老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
II
Those singular words of Sophia's, 'But you let Constance do justas she likes,' had disturbed Mrs. Baines more than was at firstapparent. They worried her like a late fly in autumn. For she hadsaid nothing to any one about Constance's case, Mrs. Maddack ofcourse excepted. She had instinctively felt that she could notshow the slightest leniency towards the romantic impulses of herelder daughter without seeming unjust to the younger, and she hadacted accordingly. On the memorable morn of Mr. Povey's acutejealousy, she had, temporarily at any rate, slaked the fire,banked it down, and hidden it; and since then no word had passedas to the state of Constance's heart. In the great peril to befeared from Mr. Scales, Constance's heart had been put aside as athing that could wait; so one puts aside the mending of linen whenearthquake shocks are about. Mrs. Baines was sure that Constancehad not chattered to Sophia concerning Mr. Povey. Constance, whounderstood her mother, had too much commonsense and too nice asense of propriety to do that--and yet here was Sophia exclaiming,'But you let Constance do just as she likes.' Were the relationsbetween Constance and Mr. Povey, then, common property? Did theyoung lady assistants discuss them?
As a fact, the young lady assistants did discuss them; not in theshop--for either one of the principal parties, or Mrs. Bainesherself, was always in the shop, but elsewhere. They discussedlittle else, when they were free; how she had looked at him to-day, and how he had blushed, and so forth interminably. Yet Mrs.Baines really thought that she alone knew. Such is the power ofthe ineradicable delusion that one's own affairs, and especiallyone's own children, are mysteriously different from those ofothers.
After Sophia's departure Mrs. Baines surveyed her daughter and hermanager at supper-time with a curious and a diffident eye. Theyworked, talked, and ate just as though Mrs. Baines had nevercaught them weeping together in the cutting-out room. They had themost matter-of-fact air. They might never have heard whispered thename of love. And there could be no deceit beneath that decorum;for Constance would not deceive. Still, Mrs. Baines's consciencewas unruly. Order reigned, but nevertheless she knew that sheought to do something, find out something, decide something; sheought, if she did her duty, to take Constance aside and say: "Now,Constance, my mind is freer now. Tell me frankly what has beengoing on between you and Mr. Povey. I have never understood themeaning of that scene in the cutting-out room. Tell me." She oughtto have talked in this strain. But she could not. That energeticwoman had not sufficient energy left. She wanted rest, rest--eventhough it were a coward's rest, an ostrich's tranquillity--afterthe turmoil of apprehensions caused by Sophia. Her soul cried outfor peace. She was not, however, to have peace.
On the very first Sunday after Sophia's departure, Mr. Povey didnot go to chapel in the morning, and he offered no reason for hisunusual conduct. He ate his breakfast with appetite, but there wassomething peculiar in his glance that made Mrs. Baines a littleuneasy; this something she could not seize upon and define. Whenshe and Constance returned from chapel Mr. Povey was playing "Rockof Ages" on the harmonium--again unusual! The serious part of thedinner comprised roast beef and Yorkshire pudding--the puddingbeing served as a sweet course before the meat. Mrs. Baines atefreely of these things, for she loved them, and she was alwayshungry after a sermon. She also did well with the Cheshire cheese.Her intention was to sleep in the drawing-room after the repast.On Sunday afternoons she invariably tried to sleep in the drawing-room, and she did not often fail. As a rule the girls accompaniedher thither from the table, and either 'settled down' likewise orcrept out of the room when they perceived the gradual sinking ofthe majestic form into the deep hollows of the easy-chair. Mrs.Baines was anticipating with pleasure her somnolent Sundayafternoon.
Constance said grace after meat, and the formula on thisparticular occasion ran thus--
"Thank God for our good dinner, Amen.--Mother, I must just runupstairs to my room." ('MY room'-Sophia being far away.)
And off she ran, strangely girlish.
"Well, child, you needn't be in such a hurry," said Mrs. Baines,ringing the bell and rising.
She hoped that Constance would remember the conditions precedentto sleep.
"I should like to have a word with you, if it's all the same toyou, Mrs. Baines," said Mr. Povey suddenly, with obviousnervousness. And his tone struck a rude unexpected blow at Mrs.Baines's peace of mind. It was a portentous tone.
"What about?" asked she, with an inflection subtly to remind Mr.Povey what day it was.
"About Constance," said the astonishing man.
"Constance!" exclaimed Mrs. Baines with a histrionic air ofbewilderment.
Maggie entered the room, solely in response to the bell, yet athought jumped up in Mrs. Baines's brain, "How prying servantsare, to be sure!" For quite five seconds she had a grievanceagainst Maggie. She was compelled to sit down again and wait whileMaggie cleared the table. Mr. Povey put both his hands in hispockets, got up, went to the window, whistled, and generallybehaved in a manner which foretold the worst.
At last Maggie vanished, shutting the door.
"What is it, Mr. Povey?"
"Oh!" said Mr. Povey, facing her with absurd nervous brusqueness,as though pretending: "Ah, yes! We have something to say--I wasforgetting!" Then he began: "It's about Constance and me."
Yes, they had evidently plotted this interview. Constance hadevidently taken herself off on purpose to leave Mr. Poveyunhampered. They were in league. The inevitable had come. Nosleep! No repose! Nothing but worry once more!
"I'm not at all satisfied with the present situation," said Mr.Povey, in a tone that corresponded to his words.
"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Povey," said Mrs. Baines stiffly.This was a simple lie.
"Well, really, Mrs. Baines!" Mr. Povey protested, "I suppose youwon't deny that you know there is something between me andConstance? I suppose you won't deny that?"
"What is there between you and Constance? I can assure you I--"
"That depends on you," Mr. Povey interrupted her. When he wasnervous his manners deteriorated into a behaviour that resembledrudeness. "That depends on you!" he repeated grimly.
"But--"
"Are we to be engaged or are we not?" pursued Mr. Povey, as thoughMrs. Baines had been guilty of some grave lapse and he wasdetermined not to spare her. "That's what I think ought to besettled, one way or the other. I wish to be perfectly open andaboveboard--in the future, as I have been in the past."
"But you have said nothing to me at all!" Mrs. Bainesremonstrated, lifting her eyebrows. The way in which the man hadsprung this matter upon her was truly too audacious.
Mr. Povey approached her as she sat at the table, shaking herringlets and looking at her hands.
"You know there's something between us!" he insisted.
"How should I know there is something between you? Constance hasnever said a word to me. And have you?"
"Well," said he. "We've hidden nothing."
"What is there between you and Constance? If I may ask!"
"That depends on you," said he again.
"Have you asked her to be your wife?"
"No. I haven't exactly asked her to be my wife." He hesitated."You see--"
Mrs. Baines collected her forces. "Have you kissed her?" This in acold voice.
Mr. Povey now blushed. "I haven't exactly kissed her," hestammered, apparently shocked by the inquisition. "No, I shouldnot say that I had kissed her."
It might have been that before committing himself he felt a desirefor Mrs. Baines's definition of a kiss.
"You are very extraordinary," she said loftily. It was no lessthan the truth.
"All I want to know is--have you got anything against me?" hedemanded roughly. "Because if so--"
"Anything against you, Mr. Povey? Why should I have anythingagainst you?"
She considered that he was bullying her. "That's anotherquestion," said she.
"Why can't we be engaged? Ain't I good enough?"
The fact was that he was not regarded as good enough. Mrs. Maddackhad certainly deemed that he was not good enough. He was a solidmass of excellent qualities; but he lacked brilliance, importance,dignity. He could not impose himself. Such had been the verdict.
And now, while Mrs. Baines was secretly reproaching Mr. Povey forhis inability to impose himself, he was most patently imposinghimself on her--and the phenomenon escaped her! She felt that hewas bullying her, but somehow she could not perceive his power.Yet the man who could bully Mrs. Baines was surely no common soul!
"You know my very high opinion of you," she said.
Mr. Povey pursued in a mollified tone. "Assuming that Constance iswilling to be engaged, do I understand you consent?"
"But Constance is too young."
"Constance is twenty. She is more than twenty."
"In any case you won't expect me to give you an answer now."
She did. From a practical point of view the match would be ideal:no fault could be found with it on that side. But Mrs. Bainescould not extinguish the idea that it would be a 'come-down' forher daughter. Who, after all, was Mr. Povey? Mr. Povey was nobody.
"I must think things over," she said firmly, putting her lipstogether. "I can't reply like this. It is a serious matter."
"When can I have your answer? To-morrow?"
"No--really--"
"In a week, then?"
"I cannot bind myself to a date," said Mrs. Baines, haughtily. Shefelt that she was gaining ground.
"Because I can't stay on here indefinitely as things are," Mr.Povey burst out, and there was a touch of hysteria in his tone.
"Now, Mr. Povey, please do be reasonable."
"That's all very well," he went on. "That's all very well. Butwhat I say is that employers have no right to have male assistantsin their houses unless they are prepared to let their daughtersmarry! That's what I say! No RIGHT!"
Mrs. Baines did not know what to answer.
The aspirant wound up: "I must leave if that's the case."
exactly asked her to be my wife." He ?
"If what's the case?" she asked herself. "What has come over him?"And aloud: "You know you would place me in a very awkward positionby leaving, and I hope you don't want to mix up two quitedifferent things. I hope you aren't trying to threaten me."
"Threaten you!" he cried. "Do you suppose I should leave here forfun? If I leave it will be because I can't stand it. That's all. Ican't stand it. I want Constance, and if I can't have her, then Ican't stand it. What do you think I'm made of?"
"I'm sure--" she began.
"That's all very well!" he almost shouted.
"But please let me speak,' she said quietly.
"All I say is I can't stand it. That's all. ... Employers have noright. ... We have our feelings like other men."
He was deeply moved. He might have appeared somewhat grotesque tothe strictly impartial observer of human nature. Nevertheless hewas deeply and genuinely moved, and possibly human nature couldhave shown nothing more human than Mr. Povey at the moment when,unable any longer to restrain the paroxysm which had sosurprisingly overtaken him, he fled from the parlour,passionately, to the retreat of his bedroom.
"That's the worst of those quiet calm ones," said Mrs. Baines toherself. "You never know if they won't give way. And when they do,it's awful--awful. ... What did I do, what did I say, to bring iton? Nothing! Nothing!"
And where was her afternoon sleep? What was going to happen to herdaughter? What could she say to Constance? How next could she meetMr. Povey? Ah! It needed a brave, indomitable woman not to cry outbrokenly: "I've suffered too much. Do anything you like; only letme die in peace!" And so saying, to let everything indifferentlyslide!