老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
VI Page 2
"You are making a mistake, Constance," she said, "if you willallow me to say so."
"A mistake!" exclaimed Constance, startled.
"A very great mistake," Sophia insisted, observing that she wascreating an effect.
"I don't see how I can be making a mistake," Constance said,gaining confidence in herself, as she thought the matter over.
"No," said Sophia, "I'm sure you don't see it. But you are. Youknow, you are just a little apt to let yourself be a slave to thathouse of yours. Instead of the house existing for you, you existfor the house."
"Oh! Sophia!" Constance muttered awkwardly. "What ideas you dohave, to be sure!" In her nervousness she rose and picked up someembroidery, adjusting her spectacles and coughing. When she satdown she said: "No one could take things easier than I do asregards housekeeping. I can assure you I let dozens of littlematters go, rather than bother myself."
"Then why do you bother now?" Sophia posed her.
"I can't leave the place like that." Constance was hurt.
"There's one thing I can't understand," said Sophia, raising herhead and gazing at Constance again, "and that is, why you live inSt. Luke's Square at all."
"I must live somewhere. And I'm sure it's very pleasant."
"In all that smoke! And with that dirt! And the house is veryold."
"It's a great deal better built than a lot of those new houses bythe Park," Constance sharply retorted. In spite of herself sheresented any criticism of her house. She even resented the obvioustruth that it was old.
"You'll never get a servant to stay in that cellar-kitchen, forone thing," said Sophia, keeping calm.
"Oh! I don't know about that! I don't know about that! ThatBennion woman didn't object to it, anyway. It's all very well foryou, Sophia, to talk like that. But I know Bursley perhaps betterthan you do." She was tart again. "And I can assure you that myhouse is looked upon as a very good house indeed."
"Oh! I don't say it isn't; I don't say it isn't. But you would bebetter away from it. Every one says that."
"Every one?" Constance looked up, dropping her work. "Who? Who'sbeen talking about me?"
"Well," said Sophia, "the doctor, for instance."
"Dr. Stirling? I like that! He's always saying that Bursley is oneof the healthiest climates in England. He's always sticking up forBursley."
"Dr. Stirling thinks you ought to go away more--not stay always inthat dark house." If Sophia had sufficiently reflected she wouldnot have used the adjective 'dark.' It did not help her cause.
"Oh, does he!" Constance fairly snorted. "Well, if it's of anyinterest to Dr. Stirling, I like my dark house."
"Hasn't he ever told you you ought to go away more?" Sophiapersisted.
"He may have mentioned it," Constance reluctantly admitted.
"When he was talking to me he did a good deal more than mentionit. And I've a good mind to tell you what he said."
"Do!" said Constance, politely.
"You don't realize how serious it is, I'm afraid," said Sophia."You can't see yourself." She hesitated a moment. Her blood beingstirred by Constance's peculiar inflection of the phrase 'my darkhouse,' her judgment was slightly obscured. She decided to giveConstance a fairly full version of the conversation betweenherself and the doctor.
"It's a question of your health," she finished. "I think it's myduty to talk to you seriously, and I have done. I hope you'll takeit as it's meant."
"Oh, of course!" Constance hastened to say. And she thought: "Itisn't yet three months that we've been together, and she's tryingalready to get me under her thumb."
A pause ensued. Sophia at length said: "There's no doubt that bothyour sciatica and your palpitations are due to nerves. And you letyour nerves get into a state because you worry over trifles. Achange would do you a tremendous amount of good. It's just whatyou need. Really, you must admit, Constance, that the idea ofliving always in a place like St. Luke's Square, when you areperfectly free to do what you like and go where you like--you mustadmit it's rather too much."
Constance put her lips together and bent over her embroidery.
"Now, what do you say?" Sophia gently entreated.
"There's some of us like Bursley, black as it is!" said Constance.And Sophia was surprised to detect tears in her sister's voice.
"It's no use!" cried Constance, flinging away her work, andletting her tears flow suddenly. Her face was distorted. She wasbehaving just like a child. "It's no use! I've got to go back homeand look after things. It's no use. Here we are pitching moneyabout in this place. It's perfectly sinful. Drives, carriages,extras! A shilling a day extra for each dog. I never heard of suchgoings-on. And I'd sooner be at home. That's it. I'd sooner be athome." This was the first reference that Constance had made for along time to the question of expense, and incomparably the mostviolent. It angered Sophia.
"We will count it that you are here as my guest," said Sophia,loftily, "if that is how you look at it."
"Oh no!" said Constance. "It isn't the money I grudge. Oh no, wewon't." And her tears were falling thick.
"Yes, we will," said Sophia, coldly. "I've only been talking toyou for your own good. I--"
"Well," Constance interrupted her despairingly, "I wish youwouldn't try to domineer over me!"
"Domineer!" exclaimed Sophia, aghast. "Well, Constance, I dothink--"
She got up and went to her bedroom, where the dogs wereimprisoned. They escaped to the stairs. She was shaking withemotion. This was what came of trying to help other people!Imagine Constance ...! Truly Constance was most unjust, and quiteunlike her usual self! And Sophia encouraged in her breast thefeeling of injustice suffered. But a voice kept saying to her:"You've made a mess of this. You've not conquered this time.You're beaten. And the situation is unworthy of you, of both ofyou. Two women of fifty quarreling like this! It's undignified.You've made a mess of things." And to strangle the voice, she didher best to encourage the feeling of injustice suffered.
'Domineer!'
But it's no use!" She made apiteous figure.
And Constance was absolutely in the wrong. She had not argued atall. She had merely stuck to her idea like a mule! How difficultand painful would be the next meeting with Constance, after thisgrievous miscarriage!
As she was reflecting thus the door burst open, and Constancestumbled, as it were blindly, into the bedroom. She was stillweeping.
"Sophia!" she sobbed, supplicatingly, and all her fat body wastrembling. "You mustn't kill me ... I'm like that--you can't alterme. I'm like that. I know I'm silly. But it's no use!" She made apiteous figure.
Sophia was aware of a lump in her throat.
"It's all right, Constance; it's all right. I quite understand.Don't bother any more."
Constance, catching her breath at intervals, raised her wet, wornface and kissed her.
Sophia remembered the very words, 'You can't alter her,' which shehad used in remonstrating with Cyril. And now she had been guiltyof precisely the same unreason as that with which she hadreproached Cyril! She was ashamed, both for herself and forConstance. Assuredly it had not been such a scene as women oftheir age would want to go through often. It was humiliating. Shewished that it could have been blotted out as though it had neverhappened. Neither of them ever forgot it. They had had a lesson.And particularly Sophia had had a lesson. Having learnt, they leftthe Rutland, amid due ceremonies, and returned to St. Luke'sSquare.