一双蓝眼睛 英文版 A Pair of Blue Eyes
托马斯.哈代 Thomas Hardy
Chapter VII Page 2
Behind the youth and maiden was a tempting alcove and seat, formednaturally in the beetling mass, and wide enough to admit two orthree persons. Elfride sat down, and Stephen sat beside her.
'I am afraid it is hardly proper of us to be here, either,' shesaid half inquiringly. 'We have not known each other long enoughfor this kind of thing, have we!'
'Oh yes,' he replied judicially; 'quite long enough.'
'How do you know?'
'It is not length of time, but the manner in which our minutesbeat, that makes enough or not enough in our acquaintanceship.'
'Yes, I see that. But I wish papa suspected or knew what a VERYNEW THING I am doing. He does not think of it at all.'
proposition--which would I save.
'Darling Elfie, I wish we could be married! It is wrong for me tosay it--I know it is--before you know more; but I wish we mightbe, all the same. Do you love me deeply, deeply?'
'No!' she said in a fluster.
At this point-blank denial, Stephen turned his face awaydecisively, and preserved an ominous silence; the only objects ofinterest on earth for him being apparently the three or four-scoresea-birds circling in the air afar off.
'I didn't mean to stop you quite,' she faltered with some alarm;and seeing that he still remained silent, she added moreanxiously, 'If you say that again, perhaps, I will not be quite--quite so obstinate--if--if you don't like me to be.'
'Oh, my Elfride!' he exclaimed, and kissed her.
It was Elfride's first kiss. And so awkward and unused was she;full of striving--no relenting. There was none of those apparentstruggles to get out of the trap which only results in gettingfurther in: no final attitude of receptivity: no easy close ofshoulder to shoulder, hand upon hand, face upon face, and, inspite of coyness, the lips in the right place at the suprememoment. That graceful though apparently accidental falling intoposition, which many have noticed as precipitating the end andmaking sweethearts the sweeter, was not here. Why? Becauseexperience was absent. A woman must have had many kisses beforeshe kisses well.
In fact, the art of tendering the lips for these amatory salutesfollows the principles laid down in treatises on legerdemain forperforming the trick called Forcing a Card. The card is to beshifted nimbly, withdrawn, edged under, and withal not to beoffered till the moment the unsuspecting person's hand reaches thepack; this forcing to be done so modestly and yet so coaxingly,that the person trifled with imagines he is really choosing whatis in fact thrust into his hand.
Well, there were no such facilities now; and Stephen was consciousof it--first with a momentary regret that his kiss should bespoilt by her confused receipt of it, and then with the pleasantperception that her awkwardness was her charm.
'And you do care for me and love me?' said he.
'Yes.'
'Very much?'
'Yes.'
'And I mustn't ask you if you'll wait for me, and be my wife someday?'
'Why not?' she said naively.
'There is a reason why, my Elfride.'
'Not any one that I know of.'
'Suppose there is something connected with me which makes italmost impossible for you to agree to be my wife, or for yourfather to countenance such an idea?'
'Nothing shall make me cease to love you: no blemish can be foundupon your personal nature. That is pure and generous, I know; andhaving that, how can I be cold to you?'
'And shall nothing else affect us--shall nothing beyond my naturebe a part of my quality in your eyes, Elfie?'
'Nothing whatever,' she said with a breath of relief. 'Is thatall? Some outside circumstance? What do I care?'
'You can hardly judge, dear, till you know what has to be judged.For that, we will stop till we get home. I believe in you, but Icannot feel bright.'
'Love is new, and fresh to us as the dew; and we are together. Asthe lover's world goes, this is a great deal. Stephen, I fancy Isee the difference between me and you--between men and womengenerally, perhaps. I am content to build happiness on anyaccidental basis that may lie near at hand; you are for making aworld to suit your happiness.'
'Elfride, you sometimes say things which make you seem suddenly tobecome five years older than you are, or than I am; and thatremark is one. I couldn't think so OLD as that, try how Imight....And no lover has ever kissed you before?'
'Never.'
'I knew that; you were so unused. You ride well, but you don'tkiss nicely at all; and I was told once, by my friend Knight, thatthat is an excellent fault in woman.'
'Now, come; I must mount again, or we shall not be home by dinner-time.' And they returned to where Pansy stood tethered. 'Insteadof entrusting my weight to a young man's unstable palm,' shecontinued gaily, 'I prefer a surer "upping-stock" (as thevillagers call it), in the form of a gate. There--now I am myselfagain.'
They proceeded homeward at the same walking pace.
Her blitheness won Stephen out of his thoughtfulness, and eachforgot everything but the tone of the moment.
'What did you love me for?' she said, after a long musing look ata flying bird.
'I don't know,' he replied idly.
'Oh yes, you do,' insisted Elfride.
'Perhaps, for your eyes.'
'What of them?--now, don't vex me by a light answer. What of myeyes?'
'Oh, nothing to be mentioned. They are indifferently good.'
'Come, Stephen, I won't have that. What did you love me for?'
'It might have been for your mouth?'
'Well, what about my mouth?'
'I thought it was a passable mouth enough----'
'That's not very comforting.'
'With a pretty pout and sweet lips; but actually, nothing morethan what everybody has.'
'Don't make up things out of your head as you go on, there's adear Stephen. Now--what--did--you--love--me--for?'
'Perhaps, 'twas for your neck and hair; though I am not sure: orfor your idle blood, that did nothing but wander away from yourcheeks and back again; but I am not sure. Or your hands and arms,that they eclipsed all other hands and arms; or your feet, thatthey played about under your dress like little mice; or yourtongue, that it was of a dear delicate tone. But I am notaltogether sure.'
'Ah, that's pretty to say; but I don't care for your love, if itmade a mere flat picture of me in that way, and not being sure,and such cold reasoning; but what you FELT I was, you know,Stephen' (at this a stealthy laugh and frisky look into his face),'when you said to yourself, "I'll certainly love that younglady."'
'I never said it.'
'When you said to yourself, then, "I never will love that younglady."'
'I didn't say that, either.'
'Then was it, "I suppose I must love that young lady?"'
'No.'
'What, then?'
''Twas much more fluctuating--not so definite.'
poor COURT OF KELLYON CASTLE.'been!
'Tell me; do, do.'
'It was that I ought not to think about you if I loved you truly.'
'Ah, that I don't understand. There's no getting it out of you.And I'll not ask you ever any more--never more--to say out of thedeep reality of your heart what you loved me for.'
'Sweet tantalizer, what's the use? It comes to this sole simplething: That at one time I had never seen you, and I didn't loveyou; that then I saw you, and I did love you. Is that enough?'
'Yes; I will make it do....I know, I think, what I love you for.You are nice-looking, of course; but I didn't mean for that. Itis because you are so docile and gentle.'
'Those are not quite the correct qualities for a man to be lovedfor,' said Stephen, in rather a dissatisfied tone of self-criticism. 'Well, never mind. I must ask your father to allow usto be engaged directly we get indoors. It will be for a longtime.'
'I like it the better....Stephen, don't mention it till to-morrow.'
'Why?'
'Because, if he should object--I don't think he will; but if heshould--we shall have a day longer of happiness from ourignorance....Well, what are you thinking of so deeply?'
'I was thinking how my dear friend Knight would enjoy this scene.I wish he could come here.'
Yes.'dinner-time.' And they.
'You seem very much engrossed with him,' she answered, with ajealous little toss. 'He must be an interesting man to take up somuch of your attention.'
'Interesting!' said Stephen, his face glowing with his fervour;'noble, you ought to say.'
'Oh yes, yes; I forgot,' she said half satirically. 'The noblestman in England, as you told us last night.'
'He is a fine fellow, laugh as you will, Miss Elfie.'
than Igive.'Twas much more fluctuating.
'He writes.'
'What does he write? I have never heard of his name.'
'Because his personality, and that of several others like him, isabsorbed into a huge WE, namely, the impalpable entity called thePRESENT--a social and literary Review.'
'Is he only a reviewer?'
'ONLY, Elfie! Why, I can tell you it is a fine thing to be on thestaff of the PRESENT. Finer than being a novelist considerably.'
'That's a hit at me, and my poor COURT OF KELLYON CASTLE.'
'No, Elfride,' he whispered; 'I didn't mean that. I mean that heis really a literary man of some eminence, and not altogether areviewer. He writes things of a higher class than reviews, thoughhe reviews a book occasionally. His ordinary productions aresocial and ethical essays--all that the PRESENT contains which isnot literary reviewing.'
'I admit he must be talented if he writes for the PRESENT. Wehave it sent to us irregularly. I want papa to be a subscriber,but he's so conservative. Now the next point in this Mr. Knight--I suppose he is a very good man.'
'An excellent man. I shall try to be his intimate friend someday.'
'But aren't you now?'
'No; not so much as that,' replied Stephen, as if such asupposition were extravagant. 'You see, it was in this way--hecame originally from the same place as I, and taught me things;but I am not intimate with him. Shan't I be glad when I getricher and better known, and hob and nob with him!' Stephen's eyessparkled.
A pout began to shape itself upon Elfride's soft lips. 'You thinkalways of him, and like him better than you do me!'
'No, indeed, Elfride. The feeling is different quite. But I dolike him, and he deserves even more affection from me than Igive.'
'You are not nice now, and you make me as jealous as possible!'she exclaimed perversely. 'I know you will never speak to anythird person of me so warmly as you do to me of him.'
'But you don't understand, Elfride,' he said with an anxiousmovement. 'You shall know him some day. He is so brilliant--no,it isn't exactly brilliant; so thoughtful--nor does thoughtfulexpress him--that it would charm you to talk to him. He's a mostdesirable friend, and that isn't half I could say.'
'I don't care how good he is; I don't want to know him, because hecomes between me and you. You think of him night and day, ever somuch more than of anybody else; and when you are thinking of him,I am shut out of your mind.'
'No, dear Elfride; I love you dearly.'
'And I don't like you to tell me so warmly about him when you arein the middle of loving me. Stephen, suppose that I and this manKnight of yours were both drowning, and you could only save one ofus----'
'Yes--the stupid old proposition--which would I save?
'Well, which? Not me.'
'Both of you,' he said, pressing her pendent hand.
'No, that won't do; only one of us.'
'I cannot say; I don't know. It is disagreeable--quite a horrididea to have to handle.'
'A-ha, I know. You would save him, and let me drown, drown,drown; and I don't care about your love!'
She had endeavoured to give a playful tone to her words, but thelatter speech was rather forced in its gaiety.
At this point in the discussion she trotted off to turn a cornerwhich was avoided by the footpath, the road and the path reunitingat a point a little further on. On again making her appearanceshe continually managed to look in a direction away from him, andleft him in the cool shade of her displeasure. Stephen was soonbeaten at this game of indifference. He went round and enteredthe range of her vision.
'Are you offended, Elfie? Why don't you talk?'
'Save me, then, and let that Mr. Clever of yours drown. I hatehim. Now, which would you?'
'Really, Elfride, you should not press such a hard question. Itis ridiculous.'
'Then I won't be alone with you any more. Unkind, to wound meso!' She laughed at her own absurdity but persisted.
'Come, Elfie, let's make it up and be friends.'
'Say you would save me, then, and let him drown.'
'I would save you--and him too.'
'And let him drown. Come, or you don't love me!' she teasinglywent on.
'And let him drown,' he ejaculated despairingly.
'There; now I am yours!' she said, and a woman's flush of triumphlit her eyes.
'Only one earring, miss, as I'm alive,' said Unity on theirentering the hall.
With a face expressive of wretched misgiving, Elfride's hand flewlike an arrow to her ear.
'There!' she exclaimed to Stephen, looking at him with eyes fullof reproach.
'I quite forgot, indeed. If I had only remembered!' he answered,with a conscience-stricken face.
She wheeled herself round, and turned into the shrubbery. Stephenfollowed.
'If you had told me to watch anything, Stephen, I should havereligiously done it,' she capriciously went on, as soon as sheheard him behind her.
'Forgetting is forgivable.'
'Well, you will find it, if you want me to respect you and beengaged to you when we have asked papa.' She considered a moment,and added more seriously, 'I know now where I dropped it, Stephen.It was on the cliff. I remember a faint sensation of some changeabout me, but I was too absent to think of it then. And that'swhere it is now, and you must go and look there.'
'I'll go at once.'
And he strode away up the valley, under a broiling sun and amidthe deathlike silence of early afternoon. He ascended, withgiddy-paced haste, the windy range of rocks to where they had sat,felt and peered about the stones and crannies, but Elfride's strayjewel was nowhere to be seen. Next Stephen slowly retraced hissteps, and, pausing at a cross-road to reflect a while, he leftthe plateau and struck downwards across some fields, in thedirection of Endelstow House.
He walked along the path by the river without the slightesthesitation as to its bearing, apparently quite familiar with everyinch of the ground. As the shadows began to lengthen and thesunlight to mellow, he passed through two wicket-gates, and drewnear the outskirts of Endelstow Park. The river now ran alongunder the park fence, previous to entering the grove itself, alittle further on.
Here stood a cottage, between the fence and the stream, on aslightly elevated spot of ground, round which the river took aturn. The characteristic feature of this snug habitation was itsone chimney in the gable end, its squareness of form disguised bya huge cloak of ivy, which had grown so luxuriantly and extendedso far from its base, as to increase the apparent bulk of thechimney to the dimensions of a tower. Some little distance fromthe back of the house rose the park boundary, and over this wereto be seen the sycamores of the grove, making slow inclinations tothe just-awakening air.
Stephen crossed the little wood bridge in front, went up to thecottage door, and opened it without knock or signal of any kind.
would charm you to talk?
Exclamations of welcome burst from some person or persons when thedoor was thrust ajar, followed by the scrape of chairs on a stonefloor, as if pushed back by their occupiers in rising from atable. The door was closed again, and nothing could now be heardfrom within, save a lively chatter and the rattle of plates.