，明显的朴素生活和高尚思想的氛围。

她待了将近一个月，过得很开心。深秋时节，阿尔玛恳求她再来一次，这次拜访的时间更长。因为十二月的第一周，房子迎来了一位新住户，他的到来引起了很大的骚动。阿尔玛生下儿子的过程中充满了严重的危险。日复一日，哈维带着恐惧的阴云在寒冷的海岸上大步走着。不管一年前的情况如何，他现在被阿尔玛吸引的不是激情的诱惑。他在她身上发现的种种缺点并没有与她独特的、多方面的魅力严重冲突。她孩子的出生给他带来了一种新的温柔，一种与他以前所怀有的情感不同的情感。那最微弱的人性的第一声哭声，在寂静的夜色中微弱地响起，在他的思想中掀起了一场革命，在那一刻，他学到的东西比他从所有阅读和思考中学到的还要多。

阿尔玛不给孩子喂奶似乎是理所当然的事。只是对哈维来说，这似乎是一个令人遗憾的话题，而他从未冒险谈论它。这个小凡人并不精力充沛；他的营养给他带来了很大的麻烦。但随着春天的到来，他对生活的把握更加坚定，不再那么执着地哀叹自己的命运。他的名字是休·巴兹尔。当得知此事后，这位澳大利亚的强者写了一封温暖人心的信，并寄来了一小块昆士兰黄金，可以按照父母认为合适的方式制成某种东西，或者保持原样。巴兹尔·莫顿遵循了古老的传统，赠送了一个银质酒杯，上面刻有新世界公民的名字和日期。

康复后，哈维带着妻子前往马德拉，在那里度过了三个星期。阿尔玛的健康只需要这次航行。她回来时充满了活力。在她不在期间，弗洛廷厄姆夫人负责照顾家务，孩子则由一位称职的护士负责。哈维突然想到，与孩子的分离是阿尔玛以独特的哲学承受的。这丝毫不影响她享受旅行的乐趣。但她又怀着喜悦和兴奋回到家，一连几天都时刻关注着孩子。弗洛丁厄姆夫人离开后，新的访客接踵而至：多拉·利奇和格尔达·利奇、巴兹尔·莫顿和他的妻子，以及阿尔玛的一两个亲戚。小休见到母亲的次数越来越少，但他继续茁壮成长。哈维现在明白，阿尔玛不能对家庭事务有太多兴趣。这根本就不是她的强项。

她不再拉小提琴，只是为了娱乐和朋友们的钦佩。从马德拉回来后，她结识了一位擅长水彩画的女士，从此开始了新的热情。她的进步是显着的，并且与她很久以前在音乐上所表现出的精力相当。在追求风景的过程中，她不畏天气和疲劳；她会在国外度过半夜，研究月光，或者在闻所未闻的时刻起床，捕捉黎明的色彩。当这种热情开始失败时，她的丈夫非但没有感到惊讶，反而感到烦恼。他知道阿尔玛特有的弱点，但不喜欢被如此强烈地提醒。大约在这段时间里，他阅读并思考了很多关于遗传问题的内容。

在充满信心的时刻，他大胆地问弗罗辛汉姆太太是否可以告诉他有关阿尔玛母亲的任何事情。这个问题虽然经常出现在他的脑海里，但如果不是弗洛辛厄姆太太在结婚前谈起她自己的生活，他就很难说出这个问题：她是如何享受乡村家务的照顾的；她是如何享受乡村家务的；她是如何享受乡村家务的；她是如何享受乡村家务的；她是如何享受乡村家务的；她是如何享受乡村家务的；她是如何享受乡村家务的；她是如何享受乡村家务的；她是如何享受乡村家务的；她是如何享受乡村家务的。她从未梦想过变得富有；班尼特·弗罗辛厄姆早年就认识她，当他开始富裕起来时，他又如何找到她，这显示了他本性的优良品质，因为她除了出身高贵，受过淑女教育之外，一无所有。阿尔玛当时还是一个十三岁的小女孩，已经失去母亲八年了。哈维的机会就这样来了。阿尔玛本人已经把她所知道的一切都告诉了他：她的母亲出生在英国，早年随父母移民到澳大利亚，年轻时回到伦敦，结了婚，二十七岁时去世。弗洛廷厄姆夫人对这个故事几乎没有什么补充，但事实证明这个补充很有趣。班尼特·弗罗辛汉姆 (Bennet Frothingham) 称他的第一次婚姻是一件愚蠢的事情。这导致了不幸，然而，寡妇放心了，双方都没有明显的过错。阿尔玛的母亲很英俊，有一些天赋，尤其是一副好嗓子，她试图在公共场合使用这一点，但没有成功。她的教育几乎不超出阅读和写作。在剧院度过一个晚上后，她突然去世了，像往常一样，她在那里感到无比兴奋。弗罗辛汉姆夫人看过一份旧的调查报告，死因是脑溢血。哈维·罗尔夫在这些细节中发现了值得反思的新问题。

今天早餐时他们的谈话被信件的到来打断了。其中两封特别受欢迎，因为它们带有殖民地邮戳。休·卡纳比从塔斯马尼亚的一个偏僻地方给他的朋友写了一封信；西比尔从霍巴特独立写信给阿尔玛。

“正如我所料，”哈维扫过几行字后说道。 ”他谈到回家：“似乎没有什么帮助。自从我们离开皇后区以来，西比尔的健康状况好多了，但我认为她永远不会在这里定居。她讨厌布里斯班的人，也不喜欢霍巴特的人。我把她留在那里，当时我正在和一个我遇到的非常正派的人闲逛，他的名字叫麦金托什。他去过任何地方，做过任何事——不久前，他在德黑兰的印欧电报公司工作，后来住在（这你可能会感兴趣）Badgered，在那里他获得了一份荣誉证书。 枣煮，这标志着他的脸并证明了他的真实性。他一直试图在这里开办木材生意；说一些硬木很适合铺路。但现在他父亲的去世把他带回了家，我不应该怀疑我们是否一起旅行。他的想法之一是建立一家自行车工厂；他似乎对此了如指掌，并表示这将是未来几年英国最赚钱的生意。你怎么认为？这是否提供了一个机会 me？”'

哈维大笑着打断了自己的话。通过巧妙的丹多的方法冶炼废弃的金矿，吸收了休的一些资本，但收效甚微，而他的其他赚钱计划还有很多。

” “事实是，我必须想办法弄到钱。自从我们离开英国以来，生活一直很昂贵，继续生活到资源几乎耗尽是疯狂的。还有西比尔 必须 再次回家；她在这些人中间浪费了生命。她怎么给你妻子写信？我宁愿我能监视这些信件。 （当然，我不是认真的。）她承受得很好，如果可能的话，我对她的评价比以往任何时候都高。”

哈维又笑了。

‘好老伙计！可惜他不能在某个地方敲响王冠！

'哦！我确信我更愿意看到他制造自行车。”

” “这不是他的职业。他应该去某个地方，发起一场属于他自己的小战争——正如他曾经告诉我的那样，他应该这么做。我们不能没有战士。

“那你愿意带休伊来吗？”

哈维的目光注视着远处的一个地方。

“我担心他没有骨头和肌肉。但我希望他有勇气。我恐怕他不会，因为我自己就是个卑鄙的胆小鬼。

“我希望孩子永远不会听到或知道战争，”弗罗廷汉姆夫人热切地说。

“我也应该这么做，”哈维语气严肃地回答。

当弗罗辛汉姆太太拿着给阿尔玛的信上楼时，他又打开了另一个信封。这是玛丽·阿博特寄来的，她每年给他写两次信，确认收到了他的支票。她像往常一样发送了关于韦格孩子们的仔细报告——女孩现在七岁，男孩九岁。她想，阿尔伯特·瓦格对她来说已经太老了。他应该去男校。他和他的妹妹都还没有报答他们所受的照顾。孩子们从来没有这么难管理过。哈维从字里行间读出了这一点；因为玛丽·阿博特从未抱怨过她所承担的任务。他起身离开房间，脸上带着焦急的沉思。

这一天过得很有规律。从九点半到一点半，哈维一个人坐在书房里，虽然并不总是刻苦钻研，但总的来说，他在自己选择的知识领域取得了进步。他免费购买书籍，并且仍然使用伦敦图书馆。最近，他一直忙于与教育当局打交道。常常不耐烦地读完许多冗长的书。他本想与玛丽·阿博特谈论这个话题，但还没有勇气谈论她来拜访他们的事。由于阿尔玛的出身，情况变得很困难，而他对阿尔玛对他为那些不幸的孩子支付的费用保持沉默，使情况变得更加尴尬。他保持沉默的时间越长，他就越不容易让妻子知道这件事——这件事本身是完全无害的。

今天早上，他感觉不适合学习，也不愿意出去，尽管天空蔚蓝。从窗户里，他可以看到坎博德维安（Cam Bodvean）覆盖着落叶松的山坡。它们的美丽只会让他想起遥远国度更宏伟、更可爱的景色。时不时地，流浪者就这样在他身上醒来，并对摆满书籍的房间里的迂腐行为投以蔑视。此外，他还曾为欢乐的消失而感到遗憾。他希望走进伦敦的一条街道，聚集他的恩惠同伴，并在过去的方式中狂欢。然而，这些情绪仍然是转瞬即逝的。总而言之，他没有后悔过。命运似乎把他标记为一个书生气十足的人。他在历史阅读中变得更加有条理、更加坚持。毫无疑问，这是他晚年的指定课程。它没有导致任何明确的结果。他的人生将毫无成果——

无果？屋子里的某个地方传来一声尖利的小叫声，打断了他的思绪，无声无息地反驳了他的想法。不仅如此，如果他的孩子长大了，他的生活也不会毫无成果。只有被选中的少数人，即人类中极少数的人，才能留下精神后代，或者在地球上留下他们的唯一印记。大众不过是新一代的父母，活着只是为了让种族永存。这是自然的意志，是共同的命运。如果他确实有能力为这个新生命塑造一条道路，他作为自然的奴隶，从虚无中呼唤出新生命，以消除一种错误，避免一种痛苦，以确保，无论程度多么轻微，他儿子的生活应该比他自己的生活更好、更幸福——这难道不是他余下岁月的一个足够的目的，对任何努力、任何牺牲都足够的补偿吗？

当他坐在那里沉思时，门轻轻地开了，阿尔玛朝他看了一眼。

“我打扰你了吗？”

'我在闲着。你头痛怎么样？

她漫不经心地回答了一声，然后走上前来，手里拿着一封信。

“西比尔说她几周后肯定会启程回家。也许他们现在已经在路上了。我听说你也有同样的消息。

'是的。他们必须马上来找我们，”哈维一边回答，一边敲掉烟斗里的烟灰，“或者我们去迎接他们？如果他们乘坐东方线来，他们会在那不勒斯停靠。走陆路并和他们一起返航会怎么样？

阿尔玛似乎很喜欢这个建议，微笑着，但只笑了一会儿。今天早上，她肩上裹着一条白色羊毛围巾，走到火边，脸色苍白，看上去很冷。她的容貌经过缓慢而微妙的改变，逐渐呈现出一种成熟的美感，这种美感比她少女时期的魅力更加大胆。它仍然远离感性类型的美，但轮廓变得更加圆润，更加规则，在共同估计中获得了他们因更精致的理解而失去的东西。她的眼睛显得更加刻意地意识到自己的深度和光芒。她的嘴唇对飞来飞去的想法不太敏感，却变成了一种习惯性的表情——不是不满，而是类似的表情。不是出于任性，而是一种既不平静也不顺从的精神。

“你还有别的事吗？”她心不在焉地问道。

“阿博特夫人的一封信。”

阿尔玛微笑着，脸上带着一种不常见的愉悦之色。哈维通常会阅读她这些信件的摘录。他们对金钱的暗示强加了储备；否则它们就会落入阿尔玛的手中。从他男性的角度来看，哈维认为这件事无关紧要。到目前为止，他妻子的行为并没有让他认为她重视这一点。

“通常的进展报告？”

'是的。我想那两个孩子给她带来了很多麻烦。她得把男孩送到寄宿学校。”

“但她负担得起吗？”

'我不知道。'

“我一直不明白为什么你对那些孩子这么感兴趣。”

她的目光异常敏锐地审视着他，而哈维则对自己的策略造成的尴尬感到不满，显得有些不耐烦。

“为什么，部分是因为如果可以的话，我希望为艾伯特夫人提供建议：部分是因为我对整个教育问题感兴趣。”

是的，这当然很有趣。我想她有假期吧？

“现在是和她一起度假的时间。”

“那你为什么不请她来看我们呢？”

“我会立刻，”哈维犹豫地回答，“如果我确定——”他停了下来，改变了语序。 “我不知道她是否可以离开那些孩子。”

“你本来会提出不同的反对意见。当然还有一点点尴尬。但你很久以前就说过，所有这些事情都会消失，当然现在应该已经消失了。如果艾伯特夫人像你想的那样明智的话，我看不出她怎么会对我有任何不愉快的感觉。

“我猜想她不会。”

'那么现在就是机会了。发送邀请函——为什么我不应该自己写呢？

阿尔玛已经完全摆脱了疲倦的表情。她挺直身子，看着写字台，表现出她特有的急于完成一项计划。尽管哈维对结果表示怀疑，但她毫无犹豫地同意了，并立即走到办公桌前。几分钟后，她写了一封信，递给她丈夫仔细阅读。

“令人钦佩！”他惊呼道。 '再好不过了。 Nihil quod tetigit non ornavit“。

“请问这是什么意思？”阿尔玛问道，她的表情因为赞美的喜悦而显得有些不安。

“我的妻子是最优雅的女人，她向所有接触过她的人传递出她自己的魅力。”

‘All that?’

“你必须知道，拉丁语是一种压缩语言。”

他们笑着分手了。当她离开书房时，阿尔玛看到她的小儿子正要出去。护士把他放进了邮车，他坐在那儿微笑着、咕咕叫着。弗洛辛汉姆太太很喜欢这个孩子，准备朝同一个方向散步，并在门口喊阿尔玛陪他们一起去。

“也许我会来找你，”他回答道。 “塔塔，休吉！”

阿尔玛挥挥手，走进起居室，站在窗前，看着弗洛辛汉姆太太的遮阳伞消失。然后她四处走动，就像一个寻找工作的人一样。拿起一本书又扔掉，茫然地凝视一幅画，或者触摸一碗花。在这里，就像在餐厅一样，唯一值得注意的是没有传统的多余设施。每一件家具都风格简约；结果，给人一种朴素优雅的印象。角落里的一张小桌子上放着阿尔玛的彩盒，还有一块画板、一块素描板，以及包含她精选作品示例的文件夹。不远处，锁在琴盒里，放着她的小提琴，她习惯于爱抚地抚摸这把乐器。今天她的目光避开了它。

她又出去到小厅里。前门开着。阳光洒满花园；但阿尔玛并不想出去。附近的所有步行道和驾车道都变得异常熟悉。相比之下，伦敦最简陋的街道却闪闪发光，就像她想象中的天堂一样。她倦怠地深深叹了口气，转身缓缓走上楼梯。

上面有六间房间；其中三间是主卧室（她自己的房间、哈维的房间和客房），然后是日间托儿所、夜间托儿所和仆人的卧室。第一次来时，她认为这所房子不必要地宽敞。现在，她常常觉得它小得令人窒息，只有一间空房间供访客使用。她进入了自己的房间。它不能被称为杂乱，但它缺乏那种一丝不苟、完美的安排，那种精致的装饰，为某种类型的女人营造出一种私密的氛围。露丝尽了自己的职责，保持了无可指摘的纯洁。缺陷是阿尔玛一人造成的。可以肯定的是，她既没有更衣室，也没有女佣人。阿尔玛的体质使她很难摆脱这些对完整生活的帮助。

她站在镜子前，茫然、忧郁地看着自己。她的目光垂下一点，呈现出一种新的表情，焦急的审视。她一动不动地凝视着，举起双臂，就像站着让裁缝量尺寸一样。然后她转过身，以便从侧面看到她的身影。她的手臂再次垂下，冷漠地走开。

不知怎的，漫长的早晨过去了。下午，她和哈维以及弗罗廷厄姆太太一起开车，像往常一样交谈，没有在言语上表现出她极度的厌倦。没有提及艾伯特夫人。哈维亲自给她写了一封信，以尽可能的热情支持阿尔玛的邀请。但他非常担心她不会来。

喝茶时，按照惯例，小休被带进房间，让他的母亲抚摸他，他的母亲喜欢看到他穿着漂亮的衣服，然后坐在他父亲的膝盖上。休十六个月大时，开始拥有自己的词汇，并开始参与对话。他的头很大，形状优美，四肢纤细但匀称。海洋和山间的甜美空气给他的脸颊带来了一种健康的、虽然非常微妙的色彩。他的眼睛就像阿尔玛的眼睛，乌黑而闪烁，但预示着更加敏锐的智慧。哈维喜欢长时间地凝视着那张小脸，对它频繁出现的严肃感到困惑，又对它闪烁的笑意感到高兴。儿语的音节让他陷入沉思和思考。多么新鲜和年轻，但又多么奇妙的古老！几千年前，在世界的早晨，这样的胡言乱语从一个孩子的嘴里说出来；它的声音千古流传，被无限地再现。永远是一个新的开始；同样的人类最早语言的音乐，同样天真的笑声，代代相传。但他听着，却没有以前父亲们那种快乐、无畏的自豪感。一直以来的重担都压在他身上；他必须焦急地思考他孩子的遗产，用他疲倦的知识来预测这个即将到来的生活的星座。

“你为什么用那样的眼神看着他？”阿尔玛喊道。 “你会吓到他的。”

“我看上去怎么样？”

“好像你看到了可怕的东西。”

哈维笑了，用手指梳理着柔软的卷发，嘱咐自己要保持一颗善良的心。他不是对那些为自己的孩子“小题大做”的人嗤之以鼻吗？他难道不鄙视和厌恶谈论婴儿吗？对于以前的自己来说，他是多么愚蠢啊！

第二天，弗洛廷厄姆夫人就离开了。像往常一样，不确定她什么时候会再来，但愉快地确信这不会太久。她认为哈维是最好的丈夫。他和阿尔玛是最幸福的已婚人士。毫无疑问，她暗自悲伤地羡慕他们。如果她自己的命运落在如此宁静的地方该多好啊！

又过了两天，阿尔玛收到了对她的邀请的回复。是的，阿博特夫人会来，并和他们在一起一个星期。她不能再这样下去了。她的信和阿尔玛的信一样和蔼可亲，措辞得体。哈维感到如释重负，看到妻子毫不掩饰的满足，他感到非常高兴。今天是星期一；访客答应周二晚上到达。

“当然，你会和我一起开车去见她，”哈维说。

‘I think not. I dislike making acquaintance at railway stations. If it should rain, you’ll have to have a covered carriage, and imagine us three shut up together!’

阿尔玛听到这个想法高兴地笑了。哈维虽然无法理解她的喜悦，但还是以微笑回应，没有再说什么。令人高兴的是，天气晴朗；每天早晨，阳光灿烂；周二下午，哈维驱车行驶了七英里，在金雀花树篱和落叶松树林之间，上山下坡，到达了玛丽·阿博特在长途旅行结束后下车的小集镇。

日落半小时后，阿尔玛听到了车轮的声音。她早已做好了接待客人的准备，当马停下来时，她站在客厅开着的门边，控制着自己的紧张，决心给人留下优雅和尊严的印象。如果她能够对艾伯特夫人的个人外表有所了解的话，她的心情就会轻松一些。哈维从未对这个话题暗示过，而她也无法让自己去质问他。铃声响了;路得赶紧回答。哈维的声音响起。

“温暖的阳光过后，天气变得寒冷。恐怕我们应该有一辆有篷马车。

“那我应该什么也没有看到。”他用更柔和的语气回答道。 “开车是最愉快的。”

There came into the lamplight a rather tall figure in plain, serviceable travelling-costume. Alma discerned a face which gave her a shock of surprise, so unlike was it to anything she had imagined; the features regular and of intelligent expression, but so thin, pallid, worn, that they seemed to belong to a woman of nearly forty, weighted by years of extreme suffering. The demeanour which Alma had studiously prepared underwent an immediate change; she stepped forward with an air of frank kindliness, of cordial hospitality.

“你的火车没有晚点吗？你一定有多累——而且有多冷！在这美好的春日里，我们的生活就像盛夏一样，但我相信你不应该这么晚在露天陷阱里开车那么长的路。哈维认为每个人都像他一样坚强——”

不过这位客人的精神状态非常好，尽管明显有些疲惫。她愉快地谈到了在夕阳下熠熠生辉的美丽荒野。有点累，是的；她已经很久没有走这么远的路了。但空气给了她极好的支撑，经过一夜的休息——

晚餐时，阿尔玛表现得同样友善，仔细观察她的客人，倾听她所说的一切，仿佛不想错过任何一个字。阿博特夫人说话的声音很低。她的举止显得拘谨，这可能部分归因于疲倦，但在某种程度上似乎是在新环境下胆怯的结果。如果她看向任何一个同伴，她的目光就会立即收回。她的脸上始终没有笑容。它来了又过去，留下了全神贯注的严肃表情。她穿着一件黑色丝质连衣裙，领口很窄。阿尔玛认为这绝不是什么新鲜事。

饭后一小时，她请求允许她回到自己的房间。说话的努力已经变得不可能了。她已经力竭了，再也支撑不住了。

当阿尔玛再次下来时，她在火堆前站了一分钟，微笑着，一言不发。哈维拿起了一份报纸；他什么也没说。

“她真是太好了！”这句话终于从罗尔夫夫人的嘴里脱口而出。

“变化惊人，”她丈夫低声回答。

‘Indeed? In what way?’

“一方面，看起来病得很严重。”

“我们必须带她走一走。你觉得明天做什么？

通过女性化的间接提问，阿尔玛对过去三年来艾伯特夫人的变化有了一些了解。哈维的揭露并没有违反他在看到一个女人悔恨痛苦的那个时刻所施加的沉默；但他并没有违背他的沉默。他只谈到那些在玛丽·阿博特去世前认识她的人都知道的事情。她的社交乐趣，她的知识野心，突然被巨大的悲伤所淹没。

“我想她应该做比教孩子更好的事情，”阿尔玛说。

“更好的东西？”哈维沉思着重复道。 '我不知道。这完全取决于你如何看待它。

“她很聪明吗？”

“并不令人震惊，”他笑着回答。 “很可能她正在做她应该做的事——不多也不少。”她的健康状况似乎是她的弱点。

“你认为她的生活费够吗？”

哈维皱起眉头，一脸不安。

‘I hope so. Of course it must be a very small income; but I dare say those friends of hers at Gunnersbury make life a little easier.’

“我为她感到难过，”阿尔玛高兴地说。 “我没有意识到她的立场。我们必须让她尽可能长时间地留下来。是的，如果天气好的话，我们可能会开车去特雷卡埃里。毫无疑问，这会让她感兴趣。她喜欢历史，不是吗？——跟你喜欢的东西一样。

早餐时，阿博特夫人的脸色变得更加明亮。身心都焕然一新，她高兴地开始了当天的计划，说话不再那么拘束，并对周围的一切表现出兴趣。但她的神态仍然带着一种谦逊的气息，似乎有时会变成一种近乎谦逊的羞怯。与女主人的举止形成鲜明对比，强调了这一点。阿尔玛从未表现出如此出色的优势。善意的解释可能会认为她是想尽一切办法来激励客人。她的脸上洋溢着幽默和活泼的光芒。她看起来是快乐、健康生活的化身。她那充满活力的谈话似乎是为了展示在这样的地方存在的乐趣和特权。她把自己描绘成在高山和荒凉的海岸上感到自豪的人。这里没有社会负担、限制或铺张浪费；一个人生活得自然、简单，不为浪费的时间而后悔，也不惧怕明天。对于这一切，玛丽·阿博特表达了她的钦佩，或许还有她的嫉妒。阿尔玛越觉得自己给听众留下了深刻的印象，她就越兴奋。

哈维对妻子低落的精力突然恢复感到惊讶。但他对这种现象并没有感到太奇怪；阿尔玛才华横溢、令人愉快，她完美地扮演了女主人的角色，并向客人传达了她自己的活力。

他们驾车穿过群山，前往特雷卡埃里（Tre'r Caeri），这是一座位于高处的英国要塞，令人兴奋不已。巨大的防护墙内有倒塌的住宅，有石标、克罗姆莱奇和神秘的圆圈；昔日，战争的喧嚣在这些灰色的山丘间回荡，现在，它们在阳光下沉睡。从特雷卡埃里 (Tre'r Caeri) 一直延伸到入海峡谷的阴暗岩石中，南特古尔瑟恩 (Nant Gwrtheyrn) 及其位于荒凉海岸上的土丘，传说中被称为沃蒂根 (Vortigern) 的埋葬地。说到这里，艾伯特夫人谈到了她在布列塔尼看到的史前古迹，阿尔玛突然惊讶地看了她一眼。冲动是非常重大的。阿尔玛只把她的客人看作是一位贫困的儿童老师，暂时忘记了这个谦逊的女人也有过快乐的日子，那时她也吹嘘自由，把心思放在旅行上。毕竟，很快就发现，这次旅行的范围非常有限。阿尔玛凭借对许多欧洲国家的了解，以及最近的远洋航行，重新获得了自信的优越感，这使她保持着令人钦佩的幽默感。

Mary Abbott, reluctant to converse on things that regarded herself, afforded Alma every opportunity of shining. She knew of Mrs. Rolfe’s skill as a musician, and this same evening uttered a hope that she might hear her play. The violin came forth from its retirement. Playing, it seemed at first, without much earnestness, as though it were but a pastime, Alma presently chose one of her pageant pieces, and showed of what she was capable. Lack of practice had told upon her hand, but the hearers were uncritical, as she well knew.

“那太棒了，”哈维说，脸上带着顽皮的微笑。 “但是现在请屈尊俯听原始人的耳朵。让我们来点不那么严重的事情吧。

阿尔玛看了一眼阿博特夫人，她低声说了声谢谢。然后把目光转向她的丈夫，邪恶地说：“回家，甜蜜的家？”

“我毫不怀疑你能演奏得非常出色——就像你演奏《三只瞎老鼠》一样。”

阿尔玛一脸好意的蔑视，接下来选择了舒伯特的塔兰泰尔。玩耍的劳累使她的脸色变得温暖起来。它增强了她的美感，她也意识到了这一点。因此，当她碰巧发现阿博特夫人的目光注视着她时，她的黑眼睛里闪现出无限的满足感，嘴唇颤抖着说道。

第二天晚上，当她再次被要求演奏时，她坐在钢琴前。阿尔玛对这件乐器不像对小提琴那样有信心。但她无法克制不住地展示了她所拥有的技巧，阿博特夫人宣称她自己的钢琴弹奏还很初级。与此同时，用于展览的水彩画作品集也已经制作完成。阿博特夫人虽然不承认，但在这门技艺上以前已经取得了一些进步。她能够对阿尔玛的力量做出判断，并真正惊讶地听到她在这么短的时间内就达到了这一点。阿尔玛再次露出满足的表情。

她为自己的母亲身份找到了新的自豪感。她没有被告知，也没有忘记艾伯特夫人失去了一个孩子，她开玩笑地保证客人不必担心儿歌。

“恐怕孩子对你来说绝对不是一件快乐的事情；你一定是吃太多了。

“他们经常给我带来麻烦，”阿博特夫人回答道。 “但我希望再有一个来打扰我。我的小女儿现在已经六岁了。

阿尔玛露出这样的表情，偶尔会弥补许多不那么友善的目光。

“我很抱歉——我不知道——”

阿博特夫人没有多谈这个话题。她的矜持依然没有被打破，尽管她的举止中从未表现出丝毫的冷漠。她完全自由地谈论一切，不涉及她自己。这种改变显然对她有利。到了第二天，她的活力也增强了，不再是那种心事重重、过度紧张的样子。熟悉了自己的脸后，阿尔玛觉得她的脸比一开始更有魅力，而且明显更年轻。她对艾伯特夫人仍然抱有极大的好奇心。尤其令她感到奇怪的是，哈维和他的朋友如此不愿意交谈。他们只谈论正式的、无趣的事情，她想知道他们是否真的有很多共同点。

“明天早上带艾伯特夫人去散步，”她私下里说道。 “你们一定有很多话要说——一个人说。”

“我不知道我们有，”哈维回答道，有些惊讶地看着她。 “我想多听一些关于这些年轻人的事情，仅此而已。”

阿博特夫人希望登上坎博德韦恩这座大山，山上覆盖着嫩绿的落叶松树林，俯瞰着整个城镇。阿尔玛对这次攀登的辛苦毫不在意；早餐时，她愉快地向自己道歉，提议哈维和艾伯特夫人单独去。他们可能会下山到山的另一边，在那里，在她丈夫知道的某个地点，她会开着马车与他们会合。哈维明白这意味着这个男人会开车送她。因为阿尔玛还没有将驾驶艺术添加到她的各种成就中。她确实对缰绳很胆怯。他欣然同意了这个计划，不知为何，这个计划似乎让她感到好笑和兴奋。

“别着急，”她说。 “这样的日子风景很好，而且可以在山顶好好休息一下。”如果你在一点半见我，我们就会在两点回来吃午饭。”

当他们出发时，阿尔玛来到花园门口，友善地微笑着让他们打发走。人们可能会以为她会说“乖一点！”就像孩子们被信任可以在没有监督的情况下散步一样。重新进入后，她迅速跑到楼上的房间，从窗户里她可以观察他们几分钟，他们正在交谈。不久，她吩咐仆人指示一点，让马车过来。

“威廉姆斯开车吗，女士？”露丝说，她在早餐时听到了一些谈话。

“不，”阿尔玛坚决地回答。 “我自己开车。”

行人沿着一条蜿蜒的小路前行，路中间是长满了厚厚的薄荷新叶的巨石墙。然后穿过镇上一条长长的街道（更确切地说是一个村庄），经过用地衣石头建造的喷泉，妇女和儿童在那里装满了甜水，在金色的光芒下闪闪发光。罗尔夫时不时地受到尊敬的问候。他本来想讲威尔士语，但很快就放弃了这个努力。他喜欢听它，尤其是在孩子们玩耍时用嘴说的。一种古老、古老的语言，一个种族活力的象征；在那些年轻的嘴唇上听起来就像在他自己的英语，复合的，混合的，还没有开始形成自己的时候。

他们越过街道和一排小屋，开始攀登。起初是一段平缓的上坡路，两边都是开花的黑刺李高高的树篱，河岸上长满了报春花和紫罗兰，还有白色的星形草。毛地黄的伟大叶子为未来的日子带来了希望。空气温和，却异常清新。香气来自田野、石南和木材的无数来源。当小巷出现空地时，他们停下来回头看。他们的脚下是一座灰色的小镇，镇外是长满青草的悬崖，蜿蜒环绕着蓝色的海湾。附近矗立着一座光秃秃的山坡，再往北几英里，有两座高耸的山峰，在无云的天空下笼罩着玫瑰色的薄雾。

“这对你来说肯定不会太多吧？”哈维抬头看着树木繁茂的高地说道。

“我觉得自己无所不能，”他的同伴明亮地回答道。 “这空气给了我新的生命。”

她的脸颊上泛着淡淡的红晕，哈维第一次看到这样的表情，这让他想起了多年前他所认识的那张脸，当时艾伯特夫人对生活的看法就像阿尔玛现在一样。

他们进入了一片高耸的石南丛生的石南地，绿色的石南丛生着青苔，一条隐藏的溪流的水分向下吸去，在干燥的山坡上，棕色的石南树枯死了。上面是一片盛开的金雀花丛。一道绚丽的色彩，纯粹，空中，就像照亮它的天空一样。他们穿过这条路，然后掉进牧场的一个绿色角落，周围是怀疑地抬起头的绵羊和大声咩咩叫的小羊，每只都跑向它的母亲。

“如果你能翻越这堵墙，我们就能节省一刻钟的时间。”

“如果你能，我也能。”笑着回答。

突出的巨石使它很容易攀爬。然后他们就到了坎博德维安山脚下，前方是陡峭的山间空地。阿博特夫人抬头凝视着上方，脸上流露出难以言表的喜悦。

“没有路，”哈维说。 “这是一片诚实的林地。有一天，它将铺上道路、铁凳和指柱，“到达顶峰”。

“你这么认为吗？”

'为什么，当然。这是英国每一个美丽景点的命运。那边会有一个码头、一条之字形铁路、一排排的旅馆和铜管乐队。

“但愿我们已经死了。”

“是的——但是那些追随我们的人呢？对于休来说，这将是一个什么样的世界？我常常想，如果我教他像我一样看待生活，我就错了。这不是给他准备痛苦吗？我应该让他喜欢码头、黑鬼吟游诗人和之字形公路。一个人应该属于他的时代。

“但是男人会帮助他打发时间，”玛丽·阿博特回答道。

'真的。你充满希望，是吗？

'我非常努力地做到这一点。如果我不向孩子们灌输一些有助于让他们的生活变得更好的想法，那我还有什么用呢？

哈维点点头。

他们的脚陷入了远古夏季长满青苔的废墟中。头顶上，落叶松的树枝垂下绿色的发丝，山毛榉树林的阳光透过装饰着半透明金色的树枝摇曳着。他们时不时地来到空地，那里的树木从土壤中裂开，死在春天的树叶中，讲述着一场巨大的冬季风暴。破碎的树干周围和树根被撕裂的空洞里长出了茂密的新草。一会儿他们站在阴影里，一会儿又站在阴影里。接下来，向上进入一大片阳光，落在仍然闪烁着夜晚露珠的苔藓上，落在被地衣涂成绿色和金色的岩石夹板上。阳光或阴影；芬芳的冷杉香气扑鼻而来，还夹杂着许多林地小植物的香气。

阿博特夫人不止一次不得不停下来。中途，她被一个奇特的休息之地所吸引。那是一棵落叶松树，大约有三十英尺高。在其生长之初，茎通过某种自然方式转向，在离地面几英尺的地方水平生长一码或更长；然后，它向下弯曲，最后，通过自身的完美循环，再次朝着正确的方向射出，最后长出笔直而高贵的树干，就像它未变形的邻居一样。阿博特夫人对如此奇怪的畸形感到非常惊讶，她坐在水平部分上，哈维站在她面前，讲述了他第一次偶然爬上这条路时想到的一个幻想。难道这棵树不代表某种人类生命吗？一个软弱、可疑、几乎无望的开始；一张支票；自身的回报；费力地转了一圈；最后健康成熟、正直、胜利。他眼睛盯着地面说话。最后，他把它们举起来，惊讶地发现他的同伴已经涨红了脸。直到那时，他才想到，听者可以将这个比喻应用到自己身上。

“坦白，”他立即补充道，“这让我想起了自己的生活——只不过我不能假装‘胜利’。”

他的笑声并没有掩盖他的尴尬，他发现，如果有什么不同的话，那就是他让事情变得更糟了。这是他无可救药地缺乏机智的一个例子。最好完全不提供这个寓言的应用，并转变话题。他说了一个简单的事实，但结果似乎是在荣耀自己，而且可能是以牺牲他的朋友为代价的。他无比恼怒，脚后跟踩在松软的地面上。

“这是一个非常引人注目的想法，”玛丽·阿博特说道，她的表情仍然很沮丧。 “我永远不会忘记它。”

她站起来继续前行。他们默默地攀登，山坡越来越陡。

“我应该把我的旧登山杖带给你，”哈维开玩笑说。 '慢慢走;我们有充足的时间。

'我喜欢努力。我感觉很好，这对我有好处！

他又大胆地看了她一眼。她所有的困惑都消失了；她的眼里闪烁着享受的光芒，以前所未有的坦率回应他的目光。

“你必须待第二周。阿尔玛不会让你走的。

'走吧，我必须走。这两个孩子不能再留在朗格兰夫人家了——这是对她的好意的假设。

“我想谈谈他们，但这里已经没有多少呼吸了。当我们到达山顶时——”

最后，人们在破碎的石头上进行了一场滑溜溜的攀爬，最终到达了一座无形的石碑，矗立在树顶之上，裸露在耀眼的天空下。当他们从树林的庇护所中出来时，一阵微风吹过他们，但只持续了一会儿；然后空气变得静止，除了下面树枝之间轻柔的低语声之外，什么也听不到。围绕着这个石质高地的落叶松无法长到完整的高度。被来自山峦或海浪的猛烈冲击击打、撕裂、发育不良，它们的树干负载沉重，树枝浓密地缠结，地衣又长又灰白，使它们看起来年龄无法估量。哈维总是以崇敬的目光看着他们，甚至是敬畏。

在阳光明媚的寂静中，他们的目光环顾广阔的地平线。两侧都是大海；向西，仅在与上方蓝天相交的地方为界（尽管那边的云线可能是威克洛的山丘）；向东，被一个大海湾的海岸所包围，远处的山脉在银色的蒸汽中依稀可见。北边矗立着一座崇高的山峰，阴暗、严峻，美丽的曲线壁垒迅速倒塌，波涛汹涌，在山脚下破碎。由于靠近两个山峰，它更加崇高，像它一样急剧飙升，但无法与之竞争。这座山峰在较近的群山中独一无二，被遮蔽了。被海风吹来，它抓住并抓住它们，把它们搅拌成阳光明媚的云朵，它们以长长的绒毛状飘散，远远穿过清澈的天空深处。更远的内陆地区，温暖早晨的薄雾笼罩着，摇曳不定，有时隐现出某种更宏伟的形状，只能靠想象而不是被描述。随着时间的流逝，高地的一瞥会慢慢显露出来，并沐浴在斯诺登顶下的广阔光芒中。

'我们有时间！我们可以留在这里！艾伯特夫人说，心里非常高兴。

“我们至少有一个小时的时间。太阳太热；你必须坐在石标的阴影一侧。

巨大的寂静完全没有那种在荒野寂寥的山间平静中令人敬畏的感觉。他们耳边传来树林里悠长的低沉的寂静声，时不时地突然被阵阵风打破，风在巨大的石头堆周围拍打着空洞的音符，旋转着，仿佛在运动，然后就消失了。下面，绿树成荫的空洞里，传来松鸦的叫声和啄木鸟的笑声。远处的荒原和草地上传来颤抖的羔羊咩咩声。到处都找不到人类的身影；但人类的住所和劳动成果却在各个方向描绘出广阔的风景。在山坡上，在起伏的低地，墙壁或树篱描绘了他对自然的征服，通过一代又一代人的辛劳赢得的小块土地用于牧场或耕种，从不情愿的荒野中获得，荒野热爱蕨类植物和金雀花，苔藓和植物。石南花。远近散布着白色的小别墅，每一栋都是闪闪发光的斑点，孤独而简陋。坐落在一条蜿蜒的、人迹罕至的小路旁边，或者高高的绿色高地上，除了居住在那里的人的脚外，没有任何道路。

他们从谈论风景，没有愉快地过渡到他们还没有找到机会讨论的话题。有必要就韦格的孩子们达成一些新的安排；因为这个男孩阿尔伯特很快就九岁了，正如阿博特夫人承认的那样，他给她带来了很多麻烦。两个孩子都很顽固，讨厌上课，经常搞令人震惊的恶作剧。艾伯特大师最近的壮举可能要了他的命，因为他透过一块玻璃猛烈地击打了一个在另一边嘲笑他的孩子，当艾伯特夫人赶来帮助他时，他几乎因失血过多而晕倒了。显然这个年轻人必须被送到寄宿学校。他走后，他的妹妹米妮就更容易管理了。

“他长大后会成为一名战士，”哈维说。 “我们不能没有战士。我会立即为他询问学校，一两年后我们会向他的老师征求意见。也许他可能会加入海军。

“这一切的代价，”他的同伴紧张地说。

“我们很久以前就已经解决了。别想了。

“当然，等阿尔伯特离开我时，你就只寄一半的钱，”阿博特夫人认真地说。 “我不会有任何困难。”我收到了好几个人的来信，要求我带着他们的小孩和我住在一起。阿尔伯特的位置很快就会被填补。我不能再带更多东西进屋了；没有空间了。有了他们、我的幼儿园以及我晚上上的课，我可以生活得很好。”

哈维沉思道。他希望自己完全同情他的朋友，但他知道旧的批评中的某些内容仍然影响着他的喜好。玛丽·阿博特有优良的品质，但缺乏朴素和直接，而这本来可以使她的勇气完全令人钦佩。他怀疑她一直在为她认为浪费生命的事情而哀悼。她为自己的“文化”感到自豪，并记得自己作为成年女孩老师的杰出地位，她承担起照顾小孩子的悔罪，并以固执而不是出于受启发的目的坚持下去。毫无疑问，玛丽·阿博特一直将生活视为一场冲突。她总是为自己而战。当这种本性陷入真正的悔恨时，禁欲主义就不可避免地随之而来。随之而来的是或多或少有意识的痛苦的危险。哈维相信他朋友的真诚，并相信她在各方面都比她遭受巨大悲伤之前的日子更好。但他还不能确信她已经找到了真正的职业。

他们谈到了那些非常渴望摆脱孩子的人们。

“一位女士写信给我说，如果我愿意带着她的小儿子并让他常年留着，她几乎愿意付出任何代价；她只有一间小房子，孩子彻底打乱了她的生活。我当然理解她；我应该同情她一次。

“这很容易理解，”哈维笑着回答。 “目前，将为中产阶级的孩子们提供巨大的设施。当然，孩子们是个麻烦事。尤其是如果你生活在漩涡中。”

“是的，我太了解这种漩涡式的生活方式了，”阿博特夫人说，她的眼睛望着远处的群山。 “我知道一个人是多么容易被吸引进去。不仅仅是闲人。

‘Of course not. There’s the whirlpool of the furiously busy. Round and round they go; brains humming till they melt or explode. Of course, they can’t bother with children.’

“一个人失去了所有的责任感。”

'相反，他们从来没有拥有过它，而且它没有发展的机会。你知道，对于人们来说，他们对自己带到这个世界上的孩子负有巨大的义务，这并不是理所当然的事情。除了某些地方的父母，这只有在非常有利的情况下才会出现。当没有闲暇，没有冥想，没有平和与安静的时候，当人们在海湾里转来转去时，不再交谈，只是互相点头或喊叫时，男人和女人几乎都回到了野蛮状态。这关系到他们的后代。小鬼们已经存在，必须充分利用它。仆人、家庭教师、校长——除了父母之外的任何人——都可能关心孩子。嗯，这是个人的问题。我自己不应该感到不舒服。

“这也是全世界的事，”玛丽说。

哈维点点头。当他坐在石头堆的脚下时，他的手摸到了去年的石南花的小枝；茎上挂着干燥、沙沙作响的无色铃铛，在寒冷、暴风雨的几个月里，铃铛一直挂在那儿，诉说着过去的美丽和即将到来的美丽。他把它折下来，拿给他的同伴看。直到搬家的时候，他们聊了些简单的事情，玛丽·阿博特才恢复了精神。

他们遗憾地离开休息处，听着宁静的声音和崇高的前景，开始走下山的另一边，山的另一边比他们上来时更加崎岖。哈维对步行的时间安排得非常好，以至于他们在约定的时间前几分钟就到达了阿尔玛将与他们会面的路口。看不见任何人。其内陆方向的道路可以扫描四分之一英里；反之，它则迅速弯曲，很快就被金雀花丛遮住了。

“我什么也没听到，”当他们安静地站了一会儿后，罗尔夫说道。 '错误是不可能的；那个人以前开车来过这里来接我们。我们继续走好吗？

他们慢慢前行，时不时停下来。哈维对这种不守时感到困惑。很快就到两点一刻了。他开始感到饥饿，而他的同伴则显得疲倦。突然，他们听到身后有车辆驶近的声音。

“这不可能是阿尔玛。她不会走得更远——”

但这匹马出现在道路的拐弯处，马后面是一辆马车，马车里坐着阿尔玛一个人。一看到他们，她就猛地停下来，动作太猛烈，以致马儿向后仰起一点。哈维向前走去。

“你自己开车吗？”

'当然。为什么不？'阿尔玛用一种奇怪的高调回答道。

“我们怎么想你了？”

当他提出这个问题时，他意识到妻子的外表有些异常。阿尔玛脸色苍白，浑身发抖。小毡帽歪了，头发乱糟糟的，一副放荡不羁的样子。他还看到那匹马大汗淋漓。它怒目而视，气喘吁吁，浑身颤抖，一刻也站不住。

‘你到底在做什么？她跟你私奔了！

'不，不！'阿尔玛看着刚刚上来的艾伯特太太，笑着喊道。 “她相当新鲜，我让她跑得很好，仅此而已。很抱歉我在那个地方错过了你——”

“为什么威廉姆斯不开车？”哈维问道，声音变得愤怒起来。

威廉姆斯？为什么威廉姆斯应该开车？阿尔玛回来了，她的眼睛闪闪发光。 “我只迟到了几分钟；我看不出有什么可大惊小怪的！

阿尔玛的脾气就像她的外表一样奇怪。哈维没有再说什么，但在快速检查了马之后，帮助阿博特夫人坐在了车后部的座位上。然后他跳到妻子身边，一言不发地从她手中接过缰绳。阿尔玛交出他们时没有说什么。

“把帽子摆正，”他低声对她说。

'我的帽子？我想风是怎么回事？你喜欢吗，艾伯特夫人？

说话时，她转身背对着哈维，并一直保持这个姿势，和她的客人交谈着，就像什么也没发生过一样。罗尔夫表情严肃，只说了一两句话。他必须非常小心地开得很慢，因为动物每隔一分钟就会躲闪一次，当他们都下车时，他感到由衷的高兴。威廉姆斯从马厩里跑出来，看到马的状况，惊讶地站在那里。

“今天早上还蛮新鲜的，”当女士们进来时，哈维说，“罗尔夫太太有点麻烦了。”

This mild explanation by no means satisfied the coachman, though he pretended to acquiesce. Seeing him give a look at the horse’s knees, Harvey did the same; nothing was wrong there. Williams pointed to marks on one of the wheels; the cart had evidently grazed against a wall. Alma must have lost control of the horse, and have been carried a considerable distance before, somehow, it was stopped. Without doubt, she had had a very narrow escape. Her anger seemed to be the result of nerves upset and mortified vanity; she wished to show Mrs. Abbott that she could drive—the explanation of the whole matter. Harvey was vexed at such a piece of childishness; irritated, too, by the outbreak of temper with which Alma had replied to his very natural alarm. Of course, he would say nothing more; it would be interesting to await the outcome of his wife’s mature reflection on her folly.

当他走进屋子时，楼梯上方突然响起了类似呼救的声音。他喊道：“那是什么？”就在同一时刻，玛丽·阿博特向他喊道，罗尔夫夫人晕倒了。当他冲上去时，他发现玛丽很难支撑起失去知觉的阿尔玛。

“我看到她几乎无法上楼，”阿博特夫人说。 “就在楼梯平台上，她发出一声呻吟，然后向后倒去。幸运的是我离她很近。

They carried her into her room, and gave what help they could whilst the doctor was being summoned. In a few minutes Alma regained consciousness, and declared herself quite well again; but when she tried to rise, strength failed her; she began to moan in physical distress. Harvey went downstairs, whilst Mrs. Abbott and Ruth tended the sufferer.

他们的普通医生在遥远的山间；必须寻找他的助手，两个小时后才赶来，此时罗尔夫已经发烧了。当阿博特夫人因激动和疲倦而昏倒时，他匆匆吃了一顿饭，他走到床边，试图了解阿尔玛是否只是因为休克，还是真的受伤了。但她仍然对他怀有怨气，很少说话。医生怎么没来？她想去看医生；其他人没有任何用处。

“下去好好地和艾伯特夫人一起吃午饭吧。”请走吧；我讨厌所有这些大惊小怪，而且这是完全没有必要的。让我一个人呆着直到医生来。

Before the arrival of Dr Evans’s assistant she again fainted, and upon that followed an attack of hysteria. When at length the medical man had seen her, Harvey received an adequate, but far from reassuring, explanation of the state of things. At nightfall Dr Evans came in person, and was with the patient for a long time. He spoke less gravely of the case, offered a lucid diagnosis, and thought that the services of an ordinary nurse for a few days would meet every necessity. Williams was sent with a hired vehicle to the market town, seven miles away, and late at night returned with the woman recommended. Alma meanwhile had lain quietly, and the household at length went to rest without renewal of alarms.

黎明前，哈维两次离开自己的房间，默默地走到阿尔玛的门口。第一次，他听到低沉的声音；第二次，没有声音。大约八点钟，当他下楼走进花园时，他惊讶地见到了艾伯特太太。今天早上她已经见过护士了，并报告说一切进展顺利。罗尔夫又兴高采烈地说话了，不肯听客人胆怯地建议她今天请假。一点也没有；她要去海边享受阳光，尽量少担心自己。早餐时，阿尔玛也发来一条同样意思的信息。阿博特夫人决不会缩短她的访问时间，而哈维则要履行东道主的职责。罗尔夫夫人说，她自己一两天后就会恢复如初。

尽管如此，当客人离开的指定日期到来时，阿尔玛仍然面色苍白、虚弱地躺在床上，接下来一周都不太可能离开床铺。然而，她的心情却异常愉快。阿博特夫人必须早在八点半就出发，前一天晚上就向女主人告别，没有什么比阿尔玛的行为更友善、更和蔼可亲了。

“别因为我破坏了你的假期而对我怀恨在心，”她握着客人的手，笑容灿烂地说。如果我说一切都是最好的，也许你会理解我，也许你不会；无论如何，这听起来很虔诚，不是吗？你知道，我们必须再次见面——在这里或其他地方。我非常确定我们可以成为朋友。当然，哈维早上会和你一起去。

阿博特夫人恳求他不要做这种事，但阿尔玛势在必行。

“他当然会的！如果下雨的话，有篷马车会及时到达。写信给我——注意你写信给我；不仅是说你已经安全到家了，而且是在未来。你保证？'

早上下了雨，而且下得很大，哈维和他的朋友一起开车去车站，除了巨石墙、金雀花树篱和滴着水的落叶松树外，几乎看不到任何东西。他们谈了很多阿尔玛。罗尔夫说，一旦她康复，他就必须带她彻底改变。事实上，他说，他开始怀疑她是否还能在这个与世隔绝的地方生活更长时间。她喜欢这样——哦，是的，她喜欢这样——但他担心孤独会影响她的神经。艾伯特夫人承认这其中可能有道理。

“你应该返回伦敦吗？”她问。

于是哈维盯着前方，一脸困惑，只能回答说他不知道。

两天后，当艾伯特夫人寄来了承诺的信时，哈维把它带到病人的房间，坐在她旁边，让她读信。

“她写得真好，”阿尔玛说，她一生中从来没有像在康复期间那样表现出如此甜蜜的性情。 “你自己读一下吧，哈维。这不是一封很好的信吗？我感到很遗憾我们之前不认识彼此。但我们现在要成为朋友了。”

“我确信我很高兴。”

“妈妈没有什么消息吗？我几乎想今天我可以给她写信了。当然，她会陷入一种可怕的心理状态，想知道为什么她没有被叫去，并对一切感到悲叹。但她现在来这里已经没有什么用了。当我们离开时，我们必须设法见到她。

'是的。你有没有想过你想去哪里？

'还没有。有充足的时间。'

他们之间没有谈论过这次危险的驾驶。阿尔玛说得好像她的病只是自然现象，没有什么特别的原因。但她的丈夫认为她希望通过甜蜜和深情的行为来弥补对他的不寻常的虐待。他也毫无疑问地看到，疾病对她来说似乎是一种祝福。一些女性可能会为此落泪的结果，却让她眼中充满了喜悦。就这一点而言，这是不自然的，这给他带来了一些不安。另一方面，他又无法对所发生的事情感到遗憾，为什么他要把自己轻易纵容的事情归咎于阿尔玛呢？

又过了几天，康复者被允许离开她的房间。仿佛是在欢迎她，那天早上收到了一封从墨尔本寄来的信，信中载着西比尔和她丈夫将在写信后两周内乘坐东方线轮船前往英国的消息。 路西塔尼亚.

“你知道你的建议是什么吗？”阿尔玛高兴地喊道。 “我们走吧？”

“什么——去那不勒斯？我们得立刻出发了。如果他们乘坐带来这封信的那艘船之后的下一艘船来，那么他们现在距离航程结束只有两周了。这意味着——考虑到他们从那不勒斯到伦敦的九天时间——我们应该在四五天内到达那不勒斯。

'出色地？这很容易管理，不是吗？

“任何像你这样健康的人都不会这样做，”哈维温和地回答道。

“我很好！”我可以日夜旅行。为什么不？一个人吃饭睡觉都像往常一样。此外，你确定它们可能比你想象的要长吗？致电伦敦办事处询问何时 路西塔尼亚 将到达那不勒斯。

‘If you like. But, for one thing, it’s quite certain you oughtn’t to travel in less than a week; and then—what about Hughie?’

阿尔玛的脸因烦恼而阴沉。

“没关系。”她冷冷地说。 “我本来就指望过这一点；但是，当然，这没什么。首先要考虑的是孩子。

Harvey had never been so near the point of answering his wife in rough, masculine fashion. This illness of hers had unsettled his happy frame of mind, perturbing him with anxious thoughts, and making confusion of the quiet, reasonable prospect that lay before him only a week or two ago. He, too, could much have enjoyed the run to Naples and the voyage back, and disappointment taxed his patience. Irritated against Alma, and ashamed of himself for not being better tempered, he turned and left the room. A few minutes afterwards he walked to the post-office, where he addressed a telegram of inquiry to the Orient Line people in London. It was useless, of course; but he might as well satisfy Alma.

当他在花园里闲逛时，回复电报就被送达了。这只是证实了他的计算；可能还有明确的五天时间 路西塔尼亚 在那不勒斯碰过——很可能不超过四个。他走进客厅，但阿尔玛不在那里。他查看了一下书房，发现里面空着。当露丝碰巧经过时，他吩咐她把电报交给楼上的罗尔夫太太。

他无意读书或从事任何其他职业。他关上门，开始抽烟。在烟斗里缭绕的气息中，他想象着这艘大轮船从印度洋向北驶去时所冒出的烟雾。他听到了发动机的轰鸣声，看到了白色的尾迹。那不勒斯；地中海居民;直布罗陀皱眉望向摩洛哥的紫色山脉；翻滚的海湾；德文郡的绿色海岸；——当他在记忆中航行时，他的脉搏在跳动。他可能会在这个时候开始，但为了孩子，他不能把孩子独自留给仆人。他带着一种似笑非笑的感觉，想起了那些恳求玛丽·阿博特让他们摆脱孩子负担的人们。就在这时，阿尔玛打开了门。

她那张因病而有些消瘦的脸，已经完全恢复了和蔼可亲的幽默感。

“你当然是对的，哈维。我们不能一下子就冲过欧洲。”

He rose up, the lover’s light in his eyes again, and drew her to him, and held her in a laughing embrace.

‘我们之间到底出了什么问题？皱着眉头、咆哮对你我来说都是新鲜事。

“我希望我既没有皱眉也没有咆哮，亲爱的孩子，尽管我不确定 您 没有。毫无疑问，艾伯特夫人离开时认为我们过着猫狗混杂的生活。

'挂它，不！她怎么会有这样的想法？

‘Oh, the drive home that day.’

‘Why, whose fault was that? I should have been all right, except that I couldn’t understand why you had run the chance of killing yourself.’

“我想那天早上我不应该太在意。”阿尔玛漫不经心地说。 “我比你想象的更痛苦。”

'为什么？'

哦，我不知道——愚蠢。但你从来没有对我说过一句赞美的话，我确信这是我应得的。哎呀，她发了疯似的跟着我狂奔了近两英里，而我却始终没有松开缰绳，我自己把她拉起来，绕了圈，然后开车回来迎接你，就像什么都没发生过一样。我把这一切都告诉了艾伯特夫人，她对我的勇气感到惊讶。

'一定是这样。我也是。'

'我对此表示怀疑。我怀疑你是否重视我所做的一切。

“这相当不友善，因为你知道这不是真的。”

“你知道，我一直这么想。”

'垃圾！但是来吧，我们要做什么？那不勒斯似乎是不可能的；但我们没有理由不去伦敦见他们。”

“你宁愿在这里等，让他们来，”阿尔玛说。 “我并不特别关心离开。只要我们彼此保持良好的关系，这就是最重要的。”

“从来没有梦想过其他的事情。我们的关系很好，这是理所当然的。这是宇宙秩序的一部分。”

“我很抱歉，亲爱的，我用灾难威胁了宇宙；但我不会再这样做了——确实不会。我会看着你的脸，并保持警惕。说实话，你知道，在一般情况下，我的脾气已经够好了。

“这到底是怎么回事？”哈维叫道。因为她看起来很认真，说话时也带着温柔的谦逊，这可能是最没有创意的妻子。 “看着我的脸，保持警惕？”我从什么时候开始希望你成为一个傻瓜了？

'我是很认真的。这一点也不傻。我想取悦你；这就是我的意思，亲爱的。

他疑惑地看着她，想笑，但又因为一种不安的感觉而忍住了。

“这种说法意味着血液循环不良、食欲不振等等。”他半开玩笑地回答道。 “取悦我的方法就是让你的脸颊再次红润起来，并因为我对音乐的无知而冷落我，并做你自己傲慢的自己。但听着。你以为我想留在这里直到休和他的妻子来，那就大错特错了。这不行。你变得太可爱太温顺了，一切都变得令人厌恶。我没想过要嫁给天使；如果你把天使变成我的手，那就太糟糕了。现在我想知道，为了取悦我，你是否愿意回答一个简单的问题？

'我会尽力。'

“你是否一直想离开这个地方——我是说，去别的地方生活？”

'我？是什么让你这么想呢？

“你知道，这并不是要回答问题。”

阿尔玛敏锐地看了他一眼，然后把脸转向窗户。她保持沉默，脸上露出平静的沉思表情。

“你对这样的生活感到无聊和厌倦吗？”哈维用他最友善的语气问道。

“我想我从来没有表现出过这样的迹象，”阿尔玛坚定地回答道。

“如果这意味着你隐瞒了你的想法，那就更糟糕了。”

“哈维，只要我看到你过着适合你的生活，我就会永远感到满足。”

他发出了一声幽默而又半真诚的愤怒的喊叫。

“你想让我发誓，我已经很久没有改掉这个习惯了，但它可能会让你觉得很有男子气概，也许我最好再练习一下。”有什么关系 您，适合什么样的生活 me？你不记得我们结婚前我说过这件事吗？我怀疑你已经陷入了这种心态。你放弃了你的音乐，我毫不怀疑，部分原因是你没有在我身上找到足够的智慧同情心。你一心想画画，却放弃了——”

“你看，那是冬天，”阿尔玛打断道。

是的，但这不是唯一的原因。这意味着能量的全面衰竭——我自己对这种事情了解得再清楚不过了。

“什么——这里？”阿尔玛有些兴奋地问道。

“我的意思是，在我的一生中，一次又一次。不;在这里，我的思路还算正确，心态还算平稳。正因为如此，直到刚才，当你失去理智的时候，我才注意到你身上有任何其他东西的迹象。你为什么不跟我坦白呢？

‘You take it for granted that I had anything to be frank about,’ Alma remarked.

“是的——你并没有反驳我。”

“那你要说什么，哈维？”

她朝他弯下腰，带着一种甜美理智的神情，将她的容貌展现得淋漓尽致：眼睛平静而聪明，嘴唇真诚地微笑；她的表情在十二个月内不出现三次，但哈维在所有的变化中都牢牢地记住了她的表情，并坚持表达他所爱的女人的真实存在。

“哎呀，我想说，亲爱的，”他温柔地回答，“牺牲你的本能不会有什么好处。”你不必问自己我是否感到懒洋洋地舒服——因为这就是它的意义——而是问你正在过着怎样的生活。请记住，一方面，我已经老了很多——”

'请！'她伸出手检查他。 “我不想记住类似的事情。”

“我希望这没有什么坏处。”他笑了笑。 “这种差异并不令人痛苦，但足以值得考虑。”四十岁或四十岁左右，婚姻幸福的男人会习惯他的拖鞋和烟斗——尤其是在半辈子无家可归之后才获得舒适和其他一切的情况下。我可能经常对自己说，我在浪费时间、生锈等等；但第二天我又会重新坐回安乐椅上，并且讨厌改变的想法。但你，三十岁了，拖鞋和烟斗对你来说没有什么特别的吸引力。

他看到她眼中的想法，顿时停了下来。

“休伊很快就能说话了。”阿尔玛说道，她的表情不再是天真可爱，而是带着一丝不自在的美德。而她的丈夫虽然在变化中读到了这个含义，但对伴随它的文字感到高兴。

'是的;然后你就会有更多的事情要做，你会说。但这不会完全占据你的注意力，也不会将你束缚在任何特定的地方。

“也许不是。”

她几乎变得端庄了。哈维移开视线。

“事情是这样的——你不应该让你的生命服从于我的生命。这是古老的想法，但对某些人来说仍然很有效。但我不知道；也许事实并非如此；人们对人们的生活知之甚少。无论如何，它在我们的情况下不起作用，并且记住我们从未想过它会起作用。我们把这一切都谈了一遍，双方都没有欺骗——仔细想想，这是一种不寻常的谈话。我喜欢你表现出的常识，我记得当我感到相当疯狂的时候，我为自己的理性行为拍拍自己的背。

阿尔玛用她最欢快的语调笑了起来。

'你真好吃。我不太知道该怎么看待你。或许这就是原因——”

‘Reason for what?’ asked Harvey, when she broke off and looked not quite so pale as a moment before.

'我忘记了我要说什么。但请继续。这非常有趣——就像你的演讲一样。”

‘I’ve said about all. You’re not to be dutiful and commonplace; that’s the matter in a nutshell.’

“我认为你不能指责我平庸。”

“也许不是，”哈维说。

“至于尽职尽责，我们的责任是始终如一，你不觉得吗？”

“是的——如果你所说的坚持是指充分发挥自己的坚定决心。这就是你来到这里时的想法。一旦你开始变得软弱，就该问问出了什么事。我不提供任何建议；你比我更了解你自己。你应该告诉我你心里在想什么。如果你把最严肃的想法都藏在心里，我们住在一起还有什么用呢？

哈维·罗尔夫洋溢着他自己慷慨智慧的感觉。他从来没有如此强烈地自我肯定过。事实上，这种情绪很少能安慰他；在很大程度上，他对自己的言行进行了最严厉的批评。但这一次，他似乎说出了金言玉语，这是经验和反思的成熟果实。他暂时并不怀疑这种个人的不安与他向妻子提出的建议有关。阿尔玛用她不熟悉的单纯女性气质触动了他，突然间，他发现了一种自私的危险，他对此强烈地退缩。他似乎比他想象的要老得多，而阿尔玛则年轻得多。她非常温柔、甜蜜地让他记住了这个事实。他应该好好考虑一下，并根据反思的结果采取行动。天！他是否有成为典型丈夫的危险——正如他所说，首先想到的是他的烟斗和拖鞋？从外部来看，没有人会更快或更轻蔑地注意到目前这种情况的常识道德。他立即感到担忧，从他的态度中看不出什么，除了明智而高尚的无私。因此，当他有意地把未来掌握在自己手中的那一刻，他为自己把全部责任留给了阿尔玛而感到自豪——用平常的话来说，让她成为自己命运的主人，并等待她的决定。

“我会再考虑一下，”阿尔玛满意地叹了口气，“然后我们再讨论这件事。”确实，我有点疲惫了，也许——但我们会在一两天内讨论它。

“我们现在可以决定什么吗？你愿意去普利茅斯见汽船吗？

'那休吉呢？假设我给妈妈写了一封非常友善的信，问我们是否可以把休吉留在汉普郡和她一起住几天？我敢说她会很高兴，其他人也是如此。我敢说，护士可能会和他在一起。我们可以在途中打电话到那里。露丝会把房子照顾得很好。”

“写下来然后问。”

“那么你和我”——阿尔玛开始高兴地说道——“可以​​在德文郡闲逛，直到船来。让我想想，如果我们周一出行，那我们就需要几天时间，不是吗？卡纳比一家可能会在普利茅斯登陆，或者我们会和他们一起乘船前往伦敦。这是一个非常好的计划。但为什么要浪费时间去写作呢？给妈妈发一封电报——“我们可以把休伊和护士留在你身边一两天吗？”

哈维再次转向邮局，这条消息被寄出了。几个小时后才收到答复，但答复是有利的。

“那我们周一就出发！”阿尔玛惊呼道，她的康复过程明显正在进行。 “只要再发一份电报——一两句话，他们就准备好了。”

“不妨在另一封信中提到这一天，”哈维说道，不过他很高兴还有更多事情要做。

'当然;多么粗心啊！

他们笑了，心情很好。

第二天，也就是周日，他们像结婚后第一个春天那样一起散步。沿着长满青草的悬崖，然后下到沙子里布满小贝壳的角落，绕过小岬角进入下一个海湾，那里有一个古色古香的老渔村矗立在潮汐边缘。阿尔玛再次坠入爱河，握住丈夫的手，用最美妙的声音说出最甜蜜的话。她有点太累了，所以当他们再次登上悬崖时，哈维不得不搀扶着她。在阳光明媚的孤独中，她用嘴唇感谢他——以两种方式。

这是第二次蜜月。

住在贝辛斯托克附近的弗罗廷厄姆夫人的姐姐热烈欢迎了小休·罗尔夫。弗洛廷厄姆夫人几乎忘记了这个孩子并不是她真正的孙子，她自豪而高兴地接管了他。他呆了一个星期；他呆了两周；——他呆了两个月。

因为当卡纳比一家在普利茅斯登陆并在那里休息了几天时，他们表示打算立即在城里租一套公寓，阿尔玛觉得，对她的健康来说，最好的办法就是住上一两周。在伦敦，看望她的老朋友，并去听几场音乐会。时机恰到好处，因为六月才刚刚到来。哈维毫不犹豫地带着妻子去了波特曼广场地区一家安静的旅馆，他们的国外朋友也去了那里。他的项目是寻找带家具的房间，让孩子和护士可以加入其中。但弗罗廷汉姆太太觉得带小休进城实在是太可惜了，因为他在汉普郡的一切都安排得如此愉快。而且，由于阿尔玛显然倾向于同样的观点，因此“公寓”这个不受欢迎的想法被搁置了。哈维说，他们还不如留在酒店。阿尔玛在经济上表现得相当犹豫，批准了这个计划，并表示当西比尔在公寓安顿下来后，她就准备好再次回家了。这件事在大约三周内就发生了；卡纳比夫妇在牛津和剑桥大厦找到了一套非常适合他们的公寓，并以最短的时间将他们存放在仓库里的一部分家具转移到了那里。于是，罗尔夫夫人非常理智地告诉我们，是时候接孩子回卡那封郡了。她感觉好多了。这种变化是最令人耳目一新的；现在就可以重新享受她亲爱的家了！

但哈维却露出了他最明智的表情。没有任何猫头鹰能够超越它的圣人重力。

“你好多了，你不认为再过一两周你会更好吗？”音乐会如火如荼地进行；看来很遗憾——现在你在这里——”

阿尔玛看上去优雅地不情愿。酒店的费用不是很重吗？

'呸！你必须记住，在家里我们靠一半或更少的收入生活。如果这就是让你烦恼的话——”

“你真好，哈维！”

'为什么，至于这一点，我很享受。我喜欢看到你如此有精神。”

于是，阿尔玛高兴地叹了口气，放弃了行李箱的包装，并写信给弗罗廷汉姆太太，如果宝贝 真 不是什么麻烦，他们可能会再待两周。 “哈维的精神如此出色，而且他也很享受自己，我认为他不应该在整个赛季都如火如荼地进行的时候回家。当然，我可以把他留在这里，但是——如果你相信的话——他似乎真的希望我和他在一起。如果我想说他是多么的善良和善良，我应该会让你发笑。看到他又变成了一个单身汉，我觉得很有趣。这并不矛盾；我的意思是，在这里，在他的男性朋友中，他展示了自己新的一面，看起来更年轻（说实话），并且有一种与他在家里的幽默截然不同的快乐。例如，你无法想象他是如何以一种孩子气的方式享受在俱乐部的晚餐的。然后他回来了，带来了各种各样的故事和人物片段，我不知道是什么；我们忘记了时间，坐着聊天，直到我不敢告诉你什么时候。但我现在也在做同样的事情，因为现在是十二点半（中午），我已经答应在一点点半和西比尔一起吃午饭。她的公寓刚刚完工，看起来确实很漂亮。给我的小宝贝一千个吻！尝试让他明白 妈妈妈妈 并没有永远消失。

她精心打扮（她的衣柜已经焕然一新），然后乘坐双轮马车前往牛津和剑桥大厦。这将是一场亲密的午餐会，因为西比尔还没有召集她的熟人。当阿尔玛进来时，卡纳比夫人正坐着，就像她大迁徙前的日子一样，完全放松，令人钦佩的沉着，她的美丽充满了贞洁的效果，这使她在游手好闲的女人中脱颖而出。她找到了一种新的发型方式，一种如此年轻、如此纯洁的方式，阿尔玛忍不住用惊奇和钦佩的目光凝视着她。

“你今天看起来真可爱！”

'我是吗？我很高兴你这么认为。——我想听听你的意见。你那里有钢琴吗，或者 那里？

这件事商量了一番，然后他们就听从锣鼓的召唤，来到了餐厅。阿尔玛审视着一切，心里暗暗羡慕。这里并没有表现出简单的生活；美丽和奢华的东西填满了所有可用的空间，实际上已经过度填充了，因为西比尔试图尽可能多地使用以前在汉密尔顿露台展示的家具，并根据当今的时尚进行了一些改变和新奇。她为她的客人提供了一顿极其美味的小餐。尽管阿尔玛有着种种回忆，但她不可能设计出这样的午餐会。

“文明是一件伟大的事情，”西比尔说道。 “处于野蛮状态是件好事，只是为了欣赏自己的特权。”

“但是你喜欢檀香山吗？”

檀香山——是的。我想到了昆士兰。如果你远离美国人和欧洲人的视线，檀香山就不存在野蛮行为。是的，我在那里玩得很开心。我想我可以回去在威基基度过我的一生。”

“令我惊讶的是，你没有努力和休一起去那座伟大的火山。从那以后我就读到过这件事，我确信我应该面对任何事情。

“基拉韦厄。”西比尔将酒杯举到唇边，轻声说道，带着梦幻般的神情。 “毫无疑问，我很懒。气候，你知道；然后我不太关心冒泡的熔岩。在威基基看金鱼真是太好了。——你丈夫今天在哪儿？

‘世间万物，皆归主所有！他说他一生中从未看过板球比赛，今天早上他突然意识到这确实是他所受教育的一个缺陷。当然，他想到的是休伊。他希望休吉成为一名板球运动员和骑手以及一切强健的人。

“就像休一样，”西比尔笑着回答。 “如果我有一个男孩，我也会有同样的感觉。我喜欢性格开朗的人——尽管我不应该总是在意和他们生活在一起。

“休还在考文垂吗？”阿尔玛问道。

女主人点点头，一副等仆人让他们继续说话的样子，她会再说下去。她补充道——

“你认识斯特兰奇威斯夫人吗？”

“我似乎记得一位斯特兰奇威斯先生，”阿尔玛回答道，“但我想不起来是怎么记得的、在哪里记得的。”

“是的，他是一个经常做生意的人。他的妻子是那位艺术家的遗孀，他曾许下诺言，却陷入困境，惨死——爱德华——不，埃格伯特·多佛。难道你不知道霍尔特夫人的闺房里挂着那幅大风景吗？——那是他的。他躲了起来，死在阁楼或济贫院里——这是令人愉快的事情。我在布里斯班遇见了斯特兰奇威斯夫人。她和她的丈夫正在环球旅行。她可能会在今天下午来看。我不知道你是否会关心她；她相当——快，你知道。但她记得在某个地方听过你演奏——谈到你时充满了钦佩。”

阿尔玛的眼睛闪闪发亮。

哦，我应该很高兴见到她！那么你愿意让我整个下午都陪在你身边吗？

“如果你没有更好的事可做。我想我很快就要失去你了。我很抱歉。我希望你住在伦敦。

“就这一点而言，”阿尔玛回答道，“我希望我这么做了。”但我已经无能为力了。你不觉得我身上有一股乡村气息吗？

西比尔笑了，这是她朋友希望听到的语气。如果卡纳比夫人似乎完全不同意她的观点，阿尔玛会感到非常羞愧。

尽管如此，他们之间的关系并不像那位年轻的已婚妇女似乎对社会地位漠不关心，对这位雄心勃勃的女孩居高临下，仅仅通过给予她信任，就巧妙地奉承她那样融洽。在那些日子里，阿尔玛并不觉得这是一种庇护，因为西比尔的社会地位也许比她自己优越，而且在智力方面（除了艺术天赋）她真诚地尊敬她的朋友。她们一起踏上了她们世界中普通女性的前程。但变化已经在发挥作用。至少可以说，阿尔玛现在觉得自己与卡纳比太太处于平等的地位。经济上，她有保障；而西比尔，尽管表现出色，却每天都离严重危机越来越近，并且可能很快就会发现自己陷入了非常不愉快的境地。从理智上来说，阿尔玛对自己的看法不像婚前那么谦虚。与她丈夫这样的男人的日常陪伴对她来说是第二次教育。她已经完全超越了西比尔，甚至超过了她一点点。她仍然表现出的尊重不再是真诚的，这种难以支撑又容易被察觉的矫揉造作对友谊来说是非常危险的。阿尔玛意识到自己不能说出自己的想法，自然而然地将同样的沉默归因于她的朋友。她担心西比尔一定经常想起她三年前所遭受的损失，并将自己不稳定的处境与班尼特·弗罗廷汉姆女儿的安慰进行对比。此外，卡纳比夫人在各方面都不是她自己。她在旅行中丢失了一些东西；这是个人精致、精神修养的表现吗？她似乎更倾向于自我主张，以某种程度的世俗成功为目标，对她结交的朋友不太小心。阿尔玛感觉到了这种差异，虽然不清楚其本质，但在不知不觉中，这种差异有助于将他们分开。

“是的，休在考文垂，”仆人退后西比尔说道。 “你知道，他会来回走动。我认为他不会与公司有太多实际合作；但一开始他喜欢看看发生了什么。”

“我希望它会繁荣。”

哦，毫无疑问会的。这是一个非常好的主意。

西比尔说话的样子就好像她从未考虑过阿尔玛心中的各种可能性。阿尔玛从罗尔夫那里得知，她丈夫的心情一点也不乐观。他看到了自己的地位的重大意义，并且几乎无法休息，因为担心这一最新的事业不会成功。然而西比尔却非常平静地享用午餐。她一副什么都不负责的样子。

“我一点也不后悔我们离开了一段时间。旅行套装休；这给他带来了很多好处。我相信他会喜欢留在塔斯马尼亚；但他发现这对我没有好处，这个好心人除了我的安慰之外别无他法。我非常钦佩休，”她微笑着补充道，这笑容并不完全是优越感或居高临下，而是一种不同于温柔的认可。 “当然，我一直都有，而且自从我和他一起旅行以来，这种情况有所增加。他在船上比在客厅里表现出更多的优势。在最后一次航行中，我们遇到了一些非常恶劣的天气，然后他就处于最佳状态。我非常钦佩他！

“我完全可以想象他会是什么样子，”阿尔玛说。

“当我听说你嫁给了他最好的朋友时，我是多么高兴啊！”我不止一次想到过这个问题。也许你不记得了——你当时没有注意到——但在我们分别之前，我大胆地提出了一个谨慎的暗示。你做得再明智不过了，阿尔玛。”

尽管阿尔玛很愿意相信这一点，但出于某种原因，她并不喜欢听到这样的说法。尽管这句话的语气很友善，却提醒她，婚姻意味着她的失败，崇高的承诺和勇敢的抱负的终结。

“我无法告诉你这是怎么发生的，”她有点尴尬地说。 “我敢说你也会对自己的婚姻说同样的话。”

“当然，每个女人都会如此。人们永远不知道它是如何发生的'

西比尔轻声笑了起来，笑声中带着一丝愤世嫉俗。阿尔玛还没有说起她搬到卡那封郡的那所小房子，过着高贵朴素、平静隐居的生活的冲动，现在她也不想谈这件事。即使在她早期给西比尔的信中也没有过多提及这一点，因为她觉得她的朋友可能很难同情这种热情。她想让西比尔明白，她的下乡是完全自愿的。但这个话题让她感到尴尬，她宁愿保持沉默。

‘I didn’t hear very much about your time in Germany,’ Mrs. Carnaby resumed. ‘Nothing much to tell, I suppose.’

“很少。”

“有——有什么冒险经历吗？”

'不好了！'

阿尔玛感到自己变得温暖起来，与其说是因为想到了真正发生在她身上的冒险，不如说是因为对自己的渺小感感到烦恼。她非常明白西比尔微笑的问题意味着什么，如果能讲出某些故事，几乎可以让她松一口气，以证明她并没有因自我放逐而完全从社会中消失。事实上，她没有理由不取笑菲利克斯·戴姆斯和他的求婚。但与她从未停止过反思的另一件事相比，这一事件显得无聊。也许第二件事带有一定的荣耀；西比尔可能会对诱惑的性质和她朋友蔑视诱惑的高贵印象同样印象深刻。但机会已经过去了。

从餐桌上站起来时，西比尔说她想买一两件东西。阿尔玛会陪她去商店吗？他们继续前行，一直开到摄政街。卡纳比夫人的要求是一两件昂贵的小玩意儿，她悠闲地挑选着，满足了自己的品味。阿尔玛看到这种奢侈的行为感到很惊讶。人们可能会认为购买者从来不知道有限的手段，也没有梦想过这样的事情；她理所当然地买了她想要的东西。这并不是为了阿尔玛的利益而炫耀。显然，西比尔在整个旅行中也享受着同样的自由。因为她带回了一座博物馆，里面藏满了美丽而奇特的东西，这肯定花了很多钱。也许阿尔玛有生以来第一次对浪费金钱感到愤慨。她很嫉妒，这可能有助于解释另一种冲动。

他们一个小时后就回来了。西比尔随后退出了几分钟，然后穿着一件精致的茶袍再次出现，这使得她朋友的连衣裙虽然又新又漂亮，但看起来不太适合这个场合。阿尔玛环顾了一下房间，仿佛在思考着什么似的说道。

'人们 do 我认为通过自行车赚很多钱？

“我听说过。”女主人冷漠地回答。 '你能给我玩点什么吗？钢琴已调音；我想知道你是否认为这样可以。

“我已经完全放弃弹钢琴了。”

'的确？还有小提琴吗？

'不，不;小提琴是我的乐器。西比尔，那幅小水彩画是谁的？不久前我就尝试过阳光透过薄雾的效果。

“哦，是的，当然，你喜欢水彩画；你在信中告诉我的。我必须看看你的一些东西。当然，我会成为——”

门打开了，阿尔玛面前出现了一位装备精良的小侍童。她还没有见过这位官员。但夫人宣布了赫伯特·斯特兰奇威斯夫人。奇怪的是，这个页面引起了她的注意。一位大约三十五岁的女士，面容锐利，瘦削，凹陷的脸颊上有人造的花朵；衣着有些过分，但又没有到粗俗的地步；身材比例非常匀称，苗条而轻盈。她的声音有点生硬，但很悦耳。她的举止过于亲切。

‘所以你在这里， Chez Vous。迷人！迷人！我很久以来见过的最漂亮的房间。罗尔夫夫人？哦，罗尔夫夫人，这个名字让我一时感到困惑；但我清楚地记得你。那是在威格拉姆家。你小提琴拉得真棒！

阿尔玛并不太在意别人提醒这一点。威格拉姆先生是她父亲的联合董事之一，此刻正躺在杜兰斯邪恶的监狱里，而他的妻子则靠救济生活在某个地方。但斯特兰奇威斯太太毫无疑虑地说出了这个名字，表现得好像没有什么比再次见到阿尔玛更让她高兴的了。她习惯用最高级的语言说话，并露出相应的狂喜表情。她欣喜若狂地接待了两位女士的任何随意言论；她的神经似乎永远处于兴奋之中。如果她提到自己，总是带着贬低的语气，而且根本不是那种值得恭维的贬低，而是一种战战兢兢的自我贬低，对于一个做了一些令人羞耻的事情并持有某种观点的人来说，这可能是很自然的。她在社会上的地位只能靠忍受。

“你当然还在玩吗？”她立刻对罗尔夫太太说道。 “我真希望能有幸再次听到你的声音。我不知道我能不能说服你下周三来？我们在波切斯特台有一座小房子。当然，我不是要叫你玩，而是要叫你玩。我不应该冒险。晚上只有几个朋友——如果你不觉得无聊的话？我会给你寄一张卡片。

进来了一个身材高大、面容痨病的年轻人，身边跟着一个身材矮胖、面容红润的女人，年纪比他大。这对夫妇后面跟着六个形形色色的来访者，其中有些人是阿尔玛认识的。这些老熟人见到她时都怀着一种难以掩饰的好奇心。她本人很内向，不参与一般的闲聊。斯特兰奇威斯太太退到了一个角落里，好像想逃避监视。当罗尔夫夫人坐在她身边的椅子上时，她露出感激的笑容，他们的闲聊变得非常亲密。阿尔玛不明白为什么西比尔会给这个女人贴上“快”的标签——也就是说，“快”；她确实喋喋不休，但并没有表现出令人吃惊的生活习惯或思想，而且似乎更喜欢幼稚的娱乐方式。临别前，阿尔玛许诺下周三她会去斯特兰奇威斯太太“家里”。

“还有你的丈夫，如果他愿意来的话。”我应该很高兴认识他。但也许他并不关心这种事情。我讨厌让任何人感到厌烦——你呢？但是，当然，你永远不会面临这样做的危险。真是太， 非常 很高兴认识你！你真的非常好心地答应了！——所以 非常 种类！'

由于西比尔也要去波彻斯特露台，他们安排互相陪同，从罗尔夫夫人的酒店出发。

“让哈维感到不舒服是没有用的，”阿尔玛说。 “如果我要求他去，他就会去，但完全违背我的意愿。”他总是厌恶“在家”——除非他开始欣赏 me！他喜欢看到我独立行动。”

“他是吗？”西比尔带着询问的神情说道。

是的——说真的。我们尽力不互相妨碍。你不认为这是最好的方法吗？

“毫无疑问，无论如何。”

卡纳比夫人笑了，笑容渐渐变成了大笑。但她没有解释她的意思。

星期三晚上十点，他们到达了斯特兰奇威斯太太家。马车和出租车在门口排起了长队，人行道上铺着的红布上的人影迅速接连而来。阿尔玛很紧张。自从那个致命的夜晚之后，她不知不觉地告别了社交的辉煌，已经过去了三年多。从那时起到现在，她没有参加过任何庆祝活动。她的名字不再是弗罗廷汉姆这一事实给了她一些鼓励。但她必须预料到会被认出来，也许会被盯着看。那么，这会是非常令人不愉快的事情吗？一小时前，镜子已经说服了她，她不需要在人们的目光面前退缩；她的着装经不起批评，她不必学会如何保持尊严。西比尔的赞美之词异乎寻常地多，在这样的事情上，西比尔的判断是有分量的。当她发现自己走上楼梯时，在香气和光彩中，她呼吸自由了。这是旧时熟悉的气氛；她的心突然充满喜悦，仿佛重获天堂一般。

客人已经很多了，而且还在源源不断地到来。客厅里挤满了人。一群人在“图书馆”和台球室里抽烟；妇女们聚集在通道和楼梯上。女主人以知己般的热情和奉献者般的虔诚欢迎了罗尔夫夫人，然后又以同样的热情转向下一个客人。阿尔玛继续前行，心满意足地把礼物丢在拥挤的陌生人中间。

“这些人都是谁？”她向跟在她身边的西比尔询问。

“我想，没有人，他们中的大多数人。没必要停留太久，你知道的。那是奇异威先生，那个红着脸的小个子男人正在和那座绿衣女人说话。怜悯，多好的衣服啊！他朝这边来了；我把他介绍给你。

主人神情愉快，说话直率，明显是做作的。他说话的时候目光游移，从来没有以稳定的目光与其他人对视过。阿尔玛觉得他很熟悉，但他并没有在她身上待太久。

当女主人开始走来走去时，她急切地向罗尔夫夫人扑去，很快就使她成为了一群人的中心。阿尔玛开始尝到古老的敬意的喜悦，尽管她意识到她的新朋友并不属于她以前光芒四射的世界。大约半夜时分，当她有点厌倦了拥挤，想要走的时候，一个声音落在她耳边，让她吃了一惊，像意外的抓握一样惊醒了她。当她在慕尼黑看到一个空地的那一刻；接下来是湖泊和山脉。

“当时我不在城里。我心情不好，跑到了加尔达湖边的一个小地方。

说话的人就在她身后。她几乎转过头，努力控制自己，变得越来越热。在她自然兴奋的情绪中，她对声音的品质和言语的优雅印象深刻，这立即将其与与她交谈的男人的声音区分开来。如果它不表现出自然的优越性，它就属于较高的社会等级。她听了一会儿，时不时听到一个词。然后其他声音介入。最后，她转过身来，面无表情地扫视着附近的面孔。她所寻找的东西是无法被发现的，但就在这时，女主人向她走来。

罗尔夫夫人，你认识赛勒斯·雷德格雷夫先生吗？

'先生。雷德格雷夫——？”

斯特兰奇威斯夫人将这个名字的困惑、犹豫的重复视为否定的回答。

“一个迷人的男人，也是我的一个好朋友——哦，一个非常老的朋友。让我带他来吧。

她窸窸窣窣地走开，罗尔夫夫人又坐回了床上。 原因使用 她刚刚从那里站起来。很快，女主人就回来了，在她穿过拥挤的交谈人群的路上，跟着一位举止从容、五官英俊、头发稀疏的绅士。他正在寻找阿尔玛，当他的目光一看到她时，目光就沉了下来。对于斯特兰奇威斯太太所说的话，阿尔玛一个音节都没有听到。她机械地鞠了一躬，紧紧抓住扇子，仿佛有摔倒的危险，而这是唯一触手可及的东西。她知道雷德格瑞夫庄严地、一声不吭地弯下了腰。然后，她看到女主人退了出去，顿时松了口气。

'请再说一遍。'那声音带着恭敬的语气对她说话。 '我别无选择。我觉得没有理由说我认识你。

“你说得很对，”她冷冷地回答，手指现在放松在扇子上。 '太太。斯特兰奇韦斯有点冲动；她没有给我机会阻止我的介绍。

“罗尔夫夫人，您可以让我说，我很高兴以陌生人的身份出现在您面前吗？”如果我们能够重新开始相识，我确实会很高兴。

这话听起来很有礼貌，但对阿尔玛来说却是最酷的无礼行为。她微微低下头。第二席 原因使用 由于无人居住，雷德格雷夫于是占有了它。他一这么做，阿尔玛就站了起来，脸上露出冷漠的微笑，然后就消失在喧闹的人群中。

十分钟后，雷德格雷夫和卡纳比夫人懒洋洋地坐在同一个座位上，以完美的相互智慧交谈。他们已经三年没见面了，但这一次的间隔对他们的生活来说意义不大，他们几乎是从弗罗辛汉姆太太客厅里中断的地方又开始谈话的。一个巧妙的问题让这个世界男人确信卡纳比夫人对慕尼黑和布雷根茨的某些段落一无所知。

“我担心，”他补充道，“夫人。”罗尔夫变得有点矜持了。毫无疑问，这是自然的。”

“她住在威尔士的一个荒野地区，”西比尔微笑着回答。 “她的丈夫厌恶社会。”

'的确？她的选择很奇怪，你不觉得吗？——那么你的奥德赛就结束了？我们会有机会再次见到你。

‘But your own Odyssey is perpetually going on. Are you ever in town except for a few weeks of the season?’

“哦，我现在很少出去了；我正在安定下来。——我想你从未见过我妹妹吧？她在温布尔登有一所房子，有一个很大的花园——事实上，有点小公园——我已经说服她让我在树林里为自己建造一座平房。

“好主意！”

'我想还不错。那里是免费的；只要有人愿意，就可以成为家庭的一员；驯化的；一切都是值得尊敬的；就在几步之外，那个单身汉的舒适房间，还有——。不，不！我曾是 不能 要去完成对立面，尽管从你的微笑来看，你似乎是这么说的。”

‘The suggestion was irresistible,’ said Sibyl, with the composure, the air of security, which always covered her excursions on to slippery ground.

“天气好的时候，我会叫几个朋友过来坐在阴凉处。他们也可能是我姐姐的朋友，也可能不是。那没关系。我有一个与道路分开的入口。——但我希望你认识费尼莫尔夫人。她在斯图加特住了一两年，以便她的孩子们学习德语。她丈夫在印度。她尝试过，但无法忍受这种气候。

“你真的住在平房里吗？”卡纳比夫人问道，无视有关雷德格雷夫妹妹的信息。

“是的，这是我在英国的总部。等我第二天下午有空的时候，我给你寄一张卡片，好吗？这可能会让你觉得有趣，我向你保证 is 非常值得尊敬。

“如果你邀请我，我怎么能怀疑呢？”

阿尔玛独自开着双轮马车回家。她喜欢这种对传统的漠视。更重要的是，哈维——当然，他一直为她挺身而出——似乎有点焦虑。她的精神非常旺盛。她对当晚的情况进行了愉快而嘲讽的描述，但其中没有提到赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫。

六月底，她的朋友利奇夫妇从埃尔金路的老房子搬到了金斯伯里-尼斯登的新房子，搬迁完成后，阿尔玛带着她的丈夫去那里打电话。在大都会铁路的这条延伸线上，哈维从未走出过瑞士小屋。他饶有兴趣地看着哈罗附近涌现的新学区，并与利奇夫人谈论这些新学区。一两天后，他独自沿着同一条路线走了更远的距离，对从哈罗到艾尔斯伯里的整个国​​家进行了勘察。在七月中旬与休·卡纳比的下一次会面中，他提出了一个建议，即对于那些希望住在伦敦但又想远离喧嚣的人来说，靠近白金汉郡的高地是很方便的地方。

“我希望你自己也能想到这一点，”休回答道。 “你的妻子是西比尔唯一关心的女人，也是我所知道的唯一能让她受益的女人。”

刚才那壮汉看世间的神情不太高兴，显然他对自己的妻子感到了某种困扰。纯粹是为了她，他才回到了英国，在那里他比以往任何时候都更不自在。他希望西比尔按照她自己的方式生活，对她没有任何怨恨，并以不减的热情钦佩和珍惜她。但在牛津和剑桥大厦，他花了很大力气才假装在家。多年的流浪让他彻底脱离了西比尔所说的社会。尽管他对制造业了解甚少，也不关心商业的细节，但他更愿意和他的搭档麦金托什一起留在考文垂，过着简陋的生活，与至少有过强硬品味的男人在一起，抽着烟斗，喝着威士忌。男子气概。他的运动时代已经过去了。他正在拿自己的剩余资本冒险。如果它消失了——但他不会谈论这种可能性，即使是哈维·罗尔夫。当他冥想时，他咬紧了牙关，眼神暗了下来。在哈维看来，这个好人喝的威士忌比需要的多了一点，即使在这些温暖的日子里也是如此。

“我想见见那个与我同名的小伙子，”他说。 “你为什么不让他在这里？你的妻子不觉得她想要他吗？

“一两年后阿尔玛会更加想念他，”哈维回答道。

'是的。我注意到现在的女性——一种女性——不太关心婴儿。我敢说他们是对的。人们的孩子越少越好。看到那些可怜的小家伙在肮脏的地方冒着烟，叫嚷着，真让人难过，在这该死的伦敦更糟。大神啊！当世界上有这么多干净和甜蜜的地方时，我们在这里打包并一起闷热，每平方英里有一百万！我们真是永远的傻瓜啊！

哈维咆哮着表示他最衷心的同意。尽管如此，一两天后，他与阿尔玛进行了一次谈话，这加剧了她对地球上干净而甜蜜的地方的秘密厌倦。他们听完里希特音乐会回家，阿尔玛对她没有带小提琴表示遗憾。一定 华彩乐段 introduced by a certain player into a certain violin solo did not please her; why, she could extemporise a 华彩乐段 更符合作品的精神。听完后，哈维对此事不太关注，但对热情的演讲和热情的表情很感兴趣，平静地发表了讲话。

“我希望你尽快决定我们要做什么。”

'将要做？'

“关于未来——我们将生活在哪里。”

阿尔玛用指尖轻轻地敲击着桌子，微笑着，但没有抬头。

“你真的考虑做出改变吗？”

'我完全把它留给你。你还记得我们离开前的最后一次谈话。您只需问问自己您的需求是什么。对自己和我诚实。不要为了一时兴起而牺牲生命，不管怎样。你有足够的时间思考；你已经了解了几种生活方式；你已经足够大了，能够了解自己了。只要下定决心，然后采取行动。

“但是，哈维，说得好像我只考虑自己一样，这太荒谬了。”

'我不希望你这样做。但假设这是你的处境，那么，在你经历了这么多之后，你会选择住在哪里呢？

他强迫她回答，最后她说话了，带着少女般的羞怯，这在他看来非常迷人。

“我喜欢音乐会——而且我喜欢和我的音乐朋友在一起——我认为完全没有必要因为在伦敦而不是在遥远的地方而放弃自己理性的生活方式。”

'恰恰。这意味着我们应该回来。

“如果你不情愿的话就不会。”

“轮到我了，我就坦白说吧。看在休吉的份上，我认为我们不应该住在城里；我们应该住在城里。但在外面很容易找到健康的地方。”

‘I shouldn’t wish to be actually in the town,’ said Alma, her voice tremulous with pleasure. ‘You know where the Leaches are living?’

'是的。或者稍微远一点，地势较高的地方。很好，让我们考虑一下 这 就这样解决了。

‘But you, dear—could you live there?’

'足够好。如果我有我的书，有一块可以行走的田野，如果你不想让我看到太多女人，那对我来说都是一样的。

阿尔玛愉快地笑了，脸上带着犹豫的表情。

他们开始寻找房子，一周的时间就找到了一所新建的房子，似乎满足了他们的要求。那是在平纳，从阿尔玛在金斯伯里-尼斯登的朋友坐火车去不了几分钟，距离贝克街也只有大约半小时——“去音乐会很方便”。新房子可能会很潮湿，但夏季的几个月正在加速干燥，秋末之前他们不会入住。 “我们必须去享受我们的石南花，”阿尔玛高兴地说。房租是哈维支付的两倍；没有马厩，但阿尔玛同意他们不应该养马，因为自然会有“其他费用”。

其他费用，当然。但哈维毫不犹豫地签下了三年的租约。在卡那封郡度过了“简单的生活”之后，他手头有一大笔盈余，而且他的地位并不像拥有奢侈妻子的男人那样。

利奇一家向朋友透露，他们因利奇夫人的健康原因而搬出城镇。人们怀疑还有其他解释；因为这家新店的基础似乎比埃尔金路的店要简陋一些，而利奇先生只在周六回家的奇怪安排也并非没有意义。确实，利奇夫人患有某种隐秘的神经疾病，在她的整个婚姻生活中，这种疾病使她无法持续关注家庭事务。现在，这位不幸的女士已经虚弱到了这种地步，除了瘫倒在椅子上和懒洋洋地躺在沙发上之外，什么也做不了。由于她的两个女儿虽然没有衰弱，但从来没有梦想过承担家庭管理工作，所有这些事情都留给了一位厨师兼管家，每隔几个月更换一次，通常是在一场争吵之后，利奇夫人提出，对于一个病人来说，非常令人惊讶的能量。利奇先生是一名律师，生活中没有什么任务，就是在优雅的闲暇中不停地劳作以养家糊口。他是一个温和的人，害怕不和，对妻子百依百顺。多年来，他的收入约为2000兰特，其中每一分钱，除了一小笔保险费外，都被房子的开支吸收了。五十岁时，由于过度劳作而过早地疲惫不堪，他震惊地发现自己的收入不断减少，而妻子和女儿对他的要求却没有相应减少，而是相反。在绝望的驱使下，他鼓起勇气，获得了多拉和格尔达的同意，接受了这个不受欢迎的住所改变。这在他和利奇夫人之间造成了很大的不愉快，因此他很高兴在自己的办公室里布置了一间卧室，每周只回家一次。借此，他节省了时间，并有机会挨饿或工作至死。

多拉和格尔达在这样的家庭环境中长大，平静地接受了他们。当他们的父亲紧张地谈到要紧缩开支，说他年纪大了，必须存钱以供他们的未来时，他们没有反对，但仍然没有意识到他命运的肮脏悲剧。朵拉为她的音乐而活；格尔达会唱歌，但在社交方面更强大，喜欢庆祝活动和露天娱乐活动。她们是和蔼可亲、聪明的女孩，如果有人指责她们自私，她们一定会感到惊讶。即使有人建议他们亲自纠正他们有时会抱怨的家庭混乱，情况也同样如此。他们没有美貌，而且自己也知道这一点；两人都没有收到求婚，而且他们也没有寻求这样的机会。他们的衣服价格不菲，这被认为是理所当然的。他们还应该像其他人一样出国，在音乐会或剧院拥有最好的场所，并广泛地“在家”。他们真诚地说自己过着平静的生活。怎么可能更安静呢？——除非效仿阿尔玛·罗尔夫的榜样；但阿尔玛是一个非常杰出的人——值得钦佩和喜爱，而不是被模仿。

然而，就连阿尔玛似乎也厌倦了她非凡的怪癖。她又回到了文明圈子里。或者，正如她用她原来的、有趣的方式所说的，“在漩涡的外缘”。她有一座非常漂亮的小房子，布置得很漂亮。每个人都知道阿尔玛的品味极佳。她经常来金斯伯里-尼斯登，至少和他们（多拉和格尔达）一样经常跑进城。和他们一样，她觉得午夜前必须赶到车站很烦人。但是，结婚后，她可以比单身年轻女性有更多的行动自由，有一次错过了末班车，她只是去了一家认识她的旅馆，第二天早上悄悄地回到了平纳。罗尔夫夫人拥有如此完全的自由和闲暇，对他们来说似乎没有什么值得评论的。她无忧无虑，享受生活；这是理所当然的事。她非常聪明。难怪罗尔夫先生（魅力男人）看着她的时候，眼里总是带着敬佩。有些丈夫（可怜的粗人）看不到妻子身上的任何东西，也从没想过鼓励她们可能拥有的才能。但是，当阿尔玛对她的小提琴（一把“Vuillaume”，可怜的班尼特·弗罗辛汉姆先生过去送给她的小提琴）有点不满意时，罗尔夫先生毫不犹豫地花了五十英镑购买了一把更符合她喜好的乐器；因为她喜欢小提琴。可爱的女孩完美地演奏了它。

多拉·利奇身上没有一丝嫉妒的影子。 “我弹得还不错，”她对阿尔玛说。 “天知道，在经历了所有的教训和痛苦之后，我不应该这样做。但亲爱的，对于你来说，情况就不一样了。你很清楚，如果你愿意，你可以成为一名专业人士，并扬名立万。

'一世 可能 已经做到了，”阿尔玛承认道。 '但婚姻结束了这一切。你太理智了，不会认为我是在悔改。”

“我不明白为什么婚姻应该结束它，”多拉敦促道。 “我很确定，如果你出柜并取得巨大成功，你的丈夫会感到非常自豪。”

“但如果我出柜后遭遇惨败呢？”

“你不会的。”

那是 1890 年夏天，罗尔夫夫妇在平纳住了八个月。这把新小提琴（对她来说是新的，但本身古老而醇厚）激发了阿尔玛的快乐努力。她再次向维伦斯基先生学习，维伦斯基先生很少恭维她，但仅仅因为接待了她，就表明了他的好感。还有许多人鼓励她自以为是。斯特兰奇韦斯夫人称她为“一位未被认可的天才”，并崇拜她。诚然，人们并没有太注意斯特兰奇威斯太太，但听到这样的话语还是很甜蜜的，而且阿尔玛已经两次同意在那位女士家里玩了，虽然这与她更好的判断相反。

赛勒斯·雷德格雷夫两次都在场。他选择了合适的时机，走近她，带着阿尔玛并非没有感觉的某种胆怯看着她的脸，并像一个普通熟人一样说话。没有办法。这个人已经被正式介绍了，而且正如他所说，他们开始重新认识彼此。阿尔玛喜欢回忆第一次见面时她对他是多么严厉。也许这对于尊严来说就足够了。雷德格雷夫先生很难再忘记自己了。除此之外，她内心无法假装不喜欢他。如果他向她的美貌、她的社交魅力、她的音乐天赋（所有这些阿尔玛都承认并列在表格中）表示敬意，那么也许只是让他为他们俩都知道的事情做出补偿。阿尔玛绝不能原谅这种侮辱。但当她与雷德格瑞夫进行了两次疏远的谈话后，作为一个对他所有事情都一无所知的人——她开始偷偷想到，让这个男人想象她的冷漠并不完全是表面上的那样，会有一种甜蜜而微妙的满足感；她会感到一种甜蜜而微妙的满足感。因此，他可能会被利用并成为奴隶。她从来没有能够因为征服赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫而庆幸自己。布雷根茨的记忆有时仍然会让她满脸是血。因为这是一段冷静、精明的愤怒的记忆，而不是突破界限的激情。真心实意地制服这个人是另一回事，而且是一种特别美味的报复。有可能吗？不久之前，她还会嘲笑这个想法，认为雷德格瑞夫没有能力去爱任何形式的人。但在一种愉快和奉承的气氛中，在她在这所房子里听到的以及其他一两个类似的谈话的影响下，她的想法正在改变。

对于她的丈夫来说，她把斯特兰奇威斯夫人描绘成一个非常令人愉快的女人，对所有艺术充满热情。她的前身是一位画家的妻子，现在嫁给了一位与她有共同品味的富翁。这让哈维很满意。但阿尔玛并没有欺骗自己，她对斯特兰奇韦斯太太感到不太自在。她不再对波切斯特台房子的客人流感到困惑，因为她发现，正如西比尔所说，这些人中的大多数都是无足轻重的人，很少有房子向他们开放，而且还有一些人不肯进入。任何一丝不苟、受人尊敬的圈子。事实上，斯特兰奇威斯夫人在很大程度上招待了 黛米蒙德，真正意义上使用一个长期被误用的术语。从某种角度来看，她认为班尼特·弗罗辛厄姆的女儿可能也属于此类人，这并非不可能。另一方面，她的热情证明她把罗尔夫夫人视为一种社会收获，如果她确实没有真正被她吸引的话。阿尔玛无法得知是什么环境导致或迫使斯特兰奇威斯太太陷入这种特殊的处境。这可能只是一段不幸婚姻的结果，因为毫无疑问，丈夫身上有某种阴险的东西，一种带着虚假和善的粗俗，这使得阿尔玛不喜欢靠近他。她在这个女人身上并没有发现什么令人反感的地方。她愚蠢的热情和做作的肤色，似乎表明她的性格很软弱。有时她的谈话很有趣，而且她认识许多比她客厅里的人阶级优越的人。如果不是阿尔玛得到的启发，她在这些集会中见到赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫一定会感到惊讶。以前，她认为他属于一个比她自己更高的领域，一个准贵族世界，阿斯科特·拉克菲尔德夫人的女儿西比尔·卡纳比也因出生和教养而进入了这个世界。然而，西比尔并没有拒绝接受斯特兰奇威斯太太的邀请，尽管她继续轻蔑地谈论她。雷德格瑞夫认识这位女士很长时间了——甚至在她第一次结婚之前就认识了。

一年的时间里，阿尔玛结识并结识了很多人。她说自己生活在“乡村”，但仍然表示不喜欢纯粹的欢乐，决心维持简单、严肃的生存方式。距离城镇有半小时路程，她受到保护，免受五点钟胡言乱语的浪费时间的打扰。季节里吃一两次午餐，每隔一段时间吃一顿丰盛的晚餐，就能减轻她的社会责任；她拥有宝贵的优势，能够利用伦敦实现一切合法目的，而不必担心陷入无谓诱惑的漩涡。她再次认真地创作她的音乐——看起来，这让哈维很满意。他希望她也继续画水彩画，但她向他指出，她只有一门艺术。

“对于业余爱好者来说，做六件事就很好了。我的目标不止于此。你希望我成为真正的人，不是吗？ 东西 作为小提琴家？

哈维同意了。

‘And you understand,’ she pursued, regarding him with her bright smile, ‘that the life of an artist can’t be quite like that of other women?’

'当然，我明白。你知道我不想对你施加任何限制。

“我担心的是，你可能会认为我出入太多——没有对家给予足够的关注——”

“我认为我们管理得很好。你不必有任何这样的恐惧。

“当然，当休吉长大后——当我真正可以开始教他的时候——”

这个孩子现在已经快三年级了，在哈维看来，他需要的不仅仅是普通保姆的照顾。他们最近聘请了一位保育员，她的名字叫波琳·史密斯（Pauline Smith）。一个受过公平教育、有教养的女孩，作为家庭成员生活。在罗尔夫看来，休吉已经足够大了，可以从母亲的指导和陪伴中受益。但他没有给自己留下任何理由反对阿尔玛对她生活的安排。威尔士仆人露丝仍然留在他们身边，在很大程度上充当管家的角色，她手下有一个女仆和一个男孩。露丝是个值得信赖的女人，报酬很高，所以他们不必担心她会被抛弃。规律性和舒适性比在当时的情况下所期望的要大得多。支出当然大大增加了，现在已经触及哈维普通收入的极限了；但这件事并没有立即引起罗尔夫夫人的关注。为了家庭和私人目的，她有一个自己的银行账户；一天早上，哈维递给她一本存折和一张支票簿，并说她会得到几百英镑的信用，这是他们搬到平纳的安排。阿尔玛假装认为这没有必要，但她的表情却流露了喜悦。当他认为资金快要用完时，他什么也没说，又向账户支付了一笔新款项；阿尔玛同样保持着谨慎的沉默。

她的新熟人之一是雷纳·曼夫人，这位女士希望被称为那些希望在舞台上取得成功或成为音乐家的年轻人的赞助人。许多故事都讲述了曼恩夫人对苦苦挣扎的艺术家的慷慨，她在普特尼的房子里挤满了最奇怪的人，其中一些人无疑是社会人士，另一些人则显然与社会无关。在这里，阿尔玛遇到了菲利克斯·戴姆斯，自从他们在慕尼黑见面以来，他的声誉和繁荣都得到了很大的提高。他当时谈到的喜歌剧已在一家省级剧院上演，取得了相当大的成功，不久将在伦敦上演。他的最新歌曲《家之光》和《柳树浸处》引起了大众的注意。阿尔玛嘲笑这些作品，嘲笑歌词中的感伤主义，并宣称这些曲子只是流行的叮当声；但判断力不逊色于她的人都喜欢这种音乐，它确实有一种难以抗拒的甜蜜和悲伤。令人惊奇的是像菲利克斯·戴姆斯这样的人怎么能创作出如此温柔的旋律。当他突然认出阿尔玛时，他的问候充满活力，与赛勒斯·雷德格雷夫在类似情况下难以掩饰的尴尬形成鲜明对比。戴姆斯心安理得，在接下来的谈话中，他甚至拿自己四年前的不幸开玩笑。

'你并没有把我想得太多。但我会继续前进，你知道。你必须承认我会继续前进。

从他的外表和声音中可以看出他的繁荣。他在文雅方面并没有取得什么进步，显然认为自己不需要表现出温文尔雅的举止。他的面容似乎变得更加粗糙。他的自以为是坚持到了荒诞自负的地步。

“你丈夫有音乐天赋吗？”他问。

'不是特别。'

嗯，对此有一些话要说。一个人并不总是想空谈正事。——我情不自禁地看着你；你以一种奇怪的方式改变了。你知道，在那些日子里，你非常迷人。

“你太无礼了，”阿尔玛笑着回答。 “我看不出你在这方面有任何改变。”

“你还在玩吗？”

“比以前好多了。”

'真的吗？如果是真的，你为什么不出来？我一直相信你——我真的相信你。没有比我在慕尼黑所说的话更好的证明了。你知道，你是唯一一个能让我做到这一点的女孩；这完全违背了我的原则。你听说过艾达·惠灵顿吗？——我明年春天要带她出去——一位钢琴家；她会大受欢迎。我希望你认识她。

“你要带她出去是什么意思？”

“你知道，为她做所有的事情；主持节目。不作为猜测；除了开支之外，我不想从中赚到任何东西。我认识她的“人”；他们的处境非常糟糕，如果我能为他们做点好事，我会很高兴。我们之间什么都没有；只是朋友，仅此而已。如果你出来的话，把生意交给我，好吗？

“我不会做出承诺，”阿尔玛回答道，“直到我看到你如何成功地吸引了惠灵顿小姐。”

‘这算是一种理解吗？如果我让艾达浮起来，你会让我和你一起尝试一下吗？

“戴姆斯先生，等你学会了良好举止的要素后，我们再讨论这个问题。”

She nodded in a friendly way, and left him.

他们的下一次见面是在一家音乐商店，戴姆斯进来时阿尔玛正在购买东西。作曲家穿着一件厚重的毛皮大衣，大声哼着一首曲子进来，以自我宣传的方式；他在这里感到很自在，因为公司的老板出版了他的歌曲。看到阿尔玛后，他放下了狂妄的神气，夸张地礼貌地鞠了一躬，并表示自己非常高兴。

“我进去只是为了尝试一下我脑子里的一件事。请过来听听——好吗？如果您能给我您的意见，那就太好了。

他指着后面的一个房间，从豪华的窗帘中可以看到。阿尔玛想拒绝，低声说她时间不多了。但戴姆斯获胜了，她也跟着他。他们进入了令人愉快的温暖的熊熊火焰中。音乐家脱下外套，立即在三角钢琴前坐下，钢琴敞开着，方便像他这样受宠的人使用。阿尔玛坐在一张安乐椅上，她把安乐椅推到了前面，以便让店里的人看到她。在一些初步的叮当声之后，戴姆斯演奏了一段听众不得不喜欢的曲调。优美动人的旋律，适合一首童话之歌，带有奇怪的小笑声回声，结尾处有半假装的悲伤。戴姆斯双手悬空，转过身来看看他所产生的效果。

“那是你自己的吗？”阿尔玛问道。

'我就是有这样的印象。我认为相当不错——你觉得呢？

'很漂亮。'

她几乎不相信他的保证，那轻松的抒情诗与这个男人本人的粗俗虚荣之间的对比是如此强烈。他又弹了一遍，她更喜欢这首曲子，并说出了更明确的赞美之词。

“迪基必须为此写信给我！”当戴姆斯看到她高兴地微笑时，他惊呼道。 “你不认识迪基·惠灵顿吗？艾达的表弟。顺便说一句，她的音乐会很可能会在五月底举行，地点是王子音乐厅。你应该有一张票。

'你是个好人。'

“你知道雷纳·曼夫人下周要举办一场慈善音乐会吗？”

“我被邀请参加这个活动，”阿尔玛轻声说道。

‘I’m awfully glad of that!’ shouted Dymes. ‘So I shall hear you again. The fact is, you know, I don’t think of you as an amateur. I can’t stand amateurs, except one or two. I’ve got it into my head that you’ve been one of us, and retired. Queer thing, isn’t it?’

阿尔玛很享受这种奉承。她舒服地坐在椅子上，没有动的意思。戴姆斯问她对演奏的看法，她告诉他，豪瑟的《红罗斯狂想曲》。

“我总是对业余爱好者感到无聊，”他继续说道。 “昨天，一个交响乐协会的傻女人叫我去听她演奏C小调！我恳求她告诉我我对她造成了什么伤害，她说我很粗鲁。但我对这类人总是这样；我无能为力。其中另一个人让我告诉她一个 不错 钢琴曲——一首非常好的曲子。我立刻推荐了肖邦的降A大调波兰舞曲。你知道吗？'

'我当然是了。你能自己玩吗？

'我？当然不是。你不会想象一个人是一位成功的作曲家，他就一定是一位才华横溢的演奏家。我几乎不碰乐器。瓦格纳是一位非常糟糕的演奏家，而柏辽兹根本无法演奏。我是一个音乐梦想家。你知道我真的梦想过“家之光”吗？现在，这是天才的证明。

阿尔玛笑了。

'但它是！你知道现在大多数歌曲是如何制作的吗？赛克斯的《黎明时分》——你还记得吗？我碰巧知道这一切。城里的一个人不知怎么想出了一个旋律的主意；他一个音符也不认识，但他用口哨吹给赛克斯听，赛克斯把它记了下来。现在，赛克斯对和声的了解并不比扫帚多，所以他找了另一个人来协调它，然后第四个人写了管弦乐伴奏。这就是艺术中的分工。”

“你确信你所做的一切都是为了自己？”阿尔玛顽皮地说，终于站了起来。

“我原谅你，因为你真的是我们中的一员——你是，你知道的。你看起来不像业余爱好者。现在，当你出去的时候，我会问柜台后面的萨米，他认为你是谁，如果他不把你当作专业人士，我会给雷纳·曼夫人一个几尼尼作为她的慈善事业音乐家。'

“戴姆斯先生，你就够了，”阿尔玛严肃地说，“根本不要对柜台后面的任何人谈论我。”

'这只是一个玩笑。当然，我不应该做这种事。再见;我们将在普特尼见到你。”

尽管如此，罗尔夫夫人一走，戴姆斯就和推销员谈论了她，并以他的种族特有的方式，用斜视和半短语来暗示这位女士不仅是一位表演者区别，但就像一般的女人一样，她发现他的天才和他的人具有致命的吸引力。戴姆斯有艺术气质的小弱点。

和往常一样，雷纳·曼夫人的音乐会出席人数众多，阿尔玛的小提琴独奏虽然观众比她之前面对的更挑剔，让她一开始就非常紧张，但还是获得了热烈的掌声。菲利克斯·戴姆斯（Felix Dymes）无法在她身边找到座位，所以站在她身后，低声表达了他的钦佩之情。

“你已经取得了巨大的进步。这不是业余演奏。所有其他人都不适合在同一天听到。真的，你知道，你应该考虑出来。

其他许多人只是不那么恭维，而斯特兰奇威斯夫人则更是如此。她在热情洋溢的悼词中精疲力尽。音乐会结束时，这位女士把阿尔玛分开了。

“亲爱的罗尔夫夫人，我想知道是否可以请您帮我一个忙？”你急着回家吗？

那是一月的一个晚上，六点钟。阿尔玛对自己的成功感到很高兴，她感觉自己就像一个年轻人，他的旺盛的精神促使他“度过一个愉快的夜晚”。她宣称她一点也不着急，并且非常乐意尽其所能对斯特兰奇威夫人施以善意。

‘It will sound rather odd to you,’ pursued the lady in a low voice, ‘but I would rather trust you than anyone else. You know that Mr. Redgrave and I are very old friends—such old friends that we are really almost like brother and sister.’

阿尔玛点点头。

“你听我们谈论过他在温布尔登的平房。刚才他在巴黎，他碰巧想要从平房里的相册里拿出一张肖像、一张照片。他自然会要求他的妹妹去找并寄出，但费尼莫尔夫人也不在家；所以他写信给我，请求我善待他。我确切地知道在哪里可以找到照片，我所要做的就是开车去温布尔登，一个仆人会等着接纳我。现在，你会觉得这很幼稚，但我真的不喜欢一个人去。虽然雷德格雷夫先生和我是这么好的朋友，当然我只是在他有人的时候才去过那间平房——而且——当然，在我这个年纪，这很愚蠢——但我相信你明白我的意思——”

“你的意思是你希望我和你一起去？”阿尔玛用不确定的声音说道。

“我敢问吗，亲爱的罗尔夫夫人？将有 没有 除了仆人之外，还有一个人，她被告知要迎接她主人的朋友。我是 非常 愚蠢，但你知道，一个人不能太小心，而且 您 我会觉得一切都是那么简单、自然、直接。我相信你明白我的意思。

“当然，”阿尔玛支支吾吾地说。 “是的——我会去——”

哦，亲爱的，你真可爱！我需要说我永远不应该对雷德格雷夫先生说一句话吗？他会认为我是一个人去的——当然我很可能——”

“但是——如果仆人向他提起——呢？”

“亲爱的，别摔倒了。”然后完全可以肯定他永远不会问问题。他认为这是一件微不足道的事情——”

阿尔玛对她朋友的真实性没有丝毫怀疑，在她看来，在这样的探险中拥有一个同伴的愿望似乎是很自然的。然而，一想到自己同意做的事，她就感到非常不安，甚至在下楼梯的时候，她也几乎停下来请求原谅。一想到要偷偷溜进雷德格瑞夫单身汉的家，即使是和斯特兰奇威斯太太一起，她也感到震惊并冒犯了她的自尊。这似乎是一种不谦虚的行为。她从来没有被邀请去平房；她从来没有被邀请去那间平房。尽管卡纳比夫人在夏天的一个下午收到并接受了这样的邀请，当时斯特兰奇韦斯夫人也很荣幸。雷德格瑞夫现在表现得十分恭敬。他不会认为他们已经重新认识了，还邀请她去温布尔登。正是出于这个原因——也为了其他原因——她对这座平房产生了好奇。它充满异域风情的名字激发了她的想象力；她知道赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫（Cyrus Redgrave）是她特别熟悉的人，为他的隐居所和私人空间建造了这座房子，这一点也同样重要。好奇心和害怕冒犯斯特兰奇威斯太太的心理战胜了她的强烈不情愿。一进车厢，她就脸红了。这是她一生中第一次故意无视严重的道德悔恨，良心报复了她，贬低了她。

斯特兰奇韦斯太太一路上都在谈论，但没有一次提到雷德格雷夫。她的主题是阿尔玛卓越的演奏，她宣称，阿尔玛的演奏让每个人都惊叹不已、欣喜若狂。

“很多人理所当然地认为你是一名职业小提琴家。我听到一个男人说：“我怎么不知道她的名字？”当然，你作为业余选手的表现是非常出色的。你有没有想过要以专业的方式挺身而出？

“我在结婚前曾想过一次。”

'啊！你真的做到了吗？我一点也不感到惊讶。罗尔夫先生会不会露出不以为然的表情——？

“我几乎不知道，”阿尔玛回答道，她并不是自己的情人，也没有注意她说的话。 “我敢说他不会太介意，无论怎样。”

'确实？'

这个词的亲密意义警告阿尔玛，她说得太不小心了。她连忙补充说，当然，在这种事情上，她丈夫的意愿才是最终的，她从来没有想过就这个问题征求他的意见。

'如果曾经你 应该 迈出这一步，亲爱的，这对你来说将意味着一次伟大的胜利——哦！伟大的胜利！现在还有一位女小提琴手的位置——你不觉得吗？除了对乐器的掌握之外，还必须考虑其他因素；自然而然地与公众见面，美丽的脸蛋和完美的身材——’

即使对于贪图阿谀奉承的阿尔玛来说，这也太过分了。她用不耐烦的抗议打断了顺利而热烈的奉承，并告诉自己——尽管她不太清楚原因——从那天起，她会更少见到斯特兰奇韦斯太太。

马车停了下来。阿尔玛向两边看了一眼，发现他们正走在一条乡间小路上，门口两侧的两盏煤气灯的光芒打破了这里的黑暗。男仆已经下车了。大门被打开了。马车驶入一条砾石车道。她的神经几乎无法忍受，即使现在正在鼓起勇气拒绝进屋，阿尔玛仍感觉车子急转弯，然后停了下来。

“我们不会超过一分钟，”斯特兰奇韦斯太太气喘吁吁地说，好像她说话很吃力。

阿尔玛不自觉地把手放在了她的手臂上

“我会——在这里等你——请——”

“但是，亲爱的，你的承诺！”噢，你不会让我失望吧？

车厢门打开了。男仆站在它旁边。阿尔玛几乎不知道自己做了什么，她跟在她的同伴后面走了出去，就在同一时刻，她发现一道光芒突然倾泻到她身上。声音是从一所房子的门厅传来的，那里有一位女仆出现。一座结构不寻常的房子，有柱子和阳台；她眼花缭乱、困惑的感官再也看不到更多的东西了。斯特兰奇威斯太太对仆人说了些什么。他们走进去，穿过光滑的瓷砖地板，在玻璃灯罩映照出红宝石色的电光下，被领进一间只有火光照明的房间，直到仆人打开了柔和的光芒，就像大厅里那样。

斯特兰奇韦斯太太环顾四周，似乎很惊讶。

“你在等雷德格雷夫先生吗？”她很快说道。

“不，女士。我们总是用火来对抗潮湿。

于是，那个女人退了出去，关上了门，斯特兰奇威斯太太除了脸上的胭脂斑点外，脸色非常苍白，低声说道——

‘I began to fear there might be some mistake. Put up your veil for a moment, dear, and glance at the pictures. Every one has cost a small fortune. Oh, he is immensely rich—and knows so well what to buy!’

阿尔玛的激动不允许她去检查细节。雷德格雷夫房子的内部结构和她想象的很像。它奢华精致的氛围、它的色彩、它的香味、它的温暖，立刻让她着迷又惊恐。她希望放纵自己的感官，流连忘返，直到看遍一切。她恨不得立刻转身逃走。与此同时，斯特兰奇威斯太太似乎正在寻找她所说的那张专辑，她走来走去，时不时地停顿一下，就像一个在听的人，或者朝门口看了一眼。

“你不会等很久吧？”阿尔玛突然转向她说道。

“这是我愚蠢的紧张，亲爱的。我想我清楚地记得专辑所在的位置。我真是太愚蠢了！我浑身发抖——任何人都会认为我们是窃贼。”

她笑了，站在那里环顾房间。

“是这样吗？”阿尔玛指着她旁边桌子上的一本书问道。

“是的！——不——我不确定。”

这是一张专辑；斯特兰奇韦斯太太松开了它，用颤抖的手翻了几页。

'不，我不这么认为。这是一个较小的。哦，卡纳比夫人的照片多好啊！你看过这个吗？'

阿尔玛走上前一看，被她朋友的名字吓了一跳。就好像西比尔本人突然走进房间并发现她在这里一样。那张照片她已经知道了；但它的眼睛似乎正用生命的目光注视着她，她立刻就退缩了。

“一定要找到合适的人，斯特兰奇威斯太太，”她恳求道。 “一定是——那是什么铃声？”

屋内的电铃响了；它仍然在她耳边颤抖，她吓得浑身发抖。斯特兰奇韦斯太太涨红了脸，结结巴巴地保证道。

“那里——这里是正确的——一会儿——”

门开了。当她看到它移动时，阿尔玛对即将发生的事情感到一种可怕的确定性，她的呼吸停止了，她发出一声抽泣般的声音。然后她直视着赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫的眼睛。他穿着一件外套，手里拿着一顶旅行帽，似乎没有认出她来，但他把目光转向她的同伴，用愉快而友善的语气说话。

'什么！我抓住你了吗，斯特兰奇威斯太太？警察！噢，我很抱歉没有给你发电报。我以为你明天或者后天会来。你真是太好了，能立即解决这个麻烦。我必须一接到通知就跑过去。——罗尔夫！对不起;从黑暗中走出来的那一刻我还不认识你。很高兴见到你。

他和他们俩都握手了，表现得好像罗尔夫夫人的出现是世界上最自然的事情。但阿尔玛的力量让她失望了。她颤抖着走向最近的椅子，然后瘫倒在上面。斯特兰奇韦斯太太焦急地看着她，走到她身边，急忙说道。

'先生。雷德格雷夫，我冒昧地使用你的房子，就像它是我自己的一样。罗尔夫夫人太累了，太兴奋了。她今天下午在雷纳·曼夫人家的一场音乐会上演奏。我们要一起开车回去，朝这边走来，以便我可以打电话到这里拍照。但是罗尔夫夫人在她的努力之后变得昏厥了——”

雷德格雷夫以优雅的礼貌超越了自己。斯特兰奇威夫人怎么会想到找借口呢？她为什么不叫人喝茶——或者别的什么？他会立即下达命令，女士们会允许他在休息时脱掉旅行装。当阿尔玛站起来并命令她的声音时，他正转身离开房间。

“我已经完全康复了——非常感谢你，雷德格雷夫先生——事实上，我不能留下来——”

雷德格雷夫以令人钦佩的温柔克服了她离开的愿望。在恳求下，他开玩笑地从英语转到了法语，他对法语的掌握非常熟练。然后，用他自己的语言宣称，只有法语才允许人们提出要求，而不是强求，但要有足够的热情。阿尔玛再次坐下。当她这样做时，她的主人和斯特兰奇威斯夫人迅速地交换了一个眼神，彼此了解。

“我怎么能希望你能原谅我呢？”当只剩下他们时，那位女士在阿尔玛耳边低声说道。

“这很烦人，没什么可说的了，”冷冷的回答。

“但这并不是最不重要的——请相信我。我们真是老朋友了。没有人能知道——尽管全世界都知道也没关系。

'我敢说不会。但是，请让我们的停留时间尽可能短。”

“亲爱的，喝完茶我们就走。”我是 so 对不起;这都是我的愚蠢。

茶送来了，斯特兰奇威斯太太的紧张感完全消失了，开始说话，就像在自己的客厅里一样。阿尔玛也恢复了控制，手里稳稳地端着茶杯，悠闲地审视着房间。离开十分钟后，雷德格雷夫重新加入了他们，现在穿着普通的衣服。他的脸因快速洗礼而变得温暖，稀疏的头发精心梳理。他开始以一种明亮、健谈的语气说话。原来罗尔夫夫人正在一场音乐会上演奏。他多么后悔没有去那里！她玩过什么？然后，带着一种近乎温柔的慈祥之气向前倾身——

“我确信这一定会让神经非常疲惫；无可否认，你拥有真正艺术家的光芒和热情；看着你打球和听你打球一样鼓舞人心。你现在感觉好些了吗？

Alma replied with civility, but did not meet his look. She refused another cup of tea, and glanced so meaningly at her friend that in a few moments Mrs. Strangeways rose.

“你还不打算让我独自一人吗？”雷德格雷夫惊呼道。他叹了口气，接受了不可避免的事情，再次温柔地询问罗尔夫夫人是否感觉完全恢复了，并再次向斯特兰奇韦斯夫人表示感谢。尽管如此，女士们还是要等几分钟才能等到她们的马车，因为按照雷德格雷夫的指示，马车已经在附近的道路上绕了很长一段路。在这段时间里，阿尔玛似乎是因为释放的前景而受到鼓舞，她用更自然的语气说了几句话。雷德格雷夫问她通常参加哪些公开音乐会。

“不定期。”她回答道。 “如果不是对我来说太远的话，我应该经常在周六去水晶宫。如果可能的话，我想在周六去那里听斯特恩代尔·贝内特的新协奏曲。

“啊，我很想听听这个！”雷德格雷夫说。 “我们也许会见面。”

这一次她没有拒绝面对他的目光，而她回应的微笑是如此独特地表达了一种自信的蔑视，以至于他几乎无法将目光从她身上移开。赛勒斯·雷德格雷夫和大多数男人一样了解女人容貌上的挑战信号。在最近的一次会议上，他从阿尔玛对他的行为中发现了一些类似的东西，此刻她的精神是不会出错的。她毫无必要地告诉了他，如果他愿意的话，他可以在哪里找到她。这是伟大的一步。如此大胆的反抗对他来说意味着不小的鼓励。

“幸运的是，”阿尔玛在马车载着她离开时说道，“我们和一个 绅士“。

这句话让斯特兰奇威斯太太听起来很惊讶。

“我很高兴你已经克服了你的烦恼，亲爱的，”她回答道。

“在这种情况下，这对你和对我来说都一样糟糕。但我确信雷德格雷夫先生不会再考虑这个问题。

阿尔玛一路愉快地聊天回到城里，并与斯特兰奇韦斯太太共进晚餐。十一点钟，她到家了。她的丈夫正从喉咙痛中恢复过来，坐在图书馆的火边，没有烟斗，心情也不太愉快。但阿尔玛容光焕发的面容对他产生了常见的影响。他伸开双臂，仿佛要从长时间的沉思中醒来，用有点沙哑的声音欢迎她。

“怎么样？进展如何？”

“我认为还不错。可怜的老男孩，你过得怎么样？

'一般般;因为我不能抽烟所以说了一点脏话。但休吉今晚感冒了；我敢说，抓住了我的，混淆了它！史密斯小姐就此向我提出了建议，我们对他进行了一些修改。

'可怜的亲爱的小男人！我希望我能及时回来见到他。但没办法离开——必须留下来吃晚饭——”

阿尔玛没有向丈夫说谎的习惯，但她做得非常好——也许比她在赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫的求婚问题上欺骗她的德国朋友弗劳林·斯坦菲尔德时还要好。岁月使她成熟，赋予她超凡的沉着，以及处理这些小困难的优雅风格。她不愿意说她在波切斯特露台吃过饭，因为哈维对那个家庭抱有某种偏见。如今，他远离了阿尔玛自娱自乐的世界，所以冒险犯一点小小的错误陈述是很安全的。

“我收到了卡纳比的一张便条，”罗尔夫说。 “他明天想在城里见我。说他有好消息——准确地说，是“魔鬼般的好消息”。我想知道那是什么。

“诉讼也许赢了。”

'恐怕不会；这还需要几年的时间。奇怪的是，我还有一封来自塞西尔·莫菲的信，他也说他有一些充满希望的事情要告诉我。

阿尔玛拍了拍手，这对她来说是一种不同寻常的喜悦表情。 “我们全场都在欢呼雀跃！”她惊呼道。 '现在，如果只是 您 可以点亮一些幸运的东西。

他快速地看了她一眼。

'你是什么意思？'

“只是你最近看起来精神不太好。”

“我想，和往常一样。——普特尼有很多人吗？”

'大约一百二十。赞美之词如潮水般涌向我；我真希望你能听到他们的声音。有人告诉我，有人问她怎么不知道我的名字——他把我当成职业小提琴家了。

“好吧，毫无疑问，你和他们中的许多人一样优秀。”

“你真的这么认为吗？”阿尔玛一边说着，一边把椅子拉近火边，热切地看着他。

'为什么你不应该这样呢？你们拥有同样的机会，并尽可能地利用它们。”

阿尔玛沉默了几秒。一次和第二次，她偷眼看了哈维的脸。然后，她双手抓住椅子的扶手，似乎在努力地用绳子拴着自己，用半开玩笑的语气说道。

“如果我提议出来——你该怎么说？” be 专业人士？

哈维的目光慢慢转向她。他好奇地观察着她的脸，但没有笑。

“你是说你已经想到了？”

“说实话，其他人经常把这个想法放进我的脑海里。我经常被问到为什么我满足于保持业余身份。

“由专业音乐家创作？”

“各种各样的人。”

'这让我想起一件事。你知道我不干涉；我不会假装监视你，也不想开始监视你。但是你确信你在对你开放的最好的班级中交到了朋友吗？

阿尔玛的笑容消失了。一时间，她恢复了往日的面容。这个眼神让哈维想起了瑞士小屋里弗罗廷汉姆太太的小客厅，阿尔玛不止一次地用一种隐藏着怨恨的高冷冷漠的目光注视着他。那表情还是能让他有些畏缩，感觉不舒服。但它很快就消失了，取而代之的是一种完全和蔼可亲的抗议表情。

“亲爱的哈维，是什么让你对此产生怀疑？”

'我只是问了一个问题。也许我突然意识到，在那些以这种方式与你交谈的人中，你并不完全处于自己的位置。

“你必须考虑到我的夸张，”阿尔玛轻声说道。 “有一两个人这么说过——只是那些最了解音乐的人。还有一个 方式 放置东西。

“卡纳比夫人今天在吗？”

'不。'

“你现在不常见到她了吗？”

'也许不是 相当 很经常。我想原因是我更喜欢关心音乐的人。西比尔确实不擅长音乐——当然，我一如既往地喜欢她。然后——事实是，她似乎变得相当奢侈了，我简直不明白她怎么能维持这样的生活——如果她丈夫真的只是赔钱的话。上次我和她在一起时，我不禁想到她应该——更多地否定自己。我想这是习惯。

哈维点点头——两次、三次；并保持着严肃的表情。

“你不想多见艾伯特夫人吗？”他宁愿跌倒也不愿说话。

“嗯，你知道，亲爱的，我并不是有意要表现得不愉快，但我们的共同点实在是太少了。不是这样吗？我确信阿博特夫人并不担心我的社交。

罗尔夫再次沉默不语，阿尔玛又偷眼看了他一眼。

“我可以告诉你一些我想到的事情吗？”他深思熟虑地最后说道。 “休伊，你知道，已经三岁了。波琳和他相处得很好，但现在是他有同伴的时候了——其他孩子。大约半年之后，他可能会去幼儿园，而且”——他顿了一下——“我只知道一个对他真正有好处的幼儿园。我想他必须去找阿博特夫人。

他们的目光相遇，说话者的目光坚定地凝视着。

“但是距离呢？”阿尔玛反对。

'是的。如果我们想做到这一点，我们就必须去冈纳斯伯里。

阿尔玛的脸色沉了下来。她用脚轻轻敲着，沉思着，微微皱眉。但是，在哈维再次说话之前，她脸上的肌肉放松了，她微笑着转向他，仿佛某种反省让她松了口气。

“你不介意搬家的麻烦吗？”

'这和休伊的优势相比是什么？如果一个人住在伦敦，每年左右换一次房子是很自然的事情。”

“但我们不住在伦敦！”阿尔玛笑着回答道。

‘Much the same thing. At Gunnersbury you would be nearer to everything, you know.’

“那你会送走波琳吗？”

哈维不安地动了动，发出沙哑的咳嗽声。

嗯，我不知道。你看，休吉每天只会和艾伯特夫人在一起几个小时。其他时间谁来照顾这个小男人？我想我自己不太能承担这件事——尽管我很高兴尽可能多地见到他；我不会让他和仆人在一起。所以 - '

阿尔玛凝视着炉火，似乎只是对丈夫的话给予了不同的关注。她的眼睛睁得大大的。当然，他们的愿景不会让她感到不安或沮丧。

“你让我思考了两件事，哈维。你会反思一下 一种 我建议的？

‘Then you meant it seriously?’

“我的意思是我想听听你对此的认真看法。只是我们现在不说话。我很累了，而你，我确信，你不应该因为喉咙不好而熬夜。我保证会考虑 都 你提到的事情。

She held her hands to him charmingly, and kissed his cheek as she said goodnight.

哈维又逗留了一个小时，然后——在世界上所有人中——不知怎的，他发现自己想到了邦库姆。邦科姆是他的房东，住在皇家橡树边那栋肮脏的大房子里。邦科姆后来怎么样了？如果有一天能看看老房子，看看邦库姆是否还住在那里，那会很有趣。

他们从不谈论金钱。阿尔玛理所当然地认为哈维不会允许他们的支出超过他的收入，因此她放心了。罗尔夫认为没有必要提及他从可赎回的债券中获得了大约三百英镑，而且赎回日期早在今年，即 1891 年。他自己一直很少关注此事。当这支股票成为他的时候，1891 年似乎已经很遥远了。在北威尔士定居后，他感到财务上非常有保障，因此很可能将再投资问题留待考虑，直到它被强加给他为止。

就像现在一样。他不能再忽视百分比了。他想要他的资本能产生的每一分钱。结婚前，他很少注意到他的运河股份（他认为这是永恒秩序的一部分的投资）有轻微贬值的倾向；现在这件事日日夜夜地困扰着他。至于债券股，如果他愿意的话，他可以将其“转换”而不提取，但这意味着较低的股息，这几乎是不可想象的。他应该去哪里寻找既健全又有利可图的证券呢？他开始在日报上读到有关金钱的文章，迄今为止，他一直把这篇文章视为不存在，或者轻蔑地不耐烦地转过头去。他在铁路书摊上拿起财经报纸，私下里努力理解其中的行话，并小心翼翼地避免让妻子看到这些行话。在大都会俱乐部——在认为自己再也不会进入俱乐部之后，他恢复了大都会俱乐部的会员资格——他与熟悉曼城事务的人交谈，并间接地试图从他们那里得到暗示。他感觉自己就像一个触犯了禁忌之物的人——羞愧地窥探着一种可憎恶习的秘密。研究货币市场让他很头疼。他必须去乡间散步、洗澡、换衣服，然后才能再次放松下来。

他的密友中只有两个人对投机方法有任何实际了解，而他们迄今为止的经验并不表明他向他们寻求建议。休·卡纳比可能会也可能不会从他的自行车工厂中获得利润。到目前为止，这一切只给他带来了担忧和摇摆不定的希望。不知何故，塞西尔·莫菲的处境有所好转，还清了五十英镑的贷款，并声称比他赚钱却又赔钱的日子更懂得投机。但令人担心的是，塞西尔与性格阴暗的人交往，并可能随时以或多或少肮脏的方式遭受不幸。他承认他的生活中有一个谜——即使是对老朋友他也不愿意谈论这个谜。

奇怪的是，卡纳比和莫菲同时写信给他，希望见到他，并说他们有令人振奋的消息要传达。哈维的困惑不仅仅与金钱有关，他很高兴有机会忘记自己几个小时。他同意与休在一家餐厅共进午餐（卡纳比与俱乐部没有任何关系），并邀请莫菲在大都会酒店共进晚餐。

那天下着毛毛细雨，泥泞不堪，但哈维已经克服了喉咙痛，并且以正常的健康状况抵御了恶劣的天气。与他自己不同的是，卡纳比来得有点晚，并与伦敦金融城的一名“流氓”求情。他对风湿病和支气管疾病一无所知。他从来没有带过雨伞，只有在这样的日子里，他才会穿上一件轻便的大衣，以防止自己受到伦敦天空中他所谓的“烟熏唾沫”的侵害。但他已经不是四五年前的那个人了。他有着同样的肌肉发达的外表，同样的红脖子和强有力的拳头；但他的眼睛下面垂着松松垮垮的肉，使他看起来阴郁，脸颊有点凹陷，肤色也失去了健康的清晰度。在脾气方面，他也很受苦。也许是在礼仪上。他发誓的时候太随意了。他那流利而直率的英语——乡村绅士的英语——与最近的俚语混合在一起；倾向于不顾一切的人，而不是无意识的轻松和大胆的人。

“我们找个角落吧，”他抓住朋友的肩膀说道，“远离这该死的人群。”

“诉讼结束了吗？”当他们找到地方并点餐后，哈维问道。

休以低沉的咒骂回答。

1889 年夏天，当他回到英国时，他立即与麦金托什合伙，接管了考文垂的一家老牌企业，而他的合伙人已经与该企业有一定的联系。不到一周，他们就发现自己在自行车制动器方面陷入了法律困境——他们一开始购买了一项专利，却发现自己的权利立即受到了质疑。此案于 1890 月立案。会议历时九天，现已休会。直到次年（XNUMX年）XNUMX月才作出判决；原告麦金托什公司 (Mackintosh & Co) 胜出，法官认为其主张得到证实。但这并没有终止诉讼。被告一直坚持制造和销售这种专利制动器，现在获得了暂缓禁令，直到米迦勒节开始，并有一项谅解，如果在此之前发出上诉通知，则禁令将被暂缓，直到米迦勒节开始为止。上诉得到解决。并注意 是 上诉无疑会在某一天被审理；但与此同时，1891 年已经到来，麦金托什公司 (Mackintosh & Co.) 看到他们的竞争对手的制造和销售一如既往地兴旺。休·卡纳比谈起他们时脸涨得通红。他握紧的拳头放在桌布上，很明显他多么渴望加快司法进程。

尽管如此，他还是有好消息要传达，他首先询问哈维是否经常看到雷德格雷夫。

“雷德格雷夫？”另一个人惊讶地附和道。 “哎呀，我几乎不认识他。”

“但你的妻子很了解他。”

'是的;我敢说她确实如此。

卡纳比没有观察他朋友的表情。他吃得津津有味。 “雷德格雷夫根本不是一个坏人。直到最近我对他还不太了解。你知道，我经常在男朋友那里见到他，还有我和西比尔一起去过的一两个地方。认为他是个势利小人。但我完全错了。当你靠近他时，他是一个非常好的人。

哈维更加惊讶了。就他而言，他仍然对雷德格瑞夫抱有旧有的偏见，尽管他没有明确的指控要对他提出。他本以为他是最后一个寻求或获得休·卡纳比青睐的人。

“西比尔认识他很久了，”休继续说道。 “告诉我在阿斯科特·拉克菲尔德去世后，他为她母亲做了各种各样的善事；解决了她的事务——我相信他们的处境非常糟糕。去年秋天我们在苏格兰见到了他；他和他的妹妹以及她的家人——夫人在一起。费尼莫尔。她的丈夫在印度，他似乎以一种值得他信任的方式照顾她。事实上，我看到了这个家伙新的一面。我们关系很融洽，我碰巧谈到了麦金托什公司。那么，现在，你觉得怎么样？两天前，在考文垂，我收到他的一张便条：他要过来，想见我；我会和他在酒店共进午餐吗？我照做了，他开始谈论生意，这让我感到惊讶。事实是，他有一些闲置的钱，想把它放在某个地方，并且对周期有信心。他为什么不应该向朋友提出要约？麦金托什公司愿意接纳新的合作伙伴吗？或者——无论如何——我们可以利用几千英镑吗？

罗尔夫已经停止进食，聚精会神地听着。这个故事对他来说听起来很奇怪。这根本不符合他对赛勒斯·雷德格雷夫的看法。

“我想几千个会很方便吧？”他说。

‘Well, old man, to tell you the truth,—I can do it now,—for me it means a jump out of a particularly black hole. You must understand that we’re not doing downright badly; we pay our way, but that was about all. I, individually, shouldn’t have paid my way for many months longer. God! how I clutched at it! You don’t know what it is, Rolfe, to see your damned account at the bank slithering away, and not a cent to pay in. I’ve thought of all sorts of things—just stopping short of burglary, and I shouldn’t have stopped at that long.’

“你的意思是，这笔新资本会给这项业务带来如此大的推动——”

'当然！这正是我们想要的。我们无法做广告——无法购买新专利——根本无法行动。现在我们要让事情变得嗡嗡作响。

“那么雷德格雷夫会成为合伙人吗？”

'一个睡觉的伙伴。但雷德格雷夫已经足够清醒了。麦金托什说，他从未见过比他更热衷于商业的人。你不会想到吧？我想他会管理自己所有的财产，而且做得非常好。当然，他有各种各样的方式来帮助我们。关于机器，他也有自己的想法。我不应该怀疑他是否发现了一些有价值的东西。我以前从来没有半点理解过他。他射击不多，但了解得足够多，可以愉快地交谈。他也去过很多地方。然后，当然，他开始喜欢艺术、音乐——诸如此类的事情。他确实没有什么骗人的地方。他既不是一本正经的人，也不是一个无赖的人，尽管我曾经认为他两者兼而有之。

哈维反思道：重新唤起了他心目中资本家的形象，但仍然发现它与休所暗示的形象非常不同。

'WHO is Redgrave?’ he asked. ‘How did he get his money?’

'我对此一无所知。我不认为他是一个大学人。他曾暗示自己曾在国外接受过教育。看来认识很多好人啊。他的妹妹费尼莫尔夫人住在温布尔登。不久前我和西比尔在那儿吃饭。一两个有头衔的人，一个牧师，等等；极其令人尊敬，但又乏味——这种陪伴让我想站起来大喊大叫。雷德格雷夫在房子附近的某个地方为自己建造了一座他所谓的平房。但我没有看到。

“你在考文垂很不错吗？”罗尔夫问道。

'断断续续地。刚沉没十天了。如果可以的话，我应该踏踏实实做生意。我曾经认为我无法适应这类工作，但一个人在尝试之前永远不知道自己能做什么。我无法忍受什么都不做；这让我很震惊。我抽烟太多，喝太多酒，经常争吵，希望自己在世界的另一边。但住在那边是不可能的；我不能要求西比尔这么做。

“那你就让她一个人呆着吗？”

卡纳比做出了不安的动作。

“上个月她到处走访；现在她妈妈希望她去文特诺。最好她不应该这样。他们互相憎恨——不能一天不吵架地在一起。故障在哪一边很明显。我不认为有很多女人比西比尔脾气更好。我们结婚以来，我们经历过的一切，我从来没有在她脸上看到过不愉快的表情—— me， 那是。能说出这样的话，也是一件很了不起的事情。拉克菲尔德夫人简直无法忍受。她总是要么抱怨，要么愤怒。除了钱的损失，什么也不能说。

“这让我想起了，”哈维插话道。 “你知道似乎有机会从这艘巨大的沉船中得到一些东西吗？”

'什么？谁这么说的？

'太太。弗罗廷汉姆。当然，债权人是第一位的。你的妻子是债权人还是股东？

“为什么，两者都有。”

'那么不久之后她可能会听到一些声音。我并不假装理解这件禽兽般的事情，但弗罗廷厄姆太太前天写信给我们谈起这件事，暗示每英镑十八便士，她似乎认为这很光荣。

卡纳比厌恶地咆哮。

“见鬼的十八便士！”好吧，也许可以给她买一顶帽子。我告诉你，罗尔夫，当我将西比尔与她的母亲进行比较时，我几乎觉得她对这个世界来说太好了。假设她结果 这 有点女人！结局会怎样呢？谋杀，很有可能。但她承担了所有金钱的损失，就像我们的房子被盗时她损失了珠宝和其他东西一样——从来没有改变过。我告诉你，有一个值得骄傲的女孩！

他如此强烈地坚持这一点，以至于人们可能会想象他内心深处对妻子的完美性存有怀疑。

“这真是一件非常奇怪的事情，”罗尔夫看着他的酒说道，“那些小偷竟然全身而退——他们偷走的任何东西都没有被追踪到。这样的例子不会有很多。

“我对此有一个理论。”休半闭着眼睛，看上去既精明又凶狠。 “女人本人——管家——此刻正在社会的某个地方活动。她不是白教堂小偷。我们住在一起的人中有一个组织。如果我出去吃饭，很可能我坐在窃贼或伪造者或任何你喜欢的东西旁边。警察从来没有察觉到这一点，在许多其他抢劫案中也是如此。也许有一天，将会有一个令人震惊的丑闻曝光——十几名男女从贝尔格莱维亚和梅费尔游行到纽盖特。我敢肯定！对于我们这样的文明，你还能指望什么呢？好吧，我应该再次认识那个女人，如果我发现自己带她去吃晚饭的话——”

哈维哈哈大笑。

“我告诉你我是认真的，”另一个生气地说。 '我 知道 这就是它的解释！善良诚实的人还有很多，但他们却不可避免地混入地球上最卑鄙的人群之中。这就是为什么我不喜欢我的妻子结识新朋友。 她 不会受到任何伤害，但我不愿去想她可能会遇到的人。麦金托什告诉我，伦敦的一位女士经营着一座大房子，招待各种各样的人，而她的丈夫知道钱从哪里来。他不会提及她的名字，因为天哪，他自己也为这家机构的开支出过钱！那是三四年前的事了，当时他有钱，花光了。据我所知，西比尔可能会去那里——我不能告诉她这些事情，如果我告诉她，她也不会相信我。她是一个理想主义者——通过诗歌和哲学看待一切。如果我玷污了她的思想，我就是个畜生。而且，我说，老兄，你的妻子和她为什么不多见面呢？只是距离吗？

“恐怕与此有关。”哈维回答道，试图用自然的语气说道。

'对不起。他们俩对于常人社会来说都太好了。我祈求上帝我们四个人都能到塔斯马尼亚一个我熟悉的地方去，过上诚实、干净、理性的生活！无法管理。你的妻子有她的音乐；西比尔有她的书等等——”

“顺便说一句，你认识斯特兰奇韦斯太太吗？”

'我知道 of 她。'

“但也没什么好处？”

'没有什么特别的伤害。西比尔见过她一些，但我认为他们现在没有见面。你妻子认识她吗？ “她到处都见过她：你和我在这一点上很相似。我们受不了客厅，所以我们的妻子不得不自己走动。男人理所当然地注视着妻子的出入的日子已经过去了。如果我们尝试过的话，我们只会自取其辱。这是新世界，我的孩子；我们生活在其中，必须充分利用它。

休·卡纳比喝的酒比午餐时喝的酒还要多。这使他兴奋地对一般事物进行激烈的谴责。他抱怨被迫闲着，除非他能去考文垂。

“我一整天都在闲逛，实际上什么也没做。什么 应该 我愿意？我不是一个喜欢读书的人；现在我不能进行太多的运动；我不喜欢台球。我想要手里有一把斧头！

他漫不经心地打着手势，把桌上的酒杯扫了下来。

'那儿——该死！说明我们已经坐得够久了。来和西比尔说话，让她给你一杯茶。你永远不会见到她——永远不会；但她对你的评价比我们认识的任何其他男人都要好。来吧，让我们逃离这可怕的空气。这个地方充满了洋葱味。

他们去了牛津和剑桥大厦，罗尔夫在那里度过了一段时光，直到他不得不离开去见塞西尔·莫菲。西比尔非常友善，但也温和地责备她。阿尔玛为什么抛弃她？为什么哈维本人从来没有过来？

“我常常很孤独，罗尔夫先生，因此我变得越来越有学问。看看这些书。你不想对我说一句钦佩的话吗？

有一本克罗和卡瓦尔卡塞莱的书，西蒙兹的《文艺复兴》，本韦努托的《回忆录》原著之一。

“我情不自禁地沉迷于旧世界，”她甜蜜地说。 “休像个好孩子一样原谅了我；我知道你不仅会原谅，而且会同情。

当然，没有提及休·卡纳比的事。雷德格雷夫的名字没有被提及。有人认为，西比尔在自己的客厅里会拒绝承认生活中的粗俗必需品。如果破产即将来临，她也会以同样完美的平静来忽略它。一个难以捉摸的女人，她可以看着一个人，微笑着，却不会透露出她真实想法的最细微的暗示。

在去俱乐部的路上，哈维对雷德格雷夫的奇怪行为感到困惑。为什么一个处于这种地位的人应该自愿向一家名不见经传、陷入困境的公司提供金钱援助呢？这对休·卡纳比来说是真正的友谊吗？这听起来是最不可能的。也许雷德格雷夫，像他世界上的大多数人一样，看起来比他实际上更富有，并且在麦金托什的生意中看到了合理的盈利希望。在这种情况下，如果这种担忧开始蔓延，卡纳比的一位老朋友难道不会为他的资本找到一份利润丰厚的工作吗？

他一直极其蔑视那些让自己被人为的必需品所束缚、担心、拖累的人。他自己会成为这种社会病的受害者吗？他是否会毫无抵抗力地被卷入泥泞的漩涡，在胡言乱语的幻影中打转，带着愚蠢的自负的笑容放弃自己，或者绝望地抓住徒劳的希望？他回忆起他在山海之间的宁静生活；他早年的自由，在寂静土地的阳光下徘徊。当然，只需要一点常识，一点决定，就能使自己摆脱这股汹涌的潮流。对阿尔玛说一句话——这还不够吗？但他最害怕的是被指责为卑鄙、自私。这一直是他的弱点：在年轻时，几乎是毁灭的原因；在年轻时，这几乎是他毁灭的原因。在后来的生活中，促使他做出无数的不真诚和愚蠢的事情。

然而，危险还只是威胁。他有偿债能力；他还有储备。他所应该做的只是避免投机的风险，并以自然、不引人注目的方式抑制当今普遍存在的奢侈生活的倾向。这种温和的男子气概难道不能靠自己吗？

塞西尔·莫菲虽然在所有其他方面都与休·卡纳比不同，但他的脸却像休一样过早地衰老了。面色疲倦，眼睛凹陷；当他上前来迎接他的朋友时，他的表情混合着不满和渴望，时而鬼鬼祟祟，时而乐观，但在仍然年轻的微笑中失去了最糟糕的特征。年复一年，他仍固守着昔日的爱情希望，但他不再以同样冲动的坦率谈论它。他并没有回避这个话题——事实上，他是自愿提出这个话题的，但是带着羞愧的犹豫。不久前，他在一封信中宣称，他不值得任何好女人的爱，这表明了他性格中明显的污点。毫无疑问，这是很常见的事情；哈维·罗尔夫很容易就猜到了这一点，尽管他无法得知这个人的未来受到了多大的损害。今天，莫菲首先谈论了一位充满希望的男高音。他手里有一点钱；他设想了一个赚更多钱的项目。当他们的饮食进展为机密披露扫清了道路时，莫菲开始暗示他的计划。

“你听我说过登博吗？”这是一个给他上摄影课的人。一家摄影器材经销商，在威斯敏斯特桥路设有一家商店。 “他是一个非常正派的人，但一切都取决于他。他的妻子喝酒了，而他在赌博中输了钱，现在他想清盘——卖掉他的生意并离开。他来找我，为弄坏了一些底片而道歉——他时不时地帮我冲印一下，并告诉我他打算做什么。我知道有人可能会抢走他的店吗？

哈维笑了。

“在我看来，你和很多奇怪的人在一起。”

“哦，我向你保证，登博绝对是一位绅士。他在查特豪斯学院接受教育，但我相信，他以常见的方式出丑了。但关于他的事。我见过很多这样的场景，进进出出，与他们交谈，我对摄影的了解和大多数业余爱好者一样多——你承认这一点吧，罗尔夫？

确实，他的摄影技术已经超出了普通人的水平。确实，要不是这个在他绝望的日子里高兴地发现的资源，他可能早就从人们的视线中消失了。

登博的推销员是一个非常诚实和能干的人——霍布克拉夫特，他的名字。他在这家店已经工作了三四年了，非常乐意继续经营这家​​生意，但他无法筹集资金，而登博必须有现金。现在的事实是，我想自己买下那家公司。”

'我懂了。那人要什么？

莫菲有点坐立不安。

“嗯，目前库存不多——根本没有应有的库存。”登博已经下山了；他及时制止了自己。当我第一次认识他时，他表现得相当不错。对于这类商店来说，这是一个很好的位置。你知道，成群结队的人沿着威斯敏斯特桥路来回走动，而且很多人都是从事摄影的人——更好的职员，以及住在南郊的商人。摄影也正在如此进行。我有各种各样的想法。人们可能会推动印刷业的发展，并为业余爱好者提供暗室，并偶然发现一台新的手持相机，甚至可能会创办一份报纸，称之为 相机注意事项，或类似的东西。别微笑着露出怀疑的表情——”

'一点也不。在我看来，这是我从你那里听到的最好的建议。

'也这样觉得？我对此感到非常高兴。你知道，罗尔夫，像我这样的人——体面的家庭、公立学校等等——自然会回避开店。但我已经到了这样的地步：我不在乎我做什么，只要它能诚实地给我带来稳定的收入就好了。即使在刚开始的时候，我也应该能够从这项业务中赚到几百美元。

“你平时有谈过这件事吗？”

“不，我没有。”塞西尔的脸色沉了下来。 “如果我有一个成功的开始，我就应该这样做。但我说了这么多，我感到羞愧。她可能不太明白；也许她会认为我正在堕落——堕落——”

“她父亲怎么样了？”

'既不好也不坏。那个人还要再过十年才能死去——看看他是否不这​​样做。嗯，我们已经习惯了。我们都不再年轻了；我们已经失去了生命中最美好的部分。而这一切又是为了什么呢？因为我们没有足够的钱买比我们需要的大三倍的房子！我们浪费了两条生命，因为我们无法养活另外五十个人，而我们根本不在乎他们！难道不是这样吗？

'毫无疑问。登博问什么？

“库存为两百英镑；商店设备，五十；按照目前的情况，说三百。房租是九十五。商店上面的楼层租给了一个家庭，他们每周支付二十四先令——这是一笔可观的租金抵销；但我想摆脱这些人，并将整个房子用于商业目的。登博的租约还有三年，但他表示，房东愿​​意将其转为七年租约给新租户。然后，人们必须在新的开始时允许一些东西进行修理等。好吧，再加上购买一点新货，比如说另外一百五十英镑。粗略地说，我应该有大约五百英镑来解决这件事。

“你有钱吗？”

'不完全的;我有——好吧，我可以说三百。我不是在谈论我自己的私人收入；而是在谈论我自己的收入。当然，一切都像往常一样进行，对于普通开支来说，一分钱也不算多……”他又坐立不安了。 “你想知道我是怎么赚到这笔钱的吗？”

“如果你愿意告诉我的话。”

“是的，我会的，只是为了向你展示一个人被驱使去做的事情。两年前，我病了——肺部充血——觉得自己应该死了。那时你在威尔士。我派人去找特里普科尼，让他为我立遗嘱——你知道，他在开办对赌行之前曾是一名律师。当我渡过难关后，有一天特里普来了，说他为我找到了一份工作。顺便说一句，你会小心的，更不用说这个了。这项工作是让某家报纸的城市编辑（我非常熟悉的一个人）刊登有关某家公司的破坏性谣言。你会想知道我是如何做到这一点的。嗯，只是因为那家公司董事长的儿子是我的朋友，而《都市报》的编辑也知道这一点。如果我能插入这段文字，Tripcony 不会付给我任何钱，但会给我一些提示，让我购买他保证会上涨的某些股票。好吧，我承担了这项工作，而且我成功了，特里普也言出必行。我通过 Trip 买了我敢买的东西，请注意，他不让我看到封面，我认为这很可疑，尽管这只是商业习惯。我以 75 的价格买入，结算日报价为平价。我想再看一遍，但特里普摇了摇头。嗯，我赚了将近五百。这是我经历过的最放荡的事情；但我想要钱。停下来，这只是故事的一半。就在那时，我遇到了一个想创办一家专有俱乐部的人。他在黄金广场附近租了一套房子，但没有足够的钱来装修它并让俱乐部继续运转。好吧，我加入了他，并投入了四百英镑；在一年半的时间里，我们做得还不错。然后是一声粉碎；一天晚上，警察突击搜查了这个地方，我的伴侣去了地方法官面前。我的鞋子发抖，但我的名字从未被提及。最终只被罚了五十英镑，当然我也罚了一半。然后我们以两百美元的价格卖掉了俱乐部，包括家具和所有东西，而我发现自己所拥有的——我现在所拥有的，还不到三百美元。”

“我的孩子，你一直在努力，”罗尔夫眉毛阴沉地说道。

'这就是我告诉你的。我想摆脱所有这些事情。现在，我怎样才能诚实地得到两三百呢？我认为登博会收取比他所说的更少的现金。但我保证，这批股票价值两百。”

“你有第一个报价吗？”

“直到后天——周一。”

“明天是周日——这很尴尬。没关系。如果我早上过来，你能带我去那个地方，让我和你一起去看一下，看看登博和店主吗？

'我当然会！'莫菲高兴地说。 '这一切都是光明正大的。这是一笔非常好的生意；这仅取决于男人。哎呀，登博一年内仅为业余爱好者印刷的作品就赚了两百本。是他自己的错，他没有坚持下去。我发誓，罗尔夫，只要有资本、辛勤工作和敏锐的洞察力，这个地方就能实现 此 泰晤士河南岸的那种建立。哎呀，没有理由不能在很短的时间内一年赚到一千。”

“登博愿意展出他的书吗？”

“当然是。”我见过他们。你知道，这不是投机。诚实、正直的生意。

“你打算自己承担哪一部分？”

“嘿，登博的部分——没有赌注。”我将尽我所能去从事这项事业；日夜工作。看这里，罗尔夫。这并不是说我没有任何安全感可以提供。你看，我有我的私人收入；这让我对刚刚起步的普通商人有所帮助。假设我借三四五百英镑；为什么，我有能力将股票或收据（任何类似的东西）交给贷方。如果是简单的贷款，我会提供百分之四的利率。

“你会留下这个人——他叫什么名字？”

'霍布工艺。果断。没有他就不行。他每周的收入是三十五先令。

哈维站起身来，带路走向吸烟室。他的同伴已经变成了一个新人；兴奋的光芒让他看上去更加健康，说话也更像以前的塞西尔·莫菲，罗尔夫在布鲁塞尔的酒店里认识了他，并与他成为了朋友。

“从事这种生意没有什么可羞耻的。我确信如果她父亲死了就好了 她 不会介意的。——啊，罗尔夫，要是她和我，我们俩，都多​​一点勇气就好了！你知道我怎么想吗？世界上造成最大伤害的是弱者。他们当然受苦，但他们也让别人受苦。如果我像 您——啊，如果我像 您！'哈维笑了。

回来后，他向阿尔玛详细讲述了他所听到和所做的一切。休·卡纳比的好运故事让她非常感兴趣。她引出了哈维所获悉的每一个细节；提出精明的问题；但她却表现出一种只是为了消遣而听的神情。

“你认为雷德格雷夫可能会做这样的事吗？”罗尔夫问道。

哦，我根本不了解他。他一直是西比尔的朋友——所以，当然——”

她声音低了下去，但旋即又问道。

“你说雷德格雷夫先生去考文垂看他了？”

'是的。我想，雷德格雷夫一定是从西比尔那里听说他在那里的。

“那是两天前的事了？”

“所以卡纳比说——为什么？”

“有人——哦，我想是雷纳·曼夫人，昨天——说雷德格雷夫先生在巴黎。”

塞西尔·莫菲的事情对她来说兴趣不大。但当哈维说他明天还要进城去看看威斯敏斯特桥路的那家商店时，她用一种奇怪的微笑看着他。

“你肯定不会卷入这种事情吧？”

“这可能有利可图。”他非常平静地回答。 “而且——人们不想失去任何这样的机会——就在现在——”

他不愿与她对视；但阿尔玛在他的脸上寻找着这些话的含义，这些话显然是那么沉重。

“你有一点不安吗，哈维？”

“一点也没有——一点也没有，”他内心的虚弱回答道。 “我只是想说，如果我们要移除——”

他们沉默地坐了五分多钟。从她的表情可以看出，阿尔玛的大脑运转得非常快。当他进来时，她看起来很困。现在她因生动的意识而激动不已。人们会认为她全神贯注于解决某个令人兴奋的问题。她接下来的话出乎意料。

“哈维，如果你说的让我跟随自己的直觉是认真的，我想我应该决定碰碰运气——举办一场公开演奏会。”

他看了她一眼，没有回答。

“我们做了一笔交易——不是吗？”她继续说下去，语速很快，紧张，努力发出俏皮的声音。 “休伊要去艾伯特夫人那里，我会注意你所说的关于熟人选择的事情。”

“但肯定这些事情都不能成为我们之间讨价还价的主题吗？难道你对两者的兴趣至少不等于我的兴趣吗？

“是的——我知道——当然。这只是一种开玩笑的说法。

“坦白地告诉我”——他现在看着她——“你对休吉接受阿博特夫人的教育有没有任何理由的反对？”如果是这样，请让我们来解决这个问题。

“亲爱的，我一点儿也不反对。”阿尔玛回答道，她稍微挺直了身子，极其坦率地回应他的目光。 '我怎么能有呢？你认为艾伯特夫人会比我更好地教他，这一点你是对的。我没有教学天赋。我没有太多耐心——除了音乐。从各方面来说，他最好去找艾伯特夫人。我对她充满信心，而我不应该对一个陌生人有这种信心。”

哈维缓缓地点了点头，似乎有更重要的事情要说。但他只问了孩子今晚感冒怎么样。阿尔玛回答说，这既不是更好也不是更坏。她心不在焉地说话。

“你主要依靠谁的鼓励？”罗尔夫的下一个问题是。

“二十个人！”

“我说的是‘原则上’。”

“维伦斯基先生经常称赞我；他并没有放弃他的赞美。还有你自己，哈维，你最后不是说我无疑和大多数专业人士一样优秀吗？

‘I don’t think I used quite those words; and, to tell you the truth, it had never entered my head that you would take them for encouragement to such a step as this.’

阿尔玛微笑着朝他弯下腰。

'我明白。你觉得我还不够好。现在说实话，说实话！她举起一根手指——但她没能保持稳定。

'是的，你应该知道真相。这件事太严重了，不适合装腔作势。我自己的判断完全没有价值；它既不冒犯也不鼓励你。但对我来说很明显的是，你不应该梦想出现在公众面前，除非维伦斯基，也许还有其他同等或更高地位的人，实际上敦促你这样做。现在，他做过这样的事吗？

她脸红了，几乎没有试图掩饰她的烦恼。

“这只能说明，哈维，你不想让我出来。”

‘现在，讲点道理吧。它不是 仅由 意思是；事实上，我可以诚实地说，根本不是这个意思。如果维伦斯基明明白白地告诉你，你应该成为一名职业小提琴家，没有人会像我那么衷心地祝你好运。但如果只是“二十个人”的鼓励，那就没什么意义了。我只是以你最好的朋友的身份说话。不要冒可怕失望的风险。我知道你不会觉得那么容易忍受——这对你来说在各方面都不好。

哈维在恼怒的驱使下——因为这个项目在他看来是虚幻的，他的尊严感与它作对——开始时做出了不寻常的决定，但他很快就感到不安和自我批评；他努力地说话，徒劳地与阿尔玛性格中的那种早就征服了他的特殊力量作斗争。当他看着她，看到她遥远的微笑，看到她温和地斥责放肆的头部姿势时，他感到一种庄严的无能感。他完全没有意识到他的最后一句话对阿尔玛来说是他的忠告中最令人印象深刻的——唯一令人印象深刻的——部分，他突然停了下来，在意想不到的笑声中找到了解脱。

“现在，我已经完成了我的职责——我已经解除了教师的职务。摘掉你悲惨的面具。做你自己;你爱怎么做就怎么做。到时候，请告诉我你的决定。”

因此，他再一次用他想象中的更成熟的智慧推翻了常识。一个人不能把事情当作葬礼。面对一个风华正茂的女子，他听到一个声音在警告他，不要有中年的迂腐精神，不要形式主义，不要墨守成规。

“现在我又认识你了，”阿尔玛语气软化了，但仍然有所保留。因为她没有忘记，他对她作为艺术家的自称提出了质疑——当她闲暇思考时，这件事不会失去其重要性。

哈维坐得很晚。上楼时，他没有直接走进自己的房间，而是迈着轻柔的步伐走过，在另一扇门前停了下来，那扇门是休吉在史密斯小姐照顾下睡觉的房间。上周孩子晚上咳嗽了。但现在一切都很安静，父亲放心地去休息了。

阿尔玛的事情​​比孩子的小病更重要。当她在火边慢慢地脱下长袍，梳理她温暖、芬芳、波纹状的长发，或者用眼睛对着玻璃进行无言的对话时，她从一团乱七八糟的不安思绪中解脱出来，首先也是最重要的是，雷德格雷夫发现当斯特兰奇威斯太太说他在巴黎时，他并不在巴黎。这个矛盾的意义何在？雷德格雷夫回家的时间恰好是她和斯特兰奇威夫人恰好在家的时间，这真是巧合。她本以为这是一个巧合，仅此而已。但如果雷德格瑞夫在自己的行动上欺骗了斯特兰奇韦斯太太，那么这次意外的到来就具有了可疑的意义。仍然存在一种黑暗的可能性：斯特兰奇韦斯太太知道将要发生什么。但这似乎是不可想象的。

是不是觉得不可思议？为什么一个那个年纪、经验丰富的女人要独自前往朋友家执行如此简单的任务而感到紧张呢？当时觉得很奇怪，越想越难以理解。人们在某种社会中听到了如此奇怪的故事，有如此之多的低声暗示，暗示着一些不值得谈论的事情。

雷德格雷夫当时不在巴黎，而是在考文垂。又出现了令人费解的情况。哈维本人在听到雷德格雷夫与休·卡纳比建立合作伙伴关系时表示惊讶。西比尔与这件事有什么关系吗？她是否可以向她的百万富翁朋友暗示她丈夫的财务状况根本不令人满意，并让雷德格雷夫出于纯粹的友谊——当然，出于纯粹的友谊——赶紧来救助他们？

这种困惑几乎和之前的困惑一样令人不安。阿尔玛了解这个有钱人，她觉得把他的名字和西比尔的名字如此紧密地联系在一起很不舒服。复杂意义上的不愉快；因为她开始认为赛勒斯·雷德格雷夫与她自己的野心密切相关，秘密的和公开的。他要帮助她赢得小提琴家的声誉。为此，她必须（在一定限度内）利用她对他拥有的权力。阿尔玛毫不掩饰这一立场的真实本质。她这是在玩火；知道;享受其中的兴奋；她完全有信心从比赛中毫发无伤地走出来。但她确信其他女性在类似的情况下也与赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫有过大致相同的遭遇。能否想象西比尔·卡纳比就是其中之一——西比尔，一位有文化、有崇高原则的女人，社会的批评家——西比尔，她长期以来一直向她致敬，就像向她的性别中的选民之一致敬一样？她完全相信，雷德格雷夫可能会怀着无法无天的想法接近西比尔，这种可能性激起了她的愤慨。西比尔会按照他自己的条件与他会面，她一刻也不敢相信，但她第一次听到了叛徒的声音，嫉妒的声音。

他们在哪里见面以及多久见面一次？问这个问题，是触及另一个不满的动机。自从回到伦敦生活后，阿尔玛就对自己的社会地位感到不满。她是一位有独立经济能力的绅士的妻子。理论上，所有的圈子都应该对她开放。实际上，她发现自己在选择熟人方面受到很大限制。哈维暗示她应该小心她去的地方和她认识的人；她承认这个警告是公正的，但这只会激怒她，反对它的必要性。那么，她的丈夫为什么不努力为她争取更好的社会呢？显然，他永远不会朝那个方向迈出一步。他有两三个朋友，觉得有他们就足够了。他希望看到她与艾伯特夫人非常亲密——也许可以帮助教导婴儿有关幼儿园系统的知识！依靠她自己的资源，除了拒绝明显不受欢迎的联系之外，她无能为力。她知道，西比尔与地位高得多的人交往，只是出于好奇，想窥探她朋友所限制的世界。在这方面他们之间一直存在着细微的差距，以前阿尔玛没有抱怨，就接受了这一点。但为什么西比尔本可以在社会上提供帮助的时候，却表现出一种冷漠的态度呢？ “当然，你对这种人一点也不关心，”卡纳比夫人在漫不经心地提到了她曾经拜访过的某个“好”家庭的乡间别墅后说道。这或许是一种恭维，暗指阿尔玛的“简单生活”理论。但是，面对这样一个显而易见的事实：这些理论已被彻底抛弃，这对阿尔玛来说听起来是一种羞辱性的讽刺。

难道西比尔害怕被询问，不敢让别人知道她与已故的班尼特·弗罗辛厄姆的女儿关系密切——这个名字在报纸和其他地方仍然经常被提及？这种可能性的阴影此时已经在阿尔玛的脑海中掠过。她想要将其确定为必然，并沉溺于自然而然产生的怨恨。因为最近不止一次，在雷纳·曼夫人家或类似的房子里，她幻想有人和另一个人以一种不太奉承的方式看着她，并且私下里交换了关于她的评论。也许哈维本人认为她的出身是一个社交障碍，这使他不愿意扩大他们的共同熟人圈子。他今晚的严肃神态就是这个意思吗？他是否因为想到要公开她的婚前姓氏而感到恼火？

这些不安的感觉汇集在一起​​，带着她浑浊地走向她的欲望所指向的地方。以一种方式，也只有一种方式，她才能希望变得胜利地引人注目，使自己超越琐碎的社会偏见，击败不怀好意的人，让胆怯的朋友感到羞愧。她从来都无法忍受平庸的想法。有一次机会；她必须全力以赴、毫不拖延地抓住它。她必须利用一切辅助手段来完成她的伟大征服——只保留最后的耻辱。

阿尔玛毫不怀疑，凭借自己的优点，她可能会跻身第一流的音乐家行列。她的困难在于，她认为可能需要很长的时间、一场令人厌烦的斗争才能获得普遍的认可，只有这样才能让她满意。因此，必须让赛勒斯·雷德格雷夫发挥他的全部影响力，她认为这会对她有很大帮助。因此，菲利克斯·戴姆斯也必须继续作为她的热情朋友，或许（他自己的建议）作为她的生意人。

那是一月份。她的“演奏会”必须在即将到来的五月或六月举行。她会立即草拟一个计划——明天早上——然后工作、工作、工作得非常出色！

阿尔玛被这种决心的热情从沉思于神秘和嫉妒中解救出来，心满意足地叹了口气，躺了下来，很快就睡着了，这要归功于她仍然享有的健康。她的兴奋来自于想象，而不是血液，凉爽的淋巴流动，典型的女性气质，与乐观的幽默感混合在一起，也许可以追溯到父亲的来源，使她免于许多小时的清醒，因为它保护她免受许多伤害。更严重的危险。

周日早上她通常会去教堂——不是因为任何精神上的冲动，而是出于习惯。在威尔士，哈维经常陪伴她。在平纳他不再这样做了。但无论是当时还是现在，他们之间都没有就这个话题进行过任何讨论。阿尔玛理所当然地认为她的丈夫在信仰问题上非常“广泛”。她从阅读中得知，如今每个受过教育的人都放弃了教条，而就她自己而言，她没有试图通过明显的自由思想来吸引人们的注意，这只是一个意外。西比尔·卡纳比理所当然地去教堂，从不支持或反对正统观念。如果西比尔在这方面更“先进”，毫无疑问阿尔玛早就会效仿她的榜样了。她们俩在少女时代都接受过大量直接的宗教教义——如果有人要求他们以他们假定的信条的名义做出哪怕是最轻微的牺牲，两人都会感到惊讶。

然而，今天早上，阿尔玛留在家里，她做的第一件事就是写信给西比尔，询问她的朋友什么时候方便给她进行半小时的私人谈话。然后她写信给菲利克斯·戴姆斯，将这封信交给他的出版商。中午，哈维和塞西尔·莫菲进城出差，她决定跑到金斯伯里-尼斯登请她的朋友们吃午饭，作为回报，她会让他们知道她的惊人项目。这是不幸的一天。休吉绝对不能出去，宝琳——好人——整个下午都会以这样那样的方式逗他开心。

碰巧的是，她突然来访的时机再糟糕不过了，因为前一天，利奇夫人与她的厨师兼管家发生了一场激烈的争吵，而她的厨师兼管家一接到通知就离开了家，她当时正处于崩溃的状态。午餐，从这个词的可接受的意义上来说，没有什么可吃的。周六下午，利奇先生到达时，发现这所房子无法忍受，于是就回到了他的单身汉宿舍，当阿尔玛出现时，女孩们正独自坐下来，享受女仆选择给她们的东西。但这样的老朋友，不能因为家庭变故而被拒绝。

直到他们吃完不满意的饭菜，在客厅里舒适地待着，阿尔玛才透露了她的伟大目的。多拉·利奇（Dora Leach）碰巧与一位最近出现在公众面前的专业钢琴家有一点认识，阿尔玛开始询问她的朋友是否可以获得那位女士第一次“独奏会”费用的信息。

“恐怕我不太了解她，”利奇小姐回答道。 '这是为了什么？你在想——？真的吗？你 真 are?’

姐妹俩高兴极了。好主意！他们担心这是不可能的。哦，她可以肯定地指望取得辉煌的成功！他们开始谈论这个计划。那么她会聘请哪些专业人士来参加演唱会呢？当阿尔玛提到著名的菲利克斯·戴姆斯 (Felix Dymes) 愿意接管她的生意时，大家的兴趣上升到了最高点。菲利克斯·戴姆斯当然是一座力量之塔。尽管阿尔玛很想谈论她可能期望从另一位伟人那里得到的支持，但她还是忍住了。她的理由是，她打算让多拉下周六陪她去水晶宫。几乎可以肯定的是，如果雷德格瑞夫在那里遇见了他们，那么让多拉猜测这次会面并非偶然，那将是令人不快的。

他们聊了两三个小时，除其他外，还为他们认识的一个致力于职业生涯的女孩（与赤贫作斗争）开玩笑。

“如果能告诉她，她根本没有机会，那真是太好了，”朵拉说。但人们不能这样做。前几天她在这里给我们演奏——哦，因为 这样 一次！她说她的弓必须重新修毛，当我看它时，我发现青蛙附近全是油腻的、黑色的，都是她肮脏的手指造成的；它只是想洗。我刚刚设法暗示了有关肥皂和水的信息。但她非常敏感；人们必须对她非常小心。

格尔达插话道：“你知道，和那些如此如此的人交谈是非常尴尬的。” 贫困——不是吗？有一天，我们发现她正在为他们的晚餐削土豆皮！这让人很不舒服——她真的不需要提到这一点。

讨论了公共大厅。阿尔玛会选择哪个？然后又是节目。她会演奏慢板吗？——当然是指斯波尔的第九协奏曲。不， 没有;不是慢板——无论如何也不是慢板！巴赫的一些东西？——是的；也许是恰空。勃拉姆斯呢？还有为小提琴和钢琴而作的A大调奏鸣曲。一首僵硬的曲子，但一定不能太受欢迎——但愿不会受到廉价的掌声！三人组怎么样？不久前在圣詹姆斯大厅德沃夏克的那个东西是什么？是的，降B三重奏——钢琴、小提琴和大提琴。至少有二十多个片段被记下来，有些是凭记忆，有些是从旧节目中挑选出来的，其中多拉制作了一个很棒的作品集。终于有人打扰了——一个仆人进来说，利奇夫人感觉很不舒服，她希望叫来医生。

“哦，烦妈妈和她的病！”当入侵者被挥走时，活泼的格尔达大声说道。 “这都是无稽之谈，你知道。她会和仆人吵架，让自己陷入困境。它必须是一个寄宿处；我看到它每天都在逼近。

与朵拉约好下周六，阿尔玛就请了假，兴高采烈地回家了。一切似乎都在计划之中。时间已经到来，命运的时刻已经到来。毫无疑问，她等待这么久是明智的。如果她在她父亲的悲剧发生一年左右后就站出来，人们可能会说她是在利用粗俗的轰动；那样会显得品味很差；必要性似乎会催促她。现在，这样的言论是不可能的了。哈维·罗尔夫夫人的声音听起来比阿尔玛·弗罗辛厄姆小姐好得多。顺便问一下，是要叫“夫人”，还是应该称呼自己为“夫人”？人们确实使用了“夫人”，即使是英文名字。罗尔夫夫人？哈维·罗尔夫夫人？这让她笑了。这有点荒唐可笑。它让人联想到女帽而不是音乐。最好拒绝这种愚蠢的矫揉造作，大胆地使用她的正确名字。

当然，可以预见的是，一般人很快就会发现她的娘家姓氏。窃窃私语四起；事实甚至可能登上报纸。出色地？她自己并没有做过任何值得羞耻的事，如果好奇心帮助她取得了成功，那更好了。十有八九它 将 帮助她;但她并没有细想这个偶然的鼓励。斯特兰奇韦斯夫人提到她的个人优势，这也揭示了一个更合理的希望来源。她长得并不难看；在这一点上，不需要阿谀奉承者的保证。如果说她的容貌有什么不同的话，那就是她的容貌有所改善，这可能归功于她对“简单”的尝试，归功于山间和大海的空气。菲利克斯·戴姆斯、赛勒斯·雷德格瑞夫，更不用说其他某些人了——无论如何。尽管如此，她必须高度重视着装问题。按照惯例，她的演奏会无疑会在下午举行。所以这不是一个案例 大年夜;但她的着装在同类中绝对是完美的。她能和西比尔谈谈吗？也许——但也许不是。她非常渴望见到西比尔，并觉得这很大程度上取决于他们即将到来的会面。

This took place on Tuesday; for Sibyl replied at once to the note, and begged her to come without delay. ‘Tuesday at twelve. I do little in these gloomy days but read—am becoming quite a bookworm. Why have you been silent so long? I was on the very point of writing to you, for I wish to see you particularly.’

当仆人打开门时，人们发现西比尔正以一个严厉的学生的姿态俯身在一张桌子上，桌子上放着许多书籍。如果她的服装出现任何疏忽或不恰当的地方，她就不是她自己了，但她穿着最不做作的晨礼服，靠近喉咙和手腕，这有助于她看起来精神集中和警觉。她兴致勃勃地站了起来，而来访者用她最敏锐的眼光审视着她的面容，发现首先垂下的是她自己的眼睛，而不是西比尔的眼睛。

“是的——工作就像我要通过考试一样。”我相信，在这样的天气里，这是最好的事情——保持健康。当然，你有你的音乐，它也能达到同样的目的。我要走向文艺复兴；一直想好好研究一下。休感到震惊；他没想到我有这么大的精力。他说我接下来要写一本书——为什么不呢？

“当然可以，”阿尔玛回答道。 “你很聪明，做任何事情都足够。”

在这个舒适的修道院里，她的怀疑消失了。她不知道自己怎么会对西比尔抱有这样的想法，她穿着如此朴素，有一种少女般的气质，有一种少女般的美丽。她为自己的雄心勃勃的希望而兴奋不已，她的内心转向了昔日的友谊，感到她的钦佩重新燃起，并畅所欲言。

“我知道我并不傻，”西比尔说，向后靠去，好像有点疲倦。 “遗憾的是，我从来没有更多地利用过我的大脑。当然，在国外的那些年我已经失去了，尽管我想我对这个世界有了更多的了解。自从我们回来之后，我的心就一直没有平静过。你猜到了吗？也许你丈夫从休那里知道了一些事情？

“我担心你会变得相当焦虑；但由于你自己从未说过任何话——”

“我根本不应该这样做——我讨厌谈论金钱。你知道事情看起来好多了吗？

Sibyl’s confident smile drew one of like meaning from Alma.

“我知道，当哈维周六见到你丈夫时，他带来了好消息。”

‘It sounds good,’ said Sibyl, ‘and I take it for granted it will be as good as it sounds. If that’s complicated, well, so is business, and I don’t profess to understand the details. I can only say that Hugh seems to be a good deal shrewder and more practical than I thought him. He is always making friends with what I consider the wrong kind of people; now at last he has got hold of just the right man, and it very much puzzles me how he did it. I have known Mr. Redgrave—you’ve heard it’s Mr. Redgrave?—I’ve known him for several years now, and, between ourselves, I never expected to benefit by the acquaintance.’

Her laugh was so significant that Alma had much ado to keep a steady face.

‘I know—things are said about him,’ she murmured.

‘Things ，那恭喜你， said about him, as you discreetly put it, my dear Alma.’ The voice still rippled with laughter. ‘I should imagine Hugh has heard them, but I suppose a man of the world thinks nothing of such trifles. And after all’—she grew serious—’I would rather trust Hugh’s judgment than general gossip. Hugh thinks him a “very good fellow”. They were together a little in Scotland last autumn, you know, and—it’s very wrong to make fun of it, and I shouldn’t repeat the story to anyone but you—Mr. Redgrave confided to him that he was a blighted being, the victim of an unhappy love in early life. Can you quite picture it?’

‘It has an odd sound,’ replied Alma, struggling with rather tense nerves. ‘Do you believe the story?’

‘I can’t see why in the world such a man should invent it. It seems he wanted to marry someone who preferred someone else; and since then he has——’

Sibyl rippled off again.

‘He has—what?’

‘Been blighted, my dear! Of course, people have different ways of showing blight. Mr. Redgrave, it is rumoured, hides his head in a hermitage, somewhere in the north of Italy, by one of the lakes. No doubt he lives on olives and macaroni, and broods over what 可能 have been. Did you ever hear of that hermitage?’

Alma’s colour heightened ever so little, and she kept her eyes on the questioner with involuntary fixedness. The last shadow of doubt regarding Sibyl having disappeared (no woman with an uneasy conscience, she said to herself, could talk in this way), she had now to guard herself against the betrayal of suspicious sensibilities. Sibyl, of course, meant nothing personal by these jesting allusions—how could she? But it was with a hard voice that Alma declared her ignorance of Mr. Redgrave’s habits, at home, or in retreat by Italian lakes.

‘It doesn’t concern us,’ agreed her friend. ‘He has chosen to put his money into Hugh’s business, and, from one point of view, that’s a virtuous action. Hugh says he didn’t suggest anything of the kind, but I fancy the idea must have been led up to at some time or other. The poor fellow has been horridly worried, and perhaps he let fall a word or two he doesn’t care to confess. However it came about, I’m immensely glad, both for his sake and my own. My mind is enormously relieved—and that’s how I come to be working at the Renaissance.’

Alma took the first opportunity of giving the conversation a turn. It was not so easy as she had anticipated to make her announcement; for, to her own mind, Cyrus Redgrave and the great ambition were at every moment suggestive of each other, and Sibyl, in this peculiar mood, might throw out disturbing remarks or ask unwelcome questions. Only one recent occurrence called for concealment. Happily, Sibyl no longer met Mrs. Strangeways (whose character had taken such a doubtful hue), and Redgrave himself could assuredly be trusted for discretion, whatever his real part in that perplexing scene at he bungalow.

‘I feel the same want as you do,’ said Alma, after a little transitional talk, ‘of something to keep me busy. Of course, it must be music; but music at home, and at other people’s homes, isn’t enough. You know my old revolt against the bonds of the amateur. I’m going to break out—or try to. What would you give for my chances?’

‘My dear, I am no capitalist,’ replied her friend, with animation. ‘For such a bargain as that you must go among the great speculators. Hugh’s experience seems to point to Mr. Redgrave.’

‘Sibyl, please be serious.’

‘So I am. I should like to have the purchase of your chances for a trifle of a few thousand pounds.’

Alma’s flush of discomposure (more traitorous than she imagined) transformed itself under a gratified smile.

‘You really think that I might do something worth the trouble?—I don’t mean money-making—though, of course, no one despises money—but a real artistic success?’

Sibyl made no half-hearted reply. She seemed in thorough agreement with those other friends of Alma’s who had received the project enthusiastically. A dozen tickets, at least a dozen, she would at once answer for. But, as though an unwelcome word must needs mingle with her pleasantest talk today, she went on to speak of Alma’s husband; what did he think of the idea?

‘He looks on, that’s all,’ Alma replied playfully. ‘If I succeed, he will be pleased; if I don’t, he will have plenty of consolation to offer. Harvey and I respect each other’s independence—the great secret of marriage, don’t you think? We ask each other’s advice, and take it or not, as we choose. I fancy he doesn’t quite like the thought of my playing for money. But if it were 必要 he would like it still less. He finds consolation in the thought that I’m just amusing myself.’

‘I wish you would both come over and dine with us quietly,’ said Sibyl, after reflecting, with a smile. ‘It would do us all good. I don’t see many people nowadays, and I’m getting rather tired of ordinary society; after all, it’s great waste of time. I think Hugh is more inclined to settle down and be quiet among his friends. What day would suit you?’

Alma, engrossed in other thoughts, named a day at random. Part of her scheme was still undisclosed: she had a special reason for wishing Sibyl to know of her relations with Felix Dymes, yet feared that she might not hit exactly the right tone in speaking of him.

‘Of course, I must have a man of business—and who do you think has offered his services?’

Sibyl was not particularly impressed by the mention of Dymes’s name; she had only a slight personal acquaintance with him, and cared little for his reputation as a composer.

‘I had a note from him this morning,’ Alma continued. ‘He asks me to see him today at the Apollo—the theatre, you know. They’re going to produce his comic opera, “Blue Roses”—of course, you’ve heard of it. I shall feel rather nervous about going there—but it’ll be a new experience. Or do you think it would be more discreet if I got him to come to Pinner?’

‘I didn’t think artists cared about those small proprieties,’ answered Sibyl, laughing.

‘No—of course, that’s the right way to regard it. Let me show you his letter.’ She took it from her little seal-skin bag. ‘A trifle impudent, don’t you think? Mr. Dymes has a great opinion of himself, and absolutely no manners.’

‘Well—if you can keep him in hand——’

They exchanged glances, and laughed together.

‘No fear of that,’ said Alma ‘And he’s just the kind of man to be very useful. His music—ah well! But he has popularity, and a great many people take him at his own estimate. Impudence does go a long way.’

Sibyl nodded, and smiled vaguely.

Dymes had suggested a meeting at three o’clock, and to this Alma had already given her assent by telegraph. She lunched with Mrs. Carnaby,—who talked a great deal about the Renaissance,—left immediately after, to visit a few shops, and drove up to the Apollo Theatre at the appointed time. Her name sufficed; at once she was respectfully conducted to a small electric-lighted room, furnished only with a table and chairs, and hung about with portraits of theatrical people, where Dymes sat by the fire smoking a cigarette. The illustrious man apologised for receiving her here, instead of in the manager’s room, which he had hoped to make use of.

‘Littlestone is in there, wrangling about something with Sophy Challis, and they’re likely to slang each other for an hour or two. Make yourself comfortable. It’s rather hot; take off those furry things.’

‘Thank you,’ replied Alma, concealing her nervousness with malapert vivacity, ‘I shall be quite comfortable in my own way. It is rather hot, and your smoke is rather thick, so I shall leave the door a little open.’

Dymes showed his annoyance, but could offer no objection.

‘We’re getting into shape for this day week. Littlestone calls the opera “Blue Noses”—it has been so confoundedly cold at rehearsals.’

Alma was seized by the ludicrous suggestion, and laughed without restraint; her companion joined in, his loud neigh drowning her more melodious merriment. This put them on natural terms of comradeship, and then followed a long, animated talk. Dymes was of opinion that the hiring of a hall and the fees of supplementary musicians might be defrayed out of the sale of tickets; but there remained the item of advertisement, and on this subject he had large ideas. He wanted ‘to do the thing properly’; otherwise he wouldn’t do it at all. But Alma was to take no thought for the cost; let it all be left to him.

‘You want to succeed? All right; let your fiddling be up to the mark, and I answer for the public. It’s all between you and me; you needn’t say who is doing the job for you. Ada Wellington comes off on May the 10th; I shall put you down for a fortnight later. That gives you nearly four months to prepare. Don’t overdo it; keep right in health; take plenty of exercise. You look very well now; keep it up, and you’ll knock ’em. I only wish it was the stage instead of the platform—but no use talking about that, I suppose?’

‘No use whatever,’ Alma replied, flushing with various emotions.

In the course of his free talk, it happened that he addressed her as ‘Alma’. She did not check him; but when the name again fell from his lips, she said quietly, with a straight look——

‘I think not. The proper name, if you please.’

Dymes took the rebuke good-humouredly. When their conversation was over, he wished her to go with him to a restaurant for tea; but Alma insisted on catching a certain train at Baker Street, and Dymes had to be satisfied with the promise of another interview shortly.

A visit was due from Mrs. Frothingham, who had not been seen at Pinner for more than six months. She would have come at New Year, but an attack of influenza upset her plans. Now she wrote to announce her arrival on Saturday.

‘I wish it had been Monday,’ said Alma; ‘I have to go to the Crystal Palace.’

‘Is it imperative?’ asked her husband.

‘Yes; there’s something new of Sterndale Bennett’s, and I’ve asked Dora.’

It seemed to Harvey that this arrangement might have been put aside without great inconvenience, but, as usual, he made no comment. As he would be in town on Saturday, he promised to meet their visitor at Waterloo. Alma, he thought, had never shown much gratitude for her step-mother’s constant kindness; during the past half-year she had now and then complained of the trouble of answering Mrs. Frothingham’s letters, and the news of illness at Basingstoke drew from her only a few words of conventional sympathy. To Hughie, who frequently received presents from ‘Grandmamma’, she rarely spoke of the affectionate giver. A remark of hers recently on some piece of news from Mrs. Frothingham bore an obvious suggestion.

‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘if a single person has been really benefited by all the money Mamma has given away? Isn’t it likely she has done much more harm than good?’

There was truth in his surmise that Alma sometimes thought with jealousy of Mrs. Frothingham’s having had control of a fortune, whilst she, the only child of him who made the money, possessed nothing of her own. The same trend of feeling appeared in a word or two of Alma’s, when a daily paper, in speaking of a paltry dividend offered at last to the creditors in one branch of Bennet Frothingham’s speculations, used a particularly bitter phrase.

‘I should have felt that once; now——’

In these days Alma suffered from a revival of the indignation which had so perturbed her in the time just before her marriage. If now she had possessed even a little money, it would have made her independent in a sense far more tangible than that of the friendly understanding with her husband. She strongly disliked the thought of making Harvey responsible for the expenses of her ‘recital’. Had it been possible to procure a small sum by any honest means, she would eagerly have turned to it; but no method seemed discoverable. On her journey homeward after the interview with Felix Dymes, her mind was full of the money question. What did Dymes mean by bidding her take no thought for expenses? Could it have occurred to his outrageous vanity that she might be persuaded to become his debtor, with implied obligation of gratitude?

Not with impunity could her thought accustom itself to stray in regions forbidden, how firm soever her resolve to hold bodily aloof. Alma’s imagination was beginning to show the inevitable taint. With Cyrus Redgrave she had passed from disdainful resentment, through phases of tolerance, to an interested flirtation, perilous on every side. In Felix Dymes she easily, perhaps not unwillingly, detected a motive like to Redgrave’s, and already, for her own purposes, she was permitting him to regard her as a woman not too sensitive, not too scrupulous. These tactics might not be pleasant or strictly honourable, but she fancied they were forced upon her. Alma had begun to compassionate herself—a dangerous situation. Her battle had to be fought alone; she was going forth to conquer the world by her mere talents, and can a woman disregard the auxiliary weapons of beauty? If Dymes chose to speculate in hopes ludicrously phantasmal, was that her affair? She smiled at the picture of two men, her devoted servants, exerting themselves to the utmost for her advantage, yet without a syllable of express encouragement, and foredoomed to a disappointment which would be perfectly plain to them could they but use their common-sense.

Throughout this week Harvey did not behave quite as usual to her; or so Alma thought. He had not the customary jocoseness when they met at the close of day; he asked no questions about how she had spent her time; his manner was preoccupied. One evening she challenged him.

‘You are worrying about what you think my foolishness.’

‘Foolishness? Of what folly are you guilty?’

‘My ambition, then.’

‘Oh no!’ He laughed as if the thought genuinely amused him. ‘Why should I worry about it? Don’t work too hard, that’s all. No, I was thinking of a squalid little ambition of my own. I have an idea Morphew may make something of that business; and I want him to, for the fellow’s own good. It’s wonderful how near he has been to going to the devil, once for all. I fancy I’ve got him now by the coat-tail; I may hold him.’

‘You can’t call that a squalid ambition,’ said Alma, wishing to be amiable.

‘Not that side of it—no. But I’ve decided to put a little money into the business—nothing that matters, but it may just as well be made safe, if a little trouble will do it. I was wondering how it would be if I worked a little down yonder—kept Morphew in sight. Distance is the chief objection.’

‘But you think of moving to Gunnersbury?’

‘Yes, I do. I’m thinking of it seriously. Will you go over with me one day next week! Better be Saturday—Mrs. Abbott will be free.’

It was unfortunate that Alma had not been able to establish an intimacy with Mary Abbott. They saw each other very rarely, and, as Harvey perceived, made no progress in friendship. This did not surprise him; they were too unlike in temper, intellect, and circumstances. Whether to these obstacles should be added another more serious, Harvey could not quite assure himself. He had suspected that Alma entertained a slight jealousy—natural, perhaps, though utterly without substantial cause. He even reckoned with this when proposing to put the child under Mrs. Abbott’s care, thinking that, in revolt against such an alternative, Alma might be impelled to take the duty upon herself. That nothing of the kind had resulted, seemed to prove that, whatever feeling might occasionally have arisen in Alma, she did not regard his friend with any approach to hostility. For his own part, he had always felt that the memory of Bennet Frothingham must needs forbid Mrs. Abbott to think with unrestrained kindliness of Alma, and, but for Alma herself, he would scarce have ventured to bring them together. That they were at least on amiable terms must be held as much as could be hoped for. With regard to Mary’s efficiency as a teacher, his opinion had grown more favourable since he had seen her in her own home. Time and experience were moulding her, he thought, to a task undertaken first of all in a spirit of self-discipline. She appeared to be successful in winning the confidence of parents, and she no longer complained of inability to make herself liked by her little pupils. Best of all, she was undoubtedly devoting herself to the work with all the powers of her mind, making it the sole and sufficient purpose of her life. Harvey felt no misgiving; he spoke his true thought when he said that he would rather trust Hughie to Mrs. Abbott than to any other teacher. It was with surprise, therefore, and some annoyance, that he received Alma’s reply to his proposal for their going over to Gunnersbury next week.

‘Are you quite sure,’ she said, rather coldly, ‘that Mrs. Abbott will teach better than Pauline?’

‘It isn’t only that. Hughie must have companions. I thought we had agreed about it.’

‘Have you inquired who his companions will be?’

‘Oh—the ordinary children of ordinary people,’ he replied, with some impatience. ‘I don’t know that babies are likely to corrupt each other. But, of course, you will ask Mrs. Abbott all about that kind of thing—or anything else you wish.’

Alma shook her head, laughing carelessly.

‘No, no. That is all in 选择您 hands. You have discussed it with her, haven’t you?’

‘I haven’t so much as mentioned it. But, of course, I am quite willing to relieve you of all trouble in the matter.’

His tone seemed to startle Alma, for she looked up at him quickly, and spoke in a more serious voice.

‘I don’t think we quite understand each other about Hughie. Why should you be so anxious? He seems to me to be doing very well. Remember, he’s only a little more than three years old—quite a baby, as you say. I don’t think he would feel the want of companions for another year at least.’

Harvey met her look, and replied quietly.

‘It isn’t that I’m anxious about him. I have to plan for his education, that’s all.’

‘You’re beginning rather early. Fathers don’t generally look after their children so young.’

‘Unfortunately, they don’t,’ said Harvey, with a laugh. ‘Mothers do, here and there.’

‘But surely you don’t mean that I am neglectful, Harvey?’

‘Not at all. Teaching isn’t your metier, Alma.’

‘I have always confessed that. But, then, the time for teaching Hughie has hardly come. What can Pauline do but just see that he doesn’t get into mischief?’

‘That’s the very reason why he would be better for two or three hours a day with some one who knows 形成一种 to teach a child of his age. It isn’t as unimportant as you think. Pauline does very well, but Mrs. Abbott will do better.’

Vexed at his own cowardliness—for he could not utter the words that leaped to his tongue—Harvey fell into a perverse insistence on Mrs Abbott’s merits. He had meant to confine himself within the safe excuse that the child needed companionship. Forbidden the natural relief of a wholesome, hearty outburst of anger—which would have done good in many ways—his nerves drove him into smothered petulance, with the result that Alma misread him, and saw in his words a significance quite apart from their plain meaning.

‘I have not the least intention of interfering, Harvey,’ she said, with her distant smile. ‘For the next few months I shall be very busy indeed. Only one thing I would ask—you don’t think of leaving this house before midsummer?’

'不。'

‘Because I shall probably give my recital in May, and it would be rather inconvenient——’

‘Everything shall be arranged to suit you.’

‘Not at all, not at all!’ she exclaimed cheerfully. ‘I don’t ask so much as that; it would be unreasonable. We are neither of us to stand in the other’s way—isn’t that the agreement? Tell me your plans, and you shall know mine, and I’m sure everything will be managed very well.’

So the conversation ended, satisfactorily to neither. Harvey, aware of having spoken indiscreetly, felt that he was still more to blame for allowing his wife a freedom of which she threatened to make absurd use; and Alma, her feelings both as wife and mother sensibly perturbed, resented the imputation which seemed to have been thrown upon her conduct. This resentment was of course none the less enduring because conscience took her husband’s side. She remembered her appointment tomorrow (practically an appointment) with Cyrus Redgrave at the Crystal Palace; would not that be more difficult to confess than anything she could reasonably suppose to have happened between Harvey and Mary Abbott? Yet more than ever she hoped to meet Redgrave, to hold him by a new link of illusory temptation, that he might exert himself to the utmost in promoting her success. For among the impulses which urged her forward, her reasons for desiring a public triumph, was one which Harvey perhaps never for a moment imagined—a desire to shine gloriously in the eyes of her husband. Harvey would never do her justice until constrained by the voice of the world. Year after year he held her in less esteem; he had as good as said that he did not think her capable of taking a place among professional violinists. Disguise it how he might, he secretly wished her to become a mere domestic creature, to abandon hopes that were nothing better than a proof of vanity. This went to Alma’s heart, and rankled there. He should see! He should confess his error, in all its injurious and humiliating extent! At whatever cost—at all 但是any cost—the day of her triumph should come about! Foreseeing it, she had less difficulty in keeping calm when the excellencies of Mrs. Abbott were vaunted before her, when Harvey simply ignored all that in herself compensated the domestic shortcoming. Of course, she was not a model of the home-keeping virtues; who expected an artist to be that? But Harvey denied this claim; and of all the motives contributing to her aspiration, none had such unfailing force as the vehement resolve to prove him wrong.

Next morning the weather was so bad that Harvey asked whether she had not better give up her expedition to the Crystal Palace. Alma smiled and shook her head.

‘You think I go only for amusement. It’s so difficult to make you understand that these things are serious.’

‘Congestion of the lungs is serious. I don’t think Mrs. Frothingham will face it. There’ll probably be a telegram from her.’

But by midday the fierce wind and driving sleet had abated, though the outlook remained cheerless enough. After an early lunch, Alma set forth. Dora Leach joined her in the train, and thus they travelled, through sooty gloom, under or above ground, from the extreme north to the farthest south of London; alighting at length with such a ringing of the ears, such an impression of roar and crash and shriek, as made the strangest prelude to a feast of music ever devised in the world’s history. Their seats having been taken in advance, they entered a few moments before the concert began, and found themselves amid a scanty audience; on either side of them were vacant places. Alma did not dare to glance round about. If Redgrave were here, and looked for her, he would have no difficulty in discovering where she sat; probably, too, he could manage to take possession of the chair at her side. And this was exactly what happened, though not until the first piece had been performed.

‘I congratulate you on your zeal,’ spoke the voice which always put her in mind of sunny mountains and a blue lake.

‘Inviting a compliment in return,’ said Alma, with a sudden illumination of her features. ‘Are you one of the regular attendants?’

‘Don’t you remember?’ His voice dropped so low that he hardly seemed to address her. ‘I promised myself the pleasure——’

Alma pretended not to hear. She turned to her companion, spoke a word, and renewed the very slight acquaintance which had existed a few years ago between Redgrave and Miss Leach. Then the sound of an instrument imposed silence.

It was not the first time that Alma affected to be absorbed in music when not consciously hearing it at all. Today the circumstances made such distraction pardonable; but often enough she had sat thus, with countenance composed or ecstatic, only seeming to listen, even when a master played. For Alma had no profound love of the art. Nothing more natural than her laying it completely aside when, at home in Wales, she missed her sufficient audience. To her, music was not an end in itself. Like numberless girls, she had, to begin with, a certain mechanical aptitude, which encouraged her through the earlier stages, until vanity stepped in and urged her to considerable attainments. Her father’s genuine delight in music of the higher kind served as an encouragement whenever her own energies began to fail; and when at length, with advancing social prospects, the thought took hold of her that, by means of her violin, she might maintain a place of distinction above ordinary handsome girls and heiresses, it sufficed to overcome her indolence and lack of the true temper. She founded her Quartet Society, and queened it over amateurs, some of whom were much better endowed than herself. Having set her pride on winning praise as a musician, of course she took pains, even working very hard from time to time. She had first-rate teachers, and was clever enough to profit by their lessons. With it all, she cared as little for music as ever; to some extent it had lost even that power over her sensibilities which is felt by the average hearer. Alma had an emotional nature, but her emotions responded to almost any kind of excitement sooner than to the musical. So much had she pretended and posed, so much had she struggled with mere manual difficulties, so much lofty cant and sounding hollowness had she talked, that the name of her art was grown a weariness, a disgust. Conscious of this, she was irritated whenever Harvey begged her to play simple things; for indeed, if she must hear music at all, it was just those simple melodies she would herself have preferred. And among the self-styled musical people with whom she associated, were few, if any, in whom conceit did not sound the leading motive. She knew but one true musician, Herr Wilenski. That the virtuoso took no trouble to bring her in touch with his own chosen circle, was a significant fact which quite escaped Alma’s notice.

Between the pieces Redgrave chatted in a vein of seductive familiarity, saying nothing that Dora Leach might not have heard, but frequently softening his voice, as though to convey intimate meanings. His manner had the charm of variety; he was never on two occasions alike; today he seemed to relax in a luxurious mood, due in part to the influence of sound, and in part, as his eyes declared, to the sensuous pleasure of sitting by Alma’s side.

‘What an excellent fellow Carnaby is!’ he remarked unexpectedly. ‘I have been seeing a good deal of him lately—as you know, I think?’

“所以我听说了。”

‘I like him all the better because I am rather sorry for him.’

'为什么？'

‘Don’t you feel that he is very much out of place? He doesn’t belong to our world at all. He ought to be founding a new civilisation in some wild country. I can sympathise with him; I have something of the same spirit.’

‘I never observed it,’ said Alma, allowing her glance to skim his features.

‘Perhaps because you yourself represent civilisation in its subtlest phase, and when I am with you I naturally think only of that. I don’t say I should have thriven as a backwoodsman; but I admire the type in Carnaby. That’s one of 我们的 privileges, don’t you think? We live in imagination quite as much as in everyday existence. You, I am sure, are in sympathy with infinite forms of life—and,’ he added, just above his breath, ‘you could realise so many of them.’

‘I shall be content with one,’ replied Alma.

‘And that——?’

She nodded towards the concert platform, where, at the same moment, a violinist stepped forward. Redgrave gazed inquiringly at her, but she kept silence until the next interval. Then, in reply to his direct question, she told him, with matter-of-fact brevity, what her purpose was. He showed neither surprise nor excessive pleasure, but bent his head with a grave approving smile.

‘So you feel that the time has come. Of course I knew that it would. Are any details arranged?—or perhaps I mustn’t ask?’

‘I wanted to talk it over with you,’ she answered graciously.

After the concert they had tea together. Redgrave was very attentive to Miss Leach, whom his talk amused and flattered. Alma’s enterprise was discussed with pleasant freedom, and Redgrave learnt that she had decided to employ Mr. Felix Dymes as her agent. The trio set forth at length on their homeward journey in a mood of delightful animation, and travelled together as far as Victoria.

‘I haven’t said that you can rely on me for all possible assistance,’ Redgrave remarked, as he walked along the roaring platform by Alma’s side. ‘That is a matter of course. We shall meet again before long?’

'毫无疑问。'

‘In Porchester Terrace perhaps?’

'也许。'

Alma met his eyes, and took away with her the consciousness of having dared greatly. But the end was a great one.

In spite of the bad weather, Mrs. Frothingham had travelled up from Basingstoke. Alma found her in the drawing-room, and saw at a glance that there had been conversation on certain subjects between her and Harvey; but not until the next day did Mrs. Frothingham speak of what she had heard, and make her private comments for Alma’s benefit.

‘I thought Harvey was joking, dear. Have you reflected how many reasons there are why you 不能——?’

The pathetic gaze of appeal produced no effect.

‘Did Harvey ask you to talk about it, Mamma?’

‘No. He takes it in the kindest way. But, Alma, you surely see that it pains him?’

‘Pains him? That shows you don’t understand us, dear Mamma. We could neither of us possibly do anything that would pain the other. We are in perfect harmony, yet absolutely independent. It has all been talked over and settled. You must have misunderstood Harvey altogether.’

From this position Alma could not be moved, and Mrs. Frothingham, too discreet to incur the risk of interference, spoke no more of the matter as it concerned man and wife. But another objection she urged with almost tearful earnestness. Did Alma forget that her appearance in public would give occasion to most disagreeable forms of gossip? And even if she disregarded the scandal of a few years ago, would not many of her acquaintances say and believe that necessity had driven her into a professional career?

‘They may say what they like, and think what they like,’ was Alma’s lofty reply. ‘If artists had always considered such trivial difficulties, where should we have been? Suppose gossip does its worst—it’s all over in a few months; then I stand by my own merit. Dear Mamma, 别 be old fashioned! You look so young and so charming—indeed you do—that I can’t bear to hear you talk in that early Victorian way. Art is art, and all these other things have nothing whatever to do with it. There, it’s all over. Be good, and amuse yourself whilst you are with us. I assure you we are the most reasonable and the happiest people living.’

Mrs. Frothingham smiled at the compliment to herself; then sighed, and held her peace.

So day by day Alma’s violin sounded, and day after day Harvey heard it with a growing impatience. As is commonly the case with people of untrained ear, he had never much cared for this instrument; he preferred the piano. Not long ago he would have thought it impossible that he could ever come to dislike music, which throughout his life had been to him a solace and an inspiration; but now he began to shrink from the sound of it. As Alma practised in the morning, he was driven at length to alter his habits, and to leave home after breakfast. Having no other business, he went to Westminster Bridge Road, met Cecil Morphew at the shop, watched the progress of alterations that seemed advisable, picked up a little knowledge of photography, talked over prices, advertisements, and numerous commercial matters of which he had hitherto been contentedly ignorant. Before long, his loan to Morphew was converted into an investment; he became a partner in the concern, which, retaining the name of the old proprietor, they carried on as Den bow & Co.

The redemption of his debentures kept him still occupied with a furtive study of the money-market. He did not dare to face risk on a large scale; the mere thought of a great reduction of income made him tremble and perspire. So in the end he adopted the simple and straightforward expedient of seeking an interview with his banker, by whom he was genially counselled to purchase such-and-such stock, a sound security, but less productive than that he had previously held. An unfortunate necessity, seeing that his expenses increased and were likely to do so. But he tried to hope that Westminster Bridge Road would eventually reimburse him. With good luck, it might do more.

His days of quietude were over. He, too, was being drawn into the whirlpool. No more dreaming among his books; no more waking to the ordinary duties and cares of a reasonable life. As a natural consequence of the feeling of unsettlement, of instability, he had recourse more often than he wished to the old convivial habits, gathering about him once again, at club or restaurant, the kind of society in which he always felt at ease—good, careless, jovial, and often impecunious fellows, who, as in days gone by, sometimes made a demand upon his purse which he could not resist, though he had now such cause for rigid economy. Was it that he grew old?—he could no longer take his wine with disregard of consequence. The slightest excess, and too surely he paid for it on the morrow, not merely with a passing headache, but with a whole day’s miserable discomfort. Oh, degeneracy of stomach and of brain! Of will, too; for he was sure to repeat the foolish experience before a week had passed.

It was not till Mrs. Frothingham had left them after a fortnight’s visit that he reminded Alma of her promise to go with him to Gunnersbury.

‘Did I promise?’ she said. ‘I thought we agreed that you should settle all that yourself.’

‘I had rather you came with me to see Mrs. Abbott. Shall it be Saturday?’

‘Can’t,’ replied Alma, with a shake of the head and a smile. ‘I have to see Mr. Dymes.’

‘Dymes? Who is he?’

‘My agent.’

‘Oh! very well; then I’ll go alone.’

He would not permit himself any further inquiry. Alma had never spoken to him of Dymes, her ‘agent’. Harvey pictured an ill-shaven man in a small office, and turned from the thought with disgust. Too late to interpose, to ask questions; anything of that kind would but make him seem small, ridiculous, fussy. He had chosen his course, and must pursue it.

Not that Alma behaved in such a way as to suggest estrangement; anything but so. Her manner was always amiable, frequently affectionate. When they spent an evening together—it did not often happen—she talked delightfully; avoiding, as did Harvey himself, the subjects on which they were not likely to agree. Her gaze had all the old directness, her smile was sweet as ever, and her laugh as melodious. If ever he felt uneasy during her long absences in town, one of these evenings sufficed to reassure him. Alma was Alma still, and could he but have reconciled himself to the thought of her playing in public, she would have been yet the wife he chose, frankly self-willed, gallantly independent.

Until a certain day at the end of March, when something happened of which Harvey had no suspicion, but which affected Alma in a way he soon perceived.

That morning he had left home early, and would not return till late. Alma practised as usual, had luncheon alone, and was thinking of going out, when the post delivered two letters—one for herself from Dymes, the other for her husband. A glance showed her that Harvey’s correspondent was Mrs. Abbott, and never till today had one of Mrs Abbott’s letters come into her hand. She regarded it with curiosity, and the longer she looked the stronger her curiosity became. Harvey would of course tell her what his friend wrote about—as he always did; but the epistle itself she would not be asked to read. And did she, as a matter of fact, always know when Harvey heard from Mrs. Abbott? A foolish question, probably; for if the correspondence were meant to be secret, it would be addressed to Harvey at his club, not to the house. All the same, a desire of years concentrated itself in this moment. Alma wished vehemently to read one of Mary Abbott’s letters with her own eyes.

She turned the envelope. It was of very stout paper, and did not look quite securely gummed. Would not a touch of the finger—almost——? Why, there, just as she thought; a mere touch, and the envelope came open. ‘Now, if I ever wrote a dangerous word,’ mused Alma—’which I don’t, and never shall—this would be a lesson to me.’

Well, it was open, and, naturally enough, the letter came forth. What harm? There could be nothing in it that Harvey would wish to hide from her. So, with hands that trembled, and cheeks that felt warm, she began to read.

The letter was Mrs. Abbott’s acknowledgment of the quarterly cheque she received from Rolfe. Alma was surprised at the mention of money in the first line, and read eagerly on. As Mary Abbott and her friend had seen each other so recently, there was no need of a full report concerning Minnie Wager (her brother had long since gone to a boarding-school), but the wording allowed it to be understood that Harvey paid for the child, and, what was more, that he held himself responsible for her future. What could this mean? Alma pondered it in astonishment; gratified by the discovery, but disturbed beyond measure by its mysterious suggestiveness. The letter contained little more, merely saying, towards the end, how very glad the writer would be to give her utmost care to little Hugh when presently he came into her hands. Last of all—’Please remember me kindly to Mrs. Rolfe.’

At this point of her life Alma had become habitually suspicious of any relation between man and woman which might suggest, however remotely, dubious possibilities. Innocence appeared to her the exception, lawlessness the rule, where man and woman were restrained by no obvious barriers. It was the natural result of her experience, of her companionship, of the thoughts she deliberately fostered. Having read the letter twice, having mused upon it, she leaped to a conclusion which seemed to explain completely the peculiar intimacy subsisting between Harvey and Mary Abbott. These two children, known as Albert and Minnie Wager, were Harvey’s offspring, the result of some 联络before his marriage; and Mrs. Abbott, taking charge of them for payment, had connived at the story of their origin, of their pitiful desertion. What could be clearer?

She did not go further in luminous conjectures. Even with her present mind, Alma could not conceive of Mary Abbott as a wanton, of Harvey Rolfe as a shameless intriguer; but it stung her keenly to think that for years there had been this secret between them. Probably the matter was known to Mrs. Abbott’s husband, and so, at his death, it had somehow become possible for Harvey to suggest this arrangement, whereby he helped the widow in her misfortunes, and provided conscientiously for his own illegitimate children. Harvey was so very conscientious about children!

Did they resemble him? She had seen the little girl, but only once, and without attention. She would take an early opportunity of going over to Gunnersbury, to observe. But no such evidence was necessary; the facts stared one in the face.

That Harvey should have kept this secret from her was intelligible enough; most men, no doubt, would have done the same. But it seemed to Alma only another proof of her husband’s inability to appreciate her. He had no faith in her as artist; he had no faith in her as woman. Had she not felt this even from the very beginning of their intimate acquaintance? Perhaps the first thing that awakened her interest in Harvey Rolfe was the perception that he did not, like other men, admire her unreservedly, that he regarded her with something of criticism. She could attract him; she could play upon his senses; yet he remained critical. This, together with certain characteristics which distinguished him from the ordinary drawing-room man, suggestions of force and individuality, drew her into singular relations with him long before she dreamt that he would become her husband. And his attitude towards her was unchanged, spite of passionate love-making, spite of the tenderness and familiarity of marriage; still he viewed her with eyes of tolerance, rather than of whole-hearted admiration. He compared, contrasted her with Mary Abbott, for whose intellect and character he had a sincere respect. Doubtless he fancied that, if this secret became known to her, she would sulk or storm, after the manner of ordinary wives. What made him so blind to her great qualities? Was it that he had never truly loved her? Had it been owing to mere chance, mere drift of circumstances, that he offered her marriage, instead of throwing out a proposal such as that of Cyrus Redgrave at Bregenz?

Though but darkly, confusedly, intermittently conscious of the feeling, Alma was at heart dissatisfied with the liberty, the independence, which her husband seemed so willing to allow her. This, again, helped to confirm the impression that Harvey held her in small esteem. He did not think it worth while to oppose her; she might go her frivolous way, and he would watch with careless amusement. At moments, it was true, he appeared on the point of ill-humour; once or twice she had thought (perhaps had hoped) that he could lay down the law in masculine fashion; but no—he laughed, and it was over. When, at the time of her misery in Wales—her dim jealousy of Mrs. Abbott, and revolt against the prospect of a second motherhood—she had subdued herself before him, spoken and behaved like an everyday dutiful wife, Harvey would have none of it. He wished—was that the reason?—to be left alone, not to be worried with her dependence upon him. That no doubt of her fidelity ever seemed to enter his mind, was capable of anything but a complimentary interpretation; he simply took it for granted that she would be faithful—in other words, that she had not spirit or originality enough to defy conventional laws. To himself, perhaps, he reserved a much larger liberty. How could she tell where, in what company, his evenings were spent? More than once he had been away from home all night—missed the last train, he said. Well, it was nothing to her; but his incuriousness as to her own movements began to affect her sensibly, now that she imagined so close a community of thoughts and interests between Harvey and Mary Abbott.

Before his return tonight other letters had arrived for him, and all lay together, as usual, upon his desk. Alma, trying to wear her customary face, waited for him to mention that he had heard from Gunnersbury, but Harvey said nothing. He talked, instead, of a letter from Basil Morton, who wanted him to go to Greystone in the spring, with wife and child.

‘You mustn’t count on me,’ said Alma.

‘But after your concert—recital—whatever you call it; it would be a good rest.’

‘Oh, I shall be busier than ever. Mr. Dymes hopes to arrange for me at several of the large towns.’

Harvey smiled, and Alma observed him with irritation she could scarcely repress. Of course, his smile meant a civil scepticism.

‘By-the-bye,’ he asked, ‘is Dymes the comic opera man?’

‘Yes. I rather wondered, Harvey, whether you would awake to that fact. He will be one of our greatest composers.’

She went on with enthusiasm, purposely exaggerating Dymes’s merits, and professing a warm personal regard for him. In the end, Harvey’s eye was upon her, still smiling, but curiously observant.

‘Why hasn’t he been here? Doesn’t he think it odd that you never ask him?’

‘Oh, you know that I don’t care to ask people. They are aware’—she laughed—’that my husband is not musical.’

Harvey’s countenance changed.

‘Do you mean that you tell them so?’

‘Not in any disagreeable way, of course. It’s so natural, now, for married people to have each their own world.’

‘So it is,’ he acquiesced.

Alma would have gone to Gunnersbury the very next day, but she feared to excite some suspicion in her husband’s mind. He little imagined her capable of opening his letters, and to be detected in such a squalid misdemeanour would have overwhelmed her with shame. In a day or two she would be going to Mrs. Rayner Mann’s, to meet a certain musical critic ‘of great influence’, and by leaving home early she could contrive to make a call upon Mrs. Abbott before lunching at Putney. This she did. She saw little Minnie Wager, scrutinised the child’s features, and had no difficulty whatever in discerning Harvey’s eyes, Harvey’s mouth. Why should she have troubled herself to come? It was very hard to control her indignation. If Mrs. Abbott thought her rather strange, rather abrupt, what did it matter?

At Mrs. Rayner Mann’s she passed into a soothing and delicious atmosphere. The influential critic proved to be a very young man, five-and-twenty at most; he stammered with nervousness when first addressing the stranger, but soon gave her to understand, more or less humorously, that his weekly article was ‘quite’ the most important thing in latter-day musical criticism, and that he panted for the opportunity of hearing a new violinist of real promise. But Alma had not brought her violin; lest she should make herself cheap, she never played now at people’s houses. The critic had to be satisfied with hearing her talk and gazing upon her beauty. Alma was become a very fluent talker, and her voice had the quality which fixes attention. At luncheon, whilst half-a-dozen persons lent willing ear, she compared Sarasate’s playing of Beethoven’s Concerto with that of Joachim, and declared that Sarasate’s 华彩乐段 in the first movement, though marvellous for technical skill, was not at all in the spirit of the work. The influential writer applauded, drawing her on to fresh displays of learning, taste, eloquence. She had a great deal to say about somebody’s ‘technique of the left hand’, of somebody else’s ‘tonal effects’, of a certain pianist’s ‘warmth of touch’. It was a truly musical gathering; each person at table had some exquisite phrase to contribute. The hostess, who played no instrument, but doted upon all, was of opinion that an executant should ‘aim at mirroring his own nature in his interpretation of a tone-poem’; whereupon another lady threw out remarks on ‘subjective interpretation’, confessing her preference for a method purely ‘objective’. The influential critic began to talk about Liszt, with whom he declared that he had been on intimate terms; he grew fervent over the master’s rhapsodies, with their ‘clanging rhythm and dithyrambic fury’.

‘I don’t know when I enjoyed myself so much,’ said Alma gaily, as the great young man pressed her hand at parting and avowed himself her devoted admirer.

‘My dear Mrs. Rolfe,’ said the hostess privately, ‘you were simply brilliant! We are all looking forward so eagerly!’

And as soon as Alma was gone, the amiable lady talked about her to the one remaining guest.

“是不 she delightful! I do so hope she will be a success. I’m afraid so much depends upon it. Of course, you know that she is the daughter of Bennet Frothingham? Didn’t you know? Yes, and left without a farthing. I suppose it was natural she should catch at an offer of marriage, poor girl, but it seems to have been 最先进的 ill-advised. One never sees her husband, and I’m afraid he is anything but kind to her. He 五月 have calculated on her chances as a musician. I am told they have little or nothing to depend upon. Do drum up your friends—will you? It is to be at Prince’s Hall, on May the 16th—I think. I feel, don’t you know, personally responsible; she would never have come out but for my persuasion, and I’m so anxious for a success!’

The day drew near for Ada Wellington’s debut. Alma met this young lady, but they did not take to each other; Miss Wellington was a trifle ‘loud’, and, unless Alma mistook, felt fiercely jealous of any one admired by Felix Dymes. As she could not entertain at their own house (somewhere not far south of the Thames), Mrs. Wellington borrowed Dymes’s flat for an afternoon, and there, supported by the distinguished composer, received a strange medley of people who interested themselves in her daughter’s venture. Alma laughed at the arrangement, and asked Dymes if he expected her congratulations.

‘Don’t make fun of them,’ said Felix. ‘Of course, they’re not 选择您 sort, Alma. But I’ve known them all my life, and old Wellington did me more than one good turn when I was a youngster. Ada won’t make much of it, but she’ll squeeze in among the provincial pros after this send off.’

‘You really are capable of generosity?’ asked Alma.

‘I swear there’s nothing between us. There’s only one woman living that I have eyes for—and I’m afraid she doesn’t care a rap about me; at all events, she treats me rather badly.’

This dialogue took place in a drawing-room the evening before Miss Wellington’s day. Alma had declined to meet her agent a second time at the Apollo Theatre; they saw each other, by arrangement, at this and that house of common friends, and corresponded freely by post, Dymes’s letters always being couched in irreproachable phrase. Whenever the thing was possible, he undisguisedly made love, and Alma bore with it for the sake of his services. He had obtained promises from four musicians of repute to take part in Alma’s concert, and declared that the terms they asked were lower than usual, owing to their regard for him. The expenses of the recital, without allowing for advertisements, would amount to seventy or eighty pounds; and Dymes guaranteed that the hall should produce at least that. Alma, ashamed to appear uneasy about such paltry sums, always talked as though outlay mattered nothing.

‘Don’t stint on advertisements,’ she said.

‘No fear! Leave that to me,’ answered Felix, with a smile of infinite meaning.

Ada Wellington could not afford to risk much money, and Alma thought her announcements in the papers worth nothing at all. However, the pianist was fairly successful; a tolerable audience was scraped together (at Steinway Hall), and press notices of a complimentary flavour, though brief, appeared in several quarters. With keen anxiety Alma followed every detail. She said to herself that if 这里 appearance in public made no more noise than this, she would be ready to die of mortification. There remained a fortnight before the ordeal; had they not better begin to advertise at once? Thus she wrote to Dymes, who replied by sending her three newspapers, in each of which a paragraph of musical gossip informed the world that Mrs. Harvey Rolfe was about to give her first public violin recital at Prince’s Hall. Mrs. Rolfe, added the journalists in varying phrase, was already well known to the best musical circles as an amateur violinist, and great interest attached to her appearance in public, a step on which she had decided only after much persuasion of friends and admirers. Already there was considerable demand for tickets, and the audience would most certainly be both large and distinguished. Alma laughed with delight.

The same day, by a later post, she received a copy of a ‘society’ journal, addressed in a hand unknown to her. Guided by a red pencil mark, she became aware of no less than a quarter of a column devoted to herself. From this she might learn (if she did not already know it) that Mrs. Harvey Rolfe was a lady of the utmost personal and social charm; that her beauty was not easily described without the use of terms that would sound extravagant; that as a violinist she had stood for a year or two 轻松的王子 amid lady amateurs; that she had till of late lived in romantic seclusion ‘amid the noblest scenery of North Wales’, for the sole purpose of devoting herself to music; and that only with the greatest reluctance had she consented to make known to the public a talent—nay, a genius—which assuredly was ‘meant for mankind’. She was the favourite pupil of that admirable virtuoso, Herr Wilenski. At Prince’s Hall, on the sixteenth of May, all lovers of music would have, &c, &c.

This batch of newspapers Alma laid before dinner on Harvey’s desk, and about an hour after the meal she entered the library. Her husband, smoking and meditating, looked up constrainedly.

‘I have read them,’ he remarked, in a dry tone.

Alma’s coldness during the last few weeks he had explained to himself as the result of his failure to take interest in her proceedings. He knew that this behaviour on his part was quite illogical; Alma acted with full permission, and he had no right whatever to ‘turn grumpy’ just because he disliked what she was doing. Only today he had rebuked himself, and meant to make an effort to restore goodwill between them; but these newspaper paragraphs disgusted him. He could not speak as he wished.

‘This is your agent’s doing, I suppose?’

‘Of course. That is his business.’

‘Well, I won’t say anything about it. If 您 are satisfied, I have no right to complain.’

‘Indeed, I don’t think you have,’ replied Alma, putting severe restraint upon herself to speak calmly. Thereupon she left the room.

Harvey rose to follow her. He took a step forward—stood still—returned to his chair. And they did not see each other again that night.

In the morning came a letter from Dymes. He wrote that a certain newspaper wished for an ‘interview’ with Mrs. Rolfe, to be published next week. Should the interviewer call upon her, and, if so, when? Moreover, an illustrated paper wanted her portrait with the least possible delay. Were her new photographs ready? If so, would she send him a dozen? Better still if he could see her today, for he had important things to speak of. Might he look for her at Mrs. Littlestone’s at about four o’clock?

At breakfast Alma was chatty, but she directed her talk almost exclusively to Pauline Smith and to little Hugh, who now had his place at table—a merry, sunny-haired little fellow, dressed in a sailor suit. Harvey also talked a good deal—he, too, with Pauline and the child. When Alma rose he followed her, and asked her to come into the library for a moment.

‘I’m a curmudgeon,’ he began, facing her with nervous abruptness. ‘Forgive me for that foolery last night, will you?’

‘Of course,’ Alma replied distantly.

‘No, but in the same spirit, Alma. I’m an ass! I know that if you do this thing at all, you must do it in the usual way. I wish you success heartily, and I’ll read with pleasure every scrap of print that praises you.’

‘I’m hurrying to town, Harvey. I have to go to the photographer, and see Mr. Dymes, and all sorts of things.’

‘The photographer? I hope they’ll be tolerable; I know they won’t do you justice. Will you sit to a painter if I arrange it? Unfortunately, I can’t afford Millais, you know; but I want a good picture of you.’

‘We’ll talk about it,’ she replied, smiling more pleasantly than of late. ‘But I really haven’t time now.’

‘And you forgive me my idiotics?’

She nodded and was gone.

In the afternoon she met Dymes at Mrs. Littlestone’s, a house of much society, for the most part theatrical. When they had moved aside for private talk, he began by asking a brusque question.

‘Who got that notice for you into the 西尾？

‘Why, didn’t you?’

‘Know nothing about it. Come, who was it?’

‘I have no idea. I took it for granted——’

‘Look here, Alma, I think I’m not doing badly for you, and the least you can do is to be straight with me.’

Alma raised her head with a quick, circuitous glance, then fixed her eyes on the man’s heated face, and spoke in an undertone: ‘Please, behave yourself, or I shall have to go away.

‘Then you won’t tell me? Very well. I chuck up the job. You can run the show yourself.’

Alma had never looked for delicacy in Felix Dymes, and his motives had from the first been legible to her, but this revelation of brutality went beyond anything for which she was prepared. As she saw the man move away, a feeling of helplessness and of dread overcame her anger. She could not do without him. The only other man active on her behalf was Cyrus Redgrave, and to seek Redgrave’s help at such a juncture, with the explanation that must necessarily be given, would mean abandonment of her last scruple. Of course, the paragraph in the 西尾 originated with him; since Dymes knew nothing about it, it could have no other source. Slowly, but very completely, the man of wealth and social influence had drawn his nets about her; at each meeting with him she felt more perilously compromised; her airs of command served merely to disguise defeat in the contest she had recklessly challenged. Thrown upon herself, she feared Redgrave, shrank from the thought of seeing him. Not that he had touched her heart or beguiled her senses; she hated him for his success in the calculated scheme to which she had consciously yielded step by step; but she was brought to the point of regarding him as inseparable from her ambitious hopes. Till quite recently her thought had been that, after using him to secure a successful debut, she could wave him off, perhaps tell him in plain words, with a smile of scorn, that they were quits. She now distrusted her power to stand alone. To the hostility of such a man as Dymes—certain, save at intolerable cost—she must be able to oppose a higher influence. Between Dymes and Redgrave there was no hesitating on whatever score. This advertisement in the fashionable and authoritative weekly paper surpassed Dymes’s scope; his savage jealousy was sufficient proof of that. All she could do for the moment was to temporise with her ignobler master, and the humiliation of such a necessity seemed to poison her blood.

She rose, talked a little of she knew not what with she knew not whom, and moved towards the hostess, by whom her enemy was sitting. A glance sufficed. As soon as she had taken leave, Dymes followed her. He came up to her side at a few yards from the house, and they walked together, without speaking, until Alma turned into the first quiet street.

‘I give you my word,’ she began, ‘that I know nothing whatever about that paper.’

‘I believe you, and I’m sorry I made a row,’ Dymes replied. ‘There’s no harm done. I dare say I shall be hearing more about it.’

‘I have some photographs here,’ said Alma, touching her sealskin bag. ‘Will you take them?’

‘Thanks. But there’s a whole lot of things to be arranged. We can’t talk here. Let’s go to my rooms.’

He spoke as though nothing were more natural. Alma, the blood throbbing at her temples, saw him beckon a crawling hansom.

‘I can’t come—now. I have a dreadful headache.’

‘You only want to be quiet. Come along.’

The hansom had pulled up. Alma, ashamed to resist under the eyes of the driver, stepped in, and her companion placed himself at her side. As soon as they drove away he caught her hand and held it tightly.

‘I can’t go to your rooms,’ said Alma, after a useless resistance. ‘My head is terrible. Tell me whatever you have to say, and then take me to Baker Street Station. I’ll see you again in a day or two.’

She did not feign the headache. It had been coming on since she left home, and was now so severe that her eyes closed under the torture of the daylight.

‘A little rest and you’ll be all right,’ said Dymes.

Five minutes more would bring them to their destination. Alma pulled away her hand violently.

‘If you don’t stop him, I shall.’

‘You mean it? As you please. You know what I——’

Alma raised herself, drew the cabman’s attention, and bade him drive to Baker Street. There was a short silence, Dymes glaring and muttering inarticulately.

‘Of course, if you really have a bad headache,’ he growled at length.

‘Indeed I have—and you treat me very unkindly.’

‘Hang it, Alma, don’t speak like that! As if I 可以 be unkind to you!’

He secured her hand again, and she did not resist. Then they talked of business, settled one or two matters, appointed another meeting. As they drew near to the station, Alma spoke impulsively, with a bewildered look.

‘I shouldn’t wonder if I give it up, after all.’

‘Rot!’ was her companion’s amazed exclamation.

‘I might. I won’t answer for it. And it would be your fault.’

Stricken with alarm, Dymes poured forth assurances of his good behaviour. He followed her down to the platform, and for a quarter of an hour she had to listen, in torment of mind and body, to remonstrances, flatteries, amorous blandishments, accompanied by the hiss of steam and the roar of trains.

On reaching home she could do nothing but lie down in the dark. Her head ached intolerably; and hour after hour, as often happens when the brain is over-wearied, a strain of music hummed incessantly on her ear, till inability to dismiss it made her cry in half-frenzied wretchedness.

With sleep she recovered; but through the next day, dull and idle, her thoughts kept such a gloomy colour that she well-nigh brought herself to the resolve with which she had threatened Felix Dymes. But for the anticipation of Harvey’s triumph, she might perhaps have done so.

For several days she had not touched the violin. There was no time for it. Correspondence, engagements, intrigues, whirled her through the waking hours and agitated her repose. The newspaper paragraphs resulted in a shower of letters, inquiring, congratulating, offering good wishes, and all had to be courteously answered, lest the writers should take offence. Invitations to luncheon, to dinner, to midnight ‘at homes’, came thick and fast. If all this resulted from a few preliminary ‘puffs’ what, Alma asked herself, would be the consequence of an actual success? How did the really popular musicians contrive to get an hour a day for the serious study of their art? Her severe headache had left behind it some nervous disorder, not to be shaken off by any effort—a new distress, peculiarly irritating to one who had always enjoyed good health. When she wrote, her hand was unsteady, and sometimes her eyes dazzled. This would be alarming if it went on much longer; the day approached, the great day, the day of fate, and what hope was there for a violinist who could not steady her hand?

The ‘interviewer’ called, and chatted for half an hour, and took his leave with a flourish of compliments. The musicians engaged to play with her at Prince’s Hall’s came down to try over pieces, a trio, a duet; so that at last she was obliged to take up her instrument—with results that did not reassure her. She explained that she was not feeling quite herself; it was nothing; it would pass in a day or two. Sibyl Carnaby had asked her and Harvey to dine next week, to meet several people; Mrs. Rayner Mann had arranged a dinner for another evening; and now Mrs. Strangeways, whom she had not seen for some weeks, sent an urgent request that she would call in Porchester Terrace as soon as possible, to speak of something ‘very important’.

This summons Alma durst not disregard. Between Mrs. Strangeways and Cyrus Redgrave subsisted an intimacy which caused her frequent uneasiness. It would not have surprised her to discover that this officious friend knew of all her recent meetings with Redgrave—at the Crystal Palace and elsewhere; and, but for her innocence, she would have felt herself at the woman’s mercy. That she had not transgressed, and was in no danger of transgressing, enabled her to move with head erect among the things unspeakable which always seemed to her to be lurking in the shadowed corners of Mrs. Strangeways’ house. The day was coming when she might hope to terminate so undesirable an acquaintance, but for the present she must show a friendly face.

She made this call at three o’clock, and was received in that over-scented, over-heated boudoir, which by its atmosphere invariably turned her thoughts to evil. The hostess rose languidly, with a pallid, hollow-eyed look of illness.

‘Only my neuralgic something or other,’ she said, in reply to a sympathetic inquiry. ‘It’s the price one pays for civilisation. I’ve had two terrible days and nights, but it’s over for the present. But for that I should have written to you before. Why, 您 don’t look quite so well as usual. Be careful—do be careful!’

‘I mean to be, if people will let me.’

‘You have eight days, haven’t you? Yes, just eight days. You ought to keep as quiet as possible. We are all doing our best; but, after all, success depends greatly upon yourself, you know.’

The voice, as always, seemed to fondle her, but Alma’s ear detected the usual insincerity. Mrs. Strangeways spoke in much the same way to numbers of people, yet not quite so caressingly. Some interest she undoubtedly had to serve by this consistent display of affection, and with all but certainty Alma divined it. She shrank from the woman; it cost her an unceasing effort not to betray dislike, or even hostility.

‘Of course, you saw last week’s 西尾?’ pursued the hostess, smiling. ‘You know whose doing that was?’

‘I only guessed that it 可能 be Mr. Redgrave’s kindness.’

‘I have the same suspicion. He was here the other day—we talked about you. You haven’t seen him since then?’

'不。'

‘He hinted to me—just a little anxiety. I hardly know whether I ought to speak of it.’

Alma looked an interrogation as unconcerned as she could make it, but did not open her lips.

‘It was with reference to—your man of business. It seems he has heard something—I really don’t know what—not quite favourable to Mr. Dymes. I shall not offend you, dear?’

‘I don’t take offence, Mrs. Strangeways,’ Alma answered, with a slight laugh to cover her uneasiness. ‘It’s so old-fashioned.’

The hostess uttered a thin trill of merriment.

‘One is always safe with people who have humour, dear. It 不 make life easier, doesn’t it? Oh, the terrible persons who take everything with tragic airs! Well, there’s not a bit of harm in it. Between ourselves, it struck me that our friend was just a little inclined to be—yes, you understand.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

‘I hate the word—well, just a trifle jealous.’

Alma leaned back in her chair, glanced about her, and said nothing.

‘Of course, he would never allow 您 to suspect anything of the kind. It will make no difference. You can count upon his utmost efforts. But when one thinks how very much he has it in his power to do——. That bit of writing in the 西尾, you know—only the highest influence can command that kind of thing. The 西尾 can’t be bought, I assure you. And one has to think of the future. A good beginning is much, but how many musicians are able to follow it up? My dear Alma, let me implore you not to imagine that you will be able to dispense with this kind of help.’

‘Do you mean that Mr. Redgrave is likely to withdraw it?’

‘Impossible for me to say, dear. I am only telling you how his conversation struck me. He appeared to think—to be apprehensive that you might in future look to Mr. Dymes rather than to him. Of course, I could say nothing—I would not venture a syllable.’

‘Of course not,’ Alma murmured mechanically, her eyes wandering.

‘Are you likely, I wonder, to see him in the next few days?’

‘I hardly know—I think not.’

‘Then let me—will you?—let me contrive a 机会 meeting here.’

Loathing herself, and burning with hatred of the woman, in whose hands she felt powerless, Alma gave an assenting nod.

‘I am sure it will be a measure of prudence, dear. I thought possibly you might be seeing him at Mrs. Carnaby’s. He is there sometimes, I believe?’

Alma looked at the speaker, detecting some special significance in her inquiry. She replied that Redgrave of course called upon Mrs. Carnaby—but not often, she thought.

‘No?’ threw out Mrs. Strangeways. ‘I fancied he was there a good deal; I don’t quite know why.’

‘Have you met him there?’

‘No. It’s quite a long time since I called—one has so many people to see.’

Alma knew that Sibyl was now holding aloof from Mrs. Strangeways, and it seemed not improbable that this had excited some ill-feeling in the latter. But her own uneasiness regarding Sibyl’s relations with Redgrave, uneasiness never quite subdued; made her quick to note, and eager to explore, any seeming suspicion on that subject in another’s mind. Mrs. Strangeways was a lover of scandal, a dangerous woman, unworthy of confidence in any matter whatsoever. Common prudence, to say nothing of loyalty to a friend, bade Alma keep silence; but the subtly-interrogating smile was fixed upon her; hints continued to fall upon her ear, and an evil fascination at length compelled her to speak.

‘You know,’ she said, as if mentioning an unimportant piece of news, ‘that Mr. Redgrave has joined Mr. Carnaby in business?’

The listener’s face exhibited a surprise of which there was no mistaking the sincerity. Her very features seemed to undergo a change as the smile vanished from them; they became on the instant hard and old, lined with sudden wrinkles, the muscles tense, every line expressive of fierce vigilance.

‘In business?—what business?’

‘Oh, I thought you would have heard of it. Perhaps Mr. Redgrave doesn’t care to have it known.’

‘My dear, I am discretion itself.’

Everything was told, down to the last detail of which Alma had any knowledge. As she listened and questioned, Mrs. Strangeways resumed her smiling manner, but could not regain the perfect self-command with which she had hitherto gossiped. That she attached great importance to this news was evident, and the fact of its being news to her brought fresh trouble into Alma’s thoughts.

‘How very interesting!’ exclaimed Mrs. Strangeways at length. ‘Another instance of Mr. Redgrave’s kindness to his friends. Of course, it was done purely out of kindness, and that is why he doesn’t speak of it. Quite amusing, isn’t it, to think of him as partner in a business of that kind. I wonder whether——’

She broke off with a musing air.

‘What were you wondering?’ asked Alma, whose agitation increased every moment, though the seeming tendency of her companion’s words was to allay every doubt.

‘Oh, only whether it was Mr Carnaby who first made known his difficulties.’

‘I am told so.’

‘By Mrs. Carnaby? Yes, no doubt it was so. I don’t think Mrs. Carnaby could quite have—I mean she is a little reserved, don’t you think? She would hardly have spoken about it to—to a comparative stranger.’

‘But Mr. Redgrave can’t be called a stranger,’ said Alma. ‘They have been friends for a long time. Surely you know that.’

‘Friends in 这 sense? The word has such different meanings. You and Mr. Redgrave are friends, but I don’t think you would care to tell him if your husband were in difficulties of that kind—would you?’

‘But Sibyl—Mrs. Carnaby didn’t tell him,’ replied Alma, with nervous vehemence.

‘No, no; we take that for granted. I don’t think Mr. Carnaby is—the kind of man——’

“什么样的人？”

‘I hardly know him; we have met, that’s all. But I should fancy he wouldn’t care to know that his wife talked about such things to Mr Redgrave or any one else. There ，那恭喜你， men’—her voice sank, and the persistent smile became little better than an ugly grin—’there ，那恭喜你， men who don’t mind it. One hears stories I shouldn’t like to repeat to you, or even to hint at. But those are very different people from the Carnabys. Then, I suppose,’ she added, with abrupt turn, ‘Mr. Carnaby is very often away from home?’

Trying to reply, Alma found her voice obstructed.

'我认同。'

‘How very kind of Mr. Redgrave, wasn’t it! Has he spoken about it to 您？

'当然不是。'

‘Naturally, he wouldn’t.—Oh, don’t go yet, dear. Why, we have had no tea; it isn’t four o’clock. Must you really go? Of course, you are overwhelmed with engagements. But do—do take care of your health. And remember our little scheme. If Mr. Redgrave could look in—say, the day after tomorrow? You shall hear from me in time. I feel—I really feel—that it wouldn’t be wise to let him think—you understand me.’

With scarce a word of leave-taking, Alma hastened away. The air of this room was stifling her, and the low cooing voice had grown more intolerable than a clanging uproar. From Porchester Terrace she walked into Bayswater Road, her eyes on the pavement. It was a sunny afternoon, but there had been showers, and now again large spots of rain began to fall. As she was opening her umbrella, a cabman’s voice appealed to her, and fixed her purpose. She bade him drive her to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions.

Sibyl was not at home. The maid-servant could not say when she might return; she had been absent since yesterday morning. Unable to restrain herself, Alma inquired whether Mr. Carnaby was in town. He was not; he had been away for several days.

On the morrow a letter from Sibyl came to Pinner. She was grieved to hear that Alma had called during her absence. Was it anything of importance, or would it keep till she and Harvey came to dine on Saturday? ‘I have been down to Weymouth—not to enjoy myself, but to see my mother. She 说 she is very ill, and thinks it monstrous that I don’t feel inclined to devote myself to the care of her. Her illness, I am sure, is nothing but discontent and bad temper, just because she feels herself dropping out of society. She must get used to it. In any case, we could never endure each other; and how can I be expected to make any sacrifice for a mother who never gave me an hour of motherly care from the day of my birth? But you know all about this, and don’t want to hear of it again just when you are so busy. If there is anything in the world I can do for you, let me know at once.’

But for her conversation with Mrs. Strangeways, it would not have occurred to Alma to doubt the truth of what Sibyl wrote; as it was, she tortured herself with dark surmises. Jealousy without love, a passion scarcely intelligible to the ordinary man, is in woman common enough, and more often productive of disaster than the jealousy which originates in nobler feeling. To suspect that she was the plaything of Sibyl’s subtlety, and that Redgrave smiled at her simplicity in never having discovered an obvious rival, fired her blood to the fever point. She could no longer balance probabilities; all the considerations which hitherto declared for Sibyl’s innocence lost their weight. Her overexcited mind, her impaired health, were readily receptive of such poison as distilled from the lips of Mrs. Strangeways. What she now desired was proof. Only let evidence be afforded her, cost what it might! After that, she saw her way.

No! Hugh Carnaby was assuredly not one of the men who wink at their wives’ dishonour, nor one of the men who go slinking for a remedy to courts of law—or she mistook him strangely.

At receipt of the expected note from Porchester Terrace—it said merely, ‘Pray be here, if possible, at three tomorrow afternoon’—she quivered with anticipation of seeing Redgrave. How it was to come about, she did not ask, but Redgrave should not part from her before she had obtained light upon his relations with Sibyl. She believed herself irresistible if she chose to put forth all her power. With two men, dangerous both of them, she had played the game of her own interests, played it safely, and for a long time; she made them her instruments, mocking at their hopes, holding them at arm’s-length, in spite of all their craft and their vehemence. Only a very clever woman could do this. In giddiness of self-admiration, she felt everything to be possible. Boldness was necessary—far more boldness than she had yet dared to use. The rivalry of such a woman as Sibyl could not be despised; it threatened her ambitions. But in the struggle now to be decided she had a supreme advantage; for Sibyl, having gained her object, assuredly had paid its price. Hence her pretended absorption in study, hence the revival of her friendliness; what were these things but blinds to mislead the only woman whose observation she had much reason to fear?

How astonishing it now seemed to her that she could have accepted such shallow explanations of Redgrave’s partnership with Hugh Carnaby! Why, Harvey himself, least suspicious of men, was perplexed, and avowed his inability to understand it. As for Mrs. Strangeways—a woman of the world, if there was one—the fact had but to be mentioned to her, and on the moment she saw its meaning. No wonder the matter had been kept so quiet. But for the honesty of the duped husband no one at all would have heard of it.

Arriving at the house a little before her time, she found her hostess a prey to vexation.

‘My dear, he can’t come. It’s most annoying. Only an hour ago I had a telegram—look——’

The despatch was from Coventry: ‘Don’t expect me. Detained on business. Redgrave.’ It rustled in Alma’s hand, and she had much ado to keep herself from tears of angry chagrin.

‘He had promised to be here,’ went on Mrs. Strangeways. ‘I thought nothing would have kept him away.’

‘Do you mean,’ asked Alma bluntly, ‘that he knew I was coming?’

‘I had said that I half expected you. Don’t be vexed, dear. I did so wish you to meet.’

‘If he’s at Coventry,’ Alma continued, ‘it must be on 这 business.’

‘It seems likely. Do sit down. You still look anything but yourself. Pray, pray remember that you have only a day or two——’

‘Don’t worry me, please,’ said Alma, with a contemptuous gesture.

She had thrown off reserve, caring only, now the first step was taken, to make all possible use of this woman whom she detested. Her voice showed the change that had been wrought in her; she addressed her hostess almost as though speaking to an inferior.

‘What do you think it means, his keeping away?’

‘Business, possibly. More likely—the other thing I spoke of.’

In this reply Mrs. Strangeways modified her tone, discarding mellifluous tenderness, yet not going quite so far as Alma in neglect of appearances. She was an older woman, and had learnt the injudiciousness of impulsive behaviour.

‘Speak plainly—it saves time. You think he won’t care to meet me at all again?’

‘I don’t say that. I should be very sorry indeed to think it. But—to speak as plainly as you wish, dear—I know that someone must have said unpleasant things to him about your—your friendship with Mr. Dymes.’

‘Are you hinting at anyone in particular?’ Alma asked, salving her self-respect with a poor affectation of haughtiness.

‘Ask yourself, my dear, who is at all likely to give him such information.’

‘Information?’ Alma’s eyes flashed. ‘That’s a strange word to use. Do you imagine there is any information of that kind to be given?’

‘I spoke carelessly,’ answered the other, smiling. ‘Do sit down, dear Mrs. Rolfe. I’m sure you will overtax your strength before Tuesday. I meant nothing whatever, I assure you.’

Reluctantly Alma became seated, and the conversation was prolonged. Without disguise they debated the probability that Redgrave was being estranged from Alma by Sibyl Carnaby; of course, taking for granted Sibyl’s guilt, and presuming that she feared rivalry. From time to time Alma threw out scornful assertion of her own security; she was bold to the point of cynicism, and recklessly revealed herself. The other listened attentively, still smiling, but without constraint upon her features; at moments she appeared to feel something of admiration.

‘There are several things in your favour,’ she remarked deliberately, when Alma had declared a resolve to triumph at all hazards. ‘Above all—but one need not mention it.’

‘What? I don’t understand.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you do! You alluded to it the other day. Some women have such tiresome husbands.’

The look which accompanied this struck Alma cold. She sat motionless, staring at the speaker.

‘What do you mean? You think that my husband——?’

‘I meant only to encourage you, my dear.’

‘You think that my husband has less sense of honour than Mr. Carnaby?’

Mrs. Strangeways looked wonderingly at her.

‘How strange you are! Could I have dreamt of saying anything so ill-mannered?’

‘You implied it!’ exclaimed Alma, her voice thrilling on the note of indignation. ‘How dare you so insult me! Is it possible that you have such thoughts?’

Overcome by what seemed to her the humour of the situation, Mrs Strangeways frankly laughed.

‘I beg your pardon a thousand times, my dear Mrs. Rolfe! I have misunderstood, I am afraid. You ，那恭喜你， quite serious? Yes, yes, there has been a misunderstanding. Pray forgive me.’

Alma rose from her chair. ‘There 具有 been a misunderstanding. If you knew my husband—if you had once met him—such a thought could never have entered your mind. You compare him to his disadvantage with Mr Carnaby? What right have you to do that? I believe in Mr. Carnaby’s honesty, and do you know why?—because he is my husband’s friend. But for 这, I should suspect him.’

‘My dear,’ replied Mrs. Strangeways, ‘you are wonderful. I prophesy great things for you. I never in my life met so interesting a woman.’

‘You may be as sarcastic as you please,’ Alma retorted, in a low, passionate voice. ‘I suppose you believe in no one?’

‘I have said, dear, that I believe in 您; and I shall think it the greatest misfortune if I lose your friendship for a mere indiscretion. Indeed, I was only trying to understand you completely.’

‘You do—now.’

They did not part in hostility. Mrs. Strangeways had the best of reasons for averting this issue, at any cost to her own feelings, which for the moment had all but escaped control. Though the complications of Alma’s character puzzled her exceedingly, she knew how to smooth over the trouble which had so unexpectedly arisen. Flattery was the secret of her influence with Mrs. Rolfe, and it still availed her. With ostentation of frankness, she pointed a contrast between Alma and her presumed rival. Mrs. Carnaby was the corrupt, unscrupulous woman, who shrank from nothing to gratify a base selfishness. Alma was the artist, pursuing a legitimate ambition, using, as she had a perfect right to do, all her natural resources, but pure in soul.

‘Yes, I understand you at last, and I admire you more than ever. You will go far, my dear. You have great gifts, and, more than that, you have principle. It is character that tells in the long run. And depend upon me. I shall soon have news for you. Keep quiet; prepare yourself for next Tuesday. As for all 这—leave it to me.’

Scarcely had Alma left the house, when she suddenly stood still, as though she had forgotten something. Indeed she had. In the flush of loyal resentment which repelled an imputation upon her husband’s honour, she had entirely lost sight of her secret grievance against Harvey. Suddenly revived, the memory helped her to beat down that assaulting shame which took advantage of reaction in mind and blood. Harvey was not honest with her. Go as far as she might, short of the unpardonable, there still remained to her a moral superiority over the man she defended. And yet—she was glad to have defended him; it gave her a sense of magnanimity. More than that, the glow of an honest thought was strangely pleasant.

She had sundry people to see and pieces of business to transact. What a nuisance that she lived so far from the centre of things! It was this perpetual travelling that had disordered her health, and made everything twice as troublesome as it need be. Today, again, she had a headache, and the scene with Mrs. Strangeways had made it worse.

In Regent Street she met Dymes. She was not afraid of him now, for she had learnt how to make him keep his distance; and after the great day, if he continued to trouble her, he might be speedily sent to the right-about. He made an inspiriting report: already a considerable number of tickets had been sold—enough, he said, or all but enough, to clear expenses.

‘What, advertising and all?’ asked Alma.

‘Oh, leave that to me. Advertising is a work of art. If you like just to come round to my rooms, I’ll——’

‘Haven’t time today. See you at the Hall on Monday.’

A batch of weekly newspapers which arrived next morning, Saturday, proved to her that Dymes was sufficiently active. There were more paragraphs; there were two reproductions of her portrait; and as for advertisements, she tried, with some anxiety, to conjecture the cost of these liberal slices of page, with their eye-attracting type. Naturally the same question would occur to her husband, but Harvey kept his word; whatever he thought, he said nothing. And Alma found it easier to be good-humoured with him than at any time since she had read Mary Abbott’s letter; perhaps yesterday’s event accounted for it.

They dined at the Carnabys’, the first time for months that they had dined from home together. Harvey would have shirked the occasion, had it been possible. With great relief, he found that the guests were all absolute strangers to him, and that they represented society in its better sense, with no suggestion of the ‘half-world’—no Mrs Strangeways or Mrs. Rayner Mann. Alma, equally conscious of the fact, viewed it as a calculated insult. Sibyl had brought her here to humiliate her. She entered the doors with jealous hatred boiling in her heart, and fixed her eyes on Sibyl with such fire of malicious scrutiny that the answer was a gaze of marked astonishment. But they had no opportunity for private talk. Sibyl, as hostess, bore herself with that perfect manner which no effort and no favour of circumstance would ever enable Mrs. Rolfe to imitate. Envying every speech and every movement, knowing that her own absent behaviour and forced talk must produce an unpleasant impression upon the well-bred strangers, she longed to expose the things unspeakable that lay beneath this surface of social brilliancy. What was more, she would do it when time was ripe. Only this consciousness of power to crush her enemy enabled her to bear up through the evening.

At the dinner-table she chanced to encounter Sibyl’s look. She smiled. There was disquiet in that glance—furtive inquiry and apprehension.

No music. Alma would have doubted whether any of these people were aware of her claim to distinction, had not a lady who talked with her after dinner hinted, rather than announced, an intention of being present at Prince’s Hall next Tuesday. None of the fuss and adulation to which she was grown accustomed; no underbred compliments; no ambiguous glances from men. It angered her to observe that Harvey did not seem at all wearied; that he conversed more naturally than usual in a mixed company, especially with the hostess. One whisper—and how would Harvey look upon his friend’s wife? But the moment had not come.

She left as early as possible, parting from Sibyl as she had met her, with eyes that scarce dissembled their malignity.

When Hugh and his wife were left together, Sibyl abstained from remark on Alma; it was Carnaby who introduced the subject. ‘Don’t you think Mrs. Rolfe looked seedy?’

‘Work and excitement,’ was the quiet answer. ‘I think it more than likely she will break down.’

‘It’s a confounded pity. Why, she has grown old all at once. She’s losing her good looks. Did you notice that her eyes were a little bloodshot?’

‘Yes, I noticed it. I didn’t like her look at all.’

Hugh, as his custom was, paced the floor. Nowadays he could not keep still, and he had contracted an odd habit of swinging his right arm, with fist clenched, as though relieving his muscles after some unusual constraint.

‘By Jove, Sibyl, when I compare her with you!—I feel sorry for Rolfe; can’t help it. Why didn’t you stop this silly business before it went so far?’

‘That’s a characteristic question, dear boy,’ Sibyl replied merrily. ‘There are more things in life—particularly woman’s life—than your philosophy ever dreamt of. Alma has quite outgrown me, and I begin to suspect that she won’t honour me with her acquaintance much longer.’

'为什么？'

‘For one thing, we belong to different worlds, don’t you see; and the difference, in future, will be rather considerable.’

‘Well, I’m sorry. Rolfe isn’t half the man he was. Why on earth didn’t he stop it? He hates it, anyone can see. Why, if I were in his place——’

Sibyl interrupted with her mellow laughter.

‘You wouldn’t be a bit wiser. It’s the fate of men—except those who have the courage to beat their wives. You know you came back to England at my heels when you didn’t want to. Now, a little energy, a little practice with the horsewhip——’

Carnaby made pretence of laughing. But he turned away his face; the jest had too serious an application. Yes, yes, if he had disregarded Sibyl’s wishes, and stayed on the other side of the world! It seemed to him strange that she could speak of the subject so lightly; he must have been more successful than he thought in concealing his true state of mind.

‘Rolfe tells me he has got a house at Gunnersbury.’

‘Yes; he mentioned it to me. Why Gunnersbury? There must be some reason they don’t tell us.’

‘Ask his wife,’ said Hugh, impatiently. ‘No doubt the choice is hers.’

‘No doubt. But I don’t think,’ added Sibyl musingly, ‘I shall ask Alma that or anything else. I don’t think I care much for Alma in her new development. For a time I shall try leaving her alone.’

‘Well, I’m sorry for poor old Rolfe,’ repeated Hugh.

On Monday morning Hugh Carnaby received a letter from Mrs. Ascott Larkfield. It was years since Sibyl’s mother had written to him, and the present missive, scrawled in an unsteady hand, gave him some concern. Mrs. Larkfield wrote that she was very ill, so ill that she had abandoned hope of recovery. She asked him whether, as her son-in-law, he thought it right that she should be abandoned to the care of strangers. It was the natural result, no doubt, of her impoverished condition; such was the world; had she still been wealthy, her latter days would not have been condemned to solitude. But let him remember that she still had in her disposal an income of about six hundred pounds, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have passed to Sibyl; by a will on the point of being executed, this money would benefit a charitable institution. To him this might be a matter of indifference; she merely mentioned the fact to save Sibyl a possible disappointment.

Hugh and his wife, when both had read the letter, exchanged uneasy glances.

‘It isn’t the money,’ said Carnaby. ‘Hang the money! But—after all, Sibyl, she’s your mother.’

‘And what does 这 mean?’ Sibyl returned coldly. ‘Shall I feel the least bit of sorrow if she dies? Am I to play the hypocrite just because this woman brought me into the world? We have always hated each other, and whose fault? When I was a child, she left me to dirty-minded, thieving servants; they were my teachers, and it’s wonderful enough that—that nothing worse came of it. When I grew up, she left me to do as I pleased—anything so that I gave her no trouble. Do you wish me to go and pretend——’

‘I tell you what—I’ll run down to Weymouth myself, shall I? Perhaps I might arrange something—for her comfort, I mean.’

Sibyl carelessly assented. Having business in town, Hugh could not start till afternoon, but he would reach Weymouth by half-past six, and might manage to be back again in time for Mrs. Rolfe’s concert tomorrow.

‘I shouldn’t put myself to any inconvenience on that account,’ said Sibyl, smiling.

‘Out of regard for Rolfe, that’s all.’

He left home at eleven, transacted his business, and at half-past one turned in for lunch at a Strand restaurant before proceeding to Waterloo. As he entered, he saw Mrs. Rolfe, alone at one of the tables; she was drawing on her gloves, about to leave. They met with friendly greeting, though Hugh, from the look with which Mrs. Rolfe recognised him, had a conviction that his growing dislike of her was fully reciprocated. In the brief talk before Alma withdrew, he told her that he was going down into the country.

‘To Coventry?’ she asked, turning her eyes upon him.

‘No; to Weymouth. Mrs. Larkfield is no better, I’m afraid, and—Sibyl wants me to see her.’

‘Then you won’t be back——’

‘For tomorrow?—oh yes, I shall certainly be back in time, unless anything very serious prevents me. There’s a good train from Weymouth at 10.10—gets in about half-past two. I shall easily get to Prince’s Hall by three.’

Alma again regarded him, and seemed on the point of saying something, but she turned her head, rose, and rather hastily took leave. Hugh remarked to himself that she looked even worse by daylight than in the evening; decidedly, she was making herself ill—perhaps, he added, the best thing that could happen.

For his luncheon he had small appetite. The journey before him was a nuisance, and the meeting at the end of it more disagreeable than anything he had ever undertaken. What a simple matter life would be, but for women! That Sibyl should detest her mother was perhaps natural enough, all things considered; but he heartily wished they were on better terms. He felt that Sibyl must have suffered in character, to some extent, by this abnormal antipathy. He did not blame her; her self-defence this morning proved that she had ground for judging her mother sternly; and perhaps, as she declared, only by her own strength and goodness had she been saved from the worst results of parental neglect. Hugh did not often meditate upon such things, but just now he felt impatience and disgust with women who would not care properly for their children. Poor old Rolfe’s wife, for instance, what business had she to be running at large about London, giving concerts, making herself ill and ugly, whilst her little son was left to a governess and servants! He had half a mind to write a letter to old Rolfe. But no; that kind of thing was too dangerous, even between the nearest friends. Men must not quarrel; women did more than enough of that. Sibyl and Alma had as good as fallen out; the less they saw of each other the better. And now he had to face a woman, perhaps dying, who would doubtless rail by the hour at her own daughter.

O heaven! for a breath of air on sea or mountain or prairie! Could he stand this life much longer?

Driving to Waterloo, he thought of Mrs. Larkfield’s bequest to the charitable institution. Six hundred pounds might be a paltry income, but one could make use of it. A year ago, to be sure, he would have felt more troubled by the loss; at present he had reason to look forward hopefully, so far as money could represent hope. The cycle business was moving; as likely as not, it would ultimately enrich him. There was news, too, from that fellow Dando in Queensland, who declared that his smelting process, gradually improved, had begun to yield results, and talked of starting a new company. Hugh’s business of the morning had been in this connection: by inquiry in the City he had learnt that Dando’s report might be relied upon, and that capital which had seemingly vanished would certainly yield a small dividend this year. He was thankful that he could face Mrs. Larkfield without the shame of interested motives. Let her do what she liked with her money; he went to see the woman merely out of humane feeling, sense of duty; and assuredly no fortune-hunter had ever imposed upon himself a more distasteful office.

On alighting at the station, he found that the only coin, other than gold, which he had in his pocket was a shilling. In accordance with usage, he would have given the cabman an extra sixpence, had he possessed it. When the man saw a tender of his legal fare, he, also in accordance with usage, broadened his mouth, tossed the coin on his palm, and pointedly refrained from thanks. At another time Hugh might have disregarded this professional suavity, but a little thing exasperated his present mood.

‘Well?’ he exclaimed, in a voice that drew the attention of everyone near. ‘Is it your fare or not? Learn better manners, vicious brute!’

Before the driver could recover breath to shout a primitive insult, Hugh walked into the station. Here, whilst his wrath was still hot, a man tearing at full speed to catch a train on another platform bumped violently against him. He clenched his fist, and, but for the gasped apology, might have lost himself in blind rage. As it was, he inwardly cursed railway stations, cursed England, cursed civilisation. His muscles were quivering; sweat had started to his forehead. A specialist in nervous pathology would have judged Hugh Carnaby a dangerous person on this Monday afternoon.

He took his ticket, and, having some minutes to wait, moved towards the bookstall. By his side, as he scanned the papers, stood a lady who had just made a purchase; the salesman seemed to have handed her insufficient change, for she said to him, in a clear, business-like voice, ‘It was half-a-crown that I gave you.’

At the sound of these words, Hugh turned sharply and looked at the speaker. She was a woman of thirty-five, solidly built, well dressed without display of fashion; the upper part of her face was hidden by a grey veil, through which her eyes shone. Intent on recovering her money, she did not notice that the man beside her was looking and listening with the utmost keenness; nor, on turning away at length, was she aware that Hugh followed. He pursued her, at a yard’s distance, down the platform, and into the covered passage which leads to another part of the station. Here, perhaps because the footstep behind her sounded distinctly, she gave a backward glance, and her veiled eyes met Carnaby’s. At once he stepped to her side. ‘I don’t think I can be mistaken,’ were his low, cautiously-spoken words, whilst he gazed into her face with stern fixedness. ‘You remember me, Mrs. Maskell, no doubt.’

‘I do not, sir. You certainly ，那恭喜你， mistaken.’

She replied in a voice which so admirably counterfeited a French accent that Hugh could not but smile, even whilst setting his teeth in anger at her impudence.

‘Oh! that settles it. As you have two tongues, you naturally have two names—probably more. I happened to be standing by you at the bookstall a moment ago. It’s a great bore; I was just starting on a journey; but I must trouble you to come with me to the nearest police station. You have too much sense to make any fuss about it.’

The woman glanced this way and that. Two or three people were hurrying through the passage, but they perceived nothing unusual.

‘You have a choice,’ said Carnaby, ‘between my companionship and that of the policeman. Make up your mind.’

‘I don’t think you will go so far as that, Mr. Carnaby,’ said the other, with self-possession and in her natural voice.

'为什么不？'

‘Because I can tell you something that will interest you very much—something that nobody else can.’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked roughly.

‘It refers to your wife; that’s all I need say just now.’

‘You are lying.’

‘As you please. Let us go.’

She moved on with unhurried step, and turned towards the nearest cab-rank. Pausing within sight of the vehicles, she looked again at her companion.

‘Would you rather have a little quiet talk with me in a four-wheeler, or drive straight to——?’

Hugh’s brain was in commotion. The hint of secrets concerning his wife had not its full effect in the moment of utterance; it sounded the common artifice of a criminal. But Mrs. Maskell’s cool audacity gave significance to her words; the two minutes’ walk had made Hugh as much afraid of her as she could be of him. He stared at her, beset with horrible doubts.

‘Won’t it be a pity to miss your train?’ she said, with a friendly smile. ‘I can give you my address.’

‘No doubt you can. Look here—it was a toss-up whether I should let you go or not, until you said 这. If you had begged off, ten to one I should have thought I might as well save myself trouble. But after that cursed lie——’

‘That’s the second time you’ve used the word, Mr. Carnaby. I’m not accustomed to it, and I shouldn’t have thought you would speak in that way to a lady.’

He was aghast at her assurance, which, for some reason, made him only the more inclined to listen to her. He beckoned a cab.

‘Where shall we drive to?’

‘Say Clapham Junction.’

They entered the four-wheeler, and, as soon as it began to move out of the station, Mrs. Maskell leaned back. Her claim to be considered a lady suffered no contradiction from her look, her movements, or her speech; throughout the strange dialogue she had behaved with remarkable self-command, and made use of the aptest phrases without a sign of effort. In the years which had elapsed since she filled the position of housekeeper to Mrs. Carnaby, she seemed to have gained in the externals of refinement; though even at that time her manners were noticeably good.

‘Raise your veil, please,’ said Hugh, when he had pulled up the second window.

She obliged him, and showed a face of hard yet regular outline, which would have been almost handsome but for its high cheek-bones and coarse lips.

‘And you have been going about all this time, openly?’

‘With discretion. I am not perfect, unfortunately. Rather than lose sixpence at the bookstall, I forgot myself. That’s a woman’s weakness; we don’t easily get over it.’

‘What put it into your head to speak of my wife?’

‘I had to gain time, had I not?’

In a sudden burst of wrath, Hugh banged the window open; but, before he could call to the cabman, a voice sounded in his ear, a clear quick whisper, the lips that spoke all but touching him.

‘Do you know that your wife is Mr. Redgrave’s mistress?’

He fell back. There was no blood in his face; his eyes stared hideously.

‘Say that again, and I’ll crush the life out of you!’

‘You look like it, but you won’t. My information is too valuable.’

‘It’s the vilest lie ever spoken by whore and thief.’

‘You are not polite, Mr. Carnaby.’

She still controlled herself, but in fear, as quick glances showed. And her fear was not unreasonable; the man glared murder.

‘Stop that, and tell me what you have to say.’

Mrs. Maskell raised the window again.

‘You have compelled me, you see. It’s a pity. I don’t want to make trouble.’

‘What do you know of Redgrave?’

‘I keep house for him at Wimbledon.’

'你？'

‘Yes. I have done so for about a year.’

‘And does he know who you are?’

‘Well—perhaps not quite. He engaged me on the Continent. A friend of his (and of mine) recommended me, and he had reason to think I should be trustworthy. Don’t misunderstand me. I am housekeeper—而已. It’s a position of confidence. Mr. Redgrave—but you know him.’

The listener’s face was tumid and discoloured, his eyes bloodshot. With fearful intensity he watched every movement of Mrs. Maskell’s features.

‘How do you know I know him?’

‘You’ve been at his place. I’ve seen you, though you didn’t see me; and before I saw you I heard your voice. One remembers voices, you know.’

‘Go on. What else have you seen or heard?’

‘Mrs. Carnaby has been there too.’

‘I know that!’ Hugh shouted rather than spoke. ‘She was there with Mrs Fenimore—Redgrave’s sister—and several other people.’

‘Yes; last summer. I caught sight of her as she was sitting in the veranda, and it amused me to think how little she suspected who was looking at her. But she has been there since.’

'什么时候？'

Mrs. Maskell consulted her memory, and indicated a day in the past winter. She could not at this moment recall the exact date, but had a note of it. Mrs. Carnaby came at a late hour of the evening, and left very early the next day.

‘How are you going to make this lie seem probable?’ asked Hugh, a change of voice betraying the dread with which he awaited her answer; for the time of which she spoke was exactly that when Redgrave had offered himself as a partner in the firm of Mackintosh & Co. ‘Do you want me to believe that she came and went so that every one could see her?’

‘Oh no. I was new to the place then, and full of curiosity. I have my own ways of getting to know what I wish to know. Remember, once more, that it’s very easy to recognise a voice. I told you that I was in a position of confidence. Whenever Mr. Redgrave wishes for quietness, he has only to mention it; our servants are well disciplined. I, of course, am never seen by visitors, whoever they may be, and whenever they come; but it happens occasionally that I see 他们, even when Mr. Redgrave doesn’t think it. Still, he is sometime very careful indeed, and so he was on that particular evening. You remember that his rooms have French windows—a convenient arrangement. The front door may be locked and bolted, but people come and go for all that.’

‘That’s the bungalow, is it?’ muttered Carnaby. ‘And how often do you pretend you have heard 这里 voice?’

‘Only that once.’

It was worse than if she had answered ‘Several times.’ Hugh looked long at her, and she bore his gaze with indifference.

‘You don’t pretend that you 锯 her?’

‘No, I didn’t see her.’

‘Then, if you are not deliberately lying, you have made a mistake.’

Mrs. Maskell smiled and shook her head.

'什么 话 did you hear?’

‘Oh—talk. Nothing very particular.’

‘I want to know what it was.’

‘Well, as far as I could make out, Mrs. Carnaby was going to get a bicycle, and wanted to know what was the best. Not much harm in that,’ she added, with a silent laugh.

Hugh sat with his hands on his knees, bending forward. He said nothing for a minute or two, and at length looked to the window.

‘You were going back to Wimbledon?’

‘Yes. I have only been in town for an hour or two.’

‘Is Redgrave there?’

‘No; he’s away.’

‘Very well; I am going with you. You will find out for me on what date that happened.’

‘Certainly. But what is the understanding between us?’

Hugh saw too well that any threat would be idle. Whether this woman had told the truth or not, her position in Redgrave’s house, and the fact of Redgrave’s connection with the firm of Mackintosh—of which she evidently was not aware—put it in her power to strike a fatal blow at Sibyl. He still assured himself that she was lying—how doubt it and maintain his sanity?—but the lie had a terrible support in circumstances. Who could hear this story without admitting the plausibility of its details? A man such as Redgrave, wealthy and a bachelor; a woman such as Sibyl, beautiful, fond of luxurious living; her husband in an embarrassed position—how was it that he, a man of the world, had never seen things in this light? Doubtless his anxiety had blinded him; that, and his absolute faith in Sibyl, and Redgrave’s frank friendliness. Even if he obtained (as he would) complete evidence of Sibyl’s honesty, Mrs. Maskell could still dare him to take a step against her. How many people were at her mercy? He might be sure that she would long ago have stood in the dock but for her ability to make scandalous and ruinous revelations. Did Redgrave know that he had a high-class criminal in his employment? Possibly he knew it well enough. There was no end to the appalling suggestiveness of this discovery. Hugh remembered what he had said in talk with Harvey Rolfe about the rottenness of society. Never had he felt himself so much a coward as in face of this woman, whose shameless smile covered secrets and infamies innumerable.

The cabman was bidden drive on to Wimbledon, and, with long pauses, the dialogue continued for an hour. Hugh interrogated and cross-examined his companion on every matter of which she could be induced to speak, yet he learned very little in detail concerning either her own life or Redgrave’s; Mrs. Maskell was not to be driven to any disclosure beyond what was essential to her own purpose. By dint of skilful effrontery she had gained the upper hand, and no longer felt the least fear of him.

‘If I believed you,’ said Carnaby, at a certain point of their conversation, ‘I should have you arrested straight away. It wouldn’t matter to me how the thing came out; it would be public property before long.’

‘Where would you find your witnesses?’ she asked. ‘Leave me alone, and I can be of use to you as no one else can. Behave shabbily, and you only make yourself look foolish, bringing a charge against your wife that you’ll never be able to prove. You would get no evidence from me. Whether you want it kept quiet or want to bring it into court, you depend upon my goodwill.’

They reached the end of the road in which was the approach to Redgrave’s house.

‘You had better wait here,’ said the woman. ‘I shall be ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. You needn’t feel uneasy; I haven’t the least intention of running away. Our interests are mutual, and if you do your part you can trust me to do mine.’

She stopped the cab, alighted, told the driver to wait, and walked quickly down the by-road. Hugh, drawn back into a corner, sat with head drooping; for a quarter of an hour he hardly stirred. Twenty minutes, thirty minutes, passed, but Mrs. Maskell did not show herself. At length, finding it impossible to sit still any longer, he sprang out, and paced backwards and forwards. Vastly to his relief, the woman at length appeared.

‘He is there,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t get away before.’

‘Is he alone?’

‘Yes. Don’t do anything foolish.’ Carnaby had looked as if he would move towards the house. ‘The slightest imprudence, and you’ll only harm yourself.’

‘Tell me that date.’

She named it.

‘I can’t stay longer, and I advise you to get away. If you want to write to me, you can do so without fear; my letters are quite safe. Address to Mrs. Lant. And remember——!’

With a last significant look she turned and left him. Hugh, mentally repeating the date he had learnt, walked back to the cab, and told the man to drive him to the nearest railway station, whichever it was.

When he reached home, some four hours had elapsed since his encounter with Mrs. Maskell (or Mrs. Lant) at Waterloo; it seemed to him a whole day. He had forgotten all about his purposed journey to Weymouth. One sole desire had possession of him to stand face to face with Sibyl, and to 看到 her innocence, rather than hear it, as soon as he had brought his tongue to repeat that foul calumny. He would then know how to deal with the creature who thought to escape him by slandering his wife.

He let himself in with his latchkey, and entered the drawing-room; it was vacant. He looked into other rooms; no one was there. He rang, and a servant came.

‘Has Mrs. Carnaby been out long?’

She had left, was the reply, at half-past two. Whilst she sat at luncheon a telegram arrived for her, and, soon after, she prepared to go out, saying that she would not return tonight.

Not return tonight? Hugh scarcely restrained an exclamation, and had much ado to utter his next words.

‘Did she mention where she was going?’

‘No, sir. I took the dressing-bag down to the cab, and the cabman was told to drive to the post-office.’

‘Very well. That will do.’

‘Shall you dine at home, sir?’

‘Dine? No.’

Sibyl gone away for the night? Where could she have gone to? He began to look about for the telegram she had received; it might be lying somewhere, and possibly would explain her departure. In the waste-paper basket he found the torn envelope lying at the top; but the despatch itself was not to be discovered.

Gone for the night? and just when he was supposed to have left town? The cabman told to drive to the post-office? This might be for the purpose of despatching a reply. Yet no; the reply would have been written at once and sent by the messenger in the usual way. Unless—unless Sibyl, for some reason, preferred to send the message more privately? Or again, she might not care to let the servant know whither the cab was really to convey her.

Sheer madness, all this. Had not Sibyl fifty legitimate ways of spending a night from home? Yet there was the fact that she had never before done so unexpectedly. Never before——?

He looked at his watch; half-past six. He rang the bell again.

‘Has any one called since Mrs. Carnaby left home?’

‘Yes, sir; there have been three calls. Mrs. Rolfe——’

‘Mrs. Rolfe?’

‘Yes, sir. She seemed very disappointed. I told her Mrs. Carnaby would not be back tonight.’

“其他人呢？”

Two persons of no account. Hugh dismissed them, and the servant, with a wave of the hand.

He felt a faintness such as accompanies extreme hunger, but had no inclination for food. The whisky bottle was a natural resource; a tumbler of right Scotch restored his circulation, and in a few minutes gave him a raging appetite. He could not eat here; but eat he must, and that quickly. Seizing his hat, he ran down the stairs, hailed a hansom, and drove to the nearest restaurant he could think of.

After eating without knowledge of the viands, and drinking a bottle of claret in like unconsciousness, he smoked for half an hour, his eyes vacantly set, his limbs lax and heavy, as though in the torpor of difficult digestion. When the cigar was finished, he roused himself, looked at the time, and asked for a railway guide. There was a train to Wimbledon at ten minutes past eight; he might possibly catch it. Starting into sudden activity, he hastily left the restaurant, and reached Waterloo Station with not a moment to spare.

At Wimbledon he took a cab, and was driven up the hill. Under a clouded sky, dusk had already changed to darkness; the evening was warm and still. Impatient with what he thought the slow progress of the vehicle, Hugh sat with his body bent forward, straining as did the horse, on which his eyes were fixed, and perspiring in the imaginary effort. The address he had given was Mrs. Fenimore’s; but when he drew near he signalled to the driver: ‘Stop at the gate. Don’t drive up.’

From the entrance to Mrs. Fenimore’s round to the by-road which was the direct approach to Redgrave’s bungalow would be a walk of some ten minutes. Hugh had his reasons for not taking this direction. Having dismissed his cab, he entered by the lodge-gate, and walked up the drive, moving quickly, and with a lighter step than was natural to him. When he came within view of the house, he turned aside, and made his way over the grass, in the deep shadow of leafy lime-trees, until the illumined windows were again hidden from him. He had seen no one, and heard no sound. A path which skirted the gardens would bring him in a few minutes to Redgrave’s abode; this he found and followed.

The bungalow was built in a corner of the park where previously had stood a gardener’s cottage; round about it grew a few old trees, and on two sides spread a shrubbery, sheltering the newly-made lawn and flower-beds. Here it was very dark; Hugh advanced cautiously, stopping now and then to listen. He reached a point where the front of the house became visible. A light shone at the door, but there was no movement, and Hugh could hear only his own hard breathing.

He kept behind the laurels, and made a half-circuit of the house. On passing to the farther side, he would come within view of those windows which opened so conveniently, as Mrs. Maskell had said—the windows of Redgrave’s sitting-room, drawing-room, study, or whatever he called it. To this end it was necessary to quit the cover of the shrubs and cross a lawn. As he stepped on to the mown grass, his ear caught a sound, the sound of talking in a subdued tone; it came, he thought, from that side of the building which he could not yet see. A few quick silent steps, and this conjecture became a certainty: someone was talking within a few yards of him, just round the obstructing corner, and he felt sure the voice was Redgrave’s. It paused; another voice made reply, but in so low a murmur that its accents were not to be recognised. That it was the voice of a woman the listener had no doubt. Spurred by a choking anguish, he moved forward. He saw two figures standing in a dim light from the window-door—a man and a woman; the man bareheaded, his companion in outdoor clothing. At the same moment he himself was perceived. He heard a hurried ‘Go in!’ and at once the woman disappeared.

Face to face with Redgrave, he looked at the window; but the curtain which dulled the light from within concealed everything.

“那是谁？”

‘Why—Carnaby? What the deuce——?’

'谁是 这？

‘Who?—what do you mean?’

Carnaby took a step; Redgrave laid an arresting hand upon him. There needed but this touch. In frenzied wrath, yet with the precision of trained muscle, Hugh struck out; and Redgrave went down before him—thudding upon the door of the veranda like one who falls dead.

He forced the window; he rushed into the room, and there before him, pallid, trembling, agonising, stood Alma Rolfe.

'你？'

She panted incoherent phrases. She was here to speak with Mr. Redgrave on business—about her concert tomorrow. She had not entered the house until this moment. She had met Mr. Redgrave in the garden——

‘What is that to me?’ broke in Hugh, staring wildly, his fist still clenched. ‘I am not your husband.’

‘Mr. Carnaby, you 将 believe me? I came for a minute or two—to speak about——’

‘It’s nothing to me, Mrs. Rolfe,’ he again interrupted her, in a hoarse, faint voice. ‘What have I done?’ He looked to the window, whence came no sound. ‘Have I gone mad? By God, I almost fear it!’

‘You believe me, Mr. Carnaby?’ She moved to him and seized his hand. ‘You know me too well—you know I couldn’t—say you believe me! Say one kind, friendly word!’

She looked distracted. Clinging to his hand, she burst into tears. But Hugh hardly noticed her; he kept turning towards the window, with eyes of unutterable misery.

‘Wait here; I’ll come back.’

He stepped out from the window, and saw that Redgrave lay just where he had fallen—straight, still, his face turned upwards. Hugh stooped, and moved him into the light; the face was deathly—placid, but for its wide eyes, which seemed to look at his enemy. No blood upon the lips; no sign of violence.

‘Where did I hit him? He fell with his head against something, I suppose.’

From the parted lips there issued no perceptible breath. A fear, which was more than half astonishment, took hold upon Carnaby. He looked up—for the light was all at once obstructed—and saw Alma gazing at him.

‘What is it?’ she asked in a terrified whisper. ‘Why is he lying there?’

‘I struck him—he is unconscious.’

‘Struck him?’

He drew her into the room again.

‘Mrs. Rolfe, I shall most likely have to send for help. You mustn’t be seen here. It’s nothing to me why you came—yes, yes, I believe you—but you must go at once.’

‘You won’t speak of it?’

Her appeal was that of a child, helpless in calamity. Again she caught his hand, as if clinging for protection. Hugh replied in thick, hurried tones.

‘I have enough trouble of my own. This is no place for you. For your own sake, if not for your husband’s, keep away from here. I came because someone was telling foul lies—the kind of lies that drive a man mad. Whatever happens—whatever you hear—don’t imagine that 她 is to blame. You understand me?’

‘No word shall ever pass my lips!’

‘Go at once. Get home as soon as you can.’

Alma turned to go. Outside, she cast one glance at the dark, silent, unmoving form, then bowed her head, and hastened away into the darkness.

Again Hugh knelt by Redgrave’s side, raised his head, listened for the beating of his heart, tried to feel his breath. He then dragged him into the room, and placed him upon a divan; he loosened the fastenings about his neck; the head drooped, and there was not a sign of life. Next he looked for a bell; the electric button caught his eye, and he pressed it. To prevent any one from coming in, he took his stand close by the door. In a moment there was a knock, the door opened, and he showed his face to the surprised maid-servant.

‘Is Mrs. Lant in the house?’

'是的先生。'

‘Mr. Redgrave wants her at once; he is ill.’

The servant vanished. Keeping his place at the door, and looking out into the hall, Hugh, for full two minutes, heard no movement; then he was startled by a low voice immediately behind him.

'你在这里做什么？'

The housekeeper, who had entered from the garden, and approached in perfect silence, stood gazing at him; not unconcerned, but with full command of herself.

‘Look!’ he replied, pointing to the figure on the divan. ‘Is he only insensible—or dead?’

She stepped across the room, and made a brief examination by the methods Carnaby himself had used.

‘I never saw any one look more like dead,’ was her quiet remark. ‘What have you been up to? A little quiet murder?’

‘I met him outside. We quarrelled, and I knocked him down.’

‘And why are you here at all?’ asked the woman, with fierce eyes, though her voice kept its ordinary level.

‘Because of you and your talk—curse you! Can’t you do something? Get some brandy; and send someone for a doctor.’

‘Are you going to be found here?’ she inquired meaningly.

Hugh drew a deep breath, and stared at the silent figure. For an instant his face showed irresolution; then it changed, and he said harshly—’Yes, I am. Do as I told you. Get the spirits, and send someone—sharp!’

‘Mr. Carnaby, you’re a great blundering thickhead—if you care for my opinion of you. You deserve all you’ve got and all you’ll get.’

Hugh again breathed deeply. The woman’s abuse was nothing to him.

‘Are you going to do anything!’ he said. ‘Or shall I ring for someone else?’

She left the room, and speedily returned with a decanter of brandy. All their exertions proved useless; the head hung aside, the eyes stared. In a few minutes Carnaby asked whether a doctor had been sent for.

‘Yes. When I hear him at the door I shall go away. You came here against my advice, and you’ve made a pretty job of it. Well, you’ll always get work at a slaughter-house.’

Her laugh was harder to bear than the words it followed. Hugh, with a terrible look, waved her away from him.

‘Go—or I don’t know what I may do next. Take yourself out of my sight!—out!’

She gave way before him, backing to the door; there she laughed again, waved her hand in a contemptuous farewell, and withdrew.

For half an hour Carnaby stood by the divan, or paced the room. Once or twice he imagined a movement of Redgrave’s features, and bent to regard them closely; but in truth there was no slightest change. Within doors and without prevailed unbroken silence; not a step, not a rustle. The room seemed to grow intolerably hot. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Hugh went to the window and opened it a few inches; a scent of vegetation and of fresh earth came to him with the cool air. He noticed that rain had begun to fall, large drops pattering softly on leaves and grass and the roof of the veranda. Then sounded the rolling of carriage wheels, nearer and nearer. It was the doctor’s carriage, no doubt.

Uncertainty soon came to an end. Cyrus Redgrave was beyond help: he must have breathed his last—so said the doctor—at the moment when he fell. Not as a result of the fall; the blow of Carnaby’s fist had killed him. There is one stroke which, if delivered with sufficient accuracy and sufficient force, will slay more surely than any other: it is the stroke which catches an uplifted chin just at the right angle to drive the head back and shatter the spinal cord. This had plainly happened. The man’s neck was broken, and he died on the spot.

Carnaby and the doctor stood regarding each other. They spoke in subdued voices.

‘It was not a fight, you say?’

‘One blow from me, that was all. He said something that maddened me.’

‘Shall you report yourself?’

‘Yes. Here is my card.’

‘A sad business, Mr. Carnaby, Can I be of any use to you?’

‘You can—though I hesitate to ask it. Mrs. Fenimore should be told at once. I can’t do that myself.’

‘I know Mrs. Fenimore very well. I will see her—if she is at home.’

On this errand the doctor set forth. As soon as he was gone, Hugh rang the bell; the same domestic as before answered it, and again he asked for Mrs. Lant. He waited five minutes; the servant came back, saying that Mrs. Lant was not in the house. This did not greatly surprise him, but he insisted on a repetition of the search. Mrs. Lant could not be found. Evidently her disappearance was a mystery to this young woman, who seemed ingenuous to the point of simple-mindedness.

‘You are not to go into that room,’ said Hugh. (They were talking in the hall.) ‘The doctor will return presently.’

And therewith he left the house. But not the grounds; for in rain and darkness he stood watching from a place of concealment, watching at the same time Redgrave’s curtained window and the front entrance. His patience was not overtaxed. There sounded an approaching vehicle; it came up the drive and stopped at the front door, where at once alighted the doctor and a lady. Hugh’s espial was at an end. As the two stepped into the house he walked quickly away.

Yes, he would ‘report himself’, but not until he had seen Sibyl. To that end he must go home and wait there. The people at Wimbledon, who doubtless would communicate with the police, might cause him to be arrested before his wife’s return. He feared this much more than what was to follow. Worse than anything that could befall him would be to lose the opportunity of speaking in private with Sibyl before she knew what had happened.

In the early hours of the morning he lay down upon his bed and had snatches of troubled sleep. Knowing that he was wrong in the particular surmise which led him to Redgrave’s house, Sibyl’s absence no longer disturbed him with suspicions; a few hours would banish from his mind the last doubt of her, if any really remained. He had played the madman, bringing ruin upon himself and misery incalculable upon his wife, just because that thieving woman lied to him. She, of course, had made her speedy escape; and was it not as well? For, if the whole story became known, what hope was there that Sibyl would come out of it with untarnished fame? Merely for malice’ sake, the woman would repeat and magnify her calumnies. If she successfully concealed herself, it might be possible to avoid a mention of Sibyl’s name. He imagined various devices for this purpose, his brain plotting even when he slept.

To Alma Rolfe he gave scarcely a thought. If the worst were true of her, Rolfe had only to thank his own absurdity, which allowed such a conceited simpleton to do as she chose. The case looked black against her. Well, she had had her lesson, and in 这 quarter could come to no more harm. What sort of an appearance was she likely to make at Prince’s Hall today?—feather-headed fool!

Before five o’clock the sunlight streamed into his bedroom. Sparrows twittered about the window, and somewhere close by, perhaps in a neighbour’s flat, a caged throstle piped as though it were in the fields. Then began the street noises, and Hugh could lie still no longer. Remembering that at any moment his freedom might come to an end, he applied himself to arranging certain important matters. The housemaid came upon him with surprise; he bade her get breakfast, and, when the meal was ready, partook of it with moderate appetite.

The postman brought letters; nothing of interest for him, and for Sibyl only an envelope which, as one could feel, contained a mere card of invitation. But soon after nine o’clock there arrived a telegram. It was from Sibyl herself, and—from Weymouth.

‘Why are you not here? She died yesterday. If this reaches you, reply at once.’

He flung the scrap of paper aside and laughed. Of all natural explanations, this, of course, had never occurred to him. Yesterday’s telegram told of Mrs. Larkfield’s serious condition, and Sibyl had started at once for Weymouth, expecting to meet him there. One word of hers to the servant and he would simply have followed her. But Sibyl saw no necessity for that word. She was always reserved with domestics.

By the messenger, he despatched a reply. He would be at Weymouth as soon as possible.

He incurred the risk of appearing to run away; but that mattered little. Sibyl could hardly return before her mother’s burial, and by going yonder to see her he escaped the worse danger, probably the certainty, of arrest before any possible meeting with her in London. Dreading this more than ever, he made ready in a few minutes; the telegraph boy had hardly left the building before Hugh followed. A glance at the timetables had shown him that, if he travelled by the Great-Western, he could reach Weymouth at five minutes past four; whereas the first train he could catch at Waterloo would not bring him to his destination until half an hour later; on the other hand, he could get away from London by the South-Western forty minutes sooner than by the other line, and this decided him. Yesterday, Waterloo had been merely the more convenient station on account of his business in town; today he chose it because he had to evade arrest on a charge of homicide. So comforted was he by the news from Sibyl, that he could reflect on this joke of destiny, and grimly smile at it.

At the end of his journey he betook himself to an hotel, and immediately sent a message to Sibyl. Before her arrival he had swallowed meat and drink. He waited for her in a private room, which looked seaward. The sight of the blue Channel, the smell of salt breezes, made his heart ache. He was standing at the window, watching a steamer that had just left port, when Sibyl entered; he turned and looked at her in silence.

‘What are these mysterious movements?’ she asked, coming forward with a smile. ‘Why did you alter your mind yesterday?’

‘I wasn’t well.’

He could say nothing more, yet. Sibyl’s face was so tranquil, and she seemed so glad to rejoin him, that his tongue refused to utter any alarming word; and the more he searched her countenance, the more detestable did it seem that he should insult her by the semblance of a doubt.

‘Not well? Indeed, you look dreadfully out of sorts. How long had I been gone when you got home again?’

‘An hour or two. But tell me first about your mother. She died before you came?’

‘Very soon after they sent the telegram.’

Gravely, but with no affectation of distress, she related the circumstances; making known, finally, that Mrs. Larkfield had died intestate.

‘You are quite sure of that?’ asked Hugh, with an eagerness which surprised her.

‘Quite. Almost with her last breath she talked about it, and said that she 必须 make her will. And she had spoken of it several times lately. The people there knew all about her affairs. She kept putting it off—and as likely as not she wished the money to be mine, after all. I am sure she must have felt that she owed me something.’

Carnaby experienced a profound relief. Sibyl was now provided for, whatever turn his affairs might take. She had seated herself by the window, and, with her gloved hands crossed upon her lap, was gazing absently towards the sea. How great must be 这里 relief! thought Hugh. And still he looked at her smooth, pure features; at her placid eyes, in which, after all, he seemed to detect a little natural sadness; and the accusation in his mind assumed so grotesque an incredibility that he asked himself how he should dare to hint at it.

‘Sibyl——’

‘Isn’t there something you haven’t told me?’ she said, regarding him with anxiety, when he had just uttered her name and then averted his look. ‘I never saw you look so ill.’

‘Yes, dear, there is something.’

It was not often he spoke so gently. Sibyl waited, one of her hands clasping the other, and her lips close set.

‘I was at Wimbledon last night—at Redgrave’s.’

He paused again, for the last word choked him. Unless it were a tremor of the eyelids, no movement betrayed itself in Sibyl’s features; yet their expression had grown cold, and seemed upon the verge of a disdainful wonder. The pupils of her eyes insensibly dilated, as though to challenge scrutiny and defy it.

‘What of that?’ she said, when his silence urged her to speak.

‘Something happened between us. We quarrelled.’

Her lips suddenly parted, and he heard her quick breath; but the look that followed was of mere astonishment, and in a moment, before she spoke, it softened in a smile.

‘This is your dreadful news? You quarrelled—and he is going to withdraw from the business. Oh, my dear boy, how ridiculous you are! I thought all sorts of horrible things. Were you afraid I should make an outcry? And you have worried yourself into illness about Free Introduction? Oh, foolish fellow!’

Before she ceased, her voice was broken with laughter—a laugh of extravagant gaiety, of mocking mirth, that brought the blood to her face and shook her from head to foot. Only when she saw that her husband’s gloom underwent no change did this merriment cease. Then, with abrupt gravity, which was almost annoyance, her eyes shining with moisture and her cheeks flushed, she asked him——

‘Isn’t that it?’

‘Worse than that,’ Hugh answered.

But he spoke more freely, for he no longer felt obliged to watch her countenance. His duty now was to soften the outrage involved in repeating Mrs. Maskell’s fiction by making plain his absolute faith in her, and to contrive his story so as to omit all mention of a third person’s presence at the fatal interview.

‘Then do tell me and have done!’ exclaimed Sibyl, almost petulantly.

‘We quarrelled—and I struck him—and the blow was fatal.’

‘Fatal?—you mean he was killed?’

The blood vanished from her face, leaving pale horror.

‘A terrible accident—a blow that happened to—I couldn’t believe it till the doctor came and said he was dead.’

‘But tell me more. What led to it? How could you strike Mr. Redgrave?’

Sibyl had all at once subdued her voice to an excessive calmness. Her hands were trembling; she folded them again upon her lap. Every line of her face, every muscle of her body, declared the constraint in which she held herself. This, said Hugh inwardly, was no more than he had expected; disaster made noble proof of Sibyl’s strength.

‘I’ll tell you from the beginning.’

He recounted faithfully the incidents at Waterloo Station, and the beginning of Mrs. Maskell’s narrative in the cab. At the disclosure of her relations with Redgrave, he was interrupted by a short, hard laugh.

‘I couldn’t help it, Hugh. That woman!—why, you have always said you were sure to meet her somewhere. Housekeeper at Mr. Redgrave’s! We know what the end of that would be!’

Sibyl talked rapidly, in an excited chatter—the kind of utterance never heard upon her lips.

‘It was strange,’ Hugh continued. ‘Seems to have been mere chance. Then she began to say that she had learnt some of Redgrave’s secrets—about people who came and went mysteriously. And then—Sibyl, I can’t speak the words. It was the foulest slander that she could have invented. She meant to drive me mad, and she succeeded—curse her!’

Drops of anguish stood upon his forehead. He sprang up and crossed the room. Turning again, he saw his wife gazing at him, as if in utmost perplexity.

‘Hugh, I don’t in the least understand you. What 是 the slander? Perhaps I am stupid—but——’

He came near, but could not look her in the eyes.

‘My dearest’—his voice shook—’it was an infamous lie about 您-那 您 had been there——’

‘Why, of course I have! You know that I have.’

‘She meant more than that. She said you had been there secretly—at night——’

Hugh Carnaby—the man who had lived as high-blooded men do live, who had laughed by the camp-fire or in the club smoking-room at many a Rabelaisian story and capped it with another, who hated mock modesty, was all for honest openness between man and woman—stood in guilty embarrassment before his own wife’s face of innocence. It would have been a sheer impossibility for him to ask her where and how she spent a certain evening last winter; Sibyl, now as ever, was his ideal of chaste womanhood. He scorned himself for what he had yet to tell.

Sibyl was gazing at him, steadily, inquiringly.

‘She made you believe this?’ fell upon the silence, in her softest, clearest tones.

‘No! She couldn’t make me 相信 it. But the artful devil had such a way of talking——’

‘I understand. You didn’t know whether to believe or not. Just tell me, please, what proof she offered you.’

Hugh hung his head.

‘She had heard you talking—in the house—on a certain——’

He looked up timidly, and met a flash of derisive scorn.

‘She heard me talking? Hugh, I really don’t see much art in this. You seem to have been wrought upon rather easily. It never occurred to you, I suppose, to ask for a precise date?’

He mentioned the day, and Sibyl, turning her head a little, appeared to reflect.

‘It’s unfortunate; I remember nothing whatever of that date. I’m afraid, Hugh, that I couldn’t possibly prove an alibi.’

Her smiling sarcasm made the man wince. His broad shoulders shrank together; he stood in an awkward, swaying posture.

‘Dear, I told her she lied!’

‘That was very courageous. But what came next? You had the happy idea of going to Wimbledon to make personal inquiries?’

‘Try to put yourself in my place, Sibyl,’ he pleaded. ‘Remember all the circumstances. Can’t you see the danger of such a lie as that? I went home, hoping to find you there. But you had gone, and nobody knew where—you wouldn’t be back that night. A telegram had called you away, I was told. When I asked where you told the cabman to drive you to—the post-office.’

‘Oh, it looked very black!—yes, yes, I quite understand. The facts are so commonplace that I’m really ashamed to mention them. At luncheon-time came an urgent telegram from Weymouth. I sent no reply then, because I thought I knew that you were on your way. But when I was ready to start, it occurred to me that I should save you trouble by wiring that I should join you as soon as possible—so I drove to the post-office before going to Paddington.—Well, you rushed off to Wimbledon?’

‘Not till later, and because I was suffering damnably. If I hadn’t—been what would it have meant? When a man thinks as much of his wife as I do of you——’

‘He has a right to imagine anything of her,’ she interrupted in a changed tone, gently reproachful, softening to tenderness. A Singularity of Sibyl’s demeanour was that she seemed utterly forgetful of the dire position in which her husband stood. One would have thought that she had no concern beyond the refutation of an idle charge, which angered her indeed, but afforded scope for irony, possibly for play of wit. For the moment, Hugh himself had almost forgotten the worst; but he was bidden to proceed, and again his heart sank.

‘I went there in the evening. Redgrave happened to be outside—in that veranda of his. I saw him as I came near in the dark, and I fancied that—that he had been talking to someone in the room—through the folding windows. I went up to him quickly, and as soon as he saw me he pulled the window to. After that—I only remember that I was raving mad. He seemed to want to stop me, and I struck at him—and that was the end.’

Sibyl shuddered.

‘You went into the room?’

‘Yes. No one was there.’

Both kept silence. Sibyl had become very grave, and was thinking intently. Then, with a few brief questions, vigilant, precise, she learnt all that had taken place between Hugh and Mrs. Maskell, between Hugh and the doctor; heard of the woman’s disappearance, and of Mrs Fenimore’s arrival on the scene.

‘What shall you do now?’

‘Go back and give myself up. What else 能够 我愿意？'

‘And tell everything—as you have told it to me?’

Hugh met her eyes and moved his arms in a gesture of misery.

‘No! I will think of something. He is dead, and can’t contradict; and the woman will hide—trust her. Your name shan’t come into it at all. I owe you that, Sibyl. I’ll find some cause for a quarrel with him. Your name shan’t be spoken.’

She listened, her eyes down, her forehead lined in thought.

‘I know what!’ Hugh exclaimed, with gloomy resolve. ‘That woman—of course, there’ll be a mystery, and she’ll be searched for. Why’—he blustered against his shame—’why shouldn’t she be the cause of it? Yes, that would do.’

His hoarse laugh caused a tremor in Sibyl; she rose and stepped close to him, and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

‘So far you have advised yourself. Will you let me advise you now, dear?’

‘Wouldn’t that seem likely?’

‘I think not. And if it 做了—what is the result? You will be dealt with much more severely. Don’t you see that?’

‘What’s that to me? What do I care so long as you are out of the vile business? You will have no difficulties. Your mother’s money; and then Mackintosh——’

‘And is that all?’ asked Sibyl, with a look which seemed to wonder profoundly. ‘Am I to think only of my own safety?’

‘It’s all my cursed fault—just because I’m a fierce, strong brute, who ought to be anywhere but among civilised people. I’ve killed the man who meant me nothing but kindness. Am I going to drag 选择您 name into the mud—to set people grinning and winking——’

‘Be quiet, Hugh, and listen. I have a much clearer head than yours, poor boy. There’s only one way of facing this scandal, and that is to tell everything. For one thing, I shall not let you shield that woman—we shall catch her yet. I shall not let you disgrace yourself by inventing squalid stories. Don’t you see, too, that the disgrace would be shared by—by the dead man? Would that be right? And another thing—if shame comes upon you, do you think I have no part in it? We have to face it out with the truth.’

‘You don’t know what that means,’ he answered, with a groan. ‘You don’t know the world.’

Sibyl did not smile, but her lips seemed only to check themselves when the smile was half born.

‘I know enough of it, Hugh, to despise it; and I know you much better than you know yourself. You are not one of the men who can tell lies and make them seem the truth. I don’t think my name will suffer. I shall stand by you from first to last. The real true story can’t possibly be improved upon. That woman had every motive for deceiving you, and her disappearance is all against her. You have to confess your hot-headedness—that can’t be helped. You tell everything—even down to the mistake about the telegram. I shall go with you to the police-station; I shall be at the inquest; I shall be at the court. It’s the only chance.’

‘Good God! how can I let you do this?’

‘You had rather, then, that I seemed to hide away? You had rather set people thinking that there is coldness between us? We must go up tonight. Look out the trains, quick.’

‘But your mother, Sibyl——’

‘She is dead; she cares nothing. I have to think of my husband.’

Hugh caught her and crushed her in his arms.

‘My darling, worse than killing a man who never harmed me was to think wrong of you!’

Her face had grown very pale. She closed her eyes, smiled faintly as she leaned her head against him, and of a sudden burst into tears.

‘It shows one’s ignorance of such matters,’ said Harvey Rolfe, with something of causticity in his humour, when Alma came home after midnight. ‘I should have thought that, by way of preparing for tomorrow, you would have quietly rested today.’

He looked round at her. Alma had entered the study as usual, and was taking off her gloves; but the effort of supporting herself seemed too great, she trembled towards the nearest chair, and affected to laugh at her feebleness as she sank down.

‘Rest will come after,’ she said, in such a voice as sounds from a parched and quivering throat.

‘I’ll take good care of that,’ Harvey remarked. ‘To look at you is almost enough to make me play the brutal husband, and say that I’ll be hanged if you go out tomorrow at all.’

She laughed—a ghostly merriment.

'你去哪儿了？'

‘Oh, at several places. I met Mr. Carnaby at lunch,’ she added quickly. ‘He told me he was going somewhere—I forget—oh, to Weymouth, to see Mrs. Larkfield.’

Harvey was watching her, and paid little attention to the news.

‘Do you know, it wouldn’t much surprise me if you couldn’t get up tomorrow morning, let alone play at a concert. Well, I won’t keep you talking. Go to bed.’

'是。'

She rose, but instead of turning to the door, moved towards where Harvey was sitting.

‘Don’t be angry with me,’ she murmured in a shamefaced way. ‘It wasn’t very wise—I’ve over-excited myself but I shall be all right tomorrow; and afterwards I’ll behave more sensibly—I promise——’

He nodded; but Alma bent over him, and touched his forehead with her lips.

‘You’re in a fever, I suppose you know?’

‘I shall be all right tomorrow. Goodnight, dear.’

In town, this morning, she had called at a chemist’s, and purchased a little bottle of something in repute for fashionable disorder of the nerves. Before lying down she took the prescribed dose, though with small hope that it would help her to a blessed unconsciousness. Another thing she did which had not occurred to her for many a night: she knelt by the bedside, and half thought, half whispered through tearless sobs, a petition not learnt from any book, a strange half-heathen blending of prayer for moral strength, and entreaty for success in a worldly desire. Her mind shook perilously in its balance. It was well for Alma that the fashionable prescription did not fail her. In the moment of despair, when she had turned and turned again upon her pillow, haunted by a vision in the darkness, tortured by the never-ending echo of a dreadful voice, there fell upon her a sudden quiet; her brain was soothed by a lulling air from dreamland; her limbs relaxed, and forgot their aching weariness; she sighed and slept.

‘I am much better this morning,’ she said at breakfast. ‘Not a trace of fever—no headache.’

‘And a face the colour of the table-cloth,’ added Harvey.

There was a letter from Mrs. Frothingham, conveying good wishes not very fervently expressed. She had decided not to come up for the concert, feeling that the excitement would be too much for her; but Alma suspected another reason.

She had not asked her husband whether he meant to have a seat in Prince’s Hall this afternoon; she still waited for him to speak about it. After breakfast he asked her when she would start for town. At noon, she replied. Every arrangement had been completed; it would be enough if she reached the Hall half an hour before the time of the recital, and after a light luncheon at a neighbouring restaurant.

‘Then we may as well go together,’ said her husband.

‘You mean to come, then?’ she asked dreamily.

‘I shall go in at the last moment—a seat at the back.’

Anything but inclined for conversation, Alma acquiesced. For the next hour or two she kept in solitude, occasionally touching her violin, but always recurring to an absent mood, a troubled reverie. She could not fix her thoughts upon the trial that was before her. In a vague way she feared it; but another fear, at times amounting to dread, dimmed the day’s event into insignificance. The morning’s newspapers were before her, sent, no doubt, by Dymes’s direction, and she mused over the eye-attracting announcements of her debut. ‘Mrs. Harvey Rolfe’s First Violin Recital, Prince’s Hall, this afternoon, at 3.’ It gave her no more gratification than if the name had been that of a stranger.

The world had grown as unreal as a nightmare. People came before her mind, people the most intimately known, and she seemed but faintly to recognise them. They were all so much changed since yesterday. Their relations to each other and to her were altered, confused. Scarce one of them she could regard without apprehension or perplexity.

What faces would show before her when she advanced upon the platform? Would she behold Sibyl, or Hugh Carnaby, or Cyrus Redgrave? Their presence would all but convince her that she had passed some hours of yesterday in delirium. They might be present; for was not she—she herself—about to step forward and play in public? Their absence—what would it mean? Where were they at this moment? What had happened in the life of each since last she saw them?

When it was time to begin to dress, she undertook the task with effort, with repugnance. She would have chosen to sit here, in a drowsy idleness, and let the hours go by. On her table stood the little vial with its draught of oblivion. Oh to drink of it again, and to lay her head upon the pillow and outsleep the day!

Nevertheless, when she had exerted herself, and was clad in the fresh garments of spring, the mirror came to her help. She was pale yet; but pallor lends distinction to features that are not commonplace, and no remark of man or woman had ever caused her to suspect that her face was ordinary. She posed before the glass, holding her violin, and the picture seemed so effective that she began to regain courage. A dreadful thing had happened—perhaps more dreadful than she durst imagine—but her own part in it was nothing worse than folly and misfortune. She had no irreparable sin to hide. Her moment of supreme peril was past, and would not return. If now she could but brace her nerves, and pass successfully through the ordeal of the next few hours, the victory for which she had striven so hard, and had risked so much, would at length be won. Everything dark and doubtful she must try to forget. Success would give her new strength; to fail, under any circumstances ignominious, would at this crisis of her life be a disaster fraught with manifold and intolerable shame.

She played a few notes. Her hand was steady once more; she felt her confidence revive. Whenever she had performed before an audience, it had always seemed to her that she must inevitably break down; yet at the last minute came power and self-control. So it would be today. The greater the demand upon her, so much the surer her responsive energy. She would not see faces. When all was over, let the news be disclosed, the worst that might be waiting; between now and then lay an infinity of time.

So, when she went downstairs to meet Harvey, the change in her appearance surprised him. He had expected a bloodless countenance, a tremulous step; but Alma came towards him with the confident carriage of an earlier day, with her smile of superiority, her look that invited or demanded admiration.

‘Well? You won’t be ashamed of me?’

‘To tell the truth,’ said Harvey, ‘I was going because I feared someone would have to look after you in the middle of the affair. If there’s no danger of that, I think I shall not go into the place at all.’

'为什么？'

‘I don’t care for it. I prefer to hear you play in private.’

‘You needn’t have the least fear for me,’ said Alma loftily.

‘Very well. We’ll lunch together, as we arranged, and I’ll be at the door with a cab for you after the people have gone.’

‘Why should you trouble?’

‘I had rather, if you don’t mind.’

They drove from Baker Street to the Hall, where Alma alighted for a minute to leave her instrument, and thence to a restaurant not far away. Alma felt no appetite, but the necessity of supporting her strength obliged her to choose some suitable refreshment. When their order had been given, Harvey laid his hand upon an evening newspaper, just arrived, which the waiter had thrown on to the next table. He opened it, not with any intention of reading, but because he had no mind to talk; Alma’s name, exhibited in staring letters at the entrance of the public building, had oppressed him with a sense of degradation; he felt ignoble, much as a man might feel who had consented to his own dishonour. As his eyes wandered over the freshly-printed sheet, they were arrested by a couple of bold headlines: ‘Sensational Affair at Wimbledon—Mysterious Death of a Gentleman’. He read the paragraph, and turned to Alma with a face of amazement.

‘Look there—read that——’

Alma took the paper. She had an instantaneous foreboding of what she was to see; her heart stood still, and her eyes dazzled, but at length she read. On the previous evening (said the report), a gentleman residing at Wimbledon, and well known in fashionable circles, Mr. Cyrus Redgrave, had met his death under very strange and startling circumstances. Only a few particulars could as yet be made public; but it appeared that, about nine o’clock in the evening, a medical man had been hastily summoned to Mr. Redgrave’s house, and found that gentleman lying dead in a room that opened upon the garden. There was present another person, a friend of the deceased (name not mentioned), who made a statement to the effect that, in consequence of a sudden quarrel, he had struck Mr. Redgrave with his fist, knocking him down, and, as it proved, killing him on the spot. Up to the present moment no further details were obtainable, but it was believed that the self-accused assailant had put himself in communication with the police. There was a rumour, too, which might or might not have any significance, that Mr. Redgrave’s housekeeper had suddenly left the house and could not be traced.

'死的？'

The word fell from her lips involuntarily.

‘And who killed him?’ said Harvey, just above his breath.

‘It isn’t known—there’s no name——’

‘No. But I had a sudden thought. Absurd—impossible——’

As Harvey whispered the words, a waiter drew near with the luncheon. It was arranged upon the table, but lay there disregarded. Alma took up the newspaper again. In a moment she leaned towards her husband.

‘What did you think?’

‘Nothing—don’t talk about it.’

Two glasses of wine had been poured out; Harvey took his and drank it off.

‘It’s a pity I saw this,’ he said; ‘it has shaken your nerves. I ought to have kept it to myself.’

Alma dipped a spoon in the soup before her, and tried to swallow. Her hand did not tremble; the worst had come and gone in a few seconds; but her palate refused food. She drank wine, and presently became so collected, so quiet, that she wondered at herself. Cyrus Redgrave was dead—dead!—the word kept echoing in her mind. As soon as she understood and believed the fact of Redgrave’s death, it became the realisation of a hope which she had entertained without knowing it. Only by a great effort could she assume the look of natural concern; had she been in solitude, her face would have relaxed like that of one who is suddenly relieved from physical torment. She gave no thought to wider consequences: she saw the event only as it affected herself in her relations with the dead man. She had feared him; she had feared herself; now all danger was at an end. Now—now she could find courage to front the crowd of people and play to them. Her conscience ceased from troubling; the hope of triumph no longer linked itself with dread of a fatal indebtedness. No touch of sorrow entered into her mood; no anxiety on behalf of the man whose act had freed her. He, her husband’s friend, would keep the only secret which could now injure her. Cyrus Redgrave was dead, and to her it meant a renewal of life.

Harvey was speaking; he reminded her of the necessity of taking food.

‘Yes, I am going to eat something.’

‘Look here, Alma,’—he regarded her sternly,—’if you have any fear, if you are unequal to this, let me go and make an excuse for you.’

‘I have not the 最少 fear. Don’t try to make me nervous.’

She ate and drank. Harvey, the while, kept his eyes fixed on the newspaper.

‘Now I must go,’ she said in a few minutes, after looking at her watch. ‘Don’t come out with me. Do just as you like about going into the Hall and about meeting me afterwards. You needn’t be the least bit anxious, I assure you; I’m not going to make myself ridiculous.’

They stood up.

‘I shall be at the door with a cab,’ said Harvey.

‘Very well; I won’t keep you waiting.’

She left him, and walked from the restaurant with a quick step. Harvey drank a little more wine, and made a pretence of tasting the dish before him, then paid his bill and departed. He had now no intention whatever of going to hear Alma play; but he wished to know whether certain persons were among her audience, and, as he could not stand to watch the people entering, he took the only other means of setting his mind at rest—this was to drive forthwith to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions.

On his knocking at the Carnabys’ door, a servant informed him that neither her master nor her mistress was at home. Something unusual in the girl’s manner at once arrested his attention; she was evidently disinclined to say anything beyond the formula of refusal, but with this Harvey would not be satisfied. He mentioned his name, and urged several inquiries, on the plea that he had urgent business with his friends. All he could gather was that Carnaby had left home early this morning, and that Mrs. Carnaby was out of town; it grew more evident that the girl shrank from questions.

‘Has anyone been here before me, anxious to see them?’

‘I don’t know, sir; I can’t tell you anything else.’

‘And you have no idea when either of them will be back?’

‘I don’t know at all; I don’t know anything about it.’

He turned away, as if to descend the stairs; but, as there was no sound of a closing door, he glanced back, and caught a glimpse of the servant, who stood looking after him. No sooner did their eyes meet than the girl drew hastily in and the door was shut.

Beset by a grave uneasiness, he walked into Edgware Road, and followed the thoroughfare to its end at the Marble Arch. One thing seemed certain: neither Carnaby nor his wife could be at Prince’s Hall. It was equally certain that only a serious cause could have prevented their attendance. The servant manifestly had something to conceal; under ordinary circumstances she would never have spoken and behaved in that strange way.

At the Marble Arch boys were crying newspapers. He bought two, and in each of them found the sensational headlines; but the reports added nothing to that he had already seen; all, it was clear, came from the same source.

He turned into the Park, and walked aimlessly by crosspaths hither and thither. Time had to be killed; he tried to read his papers, but every item of news or comment disgusted him, and he threw the sheets away. When he came out at Knightsbridge, there was still half an hour to be passed, so he turned eastward, and walked the length of Piccadilly. Now at length Alma’s fate was decided; the concert drew to its close. In anxiety to learn how things had gone with her, he all but forgot Hugh Carnaby, until, just as he was about to hail a cab for the purpose of bringing Alma from the Hall, his eye fell on a fresh newspaper placard, which gave its largest type to the Wimbledon affair, and promised a ‘Startling Revelation’. He bought the paper, and read. It had become known, said the reporter, that the gentleman who, on his own avowal, had caused Mr. Redgrave’s death, was Mr. H. Carnaby, resident at Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. The rumour that Mr. Carnaby had presented himself to the authorities was unfounded; as a matter of fact, the police had heard nothing from him, and could not discover his whereabouts. As to the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Redgrave’s housekeeper—Mrs. Lant by name—nothing new could be learnt. Mrs. Lant had left all her personal belongings, and no one seemed able to conjecture a reason for her conduct.

Harvey folded up the paper, and crushed it into his pocket. He felt no surprise; his brooding on possibilities had prepared him for this disclosure, and, from the moment that his fears were confirmed, he interpreted everything with a gloomy certainty. Hugh’s fatal violence could have but one explanation, and that did not come upon Harvey with the shock of the incredible. Neither was he at any loss to understand why Hugh had failed to surrender himself. Ere-long the newspapers would rejoice in another ‘startling revelation’, which would make the tragedy complete.

In this state of mind he waited for Alma’s coming forth. She was punctual as she had promised. At the first sight of her he knew that nothing disagreeable had befallen, and this was enough. As soon as the cab drove off with them he looked an inquiry.

‘All well,’ she answered, with subdued exultation. ‘Wait till you see the notices.’

Her flushed face and dancing eyes told that she was fresh from congratulation and flattery. Harvey could not spoil her moment of triumph by telling what he had just learnt. She wished to talk of herself, and he gave her the opportunity.

‘Many people?’

‘A very good hall. They say such an audience at a first recital has hardly ever been known.’

‘You weren’t nervous?’

‘I’ve often been far more when I played in a drawing-room; and I never played so well—not half so well!’

She entered upon a vivid description of her feelings. On first stepping forward, she could see nothing but a misty expanse of faces; she could not feel the boards she trod upon; yet no sooner had she raised her violin than a glorious sense of power made her forget everything but the music she was to play. She all but laughed with delight. Never had she felt so perfect a mastery of her instrument. She played without effort, and could have played for hours without weariness. Her fellow-musicians declared that she was ‘wonderful’; and Harvey, as he listened to this flow of excited talk, asked himself whether he had not, after all, judged Alma amiss. Perhaps he had been the mere dull Philistine, unable to recognise the born artist, and doing his paltry best to obstruct her path. Perhaps so; but he would look for the opinion of serious critics—if any such had been present.

At Baker Street they had to wait for a train, and here it happened that Alma saw the evening placards. At once she changed; her countenance was darkened with anxiety.

‘Hadn’t you better get a paper?’ she asked in a quick undertone.

‘I have one. Do you wish to see it now?’

‘Is there anything more?’

‘Yes, there is. You don’t know, I suppose, whether Carnaby and his wife were at the Hall?’

‘I could hardly distinguish faces,’ she replied, with tremor. ‘What is it? Tell me.’

He took out his newspaper and pointed to the paragraph which mentioned Carnaby’s name. Alma seemed overcome with painful emotion; she moved towards the nearest seat, and Harvey, alarmed by her sudden pallor, placed himself by her side.

‘What does it mean?’ she whispered.

‘Who can say?’

‘They must have quarrelled about business matters.’

“也许是这样。”

‘Do you think he—Mr. Carnaby—means to hide away—to escape?’

‘He won’t hide away,’ Harvey answered. ‘Yet he may escape.’

‘What do you mean? Go by ship?—get out of the country?’

‘I don’t think so. He is far more likely to be found somewhere—in a way that would save trouble.’

Alma flashed a look of intelligence.

‘You think so,’ she panted. ‘You really think he has done that?’

‘I feel afraid of it.’

Alma recovered breath; and, but that her face was bent low over the newspaper, Harvey must have observed that the possibility of his friend’s suicide seemed rather to calm her agitation than to afflict her with fresh dismay.

But she could speak no more of her musical triumph. With the colour of her cheeks she had lost all animation, all energy; she needed the support of Harvey’s arm in stepping to the railway carriage; and on her arrival at home, yielding, as it seemed, to physical exhaustion, she lay pallid, mute, and nerveless.

At night she had recourse to the little bottle, but this time it was less efficacious. Again and again she woke from terrifying dreams, wearied utterly, unable to rest, and longing for the dawn. Soon after daybreak she arose and dressed; then, as there was yet no sound of movement in the house, she laid her aching head upon the pillow again, and once more fell into a troubled sleep. The usual call aroused her; she went to the door and bade the servant bring her some tea and the morning paper as soon as it was delivered.

In a few minutes the tea and the newspaper were both brought. First she glanced at the paragraphs relating to the Wimbledon tragedy; there was nothing added to yesterday’s news except that the inquest would be held this morning. Then she looked eagerly for the report of her recital, and found it only after much searching, barely a dozen lines, which spoke of her as ‘a lady of some artistic promise’, said that much allowance must be made for her natural nervousness, and passed on to the other performers, who were unreservedly praised. Anger and despondency struggled within her as she read the lines over and over again. Nervous! Why, the one marvellous thing was her absolute conquest of nervousness. She saw the hand of an enemy. Felix Dymes had warned her of the envy she must look for in certain quarters, and here appeared the first instance of it. But the post would bring other papers.

It brought half a dozen and a number of letters. At the sound of the knock, Alma hurried downstairs, seized upon her budget, and returned to the bedroom. Yes; as it happened, she had seen the least favourable notice first of all. The other papers devoted more space to her (though less than she had expected), and harmonised in their tone of compliment; one went so far as to congratulate those who were present on ‘an occasion of undoubted importance’. Another found some fault with her choice of pieces, but hoped soon to hear her again, for her ‘claims to more than ordinary attention’ were ‘indubitable’. There was a certain lack of ‘breadth’, opined one critic; but ‘natural nervousness’, &c. Promise, promise—all agreed that her ‘promise’ was quite exceptional.

Tremulous from these lines of print, she turned to the letters, and here was full-fed with flattery. ‘Your most brilliant debut’—’How shall we thank you for such an artistic treat?’—’Oh, your divine rendering of,’ &c.—’You have taken your place, at once and 无短语, in the very front rank of violinists.’ She smiled once more, and lost a little of her cadaverous hue. Felix Dymes, scribbling late, repeated things that he had heard since the afternoon. He added: ‘I’m afraid you’ll be awfully upset about your friends the Carnabys. It’s very unfortunate this should have happened just now. But cheer up, and let me see you as soon as possible. Great things to come!’

She went down to breakfast with shaking limbs, scarce able to hold up her head as she sat through the meal. Harvey ran his eye over the papers, but said nothing, and kept looking anxiously at her. She could not touch food; on rising from table she felt a giddiness which obliged her to hold the chair for support. At her husband’s beckoning she followed him into the library.

‘Hadn’t you better go back to bed?’

‘I shall lie down a little. But perhaps if I could get out——’

‘No, that you won’t. And if you feel no better by afternoon I shall send for the doctor.’

‘You see what the papers say——?’

'是。'

‘Wouldn’t it be graceful to own that you are surprised?’

‘We’ll talk about that when you look less like a corpse. Would you like me to send any message to Mrs. Carnaby?’

Alma shook her head.

‘I’ll write—today or tomorrow—there’s no hurry——’

‘No hurry?’ said Rolfe, surprised by something in her tone. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Are you going to see Mr. Carnaby?’ was her answer.

‘I don’t know where to find him, unless I go to the inquest.’

‘I had rather you stayed here today,’ said Alma; ‘I feel far from well.’

‘Yes, I shall stay. But I ought to let him hear from me. Best, perhaps, if I send a telegram to his place.’

The morning passed miserably enough. Alma went to her bedroom and lay there for an hour or two, then she strayed to the nursery and sat a while with Hugh and his governess. At luncheon she had no more appetite than at breakfast, though for very faintness her body could scarce support itself. After the meal Harvey went out to procure the earliest evening papers, and on his way he called at the doctor’s house. Not till about five o’clock was a report of the Wimbledon inquest obtainable. Having read it, Harvey took the paper home, where he arrived just as the doctor drove up to the door.

Alma was again lying down; her eyes showed that she had shed tears. On Harvey’s saying that the doctor was in the house, she answered briefly that she would see him. The result of the interview was made known to Rolfe. Nervous collapse; care and quiet; excitement of any kind to be avoided; the patient better in bed for a few days, to obtain complete rest. Avoidance of excitement was the most difficult of all things for Alma at present. Newspapers could not be kept from her; she waited eagerly for the report of the inquest.

‘Carnaby tells an astonishing story,’ said Rolfe, as he sat down by her when the doctor was gone.

‘Let me read it for myself.’

She did so with every sign of agitation; but on laying the paper aside she seemed to become quieter. After a short silence a word or two fell from her.

‘So Sibyl was at Weymouth.’

Harvey communed with his thoughts, which were anything but pleasant. He did not doubt the truth of Hugh Carnaby’s narrative, but he had a gloomy conviction that, whether Hugh knew it or not, an essential part of the drama lay unrevealed.

‘Will they find that woman, do you think?’ were Alma’s next words.

‘It doesn’t seem very likely.’

‘What is the punishment for manslaughter?’

‘That depends. The case will go for trial, and—in the meantime——’

‘What?’ asked Alma, raising herself.

‘The woman 五月 be found.’

There was another silence. Then Alma asked——

‘Do you think I ought to write to Sibyl?’

‘No,’ he answered decisively. ‘You must write to no one. Put it all out of your mind as much as possible.’

‘Shall you see Mr. Carnaby?’

‘Only if he sends for me.’

And this was just what happened. Admitted to bail by the magistrate, Hugh presently sent a note from Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, asking his friend to see him there. Harvey did not let Alma know of it. He found some difficulty in getting away from home for a couple of hours, so anxious had she become to keep him within call, and, when he of necessity went out, to be informed of his movements. He attributed this to her morbid condition; for, in truth, Alma was very ill. She could take only the lightest food, and in the smallest quantities; she fell repeatedly into fits of silent weeping; she had lost all strength, and her flesh had begun to waste. On this same day Harvey heard that Mrs Frothingham was making ready to come, and the news relieved him.

On reaching the Carnabys’, he was admitted by the same servant whose behaviour had excited his suspicions a day or two ago. Without a word she conducted him to Hugh’s room.

‘Well, old man,’ said the familiar voice, though in the tone of one who is afraid of being overheard, ‘it has come to this, you see. You’re not surprised? What else could be expected of a fellow like me, sooner or later?’

His face had the marks of sleeplessness; his hand was hot. He pressed Harvey into a chair, and stood before him, making an obvious effort to look and speak courageously.

‘It never struck me before how devilish awkward it is for a man in his own home when he gets into a public scrape—I mean the servants. One has to sit under them, as usual, you know, and feel their eyes boring into one’s back. Did you ever think of it?’

‘How long have you to wait?’ asked Rolfe.

‘Only a fortnight. But there may be bother about that woman. I wish to God they could catch her!’

Harvey made no reply, and his eyes wandered. In a moment he became aware that Hugh was looking at him with peculiar intentness.

‘I wish I could do anything for you, Carnaby.’

‘You can,’ replied the other, with emphasis, his face growing stern.

'它是什么？'

‘Get rid of that ugly thought I see you have in your mind.’

Hugh’s voice, though still cautious, had risen a little; he spoke with severity that was almost harshness. Their eyes met.

‘What ugly thought?’

‘Don’t be dishonest with me, Rolfe. It’s a queer-sounding tale, and you’re not the only man, I warrant, who thinks there’s something behind it. But I tell you there isn’t—or nothing that concerns me.’ He paused for an instant. ‘I shouldn’t have dared to tell it, but for my wife. Yes, my wife,’ he repeated vehemently. ‘It was Sibyl forced me to tell the truth. Rather than have 这里 mixed up in such a thing as this, I would have told any lie, at whatever cost to myself; but she wouldn’t let me. And she was right; I see now that she was, though it a been hard enough, I tell you, to think of what people might be saying—damn them! Don’t you be one, Rolfe. My wife is as pure and innocent as any woman living. I tell you that. I ask you to believe that; and it’s the one thing, the only thing, you can do for me.’

His voice quivered, and he half-choked upon the passionate words. Moved, though not to conviction, Harvey made the only possible reply.

‘I believe you; and if ever I have the chance I will repeat what you say.’

‘Very well. But there’s something else. I don’t ask you to see anything of Sibyl, or to let your wife see her; it will be much better not. I don’t know whether she will stay here, or in London at all; but she will see as few people as possible. Don’t think it necessary to write to her; don’t let your wife write. If we all live through it—and come out again on the other side—things may be all right again; but I don’t look forward to anything. All I can think of now is that I’ve killed a man who was a good friend to me, and have darkened all the rest of Sibyl’s life. And I only wish someone had knocked my brains out ten years ago, when nobody would have missed such a blackguard and ruffian.’

‘Is it on your wife’s account, or on ours that you want us to keep apart?’ asked Rolfe gravely.

‘Both, my dear fellow,’ was the equally grave reply. ‘I’m saying only what I mean; it’s no time for humbug now. Think it over, and you’ll see I’m right.’

‘Alma won’t see any one just yet awhile,’ said Harvey. ‘She has made herself ill, of course.’

‘Ill? How?’

‘The concert, and the frenzy that went before it.’

‘The concert——.’ Carnaby touched his forehead. ‘I remember. If I were you, Rolfe——’

'出色地？'

‘I don’t want to take advantage of my position and be impertinent but do you think that kind of thing will do her any good in the end?’

‘It’s going to stop,’ replied Harvey, with a meaning nod.

‘I’m glad to hear you say so—very glad. Just stick to that. You’re more civilised than I am, and you’ll know how to go about that kind of thing as a man should.’

‘I mean to try.’

‘She is not seriously ill, I hope?’ Hugh inquired, after reflecting for a moment.

‘Oh, the nerves—breakdown—nothing dangerous, I believe.’

‘Life ought to be easy enough for you, Rolfe,’ said the other. ‘You’re at home here.’

‘It depends what you mean by “here”. I’m at home in England, no doubt; but it’s very uncertain whether I shall hold out in London. You know that we’re going west to Gunnersbury. That’s on the child’s account; I want him to go to school with a friend of ours. If we can live there quietly and sanely, well and good; if the whirlpool begins to drag us in again—then I have another idea.’

‘The whirlpool!’ muttered Carnaby, with a broken laugh. ‘It’s got hold of me, and I’m going down, old man—and it looks black as hell.’

‘We shall see the sunlight again together,’ replied Rolfe, with forced cheerfulness.

‘You think so? I wish I could believe it.’

In less than half an hour Harvey was back at the station, waiting for his train. He suffered pangs of self-rebuke; it seemed to him that he ought to have found some better way, in word or deed, for manifesting the sympathy of true friendship. He had betrayed a doubt which must for ever affect Hugh’s feeling towards him. But this was his lot in life, to blunder amid trying circumstances, to prove unequal to every grave call upon him. He tried vainly to see what else he could have done, yet felt that another man would have faced the situation to better purpose. One resolve, at all events, he had brought out of it: Hugh Carnaby’s reference to Alma declared the common-sense view of a difficulty which ought to be no difficulty at all, and put an end to vacillation. But in return for this friendly service he had rendered nothing, save a few half-hearted words of encouragement. Rolfe saw himself in a mean, dispiriting light.

On the next day Mrs. Frothingham arrived at Pinner, and Harvey’s anxieties were lightened. The good, capable woman never showed to such advantage as in a sick-room; scarcely had she entered the house when Alma’s state began to improve. They remarked that Alma showed no great concern on Sibyl’s account, but was seemingly preoccupied with thought of Carnaby himself. This being the case, it was with solicitude that Harvey and Mrs. Frothingham awaited the result of Hugh’s trial for manslaughter. Redgrave’s housekeeper could not be found; the self-accused man stood or fell by his own testimony; nothing was submitted to the court beyond the fact of Redgrave’s death, and Hugh Carnaby’s explanation of how it came about. Nothing of direct evidence; indirect, in the shape of witness to character, was abundantly forthcoming, and from ‘people of importance. But the victim also was a person of importance, and justice no doubt felt that, under whatever provocation, such a man must not be slain with impunity. It sentenced the homicide to a term of two years’ imprisonment, without hard labour.

Alma heard the sentence with little emotion. Soon after she fell into a deeper and more refreshing sleep than any she had known since her illness began.

‘It is the end of suspense,’ said Mrs. Frothingham.

‘No doubt,’ Harvey assented.

A few days more and Mrs. Frothingham took Alma away into Hampshire. Little Hugh went with them, his mother strongly desiring it. As for Rolfe, he escaped to Greystone, to spend a week with Basil Morton before facing the miseries of the removal from Pinner to Gunnersbury.

The house had stood for a century and a half, and for eighty years had been inhabited by Mortons. Of its neighbours in the elm-bordered road, one or two were yet older; all had reached the age of mellowness. ‘Sicut umbra praeterit dies’—so ran the motto of the dial set between porch and eaves; to Harvey Rolfe the kindliest of all greetings, welcoming him to such tranquillity as he knew not how to find elsewhere.

It was in the town, yet nothing town-like. No sooty smother hung above the house-tops and smirched the garden leafage; no tramp of crowds, no clatter of hot-wheel traffic, sounded from the streets hard by. But at hours familiar, bidding to task or pleasure or repose, the music of the grey belfries floated overhead; a voice from the old time, an admonition of mortality in strains sweet to the ear of childhood. Harvey had but to listen, and the days of long ago came back to him. Above all, when at evening rang the curfew. Stealing apart to a bowered corner of the garden, he dreamed himself into the vanished years, when curfew-time was bed-time, and a hand with gentle touch led him from his play to that long sweet slumber which is the child’s new birth.

Basil Morton was one of three brothers, the youngest. His father, a corn-factor, assenting readily to his early inclination for the Church, sent him from Greystone Grammar-School to Cambridge, where Basil passed creditably through the routine, but in no way distinguished himself. Having taken his degree, he felt less assured of a clerical vocation, and thought that the law might perhaps be more suitable to him. Whilst he thus wavered, his father died, and the young man found that he had to depend upon himself for anything more than the barest livelihood. He decided, after all, for business, and became a partner with his eldest brother, handling corn as his father and his grandfather had done before him. At eight and twenty he married, and a few years afterwards the elder Morton’s death left him to pursue commerce at his own discretion. Latterly the business had not been very lucrative, nor was Basil the man to make it so; but he went steadily on in the old tracks, satisfied with an income which kept him free from care.

‘I like my trade,’ he said once to Harvey Rolfe; ‘it’s clean and sweet and useful. The Socialist would revile me as a middleman; but society can’t do without me just yet, and I ask no more than I fairly earn. I like turning over a sample of grain; I like the touch of it, and the smell of it. It brings me near to the good old Mother Earth, and makes me feel human.’

His house was spacious, well built, comfortable. The furniture, in great part, was the same his parents had used; solid mahogany, not so beautiful as furniture may be made, but serviceable, if need be, for another fifty years. He had a library of several thousand volumes, slowly and prudently collected, representing a liberal interest in all travail of the mind, and a special taste for the things of classical antiquity. Basil Morton was no scholar in the modern sense, but might well have been described by the old phrase which links scholar with gentleman. He lived by trade, but trade did not affect his life. The day’s work over, he turned, with no feeling of incongruity, to a page of Thucydides, of Tacitus, or to those less familiar authors who lighted his favourite wanderings through the ruins of the Roman Empire. Better grounded for such studies than Harvey Rolfe, he pursued them with a steadier devotion and with all the advantages of domestic peace. In his mental habits, in his turns of speech, there appeared perhaps a leaning to pedantry; but it was the most amiable of faults, and any danger that might have lurked in it was most happily balanced and corrected by the practical virtues of his life’s companion.

Mrs. Morton had the beauty of perfect health, of health mental and physical. To describe her face as homely was to pay it the highest compliment, for its smile was the true light of home, that never failed. Filia generosi, daughter of a house that bred gentlewomen, though its ability to dower them had declined in these latter days, she conceived her duty as wife and mother after the old fashion, and was so fortunate as to find no obstacle in circumstance. She rose early; she slept early; and her day was full of manifold activity. Four children she had borne—the eldest a boy now in his twelfth year, the youngest a baby girl; and it seemed to her no merit that in these little ones she saw the end and reason of her being. Into her pure and healthy mind had never entered a thought at conflict with motherhood. Her breasts were the fountain of life; her babies clung to them, and grew large of limb. From her they learnt to speak; from her they learnt the names of trees and flowers and all things beautiful around them; learnt, too, less by precept than from fair example, the sweetness and sincerity wherewith such mothers, and such alone, can endow their offspring. Later she was their instructress in a more formal sense; for this also she held to be her duty, up to the point where other teaching became needful. By method and good-will she found time for everything, ruling her house and ordering her life so admirably, that to those who saw her only in hours of leisure she seemed to be at leisure always. She would have felt it an impossible thing to abandon her children to the care of servants; reluctantly she left them even for an hour or two when other claims which could not be neglected called her forth. In play-time they desired no better companion, for she was a child herself in gaiety of heart and lissom sportiveness. No prettier sight could be seen at Greystone than when, on a summer afternoon, they all drove in the pony carriage to call on friends, or out into the country. Nowadays it was often her eldest boy who held the reins, a bright-eyed, well-built lad, a pupil at the old Grammar-School, where he used the desk at which his father had sat before him. Whatever fault of boyhood showed itself in Harry Morton, he knew not the common temptation to be ashamed of his mother, or to flout her love.

For holiday they never crossed the sea. Morton himself had been but once abroad, and that in the year before his father’s death, when he was trying to make up his mind what profession he should take up; he then saw something of France and of Italy. Talking with travelled friends, he was wont to praise himself in humorous vein for the sober fixity of his life, and to quote, in that mellow tone which gave such charm to his talk, the line from Claudian, ‘Erret et extremos alter scrutetur Iberos; for he had several friends to whom a Latin or a Greek quotation was no stumbling-block. Certain of his college companions, men who had come to hold a place in the world’s eye, were glad to turn aside from beaten tracks and smoke a pipe at Greystone with Basil Morton—the quaint fellow who at a casual glance might pass for a Philistine, but was indeed something quite other. His wife had never left her native island. ‘I will go abroad,’ she said, ‘when my boys can take me.’ And that might not be long hence; for Harry, who loved no book so much as the atlas, abounded in schemes of travel, and had already mapped the grand tour on which the whole family was to set forth when he stood headboy at the Grammar-School.

In this household Harvey Rolfe knew himself a welcome guest, and never had he been so glad as now to pass from the noisy world into the calm which always fell about him under his friend’s roof. The miseries through which he had gone were troubling his health, and health disordered naturally reacted upon his mind, so that, owing to a gloomy excitement of the imagination, for several nights he had hardly slept. No sooner had he lain down in darkness than every form of mortal anguish beset his thoughts, passing before him as though some hand unfolded a pictured scroll of life’s terrors. He seemed never before to have realised the infinitude of human suffering. Hour after hour, with brief intervals of semi-oblivion, from which his mind awoke in nameless horror, he travelled from land to land, from age to age; at one moment picturing some dread incident of a thousand years ago; the next, beholding with intolerable vividness some scene of agony reported in the day’s newspaper. Doubtless it came of his constant brooding on Redgrave’s death and Hugh Carnaby’s punishment. For the first time, tragedy had been brought near to him, and he marvelled at the indifference with which men habitually live in a world where tragedy is every hour’s occurrence.

He told himself that this was merely a morbid condition of the brain, but could not bring himself to believe it. On the contrary, what he now saw and felt was the simple truth of things, obscured by everyday conditions of active life. And that History which he loved to read—what was it but the lurid record of woes unutterable? How could he find pleasure in keeping his eyes fixed on century after century of ever-repeated torment—war, pestilence, tyranny; the stake, the dungeon; tortures of infinite device, cruelties inconceivable? He would close his books, and try to forget all they had taught him.

Tonight he spoke of it, as he sat with Morton after everyone else had gone to bed. They had talked of Hugh Carnaby (each divining in the other a suspicion they were careful not to avow), and their mood led naturally to interchange of thoughts on grave subjects.

‘Everyone knows that state of mind, more or less,’ said Morton, in his dreamy voice—a voice good for the nerves. ‘It comes generally when one’s stomach is out of order. You wake at half-past two in the morning, and suffer infernally from the blackest pessimism. It’s morbid—yes; but for all that it may be a glimpse of the truth. Health and good spirits, just as likely as not, are the deceptive condition.’

‘Exactly. But for the power of deceiving ourselves, we couldn’t live at all. It’s not a question of theory, but of fact.’

‘I fought it out with myself,’ said Basil, after a sip of whisky, ‘at the time of my “exodus from Houndsditch”. There’s a point in the life of every man who has brains, when it becomes a possibility that he may kill himself. Most of us have it early, but it depends on circumstances. I was like Johnson’s friend: be as philosophical as I might, cheerfulness kept breaking in. And at last I let cheerfulness have its way. As far as I know’—he gurgled a laugh—’Schopenhauer did the same.’

Harvey puffed at his pipe before answering.

‘Yes; and I suppose we may call that intellectual maturity. It’s bad for a man when he 不能 mature—which is my case. I seem to be as far from it as ever. Seriously, I should think few men ever had so slow a development. I don’t stagnate: there’s always movement; but—putting aside the religious question—my stage at present is yours of twenty years ago. Yet, not even that; for you started better than I did. You were never a selfish lout—a half-baked blackguard——’

‘Nor you either, my dear fellow.’

‘But I was! I’ve got along fairly well in self-knowledge; I can follow my course in the past clearly enough. If I had my rights, I should live to about a hundred and twenty, and go on ripening to the end. That would be a fair proportion. It’s confoundedly hard to think that I’m a good deal past the middle of life, yet morally and intellectually am only beginning it.’

‘It only means, Rolfe, that we others have a pretty solid conceit of ourselves.—Listen! “We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow.” I don’t apply the name to you; but you’ll be none the worse for a good night’s sleep. Let us be off.’

Harvey slept much better than of late. There was an air of comfort in this guest-chamber which lulled the mind. Not that the appointments were more luxurious than in his own bedroom, for Morton had neither the means nor the desire to equip his house with perfections of modern upholstery; but every detail manifested a care and taste and delicacy found only in homes which are homes indeed, and not mere dwelling-places fitted up chiefly for display. Harvey thought of the happiness of children who are born, and live through all their childhood, in such an atmosphere as this. Then he thought of his own child, who had in truth no home at all. A house in Wales—a house at Pinner—a house at Gunnersbury—presently a house somewhere else. He had heard people defend this nomad life—why, he himself, before his marriage, had smiled at the old-fashioned stability represented by such families as the Mortons; had talked of ‘getting into ruts’, of ‘mouldering’, and so on. He saw it from another point of view now, and if the choice were between rut and whirlpool——

When he awoke, and lay looking at the sunlit blind, in the stillness of early morning he heard a sound always delightful, always soothing, that of scythe and whetstone; then the long steady sweep of the blade through garden grass. Morton, old stick-in-the-mud, would not let his gardener use a mowing machine, the scythe was good enough for him; and Harvey, recalled to the summer mornings of more than thirty years ago, blessed him for his pig-headedness.

But another sound he missed, one he would have heard even more gladly. Waking thus at Pinner (always about six o’clock), he had been wont to hear the voice of his little boy, singing. Possibly this was a doubtful pleasure to Miss Smith, in whose room Hughie slept; but, to her credit, she had never bidden the child keep quiet. And there he lay, singing to himself, a song without words; singing like a little bird at dawn; a voice of innocent happiness, greeting the new day. Hughie was far off; and in a strange room, with other children, he would not sing. But Harvey heard his voice—the odd little bursts of melody, the liquid rise and fall, which set to tune, no doubt, some childish fancy, some fairy tale, some glad anticipation. Hughie lived in the golden age. A year or two more, and the best of life would be over with him; for boyhood is but a leaden time compared with the borderland between it and infancy; and manhood—the curse of sex developed——

It was a merry breakfast-table. The children’s sprightly talk, their mother’s excellent spirits, and Morton’s dry jokes with one and all, made Harvey feel ashamed of the rather glum habit which generally kept him mute at the first meal of the day. Alma, too, was seldom in the mood for breakfast conversation; so that, between them, they imposed silence upon Hughie and Miss Smith. One might have thought that the postman had brought some ill news, depressing the household. Yet things were not wont to be so bad in Wales; at that time, the day, as a rule, began cheerfully enough. Their life had darkened in the shadow of London; just when, for the child’s sake, everything should have been made as bright as possible. And he saw little hope of change for the better. It did not depend upon him. The note of family life is struck by the house-mistress, and Alma seemed fallen so far from her better self that he could only look forward with anxiety to new developments of her character.

‘School?’ he exclaimed, when Harry, with satchel over shoulder, came to bid him good morning. ‘I wish I could go in your place! It’s just thirty-one years since I left the old Grammar-School.’

The boy did not marvel at this. He would not have done so if the years had been sixty-one; for Mr. Rolfe seemed to him an old man, very much older than his own father.

As usual when at Greystone, Harvey took his first walk to the spots associated with his childhood. He walked alone, for Morton had gone to business until midday. On the outskirts of the town, in no very pleasant situation, stood the house where he was born; new buildings had risen round about it, and the present tenants seemed to be undesirable people, who neglected the garden and were careless about their window curtains. Here he had lived until he was ten years old—till the death of his father. His mother died long before that; he just, and only just, remembered her. He knew from others that she was a gentle, thoughtful woman, always in poor health; the birth of her second child, a girl, led to a lingering illness, and soon came the end. To her place as mistress of the house succeeded Harvey’s aunt, his father’s sister. No one could have been kinder to the children, but Harvey, for some reason yet obscure to him, always disliked her. Whom, indeed, did he not dislike, of those set over him? He recalled his perpetual rebellion against her authority from the first day to the last. What an unruly cub! And his father’s anger when he chanced to overhear some boyish insolence—alas! alas!

For he saw so little of his father. Mr. Rolfe’s work as a railway engineer kept him chiefly abroad; he was sometimes absent for twelve months at a time. Only in the last half-year of his life did he remain constantly at home, and that because he was dying. Having contracted a fever in Spain, he came back to recruit; but his constitution had suffered from many hardships, and now gave way. To the last day (though he was ten years old) Harvey never dreamt of what was about to happen. Self-absorbed in a degree unusual even with boys, he feared his father, but had not learnt to love him. And now, looking back, he saw only too well why the anxious parent treated him with severity more often than with gentleness and good humour. A boy such as he must have given sore trouble to a father on his death-bed.

When it was too late, too late by many a year, he mourned the loss which had only startled him, which had seemed hardly a loss at all, rather an emancipation. As a man of thirty, he knew his father much better than when living with him day after day. Faults he could perceive, some of them inherited in his own character; but there remained the memory of a man whom he could admire and love—whom he did admire and love more sincerely and profoundly the older he grew. And he held it the supreme misfortune of his life that, in those early years which count so much towards the future, he had been so rarely under his father’s influence.

Inevitable, it seemed. Yet only so, perhaps, because even a good and conscientious man may fail to understand the obligation under which he lies towards his offspring.

He and his sister Amy passed into the guardianship of Dr Harvey, Mr Rolfe’s old friend, the boy’s godfather, who had done his best to soothe the mind of the dying man with regard to his children’s future. There were no pecuniary difficulties; the children’s education was provided for, and on coming of age each would have about two thousand pounds. Dr Harvey, a large-hearted, bright-witted Irishman, with no youngsters of his own, speedily decided that the boy must be sent away to a boarding-school, to have some of the self-will knocked out of him. Amy continued to live with her aunt for two years more; then the good woman died, and the Doctor took Amy into his own house, which became Harvey’s home during holidays.

The ivy-covered house, in the best residential street of Greystone. Harvey paused before it. On the railings hung a brass plate with another name; the good old Doctor had been in his grave for many a year.

What wonder that he never liked the boy? Harvey, so far as anyone could perceive, had no affection, no good feeling, no youthful freshness or simplicity of heart; moreover, he exhibited precocious arrogance, supported by an obstinacy which had not even the grace of quickening into fieriness; he was often a braggart, and could not be trusted to tell the truth where his self-esteem was ever so little concerned. How unutterably the Harvey Rolfe of today despised himself at the age of fifteen or so! Even at that amorphous age, a more loutish, ungainly boy could scarcely have been found. Bashfulness cost him horrid torments, of course exasperating his conceit. He hated girls; he scorned women. Among his school-fellows he made a bad choice of comrades. Though muscular and of tolerable health, he was physically, as well as morally, a coward. Games and sports had I no attraction for him; he shut himself up in rooms, and read a great deal, yet even this, it seemed, not without an eye to winning admiration.

Brains he had—brains undeniably; but for a long time there was the greatest doubt as to what use he could make of them. Harvey remembered the day when it was settled that he should study medicine. He resolved upon it merely because he had chanced to hear the Doctor say that he was not cut out for 这.

He saw himself at twenty, a lank, ungainly youth, with a disagreeable complexion and a struggling moustache. He was a student at Guy’s; he had ‘diggings’; he tasted the joy of independence. As is the way with young men of turbid passions and indifferent breeding, he rapidly signalised his independence by plunging into sordid slavery. A miserable time to think of; a wilderness of riot, folly, and shame. Yet it seemed to him that he was enjoying life. Among the rowdy set of his fellow-students he shone with a certain superiority. His contempt of money, and his large way of talking about it, conveyed the impression that abundant means awaited him. He gave away coin as readily as he spent it on himself; not so much in a true spirit of generosity (though his character had gleams of it), as because he dreaded above all things the appearance of niggardliness and the suspicion of a shallow purse.

Then came the memorable interview with his guardian on his twenty-first birthday. Harvey flinched and grew hot in thinking of it. What an ungrateful cur! What a self-sufficient young idiot! The Doctor had borne so kindly with his follies and vices, had taken so much trouble for his good, was it not the man’s right and duty to speak grave words of counsel on such an occasion as this? But to counsel Mr. Harvey Rolfe was to be guilty of gross impertinence. With lofty spirit the young gentleman proclaimed that he must no longer be treated as a school-boy! Whereupon the Doctor lost his temper, and spoke with a particularly strong Hibernian accent—spoke words which to this moment stung the hearer’s memory. He saw himself marching from the room—that room yonder, on the ground-floor. It was some small consolation to remember that he had been drinking steadily for a week before that happened. Indeed, he could recall no scene quite so discreditable throughout the course of his insensate youth.

Well, he had something like two thousand pounds. Whether he had looked for more or less he hardly knew, or whether he had looked for anything at all. At one-and-twenty he was the merest child in matters of the world. Surely something must have arrested the natural development of his common-sense. Even in another ten years he was scarcely on a level, as regards practical intelligence, with the ordinary lad who is leaving school.

He at once threw up his medical studies, which had grown hateful to him. He took his first taste of foreign travel. He extended his reading and his knowledge of languages. And insensibly a couple of years went by.

The possession of money had done him good. It clarified his passions, or tended that way. A self-respect, which differed appreciably from what he had formerly understood by that term, began to guard him against grossness; together with it there developed in him a new social pride which made him desire the acquaintance of well-bred people. Though he had no longer any communication with the good old Doctor, Amy frequently wrote to him, and in one of her letters she begged him to call on a family in London, one of whose younger members lived at Greystone and was Amy’s friend. After much delay, he overcame his bashfulness, and called upon the worthy people—tailored as became a gentleman at large. The acquaintance led to others; in a short time he was on pleasant terms with several well-to-do families. He might have suspected—but at the time, of course, did not—that Dr Harvey’s kindly influence had something to do with his reception in these houses. Self-centred, but painfully self-distrustful, he struggled to overcome his natural defects of manner. Possibly with some success; for did not Lily Burton, who at first so piqued him by her critical smile, come to show him tolerance, friendliness, gracious interest?

Lily Burton!—how emptily, how foolishly the name tinkled out of that empty and foolish past! Yet what a power it had over him when he was three and twenty! Of all the savage epithets which he afterwards attached to its owner, probably she merited a few. She was a flirt, at all events. She drew him on, played upon his emotions, found him, no doubt, excellent fun; and at last, when he was imbecile enough to declare himself, to talk of marriage, Lily, raising the drollest eyes, quietly wished to know what his prospects were.

The intolerable shame of it, even now! But he laughed, mocking at his dead self.

His mind’s eye beheld the strange being a year later. Still in good clothes, but unhealthy, and at his last half-crown; four and twenty, travelled, and possessed of the elements of culture, he had only just begun to realise the fact that men labour for their daily bread. Was it the peculiar intensity of his egoism that so long blinded him to common anxieties? Even as the last coins slipped between his fingers, he knew only a vaguely irritable apprehension. Did he imagine the world would beg for the honour of feeding and clothing Mr. Harvey Rolfe?

It came back to him, his first experience of hunger—so very different a thing from appetite. He saw the miserable bedroom where he sat on a rainy day. He smelt the pawnshop. His heart sank again under the weight of awful solitude. Then, his illness; the letter he wrote to Amy; her visit to him; the help she brought. But she could not persuade him to go back with her to Greystone to face the Doctor. Her money was a loan; he would bestir himself and find occupation. For a wonder, it was found—the place at the Emigration Agency; and so, for a good many years, the notable Mr. Harvey Rolfe sank into a life of obscure routine.

Again and again his sister Amy besought him to visit Greystone. Dr Harvey was breaking up; would he not see the kind old man once more? Yes, he assured himself that he would; but he took his time about it, and Dr Harvey, who at threescore and ten could not be expected to wait upon a young man’s convenience, one day very quietly died. To Amy Rolfe, who had become as a daughter to him, he left the larger part of his possessions, an income of nine hundred a year. Not long after this, Harvey met his sister, and was astonished to find her looking thin, pale, spiritless. What did it mean? Why did she gaze at him so sadly? Come, come, he cried, she had been leading an unnatural life, cloistered, cheerless. Now that she was independent, she must enjoy herself, see the world! Brave words; and braver still those in which he replied to Amy’s entreaty that he would share her wealth. Not he, indeed! If, as she said, the Doctor meant and hoped it, why did he not make that plain in his will? Not a penny would he take. He had all he wanted. And he seemed to himself the most magnanimous of men.

Amy lived on at Greystone; amid friends, to be sure, but silent, melancholy; and he, the brother whom she loved, could spare her only a day or two once a year, when he chattered his idle self-conceit. Anyone else would have taken trouble to inquire the cause of her pallor, her sadness. He, forsooth, had to learn with astonishment, at last, that she wished to see him—on her deathbed.

He had often thought of her, and kindly. But he knew her not at all, took no interest in her existence. She, on the other hand, had treasured every miserable little letter his idleness vouchsafed; she had hoped so for his future, ever believing in him. When Amy lay dead, he saw the sheet of paper on which she had written the few lines necessary to endow him with all she left—everything ‘to my dear brother’. What words could have reproached him so keenly?

His steps turned to the churchyard, where on a plain upright stone he read the names of his mother, of his father. Amy’s grave was hard by. He, too, if he had his wish, would some day rest here; and here his own son would stand, and read his name, and think of him. Ah, but with no such remorse and self-contempt! That was inconceivable. The tenderness which dimmed his eyes would have changed to misery had he dreamed it possible that his own boy could palter so ignobly with the opportunities of life.

Upon these deep emotions intruded the thought of Alma. Intruded; for he neither sought nor welcomed his wife’s companionship at such a moment, and he was disturbed by a perception of the little claim she had to be present with him in spirit. He could no longer pretend to himself that he loved Alma; whatever the right name for his complex of feelings—interest, regard, admiration, sexual attachment—assuredly it must be another word than that sacred to the memory of his parents, to the desires and hopes centring in his child. For all that, he had no sense of a hopeless discord in his wedded life; he suffered from no disillusion, with its attendant bitterness. From this he was saved by the fact, easy at length to recognise, that in wooing Alma he had obeyed no dictate of the nobler passion; here, too, as at every other crisis of life, he had acted on motives which would not bear analysis, so large was the alloy of mere temperament, of weak concession to circumstance. Rather than complain that Alma fell short of the ideal in wifehood, should he not marvel, and be grateful that their marriage might still be called a happy one? Happiness in marriage is a term of such vague application: Basil Morton, one in ten thousand, might call himself happy; even so, all things considered, must the husband who finds it 只是 possible to endure the contiguity of his wife. Midway between these extremes of the definition stood Harvey’s measure of matrimonial bliss. He saw that he had no right to grumble.

He saw, moreover, and reflected constantly upon it in these days, how largely he was himself to blame for the peril of estrangement which threatened his life with Alma. Meaning well, and thinking himself a pattern of marital wisdom, he had behaved, as usual, with gross lack of discretion. The question now was, could he mend the harm that he had done? Love did not enter into the matter; his difficulty called for common-sense—for rational methods in behaviour towards a wife whom he could still respect, and who was closely bound to him by common interest in their child.

He looked up, and had pleasure once more in the sunny sky. After all, he, even he, had not committed the most woeful of all blunders; though it was a mystery how he had escaped it. The crown of his feeble, futile career should, in all fitness, have been marriage with a woman worse than himself. And not on his own account did he thank protecting fortune. One lesson, if one only, he had truly learnt from nature: it bade him forget all personal disquietude, in joy that he was not guilty of that crime of crimes, the begetting of children by a worthless mother.

Mrs. Morton felt a lively interest in Mrs. Rolfe’s musical enterprise, and would have liked to talk about it, but she suspected that the topic was not very agreeable to her guest. In writing to Morton, Harvey had just mentioned the matter, and that was all. On the second day of his visit, when he felt much better, and saw things in a less troubled light, he wished to remove the impression that he regarded Alma’s proceedings with sullen disapproval; so he took the opportunity of being alone with his hostess, and talked to her of the great venture with all the good humour he could command. Mrs. Morton had seen two notices of Alma’s debut; both were so favourable that she imagined them the augury of a brilliant career.

‘I doubt that,’ said Harvey; ‘and I’m not sure that it’s desirable. She has made herself miserably ill, you see. Excitement is the worst possible thing for her. And then there’s the whole question of whether professional life is right and good for a married woman. How do you think about it?’

The lady instanced cases that naturally presented themselves. She seemed to have no prejudice. Mrs. Rolfe appeared to her a person of artistic temper; but health was of the first importance; and then——

Harvey waited; but only a thoughtful smile completed the remark.

‘What other consideration had you in mind?’

‘Only a commonplace—that a married woman would, of course, be guided by her husband’s wish.’

‘You think that equivalent to reason and the will of God?’ said Harvey jocosely.

‘If we need appeal to solemn sanction.’

Rolfe was reminded, not unpleasantly, that he spoke with a woman to whom ‘the will of God’ was something more than a facetious phrase.

‘I beg your pardon; let us say reason alone. But is it reasonable for the artist to sacrifice herself because she happens to have married an everyday man?’

Mrs. Morton shook her head and laughed.

‘If only one know what is meant by the everyday man! My private view of him is rather flattering, perhaps. I’m inclined to think him, on the whole, not inferior to the everyday woman; and 她—she isn’t a bad sort of creature, if fairly treated. I don’t think the everyday man will go very far wrong, as a rule, in the treatment of his wife.’

‘You really believe that?’ asked Harvey, with a serious smile.

‘Why, is it such a heresy?’

‘I should rather have thought so. One is so accustomed to hear the other view I mean, it’s in the air. Don’t think I’m asking your sympathy. I have always wished Alma to act on her own judgment; she has been left quite free to do so. But if the results seem worse than doubtful, then comes the difficulty.’

‘To be settled, surely, like all other difficulties between sensible people.’

Mrs. Morton’s faith was of enviable simplicity. She knew, as a matter of fact, that husbands and wives often found their difficulties insuperable; but why this should be so, seemed to her one of the dark and mournful enigmas of life. It implied such a lack not only of good sense, but of right feeling. In her own experience she had met with no doubt, no worry, which did not yield to tact, or generous endeavour, or, at worst, to the creed by which she lived. One solicitude, and one only, continued to affect her as wife and mother; that it could not overcome her happy temper was due to the hope perpetually inspired by her husband’s love—a hope inseparable from her profoundest convictions. She and Morton differed in religious views, and there had come a grave moment when she asked whether it would be possible to educate her children in her own belief without putting a distance between them and their father. The doubt had disappeared, thanks to Morton’s breadth of view, or facility of conscience; there remained the trouble in which it had originated, but she solaced herself with the fond assurance that this also would vanish as time went on. In the same mood of kindly serenity she regarded the lives of her friends, always hoping for the best, and finding it hard to understand that anyone could deliberately act with unkindness, unreasonableness, or any other quality opposed to the common good.

Rolfe had no desire of talking further about his private affairs. He had made up his mind on the points at issue, and needed no counsel, but the spirit of Mrs. Morton’s conversation helped him to think tranquilly. The great danger was that he might make things worse by his way of regarding them. Most unluckily, Alma’s illness had become connected in his imagination with the tragedy of the Carnabys; he could not keep the things apart. Hugh Carnaby’s miserable doom, and the dark surmises attaching to his wife, doubtless had their part in bringing about a nervous crisis; why could he not recognise this as perfectly natural, and dismiss the matter? In spite of all reasoning, Alma’s image ever and again appeared to him shadowed by the gloom which involved her friend—or the woman who 是 her friend. He knew it (or believed it) to be the merest illusion of his perturbed mind; for no fact, how trivial soever, had suggested to him that Alma knew more of the circumstances of Redgrave’s death than she seemed to know. On the one hand, he was glad that Alma and Sibyl no longer cared to meet; on the other, he could not understand what had caused this cessation of their friendship, and he puzzled over it. But these idle fancies would pass away; they were already less troublesome. A long country walk with Morton, during which they conversed only of things intellectual, did him much good. Not long ago Morton had had a visit from an old Cambridge friend, a man who had devoted himself to the study of a certain short period of English history, and hoped, some ten years hence, to produce an authoritative work on the subject.

‘There’s a man I envy!’ cried Rolfe, when he had listened to Basil’s humorous description of the enthusiast. ‘It’s exactly what I should like to do myself.’

‘What prevents you?’

‘Idleness—irresolution—the feeling that the best of my life is over. I have never been seriously a student, and it’s too late to begin now. But if I were ten years younger, I would make myself master of something. What’s the use of reading only to forget? In my time I have gone through no small library of historical books—and it’s all a mist on the mind’s horizon. That comes of reading without method, without a purpose. The time I have given to it would have made me a pundit, if I had gone to work reasonably.’

‘Isn’t my case the same?’ exclaimed Morton. ‘What do I care! I enjoyed my reading and my knowledge at the time, and that’s all I ever expected.’

‘Very well—though you misrepresent yourself. But for me it isn’t enough. I want to know something as well as it can be known. Purely for my own satisfaction; the thought of “doing something” doesn’t come in at all. I was looking at your county histories this morning, and I felt a huge longing to give the rest of my life to some little bit of England, a county, or even a town, and exhaust the possibilities of knowledge within those limits. Why, Greystone here—it has an interesting history, even in relation to England at large; and what a delight there would be in following it out, doggedly, invincibly—making it one’s single subject—grubbing after it in muniment-rooms and libraries—learning by heart every stone of the old town—dying at last with the consolation that nobody could teach one anything more about it!’

‘I know the mood,’ said Morton, laughing.

‘I’m narrowing down,’ pursued Harvey. ‘Once I had tremendous visions—dreamt of holding half a dozen civilisations in the hollow of my hand. I came back from the East in a fury to learn the Oriental languages—made a start, you know, with Arabic. I dropped one nation after another, always drawing nearer home. The Latin races were to suffice me. Then early France, especially in its relations with England;—Normandy, Anjou. Then early England, especially in its relations with France. The end will be a county, or a town—nay, possibly a building. Why not devote one’s self to the history of a market-cross? It would be respectable, I tell you. Thoroughness is all.’

When they were alone in the library at night, Morton spoke of his eldest boy, expressing some anxiety about him.

‘The rascal will have to earn his living—and how? There’s time, I suppose, but it begins to fidget me. He won’t handle corn—I’m clear as to that. At his age, of course, all lads talk about voyages and so on, but Harry seems cut out for a larger sphere than Greystone. I shan’t balk him. I’d rather he hadn’t anything to do with fighting—still, that’s a weakness.’

‘We think of sending Wager’s lad into the navy,’ said Rolfe, when he had mused awhile. ‘Of course, he’ll have to make his own way.’

‘Best thing you can do, no doubt. And what about his little sister?’

‘That’s more troublesome. It’s awkward that she’s a relative of Mrs Abbott. Otherwise, I should have proposed to train her for a cook.’

‘Do you mean it?’

‘Why not? She isn’t a girl of any promise. What better thing for her, and for the community, than to make her a good cook? They’re rare enough, Heaven knows. What’s the use of letting her grow up with ideas of gentility, which in her case would mean nothing but uselessness? She must support herself, sooner or later, and it won’t be with her brains. I’ve seriously thought of making that suggestion to Mrs. Abbott. Ten years hence, a sensible woman cook will demand her own price, and be a good deal more respected than a dressmaker or a she-clerk. The stomach is very powerful in bringing people to common-sense. When all the bricklayers’ daughters are giving piano lessons, and it’s next to impossible to get any servant except a lady’s-maid, we shall see women of leisure develop a surprising interest in the boiling of potatoes.’

Morton admitted the force of these arguments.

‘What would you wish your own boy to be?’ he asked presently.

‘Anything old-fashioned, unadventurous, happily obscure; a country parson, perhaps, best of all.’

‘I understand. I’ve had the same thoughts. But one Ii to get over that kind of thing. It won’t do to be afraid of life—nor of death either.’

‘And there’s the difficulty of education,’ said Rolfe. ‘If I followed my instincts, I should make the boy unfit for anything but the quietest, obscurest life. I should make him hate a street, and love the fields. I should teach him to despise every form of ambition; to shrink from every kind of pleasure, but the simplest and purest; to think of life as a long day’s ramble, and death as the quiet sleep that comes at the end of it. I should like him not to marry—never to feel the need of it; or if marry he must, to have no children. That’s my real wish; and if I tried to carry it out, the chances are that I should do him an intolerable wrong. For fear of it, I must give him into the hands of other people; I must see him grow into habits and thoughts which will cause me perpetual uneasiness; I must watch him drift further and further away from my own ideal of life, till at length, perhaps, there is scarce a possibility of sympathy between us.’

‘Morbid—all morbid,’ remarked the listener.

‘I don’t know. It may only mean that one sees too clearly the root facts of existence. I have another mood (less frequent) in which I try to persuade myself that I don’t care much about the child; that his future doesn’t really concern me at all. Why should it? He’s just one of the millions of human beings who come and go. A hundred years hence—what of him and of me? What can it matter how he lived and how he died? The best kind of education would be that which hardened his skin and blunted his sympathies. What right have I to make him sensitive? The thing is, to get through life with as little suffering as possible. What monstrous folly to teach him to wince and cry out at the sufferings of other people! Won’t he have enough of his own before he has done? Yet that’s what we shall aim at—to cultivate his sympathetic emotions, so that the death of a bird shall make him sad, and the sight of human distress wring his heart. Real kindness would try to make of him a healthy ruffian, with just enough conscience to keep him from crime.’

‘Theory for theory, I prefer this,’ said Morton. ‘To a certain extent I try to act upon it.’

‘You do?’

‘Just because I know that my own tendency is to over-softness. I have sometimes surprised my wife by bidding Harry disregard things that appealed to his pity. You remember what old Hobbes says: “Homo malus, puer robustus“? There was more truth in it in his day than in ours. It’s natural for a boy to be a good deal of a savage, but our civilisation is doing its best to change that. Why, not long ago the lad asked me whether fishing wasn’t cruel. He evidently felt that it was, and so do I; but I couldn’t say so. I laughed it off, and told him that a fish diet was excellent for the brains!’

‘I hope I may have as much courage,’ said Harvey.

‘Life is a compromise, my dear fellow. If the world at large would suddenly come round to a cultivation of the amiable virtues—well and good. But there’s no hope of it. As it is, our little crabs must grow their hard shell, or they’ve no chance.’

‘What about progress? In educating children, we are making the new world.’

Morton assented.

‘But there’s no hurry. The growth must be gradual—will be, whether we intend it or not. The fact is, I try not to think overmuch about my children. It remains a doubt, you know, whether education has any influence worth speaking of.’

‘To me,’ said Harvey, ‘the doubt seems absurd. In my own case, I know, a good system of training would have made an enormous difference. Practically, I was left to train myself, and a nice job I made of it. Do you remember how I used to talk about children before I had one? I have thought it was the talk of a fool; but, perhaps, after all, it had more sanity than my views nowadays.’

“Medio tutissimus,’ murmured Basil.

‘And what about your girls?’ asked the other, when they had smoked in silence. ‘Is the difficulty greater or less?’

‘From my point of view, less. For one thing, I can leave them entirely in the hands of their mother; if they resemble her, they won’t do amiss. And there’s no bother about work in life; they will have enough to live upon—just enough. Of course, they may want to go out into the world. I shall neither hinder nor encourage. I had rather they stayed at home.’

‘Don’t lose sight of the possibility that by when they are grown up there may be no such thing as “home”. The word is dying out.’

Morton’s pedantry led him again to murmur Latin——

“Multa renascentur quoe jam cecidere“。

‘You’re the happiest man I know, or ever shall know,’ said Rolfe, with more feeling than he cared to exhibit.

‘Don’t make me think about Croesus, King of Lydia. On the whole, happiness means health, and health comes of occupation. In one point I agree with you about yourself: it would have been better if someone had found the right kind of work for you, and made you stick to it. By-the-bye, how does your friend, the photographic man, get on?’

‘Not at all badly. Did I tell you I had put money into it? I go there a good deal, and pretend to do something.’

‘Why pretend? Couldn’t you find a regular job there for a few hours every day?’

‘I dare say I could. It’ll be easier to get backwards and forwards from Gunnersbury. How would you like,’ he added, with a laugh, ‘to live at Gunnersbury?’

‘What does it matter where one lives? I have something of a prejudice against Hoxton or Bermondsey; but I think I could get along in most other places. Gunnersbury is rather pleasant, I thought. Isn’t it quite near to Kew and Richmond?’

‘Do those names attract you?’

‘They have a certain charm for the rustic ear.’

‘It’s all one to me. Hughie will go to school, and make friends with other children. You see, he’s had no chance of it yet. We know a hundred people or so, but have no intimates. Is there such a thing as intimacy of families in London? I’m inclined to think not. Here, you go into each other’s houses without fuss and sham; you know each other, and trust each other. In London there’s no such comfort, at all events for educated people. If you have a friend, he lives miles away; before his children and yours can meet, they must travel for an hour and a half by bus and underground.’

‘I suppose it 必须 be London?’ interrupted Morton.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Harvey replied absently, and his friend said no more.

He had meant this visit to be of three days at most; but time slipped by so pleasantly that a week was gone before he could resolve on departure. Most of the mornings he spent in rambles alone, rediscovering many a spot in the country round which had been familiar to him as a boy, but which he had never cared to seek in his revisitings of Greystone hitherto. One day, as he followed the windings of a sluggish stream, he saw flowers of arrowhead, white flowers with crimson centre, floating by the bank, and remembered that he had once plucked them here when on a walk with his father, who held him the while, lest he should stretch too far and fall in. To reach them now, he lay down upon the grassy brink; and in that moment there returned to him, with exquisite vividness, the mind, the senses, of childhood; once more he knew the child’s pleasure in contact with earth, and his hand grasped hard at the sweet-smelling turf as though to keep hold upon the past thus fleetingly recovered. It was gone—no doubt, for ever; a last glimpse vouchsafed to him of life’s beginning as he set his face towards the end. Then came a thought of joy. The keen sensations which he himself had lost were his child’s inheritance. Somewhere in the fields, this summer morning, Hughie was delighting in the scent, the touch, of earth, young amid a world where all was new. The stereotyped phrase about parents living again in their children became a reality and a source of deep content. So does a man repeat the experience of the race, and with each step onward live into the meaning of some old word that he has but idly echoed.

On the day before he left, a letter reached him from Alma. He had felt surprise at not hearing sooner from her; but Alma’s words explained the delay.

‘I have been thinking a great deal,’ she wrote, ‘and I want to tell you of my thoughts. Don’t imagine they are mere fancies, the result of ill-health. I feel all but well again, and have a perfectly clear head. And perhaps it is better that I should write what I have to say, instead of speaking it. In this way I oblige you to hear me out. I don’t mean that you are in the habit of interrupting me, but perhaps you would if I began to talk as I am going to write.

‘Why can’t we stay at Pinner?

‘There, that shall have a line to itself. Take breath, and now listen again. I dislike the thought of removing to Gunnersbury—really and seriously I dislike it. You know I haven’t given you this kind of trouble before; when we left Wales I was quite willing to have stayed on if you had wished it—wasn’t I? Forgive me, then, for springing this upon you after all your arrangements are made; I could not do it if I did not feel that our happiness (not mine only) is concerned. Would it be possible to cancel your agreement with the Gunnersbury man? If not, couldn’t you sublet, with little or no loss? The Pinner house isn’t let yet—is it? Do let us stay where we are. I think it is the first serious request I ever made of you, and I think you will see that I have some right to make it.

‘I had rather, much rather, that Hughie did not go to Mrs. Abbott’s school. Don’t get angry and call me foolish. What I mean is, that I would rather teach him myself. In your opinion I have neglected him, and I confess that you are right. There now! I shall give up my music; at all events, I shall not play again in public. I have shown what I could do, and that’s enough. You don’t like it—though you have never tried to show me 为什么—and again I feel that you are right. A professional life for me would mean, I see it now, the loss of things more precious. I will give it up, and live quietly at home. I will have regular hours for teaching Hughie. If you prefer it, Pauline shall go, and I will take charge of him altogether. If I do this, what need for us to remove? The house is more comfortable than the new one at Gunnersbury; we are accustomed to it; and by being farther from London I shall have less temptation to gad about. I know exactly what I am promising, and I feel I 能够 do it, now that my mind is made up.

‘Need I fear a refusal? I can’t think so. Give the matter your best thought, and see whether there are not several reasons on my side. But, please, answer as soon as you can, for I shall be in suspense till I hear from you.

Alma signed herself ‘Yours ever affectionately’, but Harvey could find no trace of affection in the letter. It astonished and annoyed him. Of course, it could have but one explanation; Alma might as well have saved herself trouble by writing, in a line or two, that she disliked Mrs. Abbott, and could not bear that the child should be taught by her. He read through the pages again, and grew angry. What right had she to make such a request as this, and in the tone of a demand? Twice in the letter she asserted that she 民政事务总署 a right, asserted it as if with some mysterious reference. Had he sat down immediately to reply, Harvey would have written briefly forcibly; for, putting aside other grounds of irritation, there is nothing a man dislikes more than being called upon at last moment to upset elaborate and troublesome arrangements. But he was obliged to postpone his answer for a few hours, and in the meantime he grew more tolerant of Alma’s feelings. Had her objection come earlier, accompanied by the same proposals, he would have been inclined to listen; but things had gone too far. He wrote, quite good-temperedly, but without shadow of wavering. There was nothing sudden, he pointed out, in the step he was about to take; Alma had known it for months, and had acquiesced in it. As for her music, he quite agreed with her that she would find it better in every way to abandon thoughts of a public career; and the fact of Hughie’s going to school for two or three hours a day would in no wise interfere with her wish to see more of him. What her precise meaning was in saying that she had some ‘right’ to make this request, he declared himself unable to discover. Was it a reproach? If so, his conscience afforded him no light, and he hoped Alma would explain the words in a letter to him at Pinner.

This correspondence clouded his last evening at Greystone. He was glad that some acquaintances of Morton’s came, and stayed late; sitting alone with his friend, he would have been tempted to talk of Alma, and he felt that silence was better just now.

By a train soon after breakfast next morning, he left the old town, dearer to him each time that he beheld it, and travelled slowly to the main-line junction, whence again he travelled slowly to Peterborough. There the express caught him up, and flung him into roaring London again. Before going to Pinner, he wished to see Cecil Morphew, for he had an idea to communicate—a suggestion for the extending of business by opening correspondence with out of the way towns, such as Greystone.

On reaching the shop in Westminster Bridge Road, he found that Morphew also had a communication to make, and of a more exciting nature.

Morphew was engaged upstairs with the secretary of an Amateur Photographic Society. Waiting for this person’s departure, Rolfe talked with the shopman—a capable fellow, aged about thirty, whose heart was in the business; he looked at a new hand-camera, which seemed likely to have a good sale, and heard encouraging reports of things in general. Then Morphew came down, escorting his visitor. As soon as he was free, he grasped Harvey by the arm, and whispered eagerly that he had something to tell him. They went upstairs together, into a room furnished as an office, hung about with many framed photographs.

‘He’s dead!’ exclaimed Cecil—’he’s dead!’

A name was needless. Only one man’s death could be the cause of such excitement in Morphew, and it had been so long awaited that the event had no touch of solemnity. Yet Harvey perceived that his friend’s exultation was not unmixed with disquietude.

‘Yesterday morning, early. I heard it by chance. Of course, she hasn’t written to me, but no doubt I shall hear in a few days. I walked about near the house for hours last night—like an idiot. The thing seemed impossible; I had to keep reminding myself, by looking at the windows, that it was true. Eight years—think of that! Eight years’ misery, due to that fellow’s snobbishness!’

In Harvey’s mind the story had a somewhat different aspect. He knew nothing personally of this Mr. Winter, who might indeed be an incarnation of snobbery; on the other hand, Cecil Morphew had his defects, and even to a liberal-minded parent might not recommend himself as a son-in-law. Then again, the young lady herself, now about six and twenty, must surely have been influenced by some other motive than respect for her parents’ wishes, in thus protracting her engagement with a lover who had a secure, though modest, income. Was it not conceivable that she inherited something of the paternal spirit? or, at all events, that her feelings had not quite the warmth that Morphew imagined?

‘I’m glad it’s over,’ he replied cordially. ‘Now begins a new life for you.’

‘But eight years—eight years of waiting——’

‘Hang it, what is your age? Thirty! Why, you’re only just old enough. No man ought to marry before thirty.’

Morphew interrupted vehemently.

‘That’s all rot! Excuse me; I can’t help it. A man ought to marry when he’s urged to it by his nature, and as soon as he finds the right woman. If I had married eight years ago——.’ He broke off with an angry gesture, misery in his eyes. ‘You don’t believe that humbug, Rolfe; you repeat it just to console me. There’s little consolation, I can assure you. I was two and twenty; she, nineteen. Mature man and woman; and we longed for each other. Nothing but harm could come of waiting year after year, wretched both of us.’

‘I confess,’ said Harvey, ‘I don’t quite see why she waited after twenty-one.’

‘Because she is a good, gentle girl, and could not bear to make her father and mother unhappy. The blame is all theirs—mean, shallow, grovelling souls!’

‘What about her mother now?’

‘Oh, she was never so obstinate as the old jackass. She’ll have little enough to live upon, and we shall soon arrange things with her somehow. Is it credible that human beings can be so senseless? For years now, their means have been growing less and less, just because the snobbish idiot 将 keep up appearances. If he had lived a little longer, the widow would have had practically no income at all. Of course, she shared in the folly, and I’m only sorry she won’t suffer more for it. They didn’t enjoy their lives—never have done. They lived in miserable slavery to the opinion of their fellow-snobs. You remember that story about the flowers at their silver wedding: two hundred pounds—just because Mrs. Somebody spent as much—when they couldn’t really afford two hundred shillings. And they groaned over it—he and she—like people with the stomachache. Why, the old fool died of nothing else; he was worn out by the fear of having to go into a smaller house.’

Harvey would have liked to put a question: was it possible that the daughter of such people could be endowed with virtues such as become the wife of a comparatively poor man? But he had to ask it merely in his own thoughts. Before long, no doubt, he would meet the lady herself and appease his curiosity.

Whilst they were talking, there came a knock at the door; the shopman announced two ladies, who wished to inquire about some photographic printing.

‘Will you see them, Rolfe?’ asked Cecil. ‘I don’t feel like it—indeed I don’t. You’ll be able to tell them all they want.’

Harvey found himself equal to the occasion, and was glad of it; he needed occupation of some kind to keep his thoughts from an unpleasant subject. After another talk with Morphew, in which they stuck to business, he set off homeward.

Here news awaited him. On his arrival all seemed well; Ruth opened the door, answered his greeting in her quiet, respectful way, and at once brought tea to the study. When he rang to have the things taken away, Ruth again appeared, and he saw now that she had something unusual to say.

‘I didn’t like to trouble you the first thing, sir,’ she began—’but Sarah left yesterday without giving any notice; and I think it’s perhaps as well she did, sir. I’ve heard some things about her not at all nice.’

‘We must find someone else, then,’ replied Harvey. ‘It’s lucky she didn’t go at a less convenient time. Was there some unpleasantness between you?’

‘I had warned her, for her own good, sir, that was all. And there’s something else I had perhaps better tell you now, sir.’ Her voice, with its pleasant Welsh accent, faltered ominously. ‘I’m very sorry indeed to say it, sir, but I shall be obliged to leave as soon as Mrs. Rolfe can spare me.’

Harvey was overwhelmed. He looked upon Ruth as a permanent member of the household. She had made herself indispensable; to her was owing the freedom from domestic harassment which Alma had always enjoyed—a most exceptional blessing, yet regarded, after all this time, as a matter of course. The departure of Ruth meant conflict with ordinary servants, in which Alma would assuredly be worsted. At this critical moment of their life, scarcely could anything more disastrous have happened. Seeing her master’s consternation, Ruth was sore troubled, and hastened to explain herself.

‘My brother’s wife has just died, sir, and left him with three young children, and there’s no one else can be of help to him but me. He wanted me to come at once, but, of course, I told him I couldn’t do that. No one can be sorry for his wife’s death; she was such a poor, silly, complaining, useless creature; he hasn’t had a quiet day since he married her. She belonged to Liverpool, and there they were married, and when he brought her to Carnarvon I said to myself as soon as I saw her that 她 wouldn’t be much use to a working-man. She began the very first day to complain and to grumble, and she’s gone on with it ever since. When I was there in my last holiday I really wondered how he bore his life. There’s many women of that kind, sir, but I never knew one as bad as her—never. Everything was too much trouble for her, and she didn’t know how to do a thing in the house. I didn’t mean to trouble you with such things, sir. I only told you just to show why I don’t feel I can refuse to go and help him, and try to give him a little peace and quiet. He’s a hard-working man, and the children aren’t very healthy, and I’m sure I don’t know how he’d manage——’

‘You have no choice, Ruth, I see. Well, we must hope to find some one in your place—但是——”

Just as he shook his head, the house-bell rang, and Ruth withdrew to answer it. In a minute or two the study door opened again. Harvey looked up and saw Alma.

‘I was obliged to come,’ she said, approaching him, as he rose in astonishment. ‘I thought at first of asking you to come on to Basingstoke, but we can talk better here.’

No sign of pleasure in their meeting passed between them. On Harvey’s face lingered something of the disturbance caused by Ruth’s communication, and Alma understood it as due to her unexpected arrival; the smile with which she had entered died away, and she stood like a stranger doubtful of her reception.

‘Was it necessary to talk?’ asked Rolfe, pushing forward a chair, and doing his best to show good humour.

‘Yes—after your reply to my letter this morning,’ she answered coldly.

‘Well, you must have some tea first. This is cold. Won’t you go and take your things off, and I’ll tell Ruth. By-the-bye, we re in confusion.’

He sketched the position of things; but Alma heard without interest.

‘It can’t be helped,’ was her absent reply. ‘There are plenty of servants.’

Fresh tea was brought, and after a brief absence Alma sat down to it. Her health had improved during the past week, but she looked tired from the journey, and was glad to lean back in her chair. For some minutes neither of them spoke. Harvey had never seen an expression on Alma’s features which was so like hostility; it moved him to serious resentment. It is common enough for people who have been several years wedded to feel exasperation in each other’s presence, but for Rolfe the experience was quite new, and so extremely disagreeable, that his pulses throbbed with violence, and his mouth grew dry. He determined to utter not a word until Alma began conversation. This she did at length, with painful effort.

‘I think your answer to me was very unkind.’

‘I didn’t mean it so.’

‘You simply said that you wouldn’t do as I wished.’

‘Not that I wouldn’t, but that it was impossible. And I showed you the reasons—though I should have thought it superfluous.’

Alma waited a moment, then asked——

‘Is this house let?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose not.’

‘Then there is no reason whatever why we shouldn’t stay here.’

‘There is every reason why we shouldn’t stay here. Every arrangement has been made for our leaving—everything fully talked over. What has made you change your mind?’

‘I haven’t really changed my mind. I always disliked the idea of going to Gunnersbury, and you must have seen that I did; but I was so much occupied with—with other things; and, as I have told you, I didn’t feel quite the same about my position as I do now.’

She expressed herself awkwardly, growing very nervous. At the first sign of distress in her, Harvey was able to change his tone.

‘Things are going horribly wrong somehow, Alma. There’s only one way out of it. Just say in honest words what you mean. Why do you dislike the thought of our moving?’

‘I told you in my letter,’ she answered, somewhat acridly.

‘There was no explanation. You said something I couldn’t understand, about having a 右 to ask me to stay here.’

She glanced at him with incredulous disdain.

‘If you don’t understand, I can’t put it into plainer words.’

‘Well now, let me put the whole matter into plainer words than I have liked to use.’ Rolfe spoke deliberately, and not unkindly, though he was tempted to give way to wrath at what he imagined a display of ignoble and groundless jealousy. ‘All along I have allowed you to take your own course. No, I mustn’t say “allowed”, the word is inapplicable; I never claimed the right to dictate to you. We agreed that this was the way for rational husband and wife. It seemed to us that I had no more right to rule over you than you to lay down the law for me. Using your freedom, you chose to live the life of an artist—that is to say, you troubled yourself as little as possible about home and family. I am not complaining—not a bit of it. The thing was an experiment, to be sure; but I have held to the conditions, watched their working. Latterly I began to see that they didn’t work well, and it appears that you agree with me. This is how matters stand; or rather, this is how they stood until, for some mysterious reason, you seemed to grow unfriendly. The reason is altogether mysterious; I leave you to explain it. From my point of view, the failure of our experiment is simple and natural enough. Though I had only myself to blame, I have felt for a long time that you were in an utterly false position. Now you begin to see things in the same light. Well and good; why can’t we start afresh? The only obstacle is your unfriendly feeling. Give me an opportunity of removing it. I hate to be on ill terms with you; it seems monstrous, unaccountable. It puts us on a level with married folk in a London lodging-house. Is it necessary to sink quite so low?’

Alma listened with trembling intensity, and seemed at first unable to reply. Her agitation provoked Harvey more than it appealed to his pity.

‘If you can’t do as I wish,’ she said at length, with an endeavour to speak calmly, ‘I see no use in making any change in my own life. There will be no need of me. I shall make arrangements to go on with my professional career.’

Harvey’s features for a moment set themselves in combativeness, but as quickly they relaxed, and showed an ambiguous smile.

‘No need of you—and Ruth going to leave us?’

‘There oughtn’t to be any difficulty in finding someone just as good.’

‘Perhaps there ought not to be; but we may thank our stars if we find anyone half as trustworthy. The chances are that a dozen will come and go before we settle down again. I don’t enjoy that prospect, and I shall want a good deal of help from you in bearing the discomfort.’

‘What kind of help? Of course, I shall see that the house goes on as usual.’

‘Then it’s quite certain you will have no time left for a “professional career”.’

‘If I understand you, you mean that you don’t wish me to have any time for it.’

Harvey still smiled, though he could not conceal his nervousness.

‘I’m afraid it comes to that.’

So little had Alma expected such a declaration, that she gazed at him in frank surprise.

‘Then you are going to oppose me in everything?’

‘I hope not. In that case we should do much better to say good-bye.’

The new tone perplexed her, and a puzzled interest mingled with the lofty displeasure of her look.

‘Please let us understand each other.’ She spoke with demonstrative calmness. ‘Are we talking on equal terms, or is it master and servant?’

‘Husband and wife, Alma, that’s all.’

‘With a new meaning in the words.’

‘No; a very old one. I won’t say the oldest, for I believe there was a time when primitive woman had the making of man in every sense, and somehow knocked a few ideas into his head; but that was very long ago.’

‘If I could be sure of your real meaning——.’ She made an irritated gesture. ‘How are we going to live? You speak of married people in lodging-houses. I don’t know much about them, happily, but I imagine the husband talks something like this—though in more intelligible language.’

‘I dare say he does—poor man. He talks more plainly, because he has never put himself in a false position—has never played foolishly with the facts of life.’

Alma sat reflecting.

‘Didn’t I tell you in my letter,’ she said at length, ‘that I was quite willing to make a change, on one condition?’

‘An impossible condition.’

‘You treat me very harshly. How have I deserved it? When I wrote that, I really wished to please you. Of course, I knew you were dissatisfied with me, and it made me dissatisfied with myself. I wrote in a way that ought to have brought me a very different answer. Why do you behave as if I were guilty of something—as if I had put myself at your mercy? You never found fault with me—you even encouraged me to go on——’

Her choking voice made Harvey look at her in apprehension, and the look stopped her just as she was growing hysterical.

‘You are right about my letter,’ he said, very gravely and quietly. ‘It ought to have been in a kinder tone. It would have been, but for those words you won’t explain.’

‘You think it needs any explanation that I dislike the thought of Hughie going to Mrs. Abbott’s?’

‘Indeed I do. I can’t imagine a valid ground for your objection.’

There was a word on Alma’s tongue, but her lips would not utter it. She turned very pale under the mental conflict. Physical weakness, instead of overcoming her spirit, excited it to a fresh effort of resistance.

‘Then,’ she said, rising from the chair, ‘you are not only unkind to me, but dishonest.’

Harvey flushed.

‘You are making yourself ill again. We had far better not talk at all.’

‘I came up for no other purpose. We have to settle everything.’

‘As far as I am concerned, everything is settled.’

‘Then I have no choice,’ said Alma, with subdued passion. ‘We shall live as we have done. I shall accept any engagement that offers, in London or the country, and regard music as my chief concern. You wished it, and so it shall be.’

Rolfe hesitated. Believing that her illness was the real cause of this commotion, he felt it his duty to use all possible forbearance; yet he knew too well the danger of once more yielding, and at such a crisis. The contest had declared itself—it was will against will; to decide it by the exertion of his sane strength against Alma’s hysteria might be best even for the moment. He had wrought himself to the point of unwonted energy, a state of body and mind difficult to recover if now he suffered defeat. Alma, turning from him, seemed about to leave the room.

‘One moment——’

She looked round, carelessly attentive.

‘That wouldn’t be living as we have done. It would be an intolerable state of things after this.’

‘It’s your own decision.’

‘Far from it. I wouldn’t put up with it for a day.’

‘Then there’s only one thing left: I must go and live by myself.’

‘I couldn’t stand that either, and wouldn’t try.’

‘I am no slave! I shall live where and how I choose.’

‘When you have thought about it more calmly, your choice will be the same as mine.’

Trembling violently, she backed away from him. Harvey thought she would fall; he tried to hold her by the arm, but Alma shook him off, and in the same moment regained her strength. She faced him with a new defiance, which enabled her at last to speak the words hitherto unutterable.

‘How do you think I can bear to see Hughie with 那些 children?’

Rolfe stood in amaze. The suddenness of this reversion to another stage of their argument enhanced his natural difficulty in understanding her. ‘What children?’

‘Those two—whatever their name may be.’

‘Wager’s boy and girl?’

‘You call them so.’

‘Are you going crazy? I 呼叫 them so?—what do you mean?’

A sudden misgiving appeared in Alma’s eyes; she stared at him so strangely that Harvey began to fear for her reason.

‘What is it, dear? What have you been thinking? Tell me—speak like yourself——’

‘Why do you take so much interest in them?’ she asked faintly.

‘Heavens! You have suspected——? What 已可以选用 you suspected?’

‘They are your own. I have known it for a long time.’

Alarm notwithstanding, Rolfe was so struck by the absurdity of this charge that he burst into stentorian laughter. Whilst he laughed, Alma sank into a chair, powerless, tearful.

‘I should much like to know,’ exclaimed Harvey, laying a hand upon her, ‘how you made that astounding discovery. Do you think they are like me?’

‘The girl is—or I thought so.’

‘After you had decided that she must be, no doubt.’ Again he exploded in laughter. ‘And this is the meaning of it all? This is what you have been fretting over? For how long?’

Alma brushed away her tears, but gave no answer.

‘And if I am their father,’ he pursued, with resolute mirthfulness, ‘pray, who do you suppose their mother to be?’

Still Alma kept silence, her head bent.

‘I’ll warrant I can give you evidence against myself which you hadn’t discovered,’ Rolfe went on—’awful and unanswerable evidence. It is I who support those children, and pay for their education!—it is I, and no other. See your darkest suspicion confirmed. If only you had known this for certain!’

‘Why, then, do you do it?’ asked Alma, without raising her eyes.

‘For a very foolish reason: there was no one else who could or would.’

‘And why did you keep it a secret from me?’

‘This is the blackest part of the whole gloomy affair,’ he answered, with burlesque gravity. ‘It’s in the depraved nature of men to keep secrets from their wives, especially about money. To tell the truth, I’m hanged if I know why I didn’t tell you before our marriage. The infamous step was taken not very long before, and I might as well have made a clean breast of it. Has Mrs. Abbott never spoken to you about her cousin, Wager’s wife?’

‘A word or two.’

‘Which you took for artful fiction? You imagined she had plotted with me to deceive you? What, in the name of commonsense, is your estimate of Mrs. Abbott’s character?’

Alma drew a deep breath, and looked up into her husband’s face. ‘Still—she knew you were keeping it from me, about the money.’

‘She had no suspicion of it. She always wrote to me openly, acknowledging the cheques. Would it gratify you to look through her letters?’

'我相信你。'

‘Not quite, I fancy. Look at me again and say it.’

He raised her head gently.

‘Yes, I believe you—it was very silly.’

‘It was. The only piece of downright feminine foolishness I ever knew you guilty of. But when did it begin?’

Alma had become strangely quiet. She spoke in a low, tired voice, and sat with head turned aside, resting against the back of the chair; her face was expressionless, her eyelids drooped. Rolfe had to repeat his question.

‘I hardly know,’ she replied. ‘It must have been when my illness was coming on.’

‘So I should think. It was sheer frenzy. And now that it’s over, have you still any prejudice against Mrs. Abbott?’

'不。'

The syllable fell idly from her lips.

‘You are tired, dear. All this sound and fury has been too much for you. Lie down on the sofa till dinner-time.’

She allowed him to lead her across the room, and lay down as he wished. To his kiss upon her forehead she made no response, but closed her eyes and was very still. Harvey seated himself at his desk, and opened two or three unimportant letters which had arrived this morning. To one of them he wrote an answer. Turning presently to glance at Alma, he saw that she had not stirred, and when he leaned towards her, the sound of her breathing told him that she was asleep.

He meditated on Woman.

A quarter of an hour before dinner-time he left the room; on his return, when the meal was ready, he found Alma still sleeping, and so soundly that it seemed wrong to wake her. As rays of sunset had begun to fall into the room, he drew the blind, then quietly went out, and had dinner by himself.

At ten o’clock Alma still slept. Using a closely-shaded lamp, Harvey sat in the room with her and read—or seemed to read; for ever and again his eyes strayed to the still figure, and his thoughts wandered over all he knew of Alma’s life. He wished he knew more, that he might better understand her. Of her childhood, her early maidenhood, what conception had he? Yet he and she were 一种—so said the creeds. And Harvey laughed to himself, a laugh more of melancholy than of derision.

The clock ticked on; it was near to eleven. Then Alma stirred, raised herself, and looked towards the light.

‘Harvey——? Have I been asleep so long?’

‘Nearly five hours.’

‘Oh! That was last night——’

‘You mean, you had no sleep?’

‘Didn’t close my eyes.’

‘And you feel better now?’

‘Rather hungry.’

Rolfe laughed. He had seated himself on the couch by her and held her in his arms.

‘Why, then we’ll have some supper—a cold fowl and a bottle of Burgundy—a profligate supper, fit for such abandoned characters; and over it you shall tell me how the world looked to you when you were ten years old.’

Alma returned to Basingstoke, and remained there until the new house was ready for her reception. With the help of her country friends she engaged two domestics, cook and housemaid, who were despatched to Gunnersbury in advance; they had good ‘characters’, and might possibly co-operate with their new mistress in her resolve to create an admirable household. Into this ambition Alma had thrown herself with no less fervour than that which carried her off to wild Wales five years ago; but her aim was now strictly ‘practical’, she would have nothing more to do with ‘ideals’. She took lessons in domestic economy from the good people at Basingstoke. Yes, she had found her way at last! Alma saw it in the glow of a discovery, this calm, secure, and graceful middle-way. She talked of it with an animation that surprised and pleased her little circle down in Hampshire; those ladies had never been able to illumine their everyday discharge of duty with such high imaginative glory. In return for their humble lessons, Alma taught them to admire themselves, to see in their place and functions a nobility they had never suspected.

For a day or two after her arrival at Gunnersbury, Harvey thought that he had never seen her look so well; certainly she had never shown the possibilities of her character to such advantage. It seemed out of the question that any trouble could ever again come between them. Only when the excitement of novelty had subsided did he perceive that Alma was far from having recovered her physical strength. A walk of a mile or two exhausted her; she came home from an hour’s exercise with Hughie pale and tremulous; and of a morning it was often to be noticed that she had not slept well. Without talking of it, Harvey planned the holiday which Alma had declared would be quite needless this year; he took a house in Norfolk for September. Before the day of departure, Alma had something to tell him, which, by suggesting natural explanation of her weakness, made him less uneasy. Remembering the incident which had brought to a close their life in Wales, he saw with pleasure that Alma no longer revolted against the common lot of woman. Perhaps, indeed, the announcement she made to him was the cause of more anxiety in his mind than in hers.

They took their servants with them, and left the house to a caretaker. Pauline Smith, though somewhat against Harvey’s judgment, had been called upon to resign; Alma wished to have Hughie to herself, save during his school hours; he slept in her room, and she tended him most conscientiously. Harvey had asked whether she would like to invite any one, but she preferred to be alone.

This month by the northern sea improved her health, but she had little enjoyment. After a few days, she wearied of the shore and the moorland, and wished herself back at Gunnersbury. Nature had never made much appeal to her; when she spoke of its beauties with admiration, she echoed the approved phrases, little more; all her instincts drew towards the life of a great town. Sitting upon the sand, between cliff and breakers, she lost herself in a dream of thronged streets and brilliant rooms; the voice of the waves became the roar of traffic, a far sweeter music. With every year this tendency had grown stronger; she could only marvel, now, at the illusion which enabled her to live so long, all but contentedly, in that wilderness where Hughie was born. Rather than return to it, she would die—rather, a thousand times. Happily, there was no such danger. Harvey would never ask her to leave London. All he desired was that she should hold apart from certain currents of town life; and this she was resolved to do, knowing how nearly they had swept her to destruction.

‘Wouldn’t you like to take up your sketching again?’ said Harvey one day, when he saw that she felt dull.

‘Sketching? Oh, I had forgotten all about it. It seems ages ago. I should have to begin and learn all over again. No, no; it isn’t worth while. I shall have no time.’

She did not speak discontentedly, but Rolfe saw already the justification of his misgivings. She had begun to feel the constant presence of the child a restraint and a burden.

Happily, on their return home, Hughie would go to school for a couple of hours each morning. Alma could have wished it any other school than Mary Abbott’s, but the thought was no longer so insupportable as when she suffered under her delusion concerning the two children. Now that she had frequently seen Minnie Wager, she wondered at the self-deception which allowed her to detect in the child’s face a distinct resemblance to Harvey. Of course, there was nothing of the kind. She had been the victim of a morbid jealousy—a symptom, no doubt, of the disorder of the nerves which was growing upon her. Yet she could not overcome her antipathy to Mary Abbott. Harvey, she felt sure, would never have made himself responsible for those children, but that in doing so he benefited their teacher; and it was not without motive of conscience that he kept the matter secret. By no effort could Alma banish this suspicion. She resolved that it should never appear; she commanded her face and her utterance; but it was impossible for her ever to regard Mrs. Abbott with liking, or even with respect.

In a darker corner of her mind lay hidden another shape of jealousy—jealousy unavowed, often disguised as fear, but for the most part betraying itself through the mask of hatred.

Times innumerable, in nights that brought no rest, and through long hours of weary day, Alma had put her heart to the proof, and acquitted it of any feeling save a natural compassion for the man Hugh Carnaby had killed. She had never loved Redgrave, had never even thought of him with that curiosity which piques the flesh; yet so inseparably was he associated with her life at its points of utmost tension and ardour, that she could not bear to yield to any other woman a closer intimacy, a prior claim. At her peril she had tempted him, and up to the fatal moment she was still holding her own in the game which had become to her a passion. It ended—because a rival came between. Of Sibyl’s guilt she never admitted a doubt; it was manifest in the story made public by Hugh Carnaby, the story which he, great simple fellow, told in all good faith, relying absolutely on his wife’s assertion of innocence. Saving her husband, who believed Sibyl innocent?

She flattered herself with the persuasion that it was right to hate Sibyl—a woman who had sold herself for money, whose dishonour differed in no respect from that of the woman of the pavement. And all the more she hated her because she feared her. What security could there be that Redgrave’s murderer (thus she thought of him) had kept the secret which he promised to keep? That he allowed no hint of it to escape him in public did not prove that he had been equally scrupulous with Sibyl; for Hugh was a mere plaything in the hands of his wife, and it seemed more than likely that he had put his stupid conscience at rest by telling her everything. Were it so, what motive would weigh with Sibyl to keep her silent? One, and one only, could be divined: a fear lest Alma, through intimacy with Redgrave, might have discovered things which put her in a position to dare the enmity of her former friend. This, no doubt, would hold Sibyl to discretion. Yet it could not relieve Alma from the fear of her, and of Hugh Carnaby himself—fear which must last a lifetime; which at any moment, perhaps long years hence, might find its bitter fulfilment, and work her ruin. For Harvey Rolfe was not a man of the stamp of Hugh Carnaby: he would not be hoodwinked in the face of damning evidence, or lend easy ear to specious explanations. The very fact that she 可以 explain her ambiguous behaviour was to Alma an enhancement of the dread with which she thought of such a scene between herself and Harvey; for to be innocent, and yet unable to force conviction of it upon his inmost mind, would cause her a deeper anguish than to fall before him with confession of guilt. And to convince him would be impossible, for ever impossible. Say what she might, and however generous the response of his love, there must still remain the doubt which attaches to a woman’s self-defence when at the same time she is a self-accuser.

In the semi-delirium of her illness, whilst waiting in torment for the assurance that Carnaby had kept her secret, she more than once prayed for Sibyl’s death. In her normal state of mind Alma prayed for nothing; she could not hope that Sibyl’s life would come to a convenient end; but as often as she thought of her, it was with a vehemence of malignity which fired her imagination to all manner of ruthless extremes. It revolted her to look back upon the time when she sat at that woman’s feet, a disciple, an affectionate admirer, allowing herself to be graciously patronised, counselled, encouraged. The repose of manner which so impressed her, the habitual serenity of mood, the unvarying self-confidence—oh, these were excellent qualities when it came to playing the high part of cold and subtle hypocrisy! She knew Sibyl, and could follow the workings of her mind: a woman incapable of love, or of the passion which simulates it; worshipping herself, offering luxuries to her cold flesh as to an idol; scornful of the possibility that she might ever come to lack what she desired; and, at the critical moment, prompt to secure herself against such danger by the smiling, cynical acceptance of whatsoever shame. Alma had no small gift of intuition; proved by the facility and fervour with which she could adapt her mind to widely different conceptions of life. This characteristic, aided by the perspicacity which is bestowed upon every jealous woman, perchance enabled her to read the mysterious Sibyl with some approach to exactness. Were it so, prudence should have warned her against a struggle for mere hatred’s sake with so formidable an antagonist. But the voice of caution had never long audience with Alma, and was not likely, at any given moment, to prevail against a transport of her impetuous soul.

Harvey, meanwhile, fearing her inclination to brood over the dark event, tried to behave as though he had utterly dismissed it from his thoughts. He kept a cheerful countenance, talked much more than usual, and seemed full of health and hope. As usual between married people, this resolute cheerfulness had, more often than not, an irritating effect upon Alma. Rolfe erred once more in preferring to keep silence about difficulties rather than face the unpleasantness of frankly discussing them. One good, long, intimate conversation about Mrs. Carnaby, with unrestricted exchange of views, the masculine and the feminine, with liberal acceptance of life as it is lived, and honest contempt of leering hypocrisies, would have done more, at this juncture, to put healthy tone into Alma’s being than any change of scene and of atmosphere, any medicament or well-meant summons to forgetfulness. Like the majority of good and thoughtful men, he could not weigh his female companion in the balance he found good enough for mortals of his own sex. With a little obtuseness to the ‘finer’ feelings, a little native coarseness in his habits towards women, he would have succeeded vastly better amid the complications of his married life.

Troubles of a grosser kind, such as heretofore they had been wonderfully spared, began to assail them during their month in Norfolk. One morning, about midway in the holiday, Harvey, as he came down for a bathe before breakfast, heard loud and angry voices from the kitchen. On his return after bathing, he found the breakfast-table very carelessly laid, with knives unpolished, and other such neglects of seemliness. Alma, appearing with Hughie, spoke at once of the strange noises she had heard, and Harvey gave his account of the uproar.

‘I thought something was wrong,’ said Alma. ‘The cook has seemed in a bad temper for several days. I don’t like either of them. I think I shall give them both notice, and advertise at once. They say that advertising is the best way.’

The housemaid (in her secondary function of parlour-maid) waited at table with a scowl. The fish was ill fried, the eggs were hard, the toast was soot-smeared. For the moment Alma made no remark; but half an hour later, when Harvey and the child had rambled off to the sea-shore, she summoned both domestics, and demanded an explanation of their behaviour. Her tone was not conciliatory; she had neither the experience nor the tact which are necessary in the mistress of a household, and it needed only an occasion such as this to bring out the contemptuousness with which she regarded her social inferiors. Too well-bred to indulge in scolding or wrangling, the delight of a large class of housewives, Alma had a quiet way of exhibiting displeasure and scorn, which told smartly on the nerves of those she rebuked. No one could better have illustrated the crucial difficulty of the servant-question, which lies in the fact that women seldom can rule, and all but invariably dislike to be ruled by, their own sex; a difficulty which increases with the breaking-up of social distinctions.

She went out into the sunshine, and found Harvey and Hughie building a great castle of sand. Her mood was lightsome for she felt that she had acted with decision and in a way worthy of her dignity.

‘They will both go about their business. I only hope we may get meals for the rest of the time here.’

Harvey nodded, with closed lips.

‘It’s a pity Pauline went,’ he remarked presently.

‘I’m afraid it is. I hadn’t quite realised what it would mean.’

‘I rather think I ventured to say something of that kind, didn’t I? She 五月 not have taken another place. Suppose you write to her?’

Alma seemed to waver.

‘What I am thinking,’ she said in a lower tone, ‘is that—before long—we shall need—I suppose—someone of a rather different kind—an ordinary nurse-girl. But you wouldn’t like Hughie to be with anyone of that sort?’

‘It wouldn’t matter now.’

‘Here’s the philosophy of the matter in a nut-shell,’ said Harvey afterwards. ‘Living nowadays means keeping up appearances, and you must do it just as carefully before your own servants as before your friends. The alternatives are, one general servant, with frank confession of poverty, or a numerous household and everything COMME IL faut. There’s no middle way, with peace. I think your determination to take care of Hughie yourself was admirable; but it won’t work. These two women think you do it because you can’t afford a nurse, and at once they despise us. It’s the nature of the beasts—it’s the tone of the time. Nothing will keep them and their like in subordination but a jingling of the purse. One must say to them all day long, “I am your superior; I can buy you by the dozen, if need be; I never need soil my finger with any sort of work, and you know it.” Ruth was a good creature, but I seriously doubt whether she would have been quite so good if she hadn’t seen us keeping our horse and our gardener and our groom down yonder—everything handsome about us. For the sake of quietness we must exalt ourselves.’

‘You’re quite right about Ruth,’ replied Alma, laughing. ‘Several times she has let me see how she admired my life of idleness; but it’s just that I don’t want to go back to.’

‘No need. Ruth was practically a housekeeper. You can manage your own house, but you must have a servant for everything. Get a nurse, by all means.’

Alma drew a breath of contentment.

‘You are not dissatisfied with me, Harvey?’

'当然不是。'

‘But tell me—how does Mrs. Morton manage? Why isn’t she despised by her servants when she’s always so busy?’

Harvey had to close his lips against the first answer which occurred to him.

‘For one thing,’ he replied, ‘there’s a more natural state of things in those little towns; something of the old spirit still lives. Then the Mortons have the immense advantage of being an old family, settled there for generations, known and respected by everyone. That’s a kind of superiority one can’t buy, and goes for a great deal in comfortable living. Morton’s servants are the daughters of people who served his parents. From their childhood they have thought it would be a privilege to get into that house.’

‘Impossible in London.’

‘Unless you are a duchess.’

‘What a pleasant thing it must be,’ said Alma musingly, ‘to have ancestors.’

Harvey chuckled.

‘The next best thing is to have descendants.’

‘Why, then,’ exclaimed Alma, ‘we become ancestors ourselves. But one ought to have an interesting house to live in. Nobody’s ancestors ever lived in a semi-detached villa. What I should like would be one of those picturesque old places down in Surrey quite in the country, yet within easy reach of town; a house with a real garden, and perhaps an orchard. I believe you can get them very cheap sometimes. Not rent the house, but buy it. Then we would have our portraits painted, and——’

Harvey asked himself how long Alma would find satisfaction in such a home; but it pleased him to hear her talking thus of the things which were his own hopeless dream.

‘That reminds me, Alma, you have never sat yet for your picture, as I said you should.’

‘We must wait—now.’

‘It shall be done next year.’

They were content with each other this evening, and looked forward to pleasures they might have in common. For Harvey had learnt to nourish only the humblest hopes, and Alma thought she had subdued herself to an undistinguished destiny.

Determined to have done once for all with a task she loathed, Alma wrote out her advertisements for cook, house-parlourmaid, and nurse, and sent them to half a dozen newspapers. After three weeks of correspondence with servants and mistresses—a correspondence which, as Rolfe said, would have made a printed volume of higher sociological interest than anything yet published, or likely to be—the end of her patience and her strength compelled her to decide half desperately, and engage the three young women who appeared least insolent. At the same time she had to find a new boy for boots, windows, knives, and coals, the youngster hitherto employed having been so successful with his ‘book’ on Kempton Park and Hurst Park September meetings that he relinquished menial duties and devoted himself wholly to the turf; but this was such a simple matter, compared with the engaging of indoor domestics, that she felt it almost a delight. When a strong, merry-looking lad presented himself, eager for the job, and speaking not a word that was beside the point, Alma could have patted his head.

She amused Harvey that evening by exclaiming with the very accent of sincerity——

‘How I like men, and how I detest women!’

Her nerves were so upset again that, when all was over, she generally slept pretty well, but now her insomnia returned, and had to keep her bed for a day or two. At the sea-side she had once more she had recourse to the fashionable specific. Harvey knew nothing of this; she was careful to hide it from him; and each time she measured out her dose she assured herself that it should be the last.

Oh, but to lie through those terrible small hours, her brain feverishly active, compelling her to live again in the scenes and the emotions she most desired to forget! She was haunted by the voice of Cyrus Redgrave, which at times grew so distinct to her hearing that it became an hallucination. Her memory reproduced his talk with astonishing fidelity; it was as though she had learnt it by heart, instead of merely listening to it at the time. This only in the silence of night; during the day she could not possibly have recalled a tenth of what her brain thus treacherously preserved.

In sleep she sometimes dreamt of him, and that was perhaps worse; for whilst the waking illusion only reproduced what he had actually said, with all his tricks of tone, his suavities of expression, sleep brought before her another Redgrave. He looked at her with a smile, indeed, but a smile of such unutterable malignity that she froze with terror. It was always the same. Redgrave stood before her smiling, silent; stood and gazed until in a paroxysm of anguish she cried out and broke the dream. Once, whilst the agony was upon her, she sprang from bed, meaning to go to her husband and tell him everything, and so, it might be, put an end to her sufferings. But with her hand upon the door she lost courage. Impossible! She could not hope to be believed. She could never convince her husband that she had told him all.

上 这里 lay the guilt of Redgrave’s death. This had entered slowly into her consciousness; at first rejected, but ever returning until the last argument of self-solace gave way. But for her visit to the bungalow that evening, Hugh Carnaby would not have been maddened to the point of fatal violence. In the obscurity he had mistaken her figure for that of Sibyl; and when Redgrave guarded her retreat, he paid for the impulse with his life.

On the Sunday before her concert, she had thought of going to see Redgrave, but the risk seemed too great, and there was no certainty of finding him at home. She wished above all things to see him, for there was a suspicion in her mind that Mrs. Strangeways had a plot against her, though of its nature she could form no idea. It might be true that Redgrave was purposely holding aloof, whether out of real jealousy, or simply as a stratagem, a new move in the game. She would not write to him; she knew the danger of letters, and had been careful never to write him even the simplest note. If she must remain in uncertainty about his attitude towards her, the approaching ordeal would be intensified with a new agitation: was he coming to her recital, or was he not? She had counted upon triumphing before him. If he could stay away, her power over him was incomplete, and at the moment when she had meant it to be irresistible.

The chance encounter on Monday with Hugh Carnaby made her think of Sibyl, and she could not rest until she had endeavoured to learn something of Sibyl’s movements. As Carnaby was leaving town, his wife would be free; and how did Sibyl use her freedom? On that subject Mrs Strangeways had a decided opinion, and her knowledge of the world made it more than probable that she was right. Without any scheme of espionage, obeying her instinct of jealous enmity, Alma hastened to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. But Sibyl had left home, and—was not expected to return that night.

How she spent the next few hours Alma could but dimly remember. It was a vortex of wretchedness. As dark fell she found herself at the gate leading to the bungalow, lurking, listening, waiting for courage to go farther. She stole at length over the grass behind the bushes, until she could see the lighted window of Redgrave’s study. The window was open. She crept nearer and nearer, till she was actually in the veranda and looking into the room. Redgrave sat within, smoking and reading a newspaper. She purposely made a movement which drew his attention.

How would it have ended but for Hugh Carnaby?

Beyond ascertaining that Sibyl was not there, she had of course discovered nothing of what she wished to know. As likely as not she had come too early. Redgrave’s behaviour when she drew his attention suggested that such a sound at the open window did not greatly surprise him; the surprise appeared when he saw who stood there—surprise and momentary embarrassment, which would be natural enough if he expected a different visitor. And he was so anxious that she should come in at once. Had she done so, Redgrave’s life would have been saved; but——

Its having been publicly proved that Mrs. Carnaby was then far away from Wimbledon did not tend to shake Alma’s conviction. The summons to her mother’s deathbed had disturbed Sibyl’s arrangements, that was all. Most luckily for her, as it turned out. But women of that kind (said Alma bitterly) are favoured by fortune.

Locked in a drawer of her writing-table lay a bundle of letters and papers which had come to her immediately after the concert. To none of the letters had she replied; it was time for her to go through them, and answer, with due apologies, those which deserved an answer. Several did not; they were from people whom she hoped never to see again—people who wrote in fulsome terms, because they fancied she would become a celebrity. The news of her breakdown had appeared in a few newspapers, and brought her letters of sympathy; these also lay unanswered. On a day of late autumn she brought herself to the task of looking through this correspondence, and in the end she burnt it all. Among the half-dozen people to whom she decided to write was Felix Dymes; not out of gratitude, or any feeling of friendliness, but because she could not overcome a certain fear of the man. He was capable of any meanness, perhaps of villainy; and perhaps he harboured malice against her, seeing that she had foiled him to the last. She penned a few lines asking him to let her have a complete statement of the financial results of her recital, which it seemed strange that he had not sent already.

‘My health,’ she added, ‘is far from re-established, and I am unable either to go to town or to ask you to come and see me. It is rather doubtful whether I shall ever again play in public.’

In her own mind there lingered no doubt at all, but she thought it better not to be too abrupt with Dymes.

After burning all the letters, she read once more through the press notices of her performance. It was significant that the musical critics whose opinion had any weight gave her only a word or two of cautious commendation; her eulogists were writers who probably knew much less about music than she, and who reported concerts from the social point of view. Popular journalism represented her debut as a striking success. Had she been able to use her opportunity to the utmost, doubtless something of a ‘boom’—the word then coming into fashion—might have resulted for her; she could have given two or three more recitals before the end of the season, have been much photographed and paragraphed, and then have gone into the country ‘to spread her conquests farther’. This was Felix Dymes’s hope. Writing with all propriety, he had yet allowed it to be seen how greatly he was vexed and disappointed at her failure to take the flood. Alma, too, had regretful moments; but she fought against the feeling with all her strength. Today she all but found courage to throw these newspapers into the fire; it would be a final sacrifice, a grave symbolic act, and might bring her peace. Yet she could not. Long years hence, would it not be a legitimate pride to show these things to her children? A misgiving mingled with the thought, but her reluctance prevailed. She made up a parcel, wrote upon it, ‘My Recital, May 1891’, and locked it up with other most private memorials.

She had not long to wait for her answer from Dymes. He apologised for his delay in the matter of business, and promised that a detailed statement should be sent to her in a very few days. The unfortunate state of her health—there Alma smiled—moved him to sympathy and profound regret; her abandonment of a professional career 可以 不， 必须 not, be a final decision!

Something prompted her to hand this letter to Harvey.

‘I took it for granted,’ he said humorously, ‘that the man had sent you a substantial cheque long ago.’

‘I believe the balance will be on my side.’

‘Would you like me to see to the rest of the business for you?’

‘I don’t think that’s necessary, is it?’

To her relief, Harvey said no more. She waited for the promised balance-sheet, but weeks passed by and it did not arrive. An explanation of this readily occurred to her: Dymes calculated upon bringing her to an interview. She thought of Harvey’s proposal, and wished she could dare to accept it; but the obscure risks were too great. So, months elapsed, till the affair seemed forgotten.

They never spoke to each other of Hugh Carnaby or of Sibyl.

Meanwhile, Alma did not lack society. Mrs. Abbott, whom, without change of feeling, she grew accustomed to see frequently, introduced her to the Langland family, and in Mrs. Langland she found a not uncongenial acquaintance. This lady had known many griefs, and seemed destined to suffer many more; she had wrinkles on her face which should not have been there at forty-five; but no one ever heard her complain or saw her look downhearted.

In her zeal for housewifery, Alma saw much to admire and to imitate in Mrs. Langland. She liked the good-humoured modesty with which the elder lady always spoke of herself, and was not displeased at observing an air of deference when the conversation turned on such high matters as literature and art. Mrs. Langland knew all about the recital at Prince’s Hall; she knew, moreover, as appeared from a casual remark one day, that Mrs. Rolfe had skill in ‘landscape painting’.

‘Who told you that?’ asked Alma, with surprise.

‘I hope it wasn’t a secret. Mrs. Abbott spoke of your water-colours once. She was delighted with them.’

Praise even from Mary Abbott gratified Alma; it surprised her, and she doubted its sincerity, but there was satisfaction in knowing that her fame went abroad among the people at Gunnersbury. Without admiration she could not live, and nothing so severely tested her resolution to be content with the duties of home as Harvey’s habit of taking all for granted, never remarking upon her life of self-conquest, never soothing her with the flatteries for which she hungered.

She hailed with delight the first visit after several months from her friends Dora and Gerda Leach. During the summer their father’s health had suffered so severely that the overwrought man found himself compelled to choose between a long holiday abroad and the certainty of complete collapse if he tried to pursue his ordinary life. The family went away, and returned in November, when it seemed probable that the money-making machine known as Mr. Leach had been put into tolerable working order for another year or so. Not having seen Alma since her recital, the girls overflowed with talk about it, repeating all the eulogies they had heard, and adding such rapturous laudation of their own that Alma could have hung upon their necks in gratitude. They found it impossible to believe that she would no more play in public.

‘Oh, but when you are 相当 well!’ they exclaimed. ‘It would be a shame—a sin!’

In writing to them, Alma had put her decision solely on the ground of health. Now, assuming a countenance of gentle gravity, she made known her higher reasons.

‘I have felt it to be my duty. Remember that I can’t consider myself alone. I found that I must either devote myself wholly to music or give it up altogether. You girls can’t very well understand. When one is a wife and a mother—I thought it all over during my illness. I had been neglecting my husband and Hughie, and it was too bad—downright selfishness. Art and housekeeping won’t go together; I thought they might, butt found my mistake. Of course, it cost me a struggle, but that’s over. I have learnt to 放弃“。

‘It’s very noble of you!’ murmured Dora Leach.

‘I never heard anything so noble!’ said her sister.

Alma flushed with pleasure.

‘And yet you know,’ Dora pursued, ‘artists have a duty to the world.’

‘I can’t help questioning,’ said Gerda, ‘whether you had a 右 to sacrifice yourself.’

Alma smiled thoughtfully.

‘You can’t quite see it as I do. When one has children——’

‘It must make a great difference’—’Oh, a great difference!’—responded the sisters. And again they exclaimed at the spectacle of such noble devotedness.

By natural transition the talk turned to Mrs. Carnaby. The girls spoke of her compassionately, but Alma soon perceived that they did not utter all their thoughts.

‘I’m afraid,’ she said, ‘that some people take another view. I have heard—but one doesn’t care to repeat such things.’

Dora and Gerda betrayed a lively interest. Yes, they too had heard disagreeable gossip; what a shame it was!

‘Of course, you see her?’ said Dora.

Alma shook her head, and seemed a trifle embarrassed.

‘I don’t even know whether she still lives there.’

‘Oh yes, she does,’ replied Miss Leach eagerly. ‘But I’ve been told that very few people go. I wondered—we rather wished to know whether 您 做过。'

Again Alma gently shook her head.

‘I haven’t even heard from her. I suppose she has her reasons. To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure that my husband would like me to call. It isn’t a pleasant subject, is it? Let us talk of something else.’

So, when Dora and Gerda went away, they carried with them the conviction that Mrs. Carnaby was an ‘impossible’ person and of course lost no opportunity of imparting it to their friends.

About a week before Christmas, when the new servants seemed to have settled to their work, and the house routine needed less supervision, Alma and her husband dined at the Langlands’, to meet a few quiet people. Among the guests was Mrs. Langland’s brother, of whom Alma had already heard, and whom, before the end of the evening, she came to regard with singular interest. Mr. Thistlewood had no advantages of physique, and little charm of manner; his long, meagre body never seemed able to put itself at ease; sitting or standing, he displayed the awkwardness of a naturally shy man who has not studied the habits of society. But his features, in spite of irregularity, and a complexion resembling the tone of ‘foxed’ paper, attracted observation, and rewarded it; his eye had a pleasant twinkle, oddly in contrast with the lines of painful thought upon his forehead, and the severity of strained muscles in the lower part of his face. He was head-master of a small school of art in a northern county; a post which he had held only for a twelvemonth. Like his sister’s husband, Thistlewood suffered from disappointed ambition, for he had aimed at great things as a painter; but he accepted his defeat, and at thirty-five was seeking content in a ‘sphere of usefulness’ which promised, after all, to give scope to his best faculties. Not long ago he would have scorned the thought of becoming a ‘teacher’; yet for a teacher he was born, and the truth, in dawning upon his mind, had brought with it a measure of consolation.

A finger missing from his left hand told a story of student life in Paris. It was a quarrel with a young Frenchman, about a girl. He and his rival happening to sit opposite to each other at a restaurant table, high words arose between them, and the Frenchman eventually made a stab at Thistlewood’s hand with his dinner-fork. That ended the dispute, but the finger had to come off. Not long afterwards Thistlewood accepted an engagement to go as artist with a party of English explorers into Siberia. On his return he lingered for a week or two in St Petersburg, and there chanced to meet the girl who had cost him one of his digits. She, like himself, had been in pursuit of adventures; but, whereas the artist came back with a well-filled purse, the wandering damsel was at her last sou. They journeyed together to London, and for the next year or two Thistlewood had the honour of working himself almost to death to support a very expensive young woman, who cared no more for him than for her cast-off shoes. Happily, some richer man was at length found who envied him his privilege, and therewith ended Thistlewood’s devotion to the joys of a bohemian life. Ever since, his habits had been excessively sober—perhaps a little morose. But Mrs. Langland, who now saw him once a year; thought him in every respect improved. Moreover, she had a project for his happiness, and on that account frequently glanced at him during dinner, as he conversed, much more fluently than of wont, with his neighbour, Mrs. Abbott.

Alma sat on the other side of the table, and was no less observant than the hostess of a peculiar animation on Mr. Thistlewood’s dark visage. To be sure, she knew nothing of him, and it might be his habit to wear that look when he talked with ladies; but Alma thought it unlikely. And it seemed to her that Mary Abbott, though much as usual in manner, had a just perceptible gleam of countenance beyond what one was accustomed to remark in her moments of friendly conversation. This, too, might be merely the result of a little natural excitement, seeing that the school-mistress so seldom dined from home. But, in any case, the proximity of these two persons was curiously interesting and suggestive.

In the drawing-room, presently, Alma had a pleasant little talk with Mr Thistlewood. By discreet experiment, she satisfied herself that Mrs Abbott’s name certainly quickened his interest; and, having learnt so much, it was easy, by representing herself as that lady’s old and intimate friend, to win from the man a significant look of pleasure and confidence. They talked of art, of landscape, and it appeared that Thistlewood was acquainted with the part of Carnarvonshire where Alma had lived. What was more, he had heard of her charming water-colours, and he would so much like to see them.

‘Some enemy has done this,’ replied Alma, laughing gaily. ‘Was it Mrs Abbott?’

‘No, it was not,’ he answered, with corresponding vivacity.

‘Why, then, it must have been Mrs. Langland, and I have a good mind to put her to open shame by asking you to come and see my wretched daubs.’

Nothing would please him better, declared Thistlewood; and thereupon he accepted an invitation to tea for the following afternoon.

Alma asked no one else. She understood that this man was only to be observed under favourable conditions by isolating him. She wished, moreover, to bring him into fireside conversation with Harvey, and to remark her husband’s demeanour. By way of preparation for this conjuncture, she let fall, in private chat with Harvey, a word or two which pointed humorously at her suspicions concerning Thistlewood and Mary Abbott. The hearer exhibited an incredulous surprise.

‘It was only a fancy,’ said Alma, smiling rather coldly; and she felt more desirous than ever of watching her husband in Thistlewood’s presence.

Unexpectedly, from her point of view, the two men got along together very well indeed. Harvey, thoroughly cordial, induced their guest to speak of his work at the School of Art, and grew so interested in it that the conversation went on for a couple of hours. Thistlewood had pronounced and enthusiastic ideas on the subject.

‘My difficulty is,’ he exclaimed, ‘that I can’t get hold of the children young enough. People send their boys and girls to be taught drawing as an “accomplishment”—the feeble old notion. I want to teach it as a most important part of elementary education—in fact, to take youngsters straight on from the kindergarten stage.’

‘Did I tell you,’ put in Alma, ‘that our little boy goes to Mrs Abbott’s?’ and her eyes were on both men at once.

‘I should say you couldn’t have done better than send him there,’ replied Thistlewood, shuffling his feet and fidgeting with his hands. ‘Mrs. Abbott is an admirable teacher. She quite agrees with me—I should say that I quite agree with her. But I am forgetting, Mrs. Rolfe, that you know her better than I do.’

Hughie was allowed to come into the room for a little while, and to give an account of what he learnt at school. When at length Thistlewood took his leave, it was with a promise that he would come again and dine a few days hence. His visit at Mrs. Langland’s would extend over another fortnight. Before the day of his departure northwards, Alma met him several times, and succeeded in establishing almost an intimate friendship with him. He came to bid her goodbye on a black and bitter January afternoon, when it happened that Harvey was away. As soon as he entered, she saw upon his face a look of ill augury, a heavy-eyed dejection very unlike the twinkling hopefulness with which he had hitherto regarded her.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, holding his hand for a moment. ‘Don’t you like going back to work?’

‘I enjoy my work, Mrs. Rolfe, as you know.’

‘But you are not like yourself.’

‘My friends here have made the time very pleasant. Naturally, I don’t like leaving them.’

He was a little abrupt, and decidedly showed the less genial phase of his disposition.

‘Have some tea,’ said Alma, ‘and warm yourself at the fire. You will thaw presently, Mr. Thistlewood. I suppose, like other unregenerate men, you live in rooms? Has that kind of life an irresistible charm for you?’

He looked at her with a frown which, to say the least, was discouraging; it changed, however, to a more amiable expression as she handed him his tea.

‘What do you imagine my income is, Mrs. Rolfe?’ came growlingly from him.

‘I have no idea. You mean, I’m afraid’—Alma’s voice fell upon its gentlest note—’that it doesn’t allow you to think of—of any change?’

'它 应该 not to allow me,’ replied the other. ‘I have about two hundred pounds a year, and can’t hope much more for a long time.’

‘And that,’ exclaimed Alma, ‘seems to you insufficient? I should have thought in a little town—so far away—Oh! you want to surround yourself with luxuries——’

‘I don’t!—I beg your pardon, Mrs. Rolfe, I meant to say that you surely know me better.’ His hand trembled and spilt the tea, which he had not yet touched. ‘But how can you suppose that—that anyone——?’

He turned his face to the fire, the light of which made his eyes glare fiercely. Forthwith, Alma launched upon a spirited remonstrance. Never, even in the days just before her marriage, had she been so fervid and eloquent on behalf of the ‘simple life’. Two hundred pounds! Why, it was wealth for rational people! She inveighed against display and extravagance.

‘You are looking round the room.—Oh, don’t apologise; it was quite natural. I confess, and I’m ashamed of myself. But ask Mrs. Abbott to tell you about our little house in Wales; she came once to see us there. We lived—oh so simply and cheaply; and it was our happiest time. If only we could go back to it! But the world has been too much for us. People call it comfort; it means, I assure you, ceaseless trouble and worry. Who knows? some day we may come to our senses, and shake off the burden.’

Thistlewood smiled.

‘If we could all have cottages among the mountains,’ he said. ‘But a little provincial town——’

‘Set an example! Who would have a better right to defy foolish prejudice? A teacher of the beautiful—you might do infinite good by showing how beautifully one can live without obeying mere fashion in a single point.’

‘I heartily agree with you,’ replied Thistlewood, setting down his empty cup. ‘You express my own thoughts much better than I could myself. And your talk has done me good, Mrs. Rolfe. Thank you for treating me with such friendly kindness.’

Therewith he rose and said goodbye to her, with a hope that they might meet again. Alma was vexed that he would not stay longer and take her more completely into his confidence; but she echoed the hope, and smiled upon him with much sweetness.

His behaviour could have only one interpretation: he had proposed to Mary Abbott, and she had refused him. The longer Alma thought, the more certain she was—and the more irritated. It would be very difficult to continue her civility to Mrs. Abbott after this.

In these days Rolfe had abandoned even the pretence of study. He could not feel at home among his books; they were ranked about him on the old shelves, but looked as uncomfortable as he himself; it seemed a temporary arrangement; he might as well have been in lodgings. At Pinner, after a twelvemonth, he was beginning to overcome the sense of strangeness; but a foreboding that he could not long remain there had always disturbed him. Here, though every probability pointed to a residence of at least two or three years, he scarcely made an effort to familiarise himself with the new surroundings; his house was a shelter, a camp; granted a water-tight roof, and drains not immediately poisonous, what need to take thought for artificial comforts? Thousands of men, who sleep on the circumference of London, and go each day to business, are practically strangers to the district nominally their home; ever ready to strike tent, as convenience bids, they can feel no interest in a vicinage which merely happens to house them for the time being, and as often as not they remain ignorant of the names of streets or roads through which they pass in going to the railway station. Harvey was now very much in this case. That he might not utterly waste his time, he had undertaken regular duties under Cecil Morphew’s direction, and spent some hours daily in Westminster Bridge Road. Thence he went to his club, to see the papers; and in returning to Gunnersbury he felt hardly more sense of vital connection with this suburb than with the murky and roaring street in which he sat at business. By force of habit he continued to read, but only books from the circulating library, thrown upon his table pell-mell—novels, popular science, travels, biographies; each as it came to hand. The intellectual disease of the time took hold upon him: he lost the power of mental concentration, yielded to the indolent pleasure of desultory page-skimming. There remained in him but one sign of grace: the qualms that followed on every evening’s debauch of mind, the headachey impression that he was going through a morbid experience which somehow would work its own cure.

Alma seemed quite unaware of any change in him. To his physical comfort she gave all due attention, anxious lest he should catch cold in this hideous weather, and doing her best to rule the house as he desired; but his intellectual life was no concern to her. Herein, of course, Harvey did but share the common lot of men married; he recognised the fact, and was too wise to complain of it, even in his own mind. Yet it puzzled him a little, now and then, that a woman so intelligent as Alma should in this respect be simply on a level with the brainless multitude of her sex. One evening, when they were together in his room, he took down a volume, and blew the dust off it, saying as he did so——

‘They’re not often disturbed nowadays, these solid old fellows.’

‘But I suppose you like to have them about you?’ Alma replied carelessly, as she glanced at the shelves.

‘Why, yes, they’re good furniture; help to warm the room.’

‘No doubt they do,’ Alma replied. ‘It’s always more comfortable here than in the drawing-room.’

Daily he asked himself whether she was reconciled to the loss of her ambitions, and he could not feel any certainty. In the present state of her health it might be natural for her to acquiesce in a humdrum life; but when the next few months were over, and she found herself once more able to move about as she pleased, would her mind remain the same? Happy she was not, and probably nothing in his power to do could make her so. Marriage rarely means happiness, either for man or woman; if it be not too grievous to be borne, one must thank the fates and take courage. But Harvey had a troublesome conscience. In acting with masculine decision, with the old-fashioned authority of husbands, he had made himself doubly responsible for any misery that might come to Alma through the conditions of her life. It might be that, on the higher plane of reasoning, he was by no means justified; there might have been found a middle way, which, whilst guarding Alma from obvious dangers, still left her free to enjoy and to aspire. What he had done was very much like the clipping of wings. Practically it might be needful, and of safe result; but there is a world beyond the barnyard, for all that; and how should he know, with full assurance, whether Alma had not suffered a grave wrong! He durst not reopen the discussion with her. He had taken his stand, and must hold it, or lose all self-respect. Marriage is like life itself, easiest to those who think least about it. Rolfe knew that well enough, and would gladly have acted upon the knowledge; he came nearest to doing so at the times when Hughie was his companion. Relieved by the nursemaid from duties she had only borne by the exertion of something like heroism, Alma once more drew a broad line of demarcation between nursery and drawing-room; it was seldom she felt in a mood for playing with the child, and she had no taste for ‘going walks’. But Harvey could not see too much of the little boy, indoors or out, and it rejoiced him to know that his love was returned in full measure; for Hughie would at any time abandon other amusements to be with his father. In these winter months, when by rare chance there came a fine Saturday or Sunday, they went off together to Kew or Richmond, and found endless matter for talk, delightful to both of them. Hughie, now four years old, was well grown, and could walk two or three miles without weariness. He had no colour in his cheeks, and showed the nervous tendencies which were to be expected in a child of such parentage, but on the whole his health gave no cause for uneasiness. If anything chanced to ail him, Harvey suffered an excessive disquiet; for the young life seemed to him so delicate a thing that any touch of pain might wither it away. Because of the unutterable anguish in the thought, he had often forced himself to front the possibility of Hughie’s death, and had even brought himself to feel that in truth it would be no reason for sorrow; how much better to fall asleep in playtime, and wake no more, than to outlive the happiness and innocence which pass for ever with childhood. And when the fear of life lay heaviest upon him, he found solace in remembering that after no great lapse of time he and those he loved would have vanished from the earth, would be as though they had not been at all; every pang and woe awaiting them suffered and forgotten; the best and the worst gone by for ever; the brief flicker of troubled light quenched in eternal oblivion.

He liked to feel the soft little hand clasping his own fingers, so big and coarse in comparison, and happily so strong. For in the child’s weakness he felt an infinite pathos; a being so entirely helpless, so utterly dependent upon others’ love, standing there amid a world of cruelties, smiling and trustful. All his heart went forth in the desire to protect and cherish. Nothing else seemed of moment beside this one duty, which was also the purest joy. The word ‘father’ however sweet to his ear, had at times given him a thrill of awe; spoken by childish lips, did it mean less than ‘God’? He was the giver of life, and for that dread gift must hold himself responsible. A man in his agony may call upon some unseen power, but the heavens are mute; can a father turn away in heedlessness if the eyes of his child reproach him? All pleasures, aims, hopes that concerned himself alone, shrank to the idlest trifling when he realised the immense debt due from him to his son; no possible sacrifice could discharge it. He marvelled how people could insist upon the duty of children to parents. But did not the habit of thought ally itself naturally enough with that strange religion which, under direst penalties, exacts from groaning and travailing humanity a tribute of fear and love to the imagined Author of its being?

With delight he followed every step in the growth of understanding; and yet it was not all pleasure to watch the mind outgrowing its simplicity. Intelligence that has learnt the meaning of a doubt compares but sadly with the charm of untouched ingenuousness—that exquisite moment (a moment, and no more) when simplest thought and simplest word seek each other unconsciously, and blend in sweetest music. At four years old Hughie had forgotten his primitive language. The father regretted many a pretty turn of tentative speech, which he was wont to hear with love’s merriment. If a toy were lost, a little voice might be heard saying, ‘Where has that gone now 至?’ And when it was found again—’There is it!’ After a tumble one day, Hughie was cautious in running. ‘I shall fall down and break myself.’ Then came distinction between days of the week. ‘On Sunday I do’ so and so; ‘on Monday days I do’ something else. He said, ‘Do you remember?’ and what a pity it seemed when at last the dull grown-up word was substituted. Never again, when rain was falling, would Hughie turn and plead, ‘Father, tell the sun to come out!’ Nor, when he saw the crescent moon in daytime, would he ever grow troubled and exclaim, ‘Someone has broken it!’

It was the rule now that before his bedtime, seven o’clock, Hughie spent an hour in the library, alone with his father. A golden hour, sacred to memories of the world’s own childhood. He brought with him the book that was his evening’s choice—Grimm, or Andersen, or AEsop. Already he knew by heart a score of little poems, or passages of verse, which Rolfe, disregarding the inept volumes known as children’s anthologies, chose with utmost care from his favourite singers, and repeated till they were learnt. Stories from the Odyssey had come in of late; but Polyphemus was a doubtful experiment—Hughie dreamt of him. Great caution, too, was needful in the matter of pathos. On hearing for the first time Andersen’s tale of the Little Tin Soldier, Hughie burst into tears, and could scarce be comforted. Grimm was safer; it seemed doubtful whether Andersen was really a child’s book at all, every page touched with the tears of things, every line melodious with sadness.

And all this fostering of the imagination—was it right? was it wise? Harvey worried himself with doubts insoluble. He had merely obeyed his own instincts. But perhaps he would be doing far better if he never allowed the child to hear a fairy-tale or a line of poetry. Why not amuse his mind with facts, train him to the habit of scientific thought? For all he knew, he might be giving the child a bias which would result in a life’s unhappiness; by teaching him to see only the hard actual face of things, would he not fit him far more surely for citizenship of the world?

He would have liked to talk about the child with Mary Abbott, but there never came an opportunity. Though it shamed and angered him to be under such constraint, he felt obliged to avoid any private meeting with her. Alma, he well understood, still nursed the preposterous jealousy which had been in her mind so long; and in the present state of things, dubious, transitional, it behoved him to give no needless occasion of disquiet. As the months went on, he saw her spirits fail; with the utmost difficulty she was persuaded to leave the house, and for hours at a time she sat as if in melancholy brooding, unwilling to talk or to read. Harvey tried reading to her, but in the daytime she could not keep her thoughts from wandering, and after dinner it merely sent her to sleep. Yet she declared that there was nothing to trouble about; she would be herself again before long.

But one day the doctor who was attending her had a few words in private with Rolfe, and told him that he had made an unpleasant discovery—Mrs Rolfe was in the habit of taking a narcotic. At first, when the doctor asked if this was the case, she had denied it, but in the end he had elicited a confession, and a promise that the dangerous habit should be relinquished.

‘I was on no account to mention this to you, and you mustn’t let it be seen that I have done so. If it goes on, and I’m rather afraid it will for a short time, I shall tell her that you must be informed of it.’

Harvey, to whom such a suspicion had never occurred, waited anxiously for the doctor’s further reports. As was anticipated, Alma’s promise held good only for a day or two, and when again she confessed, her husband was called into counsel. The trio went through a grave and disagreeable scene. On the doctor’s departure, Alma sat for a long time stubbornly and dolorously mute; then came tears and passionate penitence.

‘You mustn’t think I’m a slave to it,’ she said. ‘It isn’t so at all. I can break myself off it at once, and I will.’

‘Then why did you go on after the doctor’s first warning?’

‘Out of perversity, nothing else. I suffer much from bad nights, but it wasn’t that; I could bear it. I said to myself that I should do as I liked.’ She gave a tearful laugh.

‘That’s the whole truth. I felt just like a child when it’s determined to be naughty.’

‘But this is far too serious a matter——’

‘I know, I know. There shall be an end of it. I had my own way, and I’m satisfied. Now I shall be reasonable.’

Judging from results, this seemed to be a true explanation. From that day the doctor saw no reason for doubt. But Harvey had a most uncomfortable sense of strangeness in his wife’s behaviour; it seemed to him that the longer he lived with Alma, the less able he was to read her mind or comprehend her motives. It did not reassure him to reflect that a majority of husbands are probably in the same case.

Meanwhile trouble was once more brewing in the back regions of the house. The cook made an excuse for ‘giving notice’. Rolfe, in his fury, talked about abandoning the house and going with wife and child to some village in the heart of France; yet this was hardly practicable. Again were advertisements sent forth; again came the ordeal of correspondence—this time undertaken by Harvey himself, for Alma was unequal to it. The cook whom they at length engaged declared with fervour that the one thing she panted for was downright hard work; she couldn’t abide easy places, and in fact had left her last because too little was expected of her.

‘She will stay for two months,’ said Harvey, ‘and then it will be time for the others to think of moving. Oh, we shall get used to it.’

At the end of March, Alma’s second child was born—a girl. Remembering what she had endured at Hughie’s birth, Rolfe feared that her trial would be even worse this time; but it did not prove so. In a few days Alma was well on the way to recovery. But the child, a lamentable little mortal with a voice scarce louder than a kitten’s, held its life on the frailest tenure; there was doubt at first whether it could draw breath at all, and the nurse never expected it to live till the second day. At the end of a week, however, it still survived; and Alma turned to the poor weakling with a loving tenderness such as she had never shown for her first-born. To Harvey’s surprise she gladly took it to her breast, but for some reason this had presently to be forbidden, and the mother shed many tears. After a fortnight things looked more hopeful. Nurse and doctor informed Harvey that for the present he need have no uneasiness.

It was a Saturday morning, and so cheerful overhead that Rolfe used his liberty to have a long stretch towards the fields. Hughie, who had no school today, would gladly have gone with him, but after such long restraint Harvey felt the need of four miles an hour, and stole away. He made for Twickenham and Hampton Court, then by a long circuit came round into Richmond Park. The Star and Garter gave him a late luncheon, after which he lit his cigar and went idly along the terrace. There, whom should he meet but Mary Abbott.

She was seated, gazing at the view. Not till he came quite near did Harvey recognise her, and until he stopped she did not glance in his direction. Thus he was able to observe her for a moment, and noticed that she looked anything but well; one would have thought her overworked, or oppressed by some trouble. She did not see what her eyes were fixed upon, and her features had a dreaming tenderness of expression which made them more interesting, more nearly beautiful, than when they were controlled by her striving will. When Harvey paused beside her she gave him a startled smile, but was at once herself again.

‘Do you care for that?’ he asked, indicating the landscape.

‘I can’t be enthusiastic about it.’

‘Nor I. A bit of ploughed field in the midlands gives me more pleasure.’

‘It was beautiful once.’

‘Yes; before London breathed upon it.—Do you remember the view from Cam Bodvean?’

‘Oh, indeed I do! The larches are coming out now.’

‘And the gorse shines, and the sea is blue, and the mountains rise one behind the other!—Did you talk about it with Mr. Thistlewood? I found that he knew all that country.’

‘We spoke of it,’ replied Mrs. Abbott, taking a step forward.

‘An interesting man, don’t you think?’

Harvey glanced at her, remembering the odd suggestion he had heard from Alma; and in truth it seemed that his inquiry caused her some embarrassment.

‘Yes, very interesting,’ answered his companion quietly, as she walked on.

‘You had met him before——?’

‘He always comes to the Langlands’ at Christmas.’ She added in another voice, ‘I was glad to hear from Hughie yesterday that all was well at home.’

They sauntered along the path. Harvey described the walk he had had this morning. Mrs. Abbott said that the bright day had tempted her to an unusual distance; she had come, of course, by train, and must now think of turning back towards the station.

‘Let me go so far with you,’ said Harvey. ‘What is your report of the boy? He gives you no trouble, I hope?’

She replied in detail, with the conscientiousness which always appeared in her when speaking of her work. It was not the tone of one who delights in teaching; there was no spontaneity, no enthusiasm; but every word gave proof of how seriously she regarded the duties she had undertaken. And she was not without pride in her success. The little school had grown, so that it now became a question whether she should decline pupils or engage an assistant teacher.

‘You are resolved to go on with the infantry?’ said Rolfe, smiling.

‘The little ones—yes. I begin to feel some confidence with 他们; I don’t think I’m in danger of going far wrong. But I shouldn’t have the least faith in myself, now, with older children.—Of course I have Minnie Wager. She’ll soon be eleven, you know. I do my best with her.’

‘Mrs. Langland says you have done wonders.’

‘Minnie will never learn much from books; I feel pretty sure of that. But’—she laughed—’everyone has a strong point, if it can be discovered, and I really think I have found Minnie’s at last. It was quite by chance. The other day I was teaching my maid to make pastry, and Minnie happened to stand by. Afterwards, she begged me to let 这里 try her hand at it, and I did, and the result was surprising. For the very first time she had found something that she enjoyed doing. She went to it with zeal, and learnt in no time. Since then she has made tarts, and puddings, and cake——’

Harvey broke into laughter. It was an odd thing that the employment he had suggested for this girl, in his talk at Greystone, should prove to be her genuine vocation.

‘Don’t you think it’s as well to encourage her?’ said Mrs. Abbott.

‘By all manner of means! I think it’s a magnificent discovery. I should give her the utmost encouragement. Let her learn cookery in all its branches, steadily and seriously.’

‘It may solve the problem of her future. She might get employment in one of the schools of cookery.’

‘Never again be uneasy about her,’ cried Rolfe delightedly. ‘She is provided for. She will grow old with honour, love, obedience, troops of friends!—A culinary genius! Why, it’s the one thing the world is groaning and clamouring for. Let her burn her school-books. Sacrifice everything to her Art.—You have rejoiced me with this news.’

Slenderly endowed on the side of humour, Mary Abbott could not feel sure whether he was really pleased or not; he had to repeat to her, with all gravity, that he no longer felt anxious on the girl’s account.

‘For my own part,’ said Mary, ‘I would rather see her a good cook in a lady’s kitchen, if it came to that, than leading a foolish life at some so-called genteel occupation.’

‘So would any one who has common-sense.—And her brother; I don’t think we can go wrong about him. The reports from school are satisfactory; they show that he loathes everything but games and fighting. At fifteen they’ll take him on a training ship.—I wonder whether their father’s alive or dead?’

‘It is to be hoped they’ll never see him again.’

Harvey was smiling—at a thought which he did not communicate.

‘You say you wouldn’t trust yourself to teach older children. You mean, of course, that you feel much the difficulty of the whole thing—of all systems of education.’

‘Yes. And I dare say it’s nothing but foolish presumption when I fancy I can teach babies.’

‘You have at all events a method,’ said Harvey, ‘and it seems to be a very good one. For the teaching of children after they can read and write, there seems to be no method at all. The old classical education was fairly consistent, but it exists no longer. Nothing has taken its place. Muddle, experiment, and waste of lives—too awful to think about. We’re savages yet in the matter of education. Somebody said to me once: “Well, but look at the results; they’re not so bad.” Great heavens! not so bad—when the supreme concern of mankind is to perfect their instruments of slaughter! Not so bad—when the gaol and the gallows are taken as a matter of course! Not so bad—when huge filthy cities are packed with multitudes who have no escape from toil and hunger but in a wretched death! Not so bad—when all but every man’s life is one long blunder, the result of ignorance and unruled passions!’

Mrs. Abbott showed a warm assent.

‘People don’t think or care anything about education. Seriously, I suppose it has less place in the thoughts of most men and women than any other business of life?’

‘Undoubtedly,’ said Rolfe. ‘And one is thought a pedant and a bore if one ever speaks of it. It’s as much against good manners as to begin talking about religion. But a pedant must relieve his mind sometimes. I’m so glad I met you today; I wanted to hear what you thought about the boy.’

For the rest of the way, they talked of lighter things; or rather, Rolfe talked and his companion listened. Nothing more difficult than easy chat between a well-to-do person of abundant leisure and one whose days are absorbed in the earning of a bare livelihood. Mary Abbott had very little matter for conversation beyond the circle of her pursuits; there was an extraordinary change in her since the days of her married life, when she had prided herself on talking well, or even brilliantly. Harvey could not help a feeling of compassion as she walked at his side. For all his admiration of her self-conquest, and of the tasks to which she had devoted herself, he would have liked to free her from the daily mill. She was young yet, and should taste of joy before the years began to darken about her. But these are the thoughts that must not be uttered. To show pity is to insult. A merry nod to the friend who staggers on beneath his burden; and, even at his last gasp, the friend shall try to nod merrily back again.

He took leave of her at the station, saying that he meant to walk by the river homeward. A foolish scruple, which would never have occurred to him but for Alma’s jealousy.

When he reached his house at about four o’clock, he felt very tired; it was a long time since he had walked so far. Using his latch-key to enter, he crossed the hall to the study without seeing anyone or hearing a sound. There was a letter on his table. As he opened it, and began to read, the door—which he had left ajar—was pushed softly open; there entered Hughie, unusually silent, and with a strange look in his bright eyes.

‘Father—Louie says that baby is dead.’

Harvey’s hand fell. He stared, stricken mute.

‘Father—I don’t want baby to be dead! Don’t let baby be dead!’

The child’s voice shook, and tears came into his eyes. Without a word, Rolfe hastened from the room and up the stairs. As he reached the landing, a wail of grief sounded from somewhere near; could that be Alma’s voice? In a moment he had knocked at her door. He durst not turn the handle; the beating of his heart shook him in every limb. The door opened, and the nurse showed her face. A hurried whisper; the baby had died two hours ago, in convulsions.

Alma’s voice sounded again.

‘Who is that?—Harvey—oh, come, come to me! My little baby is dead!’

He sat alone with her for an hour. He scarcely knew her for his wife, so unlike herself had she become under the stress of passionate woe; her face drawn in anguish, yet illumined as he had never seen it; her voice moving on a range of notes which it had never sounded. The little body lay pressed against her bosom; she would not let it be taken from her. Consolation was idle. Harvey tried to speak the thought which was his first and last as he looked at the still, waxen face; the thought of thankfulness, that this poor feeble little being was saved from life; but he feared to seem unfeeling. Alma could not yet be comforted. The sight of the last pitiful struggles had pierced her to the heart; she told of it over and over again, in words and tones profoundly touching.

The doctor had been here, and would return in the evening. It was Alma now who had to be cared for; her state might easily become dangerous.

When Harvey went downstairs again, he met Hughie and his nurse in the hall. The little boy ran to him.

‘Mayn’t I come to you, Father? Louie says I mustn’t come.’

‘Yes, yes; come, dear.’

In the library he sat down, and took Hughie upon his knee, and pressed the soft little cheek against his own. Without mention of baby, the child asked at once if his father would not read to him as usual.

‘I don’t think I can tonight, Hughie.’

‘Why not, Father? Because baby is dead?’

‘Yes. And Mother is very poorly. I must go upstairs again soon.’

‘Is Mother going to be dead?’ asked the child, with curiosity rather than fear.

'不！ 不！'

‘But—but if mother went there, she could fetch baby back again.’

“去哪儿了？”

Hughie made a vague upward gesture.

‘Louie says baby is gone up into the sky.’

Perhaps it was best so. What else can one say to a little child of four years old? Harvey Rolfe had no choice but to repeat what seemed good to Louie the nursemaid. But he could refrain from saying more.

Alma was in a fever by night-time. There followed days and days of misery; any one hour of which, as Rolfe told himself, outbalanced all the good and joy that can at best be hoped for in threescore years and ten. But Alma clung to life. Harvey had thought she would ask for her little son, and expend upon him the love called forth by her dead baby; she seemed, however, to care even less for Hughie than before. And, after all, the bitter experience had made little change in her.

Since the removal from Pinner, Rolfe had forgotten his anxieties with regard to money. Expenses were reduced; not very greatly, but to a point which made all the difference between just exceeding his income and living just within it. He had not tried to economise, and would scarcely have known how to begin; it was the change in Alma’s mode of life that brought about this fortunate result. With infinite satisfaction he dismissed from his mind the most hateful of all worries.

It looked, too, as if the business in Westminster Bridge Road might eventually give a substantial return for the money he had invested in it. Through the winter, naturally, little trade was done; but with springtime things began to look brisk and hopeful. Harvey had applied himself seriously to learning the details of the business; he was no longer a mere looker-on, but could hold practical counsel with his partner, make useful suggestions, and help in carrying them out.

In the sixth month after her father’s decease, Rolfe enjoyed the privilege of becoming acquainted with Miss Winter. Morphew took him one afternoon to the house at Earl’s Court, where the widow and her daughter were still living, the prospect of Henrietta’s marriage having made it not worth while for them to change their abode in the interim. With much curiosity, with not a little mistrust, Harvey entered the presence of these ladies, whose names and circumstances had been so familiar to him for years. Henrietta proved to be very unlike the image he had formed of her. Anticipating weakness, conventionality, and some affectation, he was surprised to meet a lady of simple, grave manners; nervous at first, but soon perfectly self-possessed; by no means talkative, but manifesting in every word a well-informed mind and a habit of reflection. It astonished him that such a man as Cecil Morphew should have discovered his ideal in Henrietta Winter; it perplexed him yet more that Cecil’s attachment should have been reciprocated.

Mrs. Winter was a very ordinary person; rather pretentious, rather too fluent of speech, inclined to fretfulness, and probably of trying temper. Having for many years lived much beyond his means (in the manner so often described by Morphew), Mr. Winter had left his family as good as unprovided for. There was money to be divided between mother and daughter, but so small a sum that it could not be regarded as a source of income. To the widow was bequeathed furniture; to Henrietta, a library of two thousand volumes; 最后, the testator directed that the sum of five hundred pounds should be spent on a window of stained glass (concerning which full particulars were given), to be set up, in memory of himself, in the church he had been wont to honour with his pious attendance. This item of her husband’s will had so embittered Mrs. Winter, that she hardly ever spoke of him; if obliged to do so, it was with cold severity that she uttered his name. Immediately, she withdrew all opposition to Henrietta’s marriage with the man she had considered so objectionable; she would not have been sorry had her daughter chosen to be married with the least possible delay. As for the future, of course she must live in her daughter’s house; together, they must make what they could of their small capital, and hope that Cecil’s business would prosper.

Harvey had been acquainted with these facts since Mr. Winter’s death. Bearing them in mind as he talked with Henrietta, and exerting his powers of observation to the utmost, he still found himself as far as ever from a definite opinion as to the wisdom of the coming marriage. That Mrs. Winter would be a great obstacle to happiness admitted of no doubt; but Henrietta herself might or might not prove equal to the change of circumstances. Evidently one of her characteristics was an extreme conscientiousness; it explained, perhaps, her long inability to decide between the claims of parents and lover. Her tastes in literature threw some light upon the troubles which had beset her; she was a student of George Eliot, and spoke of the ethical problems with which that author is mainly concerned, in a way suggestive of self-revelation. Conversing for the first time with Morphew’s friend, and finding him sufficiently intelligent, she might desire to offer some indirect explanation of the course she had followed. Harvey could not question her sincerity, but she seemed to him a trifle morbid. It might be natural reaction, in a temper such as hers, against the monstrous egotism by which her life had been subdued and shadowed. She inclined to mystical views; mentioned Christina Rossetti as one of her favourites; cared little or nothing for the louder interests of the time. Impossible to detect the colour of her thoughts with regard to Cecil; she spoke of him gravely and gently, but without the least perceptible emotion. Harvey noticed her when Morphew was saying goodbye; her smile was sweet, and perhaps tender, but even then she seemed to be debating with herself some point of conscience. Perhaps Cecil had pressed her hand rather too fervently?

The friends walked away in silence along the dim-lighted street, between monotonous rows of high sombre houses, each with its pillared portico which looked like the entrance to a tomb. Glancing about him with a sense of depression, Harvey wondered that any mortal could fix his pride on the fact of residence in such a hard, cold, ugly wilderness.

‘Has she altered much since you first knew her?’ he asked at length.

‘A good deal,’ answered the other. ‘Yes, a good deal. She used to laugh sometimes; now she never does. She was always quiet—always looked at things seriously—but it was different. You think her gloomy?’

‘No, no; not gloomy. It’s all natural enough. Her life wants a little sunlight, that’s all.’

For the rest, he could speak with sincere admiration, and Cecil heard him delightedly.

The choice of a dwelling was a most difficult matter. As it must be quite a small house, the remoter suburbs could alone supply what was wanted; Morphew spent every Saturday and Sunday in wearisome exploration. Mrs. Winter, though in theory she accepted the necessity of cheapness, shrank from every practical suggestion declaring it impossible to live in such places as Cecil requested her to look at. She had an ideal of the ‘nice little house,’ and was as likely to discover it in London’s suburbs as to become possessed once more of the considerable fortune which she and her husband had squandered in mean extravagance. Morphew had already come to the conclusion, and Henrietta agreed with him, that their future home must be chosen without regard to Mrs. Winter’s impracticable ideas. And the sooner the better, in her own interests; for it was plain that so long as she continued in the old house she would thoughtlessly waste her means. The end of the twelvemonth, at latest, must see them all in their new home.

But meanwhile fate was preparing a new trial for Henrietta’s much-disciplined conscience.

On a Saturday afternoon, when the crisis of Alma’s illness was over, Harvey received a telegram summoning him to Westminster Bridge Road. “Come if you possibly can. Or I must come to you.” Only yesterday he had been with Morphew for a couple of hours, and all seemed well; Cecil thought he had found the house that would suit him; he was in jubilant spirits, laughing, singing, more boylike than ever. Suspecting new obstructiveness on the part of Mrs. Winter, Harvey went to town in an impatient mood. He found the shop closed, as usual at this hour on Saturday, and rang the house-door bell. Morphew himself replied, with a countenance which made known forthwith that something extraordinary had happened; eyes red and swollen, cheeks puffy, colourless, smeared.

“好？”

Cecil clutched at his hand, and drew him in. They went upstairs to the office, where all was quiet.

“Rolfe, if I hadn’t had you to send for, I should have been dead by now. There’s poison enough in this place. It has tempted me fearfully.”

“What, is it?” asked the other, in a not very sympathetic voice. His own troubles of the past month made mere love-miseries seem artificial.

“I shall have to tell you what I wanted to tell you long ago. If I had, most likely this would never have happened.–It’s all over with me, Rolfe. I wish to God you had let me die in that hotel at Brussels.–She has been told something about me, and there’s an end of everything. She sent for me this morning. I never thought she could be so pitiless.–The kind of thing that a man thinks nothing of. And herself the cause of it, if only I had dared to tell her so!”

‘The old story, I suppose,’ said Harvey. ‘Some other woman?’

‘I was very near telling you, that day you came to my beastly garret in Chelsea; do you remember? It was the worst time with me then—except when you found me in Brussels. I’d been gambling again; you knew that. I wanted money for something I felt ashamed to speak of.—You know the awful misery I used to suffer about Henrietta. I was often enough nearly mad with—what is one to call it? Why isn’t there a decent name for the agony men go through at that age? I simply couldn’t live alone any longer—I couldn’t; and only a fool and a hypocrite would pretend to blame me. A man, that is; women seem to be made different.—Oh, there’s nothing to tell. The same thing happens a hundred times every day in London. A girl wandering about in the Park—quarrel at home—all the rest of it. A good many lies on her side; a good deal of selfishness on mine. I happened to have money just then. And just when I had 没有 money—about the time you met me—a child was born. She said it was mine; anyway, I had to be responsible. Of course I had long ago repented of behaving so badly to Henrietta. But no woman can understand, and it’s impossible to explain to them. You’re a beast and a villain, and there’s an end of it.’

‘And how has this become known to Miss Winter?’ Harvey inquired, seeing that Morphew lost himself in gloom.

‘You might almost guess it; these things always happen in the same way. You’ve heard me speak of a fellow called Driffel—no? I thought I might have mentioned him. He got to know the girl. He and I were at a music-hall one night, and she met us; and I heard, soon after, that she was living with him. It didn’t last long. She got ill, and wrote to me from Westminster Hospital; and I was foolish enough to give her money again, off and on, up to only a few months ago. She talked about living a respectable life, and so on, and I couldn’t refuse to help her. But I found out it was all humbug, and of course I stopped. Then she began to hunt me, Out of spite. And she heard from someone—Driffel, as likely as not—all about Henrietta; and yesterday Henrietta had a letter from her. This morning I was sent for, to explain myself.’

‘At one time, then, you had lost sight of her altogether?’

‘She has always had money from me, more or less regularly, except at the time that Driffel kept her. But there has been nothing else between us, since that first year. I kept up payments on account of the child, and she was cheating me in that too. Of course she put out the baby to nurse, and I understood it lived on; but the truth was it died after a month or two—starved to death, no doubt. I only learnt that, by taking a good deal of trouble, when she was with Driffel.’

‘Starved to death at a month or two old,’ murmured Rolfe. ‘The best thing for it, no doubt.’

‘It’s worse than anything I have done,’ said Morphew, miserably. ‘I think more of it now than I did at the time. A cruel, vile thing!’

‘And you told Miss Winter everything?’

‘Everything that can be spoken about. The plain truth of the story. The letter was a lie from beginning to end, of course. It made me out a heartless scoundrel. I had been the ruin of the girl—a helpless innocent; and now, after all these years, wanted to cut her adrift, not caring what became of her. My defence seemed to Henrietta no defence at all. The fact that there had been such an episode in my life was quite sufficient. Everything must be at an end between us, at once and for ever. She 可以 not live with me, knowing this. No one should learn the cause; not even her mother; but I must never see her again. And so I came away, meaning to end my life. It wasn’t cowardice that prevented me; only the thought that 她 would be mixed up in it, and suffer more than I had made her already.’

Voice and look constrained Harvey to believe this. He spoke more sympathetically.

‘It’s better that it happened before than after.’

‘I’ve tried to think that, but I can’t. Afterwards, I could have made her believe me and forgive me.’

‘That seems to me more than doubtful.’

‘But why should it have happened at all?’ cried Cecil, in the tone of despairing bitterness. ‘Did I deserve it? Haven’t I behaved better, more kindly, than most men would have done? Isn’t it just because I was too good-natured that this has come on me?’

‘I myself readily take that view,’ answered Rolfe. ‘But I can perfectly understand why Miss Winter doesn’t.’

‘So can I—so can I,’ groaned Cecil. ‘It’s in her nature. And do you suppose I haven’t cursed myself for deceiving her? The thought has made me miserable, often enough. I never dreamt she would get to know of it; but it weighed upon me all the same. Yet who was the cause of it, really and truly? I’m glad I could keep myself from saying all I thought. She wouldn’t have understood; I should only have looked more brutal in her eyes. But if she had married me when she might have done! 那里 was the wrong that led to everything else.’

Harvey nodded and muttered.

‘At one and twenty she might have taken her own way. I wasn’t a penniless adventurer. My name is as good as hers. We could have lived well enough on my income, until I found a way of increasing it, as I should have done. Girls don’t know what they are doing when they make men wait year after year. No one can tell them. But I begged—I prayed to her—I said all I dared. It was her cursed father and mother! If I had had three thousand, instead of three hundred, a year, they would have rushed her into marriage. No! we must have a big house, like their own, and a troop of thieving servants, or we were eternally disgraced. 创新中心 I got the money didn’t matter, so long as I got it. And she hadn’t courage—she thought it wrong to defy them. As if the wrong wasn’t in giving way to such a base superstition! I believe she has seen that since her father’s death. And now——’

He broke down, shaking and choking in an agony of sobs. Harvey could only lay a kind hand upon him; there was no verbal comfort to offer. Presently Cecil talked on again, and so they sat together as twilight passed into darkness. Rolfe would gladly have taken the poor fellow home with him, out of solitude with its miseries and dangers, but Cecil refused. Eventually they walked westward for a few miles; then Morphew, with a promise to see his friend next day, turned back into the crowd.

Alma was walking on the sea-road at Penzance, glad to be quite alone, yet at a loss how to spend the time. Rolfe had sailed for Scilly, and would be absent for two or three days; Mrs. Frothingham, with Hughie for companion, was driving to Marazion. Why—Alma asked herself—had she wished to be left alone this morning? Some thought had glimmered vaguely in her restless mind; she could not recover it.

The little shop window, set out with objects carved in serpentine, held her for a moment; but remembering how often she had paused here lately, she felt ashamed, and walked on. Presently there moved towards her a lady in a Bath-chair; a lady who had once been beautiful, but now, though scarcely middle-aged, looked gaunt and haggard from some long illness. The invalid held open a newspaper, and Alma, in passing, saw that it was 世界. At once her step quickened, for she had remembered the desire which touched her an hour ago.

She walked to the railway station, surveyed the papers on the bookstall, and bought three—papers which would tell her what was going on in society. With these in hand she found a quiet spot, sheltered from the August sun, where she could sit and read. She read eagerly, enviously. And before long her eye fell upon a paragraph in which was a name she knew. Lady Isobel Barker, in her lovely retreat at Boscombe, was entertaining a large house-party; in the list appeared—Mrs. Hugh Carnaby. Unmistakable: Mrs. Hugh Carnaby. Who Lady Isobel might be, Alma had no idea; nor were any of the other guests known to her, but the names of all seemed to roll upon the tongue of the announcing footman. She had a vision of Sibyl in that august company; Sibyl, coldly beautiful, admirably sage, with—perhaps—ever so little of the air of a martyr, to heighten her impressiveness.

When she could command herself, she glanced hurriedly through column after column of all the papers, seeking for that name again. In one, an illustrated publication, she came upon a couple of small portraits, side by side. Surely she recognised that face—the bold, coarse-featured man, with his pretentious smile? But the girl, no; a young and very pretty girl, smirking a little, with feathery hair which faded off into an aureole. The text was illuminating.

‘I am able to announce,’ wrote Ego, ‘and I think I shall be one of the first to do so, that the brilliant composer, Mr. Felix Dymes, will shortly vanish from the gay (if naughty) world of bachelorhood. I learn on excellent authority that Mr. Dymes has quite recently become engaged to Miss Lettice Almond, a very charming young lady, whose many gifts (especially musical) have as yet been known only to a comparatively small circle, and for the delightful reason that she is still only eighteen. Miss Almond is the daughter of Mr. Haliburton Almond, senior partner in the old and well-known firm of Almond Brothers, the manufacturers of fireworks. She is an only daughter, and, though she has two brothers, I may add (I trust without indiscretion) that the title of heiress may be fittingly applied to her. The marriage may take place in November, and will doubtless be a brilliant as well as a most interesting affair. By-the-bye, Mr. Dymes’s new opera is not likely to be ready till next year, but some who have been privileged to hear the parts already composed declare that it will surpass even “Blue Roses” in the charm of sweet yet vivacious melody.’

When she had read and mused for more than an hour, Alma tore out the two passages that had a personal interest for her, and put them in her purse. The papers she left lying for anyone who chose to pick them up.

A fortnight later she was back at Gunnersbury; where, indeed, she would have been content to stay all through the summer, had not Harvey and the doctor insisted on her leaving home. All sorts of holidays had been proposed, but nothing of the kind attracted her. She declared that she was quite well, and that she preferred home to anywhere else; she had got used to it, and did not wish to be unsettled. Six weeks at Penzance simply wearied her; she brightened wonderfully on the day of return. Harvey, always anxious, tried to believe that the great sorrow through which she had passed was effecting only a natural change, subduing her troublesome mutability of temper, and leading her to find solace in domestic quietude.

On the third day after her return, she had lunched alone, and was sitting in the library. Her dress, more elaborate than usual, and the frequent glances which she cast at the clock, denoted expectation of some arrival. Hearing a knock at the front door, she rose and waited nervously.

‘Mr. Dymes is in the drawing-room, mum.’

She joined him. Dymes, with wonted frankness, not to say impudence, inspected her from head to foot, and did not try to conceal surprise.

‘I was awfully glad to get your note. As I told you, I called here about a month ago, and I should have called again. I didn’t care to write until I heard from you. You’ve been ill, I can see. I heard about it. Awfully sorry.’

Alma saw that he intended respectful behaviour. The fact of being in her own house was, of course, a protection, but Dymes, she quite understood, had altered in mind towards her. She treated him distantly, yet without a hint of unfriendliness.

‘I began to wonder whether I had missed a letter of yours. It’s some time since you promised to write—on business.’

‘The fact is,’ he replied, ‘I kept putting it off, hoping to see you, and it’s wonderful how time slips by. I can hardly believe that it’s more than a year since your recital. How splendidly it came off! If only you could have followed it up—but we won’t talk about that.’

He paused for any remark she might wish to make. Alma, dreamy for a moment, recovered herself, and asked, in a disinterested tone——

‘We paid all expenses, I suppose?’

‘Well—not quite.’

‘Not quite? I understood from you that there was no doubt about it.’

‘I thought,’ said Dymes, as he bent forward familiarly, ‘that my silence would let you know how matters stood. If there had been anything due to you, of course I should have sent a cheque. We did very well indeed, remarkably well, but the advertising expenses were very heavy.’ He took a paper from his pocket. ‘Here is the detailed account. I shouldn’t have spent so much if I hadn’t regarded it as an investment. You had to be boomed, you know—floated, and I flatter myself I did it pretty well. But, of course, as things turned out——’

Alma glanced over the paper. The items astonished her.

‘You mean to say, then, that I am in your debt for a hundred and thirty pounds?’

‘Debt be hanged!’ cried Dymes magnanimously. ‘That’s all done with, long ago. I only wanted to explain how things were.’

Alma reddened. She was trying to remember the state of her banking account, and felt sure that, at this moment, considerably less than a hundred pounds stood to her credit. But she rose promptly.

‘Of course, I shall give you a cheque.’

‘Nonsense! Don’t treat me like a regular agent, Mrs. Rolfe. Surely you know me better than that? I undertook it for the pleasure of the thing——’

‘But you don’t suppose I can accept a present of money from you, Mr Dymes?’

‘Hang it! Just as you like, of course. But don’t make me take it now, as if I’d looked in with my little bill. Send the cheque, if you must. But what I really came for, when I called a few weeks ago, was something else—quite a different thing, and a good deal more important. Just sit down again, if you can spare me a few minutes.’

With face averted, Alma sank back into her chair. Harvey would give her the money without a word, but she dreaded the necessity of asking him for it. So disturbed were her thoughts that she did not notice how oddly Dymes was regarding her, and his next words sounded meaningless.

‘By-the-bye, can we talk here?’

‘Talk——?’

‘I mean’—he lowered his voice—’are we safe from interruption? It’s all right; don’t look frightened. The fact is, I want to speak of something rather awkward—but it’s something you ought to know about, if you don’t already.’

‘I am quite at leisure,’ she replied; adding, with a nervous movement of the head, ‘there will be no interruption.’

‘I want to ask you, then, have you seen Mrs. Strangeways lately?’

'不。'

‘Nor Mrs. Carnaby?’

'不。'

‘I understand you’ve broken with them altogether? You don’t want anything more to do with that lot?’

‘I have nothing whatever to do with them,’ Alma replied, steadying her voice to a cold dignity.

‘And I think you’re quite right. Now, look here—you’ve heard, I dare say, that I’m going to be married? Well, I’m not the kind of fellow to talk sentiment, as you know. But I’ve had fair luck in life, and I feel pretty pleased with myself, and if I can do anybody a friendly turn—anybody that deserves it—I’m all there. I want you just to think of me as a friend, and nothing else. You’re rather set against me, I know; but try and forget all about that. Things are changed. After all, you know, I’m one of the men that people talk about; my name has got into the “directories of talent”, as somebody calls them; and I have a good deal at stake. It won’t do for me to go fooling about any more. All I mean is, that you can trust me, down to the ground. And there’s nobody I would be better pleased to help in a friendly way than you, Mrs. Rolfe.’

Alma was gazing at him in surprise, mingled with apprehension.

‘Please say what you mean. I don’t see how you can possibly do me any service. I have given up all thought of a professional career.

‘I know you have. I’m sorry for it, but it isn’t that I want to talk about. You don’t see Mrs. Carnaby, but I suppose you hear of her now and then?’

‘Very rarely.’

‘You know that she has been taken up by Lady Isobel Barker?’

‘Who is Lady Isobel Barker?’

‘Why, she’s a daughter of the Earl of Bournemouth, and she married a fellow on the Stock Exchange. There are all sorts of amusing stories about her. I don’t mean anything shady—just the opposite. She did a good deal of slumming at the time when it was fashionable, and started a home for women of a certain kind—all that sort of thing. Barker is by way of being a millionaire, and they live in great style; have Royalties down at Boscombe, and so on. Well, Mrs. Carnaby has got hold of her. I don’t know how she managed it. Just after that affair it looked as if she would have a bad time. People cut her—you know all about that?’

‘No, I don’t. You mean that they thought——’

‘Just so; they did think.’ He nodded and smiled. ‘She was all the talk at the clubs, and, no doubt, in the boudoirs. I wasn’t a friend of hers, you know—I met her now and then, that was all; so I didn’t quite know what to think. But it looked—没有做 它？'

Alma avoided his glance, and said nothing.

‘I shouldn’t wonder,’ pursued Dymes, ‘if she went to Lady Isobel and talked about her hard case, and just asked for help. At all events, last May we began to hear of Mrs. Carnaby again. Women who wanted to be thought smart had quite altered their tone about her. Men laughed, but some of them began to admit that the case was doubtful. At all events, Lady Isobel was on her side, and that meant a good deal.’

‘And she went about in society just as if nothing had happened?’

‘No, no. That would have been bad taste, considering where her husband was. She wasn’t seen much, only talked about. She’s a clever woman, and by the time Carnaby’s let loose she’ll have played the game so well that things will be made pretty soft for him. I’m told he’s a bit of a globe-trotter, sportsman, and so on. All he has to do is to knock up a book of travels, and it’ll go like wildfire.’

Alma had pulled to pieces a tassel on her chair.

‘What has all this to do with me?’ she asked abruptly.

‘I’m coming to that. You don’t know anything about Mrs. Strangeways either? Well, there 五月 be a doubt about Mrs. Carnaby, but there’s none about Mrs. S. She’s just about as bad as they make ’em. I could tell you things—but I won’t. What I want to know is, did you quarrel with her?’

‘Quarrel! Why should we have quarrelled? What had I to do with her?’

‘Nothing about Redgrave?’ asked Dymes, pushing his head forward and speaking confidentially.

'你是什么意思？'

‘No harm, I assure you—all the other way. I 知道 Mrs. Strangeways, and I’ve had a good deal of talk with her lately, and I couldn’t help suspecting you had a reason of your own for getting clear of her. Let me tell you, first of all, that she’s left her house in Porchester Terrace. My belief is that she and her husband haven’t a five-pound note between them. And the queer thing is, that this has come about since Redgrave’s death.’

He paused to give his words their full significance. Alma, no longer disguising her interest, faced him with searching eyes.

‘She’s a bad un,’ pursued the musician, ‘and I shouldn’t care to tell all I think about her life for the last few years. I’ve seen a good deal of life myself, you know, and I don’t pretend to be squeamish; but I draw a line for women. Mrs. Strangeways goes a good bit beyond it, as I know for certain.’

'这是为了什么 me?’ said Alma, with tremulous impatience.

‘Why, this much. She is doing her best to harm you, and in a devilish artful way. She tries to make me believe—and it’s certain she says the same to others—that what happened at Wimbledon was the result of a plot between you and Redgrave’s housekeeper！

Alma stared at him, her parted lips quivering with an abortive laugh.

‘Do you understand? She says that you were furiously jealous of Mrs Carnaby, and didn’t care what you did to ruin her; that you put Redgrave’s housekeeper up to telling Carnaby lies about his wife.’

‘How long has she been saying this?’

‘I heard it for the first time about two months ago. But let me go on. The interesting thing is that, at the time of the trial and after it, she was all the other way. She as good as told me that she had proof against Mrs. Carnaby; I fancy she told lots of people the same. She talked as if she hated the woman. But now that Mrs. Carnaby is looking up—you see?—she’s going to play Mrs. Carnaby’s game at your expense. What I should like to know is whether they’ve done it together?’

‘There can’t be much doubt of that,’ said Alma, between her teeth.

‘I don’t know,’ rejoined the other cautiously. ‘Have you reason to think that Mrs. Carnaby would like to injure you?’

‘I’m quite sure she would do so if it benefited herself.’

‘And yet you were fast friends not long ago, weren’t you?’ asked Dymes, with a look of genuine curiosity.

‘We don’t always know people as well as we think. Where is that woman living now?—I mean, Mrs. Strangeways.’

‘That’s more than I can tell you. She is—or is supposed to be—out of town. I saw her last just before she left her house.’

‘Is the other in town?’

‘Mrs. Carnaby? I don’t know. I was going to say,’ Dymes pursued, ‘that the story Mrs. S. has been telling seems to me very clumsy, and that’s why I don’t think the other has any hand in it. She seemed to have forgotten that Redgrave’s housekeeper, who was wanted by the police, wasn’t likely to put herself in Carnaby’s way—the man she had robbed. I pointed that out, but she only laughed. “We’re not bound to believe,” she said, “all that Carnaby said on his trial.”‘

‘We are not,’ Alma remarked, with a hard smile.

‘You think he dressed things up a bit?’

‘I think,’ answered Alma, ‘that he may have known more than he told.’

‘That’s my idea, too. But never mind; whatever the truth may be, that woman is doing you a serious injury. I felt you ought to know about it. People have talked about you a good deal, wondering why on earth you dropped out of sight so suddenly after that splendid start; and it was only natural they should connect your name with the Carnaby affair, knowing, as so many did, that you were a friend of theirs, and of Redgrave too.’

‘I knew Mr. Redgrave,’ said Alma, ‘but I was no friend of his.’

Dymes peered at her.

‘Didn’t he interest himself a good deal in your business?’

‘Not more than many other people.’

‘Well, I’m very glad to hear that,’ said Dymes, looking about the room. ‘I tell you, honestly, that whenever I have a chance of speaking up for you, I shall do it.’

‘I am very much obliged, but I really don’t think it matters what is said of me. I am not likely ever to meet the people who talk about such things.’

She said it in so convincing a tone that Dymes looked at her gravely.

‘I never know any one change so much,’ he observed. ‘Is it really your health? No other reason for giving up such magnificent chances?’

‘Of course, I have my reasons. They concern nobody but myself.’

‘I might give a guess, I dare say. Well, you’re the best judge, and we won’t say any more about that. But look here—about Mrs. S. and her scandal. I feel sure, as I said, that she’s toadying to Mrs. Carnaby, and expects to make her gain out of it somehow. Her husband’s a loafing, gambling fellow, and I shouldn’t wonder if he gave her the skip. Most likely she’ll have to live by her wits, and we know what that means in a woman of her kind. She’ll be more or less dangerous to everybody that’s worth blackmailing.’

‘You think she had—she was dependent in some way upon Mr. Redgrave?’ asked Alma, in an undertone.

‘I’ve heard so. Shall I tell you what a woman said who is very likely to know? Long ago, in the time of her first marriage, she got hold of something about him that would have made a furious scandal, and he had to pay for her silence. All gossip; but there’s generally a foundation for that kind of thing. If it’s true, no doubt she has been at his relatives since his death. It doesn’t look as if they were disposed to be bled. Perhaps they turned the tables on her. She has looked sour and disappointed enough for a long time.’

‘I was just thinking,’ said Alma, with an air of serious deliberation, ‘whether it would be worth while for me to turn the tables on her, and prosecute her for slander.’

‘If you take my advice, you’ll keep out of that,’ replied the other, with emphasis. ‘But another thing has occurred to me. I see your opinion of Mrs. Carnaby, and no doubt you have good reason for it. Now, would it be possible to frighten her? Have you’—he peered more keenly—’any evidence that would make things awkward for Mrs. Carnaby?’

Alma kept close lips, breathing rapidly.

'如果你 已可以选用,’ pursued the other, ‘just give her a hint that Mrs Strangeways had better stop talking. You’ll find it effectual, no doubt.’

He watched her, and tried to interpret the passion in her eyes.

‘If I think it necessary,’ said Alma, and seemed to check herself.

‘No need to say any more. I wished to put you on your guard, that’s all. We’ve known each other for a longish time, and I’ve often enough felt sorry that something didn’t come off—you remember when. No good talking about that; but I shall always be glad if I can be a friend to you. And, I say, don’t think any more about that cheque, there’s a good girl.’

The note of familiar patronage was more than distasteful to Alma.

‘I shall, of course, send it,’ she replied curtly.

‘As you please. Would you like to hear a bit from my new opera? It isn’t every one gets the chance, you know.’

Quite in his old way, he seated himself at the piano, and ran lightly through a few choice 部分, exacting praise, and showing himself vexed because it was not fervent. In spite of her wandering thoughts, Alma felt the seductiveness of these melodies—their originality, their grace—and once more she wondered at their coming from the mind of such a man.

'很漂亮。'

‘Pretty!’ exclaimed the composer scornfully. ‘It’s a good deal more than that, and you know it. I don’t care—there’s somebody else feels deuced proud of me, and good reason too. Well, ta-ta!’

There are disadvantages in associating with people whose every word, as likely as not, may be an insidious falsehood. Thinking over what she had heard from Dymes, Alma was inclined to believe him; on the other hand, she knew it to be quite possible that he sought her with some interested motive. The wise thing, she knew, would be to disregard his reports, and hold aloof from the world in which they originated. But she had a strong desire to see Mrs. Strangeways. There might be someone at the house in Porchester Terrace who could help her to discover its late tenant. However dangerous the woman’s wiles and slanders, an interview with her could do no harm, and might set at rest a curiosity long lurking, now feverishly stimulated. With regard to Sibyl, there could be little doubt that Dymes had heard, or conjectured, the truth. Sibyl was clever enough to make her perilous reverse a starting-point for new social conquests. Were there but a hope of confronting her with some fatal disclosure, and dragging her down, down!

That cheque must be sent. She would show Harvey the account this evening, and have done with the unpleasantness of it. Probably he remembered from time to time that she had never told him how her business with Dymes was settled. No more duplicity. The money would be paid, and therewith finis to that dragging chapter of her life.

Harvey came home at five o’clock, and, as usual, had tea with her. Of late he had been uneasy about Cecil Morphew, whose story Alma knew; today he spoke more hopefully.

‘Shall I bring him here tomorrow, and make him stay over Sunday? Sunday is his bad day, and no wonder. If there were a licensed poison-shop in London, they’d do a very fair trade on Sundays.’

‘There are the public-houses,’ said Alma.

‘Yes; but Morphew doesn’t incline that way. The fellow has delicate instincts, and suffers all the more; so the world is made. I can’t help hoping it may come right for him yet. I have a suspicion that Mrs. Winter may be on his side; if so, it’s only a question of time. I keep at him like a slave-driver; he 具有 to work whilst I’m there; and he takes it very good-humouredly. But you mustn’t give him music, Alma; he says he can’t stand it.’

‘I’m much obliged to him,’ she answered, laughing.

‘You understand well enough.’

After dinner Alma found her courage and the fitting moment.

‘I have something disagreeable to talk about. Mr. Dymes called this afternoon, and handed in his 法案“。

‘His bill? Yes, yes, I remember.—What’s all this? Surely you haven’t obliged him to come looking after his money?’

‘It’s the first account I have received.’

Rolfe puckered his face a little as he perused the document, but ended, as he began, with a smile. In silence he turned to the writing-table, took out his cheque-book, and wrote.

‘You don’t mind its being in my name?’

‘Not at all. Indeed, I prefer it. But I am sorry and ashamed,’ she added in a murmur.

‘Let it be taken to the post at once,’ said Rolfe quietly.

When this was done, Alma made known what Dymes had told her about Sibyl, speaking in an unconcerned voice, and refraining from any hint of suspicion or censure.

‘I had heard of it,’ said Harvey, with troubled brow, and evidently wished to say no more.

‘What do you suppose Mr. Carnaby will do?’ Alma inquired.

‘Impossible to say. I’m told that the business at Coventry is flourishing, and no doubt his interest in it remains. I hear, too, that those Queensland mines are profitable at last. So there’ll be no money troubles. But what he will do——’

话题被搁置了。

Harvey had succeeded in hiding his annoyance at the large debt to Dymes, a sum he could ill afford; but he was glad to have paid it, and pleased with Alma’s way of dismissing it to oblivion. The talk that followed had turned his mind upon a graver trouble: he sat thinking of Hugh Carnaby. Dear old Hugh! Not long ago the report ran that his health was in a bad state. To one who knew him the wonder was that he kept alive. But the second year drew on.

On Monday morning, when Harvey and his friend had started for town, and Hughie was at school, Alma made ready to go out. In many months she had been to London only two or three times. Thus alone could she subdue herself. She tried to forget all that lay eastward from Gunnersbury, rejecting every kind of town amusement, and finding society in a very small circle of acquaintances who lived almost as quietly as herself. But this morning she yielded to the impulse made irresistible by Dymes’s visit. In leaving the house, she seemed to escape from an atmosphere so still and heavy that it threatened her blood with stagnation; she breathed deeply of the free air, and hastened towards the railway as if she had some great pleasure before her.

But this mood had passed long before the end of her journey. Alighting at Queen’s Road, she walked hurriedly to Porchester Terrace, and from the opposite side of the way had a view of Mrs. Strangeways’ house. It was empty, to let. She crossed, and rang the bell, on the chance that some caretaker might be within; but no one answered. Her heart throbbing painfully, she went on a little distance, then stood irresolute. A cab crawled by; she raised her hand, and gave the direction, ‘Oxford and Cambridge Mansions’. Once here, she had no difficulty in carrying out her purpose. Passion came to her aid; and when Sibyl’s door opened she could hardly wait for an invitation before stepping in.

The drawing-room was changed; it had been refurnished, and looked even more luxurious than formerly. For nearly ten minutes she had to stand waiting; seat herself she could not. Then entered Sibyl.

‘Good morning, Mrs. Rolfe. I am glad to see you.’

The latter sentence was spoken not as a mere phrase of courtesy, but with intention, with quiet yet unmistakable significance. Sibyl did not offer her hand; she moved a chair so that its back was to the light, and sat down very much as she might have done if receiving an applicant for a ‘situation’.

‘You had some reason for coming so early?’

Alma, who had felt uncertain how this interview would begin, was glad that she had to meet no pretences of friendship. Her heart burned within her; she was pallid, and her eyes shone fiercely.

‘I came to ask if you could tell me where Mrs. Strangeways is to be found?’

‘Mrs. Strangeways?’ Sibyl repeated, with cold surprise. ‘I know nothing about her.’

Feeling in every way at a disadvantage—contrast of costume told in Sibyl’s favour, and it was enhanced by the perfection of her self-command—Alma could not maintain the mockery of politeness.

‘Of course, you say that,’ she rejoined haughtily; ‘and, of course, I don’t believe it.’

‘That is nothing to me, Mrs. Rolfe,’ remarked the other, smiling. ‘Doubtless you have your own reasons for declining to believe me; just as you have your own reasons for—other things. Your next inquiry?’

‘Hasn’t it been rather unwise of you, keeping away from me all this time?’

‘Unwise? I hardly see your meaning.’

‘It looked rather as if you felt afraid to meet me.’

‘I see; that is your point of view.’ Sibyl seemed to reflect upon it calmly. ‘To me, on the other hand, it appeared rather strange that I neither saw nor heard from you at a time when other friends were showing their sympathy. I heard that you were ill for a short time, and felt sorry I was unable to call. Later, you still kept silence. I didn’t know the reason, and could hardly be expected to ask for it. As for being afraid to meet you—that, I suppose, is a suspicion natural to your mind. We won’t discuss it. Is there any other question you would like to ask?’

Humiliated by her inability to reply with anything but a charge she could not support, and fearing the violence of her emotions if she were longer subjected to this frigid insult, Alma rose.

‘One moment, if you please,’ continued Mrs. Carnaby. ‘I was glad that you had come, as I had half wished for an opportunity of speaking a few words to you. It isn’t a matter of much importance, but I may as well say, perhaps, that you are indiscreet in your way of talking about me to your friends. Of course, we haven’t many acquaintances in common, but I happen to have heard the opinion of me which you expressed to—let me see, some ladies named Leach, whom I once knew slightly. It seems hardly worth while to take serious steps in the matter—though I might find it necessary. I only wish, in your own interest, to say a word of warning. You have behaved, all things considered’—she dwelt on the phrase—’rather indiscreetly.’

‘I said what I knew to be the truth,’ replied Alma, meeting her look with the satisfaction of defiance.

Sibyl approached one step.

‘You knew it?’ she asked, very softly and deliberately, searching the passionate face with eyes as piercing as they were beautiful.

‘With certainty.’

‘I used to think you intelligent,’ said Sibyl, ‘but I fancy you don’t perceive what this “certainty” of yours suggests.’ She paused, with a curling lip. ‘Let me put you on your guard. You have very little command of your primitive feelings, and they bring you into danger. I should be sorry to think that an unpleasant story I have heard whispered was anything more than ill-natured scandal, but it’s as well to warn you that other people have a taste for that kind of gossip.’

‘I’m well aware of it,’ flashed the listener. ‘And that was the very reason why I came to ask you where Mrs. Strangeways is hiding.’

‘Mrs. Rolfe, you are aware of too many things. In your position I should be uneasy.’

‘I will leave you to enjoy your 己 uneasiness,’ returned Alma, with a contemptuous laugh. ‘You must have enough of it, without imagining that of others.’

She half turned. Sibyl again took one step forward, and spoke with ever so little tremor in the even voice.

‘You have understood me, I hope?’

‘Oh, quite. You have shown plainly how—afraid you are. Good morning, Mrs. Carnaby.’

Baker Street station being so near, Alma was tempted to go straightway and demand from the Leach sisters an explanation of what she had heard; they, too, seemed to be behaving treacherously. But she was unwilling to miss the luncheon hour at home, for Hughie would speak of it to his father, and so oblige her to make false excuses. Besides, she had suffered more than enough indignity (though not unavenged!), and it was better to summon the sisters to her presence.

On reaching home, she at once sent them an ordinary invitation, but of the briefest. In the evening she received Dymes’s acknowledgment of the cheque. Next day she wrote to him, a few formal lines, requesting that he would let her know Mrs. Strangeways’ address as soon as he had discovered it.

Dora Leach came to Gunnersbury alone. She was in distress and worry, for her father had fallen ill again, and the doctors doubted whether he would ever be fit to resume work; it had just dawned upon Dora that the breadwinner of the family deserved rather more consideration than he had been wont to receive, and that his death might involve unpleasant consequences for those dependent upon him. To Alma’s questioning she replied frankly and with self-reproach. It was true that she had whispered her friend’s suspicions of Mrs. Carnaby, but only to one person, and in strictest confidence. Neither she nor Gerda had met Mrs Carnaby, and how the whisper could have reached Sibyl’s ears was inconceivable to her.

‘It doesn’t matter in the least,’ said Alma, finally. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not sorry.’

‘Why, that’s just what I thought!’ exclaimed Dora, with sudden clearing of her countenance.

In a fortnight or so there came a note from Dymes, written at Brussels. He had ascertained that Mrs. Strangeways was somewhere on the Continent, but as yet he could not succeed in ‘running her down’. Let Mrs. Rolfe depend upon his zeal in this search, as in any other matter in which he could be of use to her. Unfortunately, this envelope came under Harvey’s eyes, and Alma, knowing he had seen it, felt obliged to speak.

‘Mr. Dymes refuses to believe that I shall never play again in public,’ she remarked, putting down his letter, as carelessly as possible, by her plate at breakfast.

‘Does he pester you? If so, it might be better for me to——’

‘Oh dear, no! I can manage my own correspondence, Harvey, thank you.’

Her tone of slight petulance was due to fear that he might ask to see the letter, and it had its effect. But Alma’s heart sank at the deception, and her skill in practising it. Was it impossible to become what she desired to be, an honest woman! Only yesterday Harvey had spoken to her with vexation of a piece of untruthfulness in Hughie, and had begged her to keep a watch upon the child’s habit in this respect. And she had promised, with much earnestness, much concern.

There are women who can breathe only in the air of lies and of treachery. Alma rebelled against the fate which made her life dishonourable. Fate—she declared—not the depravity of her own heart. From the dark day that saw her father’s ruin, she had been condemned to a struggle with circumstances. She meant honestly; she asked no more than the free exercise of instincts nature had given her; but destiny was adverse, and step by step had brought her into a position so false, so hopeless, that she wondered at her strength in living on.

Hughie had begun to learn the maps of countries, and prided himself on naming them as he turned over an atlas. One day, about this time, she looked over his shoulder and saw the map of Italy.

‘Those are lakes,’ said the child, pointing north. ‘Tell me their names, Mother.’

But she was silent. Her eye had fallen upon Garda, and at the head of the lake was a name which thrilled her memory. What if she had gone to Riva? Suddenly, and for the first time, she saw it as a thing that might have happened; not as a mere dark suggestion abhorrent to her thought. Had she known the world a little better, it might have been. Then, how different her life! Pleasure, luxury, triumph; for she had proved herself capable of triumphing. He, the man of money and influence, would have made it his pride to smooth the way for her. And perhaps never a word against her reputation; or, if whispers, did she not know by this time how indulgent society can be to its brilliant favourites?

As it was: a small house at Gunnersbury, a baffled ambition, a life of envy, hatred, fear, suffered in secret, hidden by base or paltry subterfuge. A husband whom she respected, whose love she had never ceased to desire, though, strange to say, she knew not whether she loved him. Only death could part them; but how much better for him and for her if they had never met! Their thoughts and purposes so unlike; he, with his heart and mind set on grave, quiet, restful things, hating the world’s tumult, ever hoping to retire beyond its echo; she, her senses crying for the delight of an existence that loses itself in whirl and glare.

In a crowded drawing-room she had heard someone draw attention to her—’the daughter of Bennet Frothingham’. That was how people thought of her, and would it not have been wiser if she had so thought of herself? Daughter of a man who had set all on a great hazard; who had played for the world’s reward, and, losing, flung away his life. What had 她 to do with domestic virtues, and the pleasures of a dull, decorous circle? Could it but come over again, she would accept the challenge of circumstance, which she had failed to understand; accept the scandal and the hereditary shame; welcome the lot cast for her, and, like her father, play boldly for the great stakes. His widow might continue to hold her pious faith in him, and refuse to believe that his name merited obloquy; his child knew better. She had mistaken her path, lost the promise of her beauty and her talent, led astray by the feeble prejudice of those who have neither one nor the other. Too late, and worse than idle now, to recognise it. She would be a good woman, rule her little house, bring up her child, and have no will but her husband’s.

House-ruling was no easy matter. Things did not go as she wished; the servants were inefficient, sometimes refractory, and she loathed the task of keeping them up to their duties. Insomnia began to trouble her again, and presently she had recourse to the forbidden sleeping-draught. Not regularly, but once a week or so, when the long night harried her beyond endurance. Rolfe did not suspect it, for she never complained to him. Winter was her bad time. In the spring her health would improve, as usual, and then she would give up the habit.

At Christmas the Langlands had the customary visit from their relative, Mr. Thistlewood, who renewed his acquaintance with Alma. At their first meeting she was struck by his buoyant air, his animated talk. A week later, he called in the afternoon. Two ladies happened to be with Alma, and they stayed a long time; but Thistlewood, who comported himself rather oddly, saying little and sometimes neglecting a remark addressed to him, stayed yet longer. When he was alone with his hostess, he took a chair near to her, bent forward, and said, smiling——

‘You remember our talk about marriage on a minute income?’

‘I do, very well.’

‘I have found someone who isn’t afraid of it.’

‘You have? The same person who formerly 是？

‘No; she was not afraid of the income, but of me. I couldn’t be surprised, though it hit me hard. Time has spoken for me.’

Harvey was dining in town. He came back with vexatious news about Cecil Morphew, who neglected business, looked ill, and altogether seemed in a bad way. As he talked, he began to notice that Alma regarded him with brighter and happier eyes than for many a day.

‘Why does it amuse you?’ he asked, stopping in his narrative.

‘It doesn’t; I’m as sorry as you are. But I have a surprise for you.’

‘A pleasant one, this time, I see.’

‘Mrs. Abbott is going to marry Mr. Thistlewood.’

She watched the effect of her words, and for an instant felt the old pang, the old bitterness. But Harvey’s confusion of feeling soon passed, giving way to a satisfaction that could not be mistaken.

‘Who has told you?’

‘The happy man himself.’

‘I am glad—heartily glad! But I didn’t think it would interest you so much.’

‘Oh, women—marriages——!’

She threw a pretty scorn upon herself.

‘Yes, that’s good news. They will suit each other. But she’ll give up her school, and that’s a nuisance.’

‘There are others as good.’

‘But not here. Another removal, I suppose.—When is it to be?’

‘Not till the Easter holidays.’

They were in the library. Harvey began to fill his pipe, and nothing more was said until he had drawn a few meditative puffs.

‘Another removal,’ then escaped him, with half a groan.

‘Why should you care?’ asked Alma thoughtfully. ‘You don’t like this place.’

‘As well as any other. It’s convenient for town.’

‘Do you really think of going on in that business, which you detest?’

‘It has brought in a little money, and may—ought to—bring more. But if Morphew goes down——’

Alma glanced at him, and said timidly——

‘You are going to Greystone at Easter.’

‘We shall all go. What of that?’

‘Haven’t you’—she spoke with an effort—’sometimes thought you would like to live there?’

‘Great heavens—Alma!’

He stared at her in humorous astonishment, then slowly shook his head. How could 她 live in such a place as Greystone? And what on earth did she mean by disturbing him with such a suggestion? But Alma, gravely and repeatedly, assured him that she could live there very well; that in all likelihood she would be much more contented there than here.

‘I should bring out my violin again, and the Greystone people would admire me. There’s a confession—to prove that I am in earnest. I can’t conquer the world; I don’t wish it; that’s all over. But I should find it pleasant to have a reputation in Greystone—I should indeed.’

Harvey sighed, and could not look at her.

‘And Hughie,’ she continued, ‘would go to the Grammar-School. You know how you would like that. And living there is cheap; we might keep our horse again.—Don’t say anything now, but think about it.’

He raised his eyes, and fixed them upon her with a look of infinite tenderness and gratitude. It was Alma now who sighed, but not audibly.

Before Thistlewood went north again, Harvey enjoyed long talks with him. Mary Abbott he saw only in the presence of other people. But on an evening in February, when Alma was at the Langlands’ and he had promised to call for her at ten o’clock, he left home an hour earlier and walked past Mrs. Abbott’s house. A light in the window of her sitting-room showed that Mary was at home. After a turn or two backwards and forwards, he went up to the door and knocked. A very young servant took his name to her mistress, and then admitted him.

‘Will you let me answer your letter personally?’ he said, as Mrs. Abbott welcomed him in the room where she sat alone.

She had written about Minnie Wager, begging that he would in future cease to contribute to the girl’s support, and be responsible only for the boy. In her new home there would be no need of a servant; she and Minnie would do the housework together. Impossible, she wrote, to speak of his kindness both to her and the children. For Minnie, who might henceforth be looked upon as self-supporting, he must no longer be taxed. The child owed him every hope in her life; let him be satisfied with what he had done so generously.

Of these things they talked for a few minutes. It was easy to see how great a change had befallen Mary Abbott’s outlook upon life. She was younger by several years, yet not like herself of that earlier time; much gentler, much sweeter in face and word. Harvey observed her with keen pleasure, and, becoming aware of his gaze, his smile, she blushed like a girl.

‘Mr. Rolfe—I am sure you feel that I am deserting my post.’

‘To be sure you are. I shall always owe you a grudge for it.’

‘I thought of it all—of Hughie and the others. I didn’t know how I should ever face you.’

”Twas a shameless thing. And yet I can find it in my heart to forgive you. You are so ingenuous about it.’

Mary looked up again.

‘What shall you do—about Hughie?’

‘Oh, there’s a great scheme on foot. Alma suggests that we shall go and live at Greystone. It tempts me.’

‘That it must, indeed! I know how you would like it.’

‘We shouldn’t be so very far apart then—an hour’s journey or so. You would come to us, and we to you.’

'愉快！'

They had not much more to say, but each was conscious of thought in the other’s mind that supplemented their insufficient phrases. As they shook hands, Mary seemed trying to speak. The lamplight made a glimmer in her eyes, and their lids drooped as she said at length——

‘I am so glad that you like each other.’

‘He’s a splendid fellow,’ replied Rolfe joyously. ‘I think no end of him.’

‘And he of you—for I have told him everything.’

Then Harvey quitted the house, and walked about under the starry sky until it was time to call for Alma.