the egoist-第14部分

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〃I　am　thinking　of　the　world　that　contains　real　and　great
generosity；　true　heroism。　We　see　it　round　us。〃

〃We　read　of　it。　The　world　of　the　romance　writer！〃

〃No：　the　living　world。　I　am　sure　it　is　our　duty　to　love　it。　I　am
sure　we　weaken　ourselves　if　we　do　not。　If　I　did　not；　I　should　be
looking　on　mist；　hearing　a　perpetual　boom　instead　of　music。　I
remember　hearing　Mr。　Whitford　say　that　cynicism　is　intellectual
dandyism　without　the　coxcomb's　feathers；　and　it　seems　to　me　that
cynics　are　only　happy　in　making　the　world　as　barren　to　others　as
they　have　made　it　for　themselves。〃

〃Old　Vernon！〃　ejaculated　Sir　Willoughby；　with　a　countenance　
rather　uneasy；　as　if　it　had　been　flicked　with　a　glove。　〃He
strings　his　phrases　by　the　dozen。〃

〃Papa　contradicts　that；　and　says　he　is　very　clever　and　very
simple。〃

〃As　to　cynics；　my　dear　Clara；　oh；　certainly；　certainly：　you　are
right。　They　are　laughable；　contemptible。　But　understand　me。　I
mean；　we　cannot　feel；　or　if　we　feel　we　cannot　so　intensely　feel；
our　oneness；　except　by　dividing　ourselves　from　the　world。〃

〃Is　it　an　art？〃

〃If　you　like。　It　is　our　poetry！　But　does　not　love　shun　the　world？
Two　that　love　must　have　their　sustenance　in　isolation。〃

〃No：　they　will　be　eating　themselves　up。〃

〃The　purer　the　beauty；　the　more　it　will　be　out　of　the　world。〃

〃But　not　opposed。〃

〃Put　it　in　this　way；〃　Willoughby　condescended。　〃Has　experience　
the　same　opinion　of　the　world　as　ignorance？〃

〃It　should　have　more　charity。〃

〃Does　virtue　feel　at　home　in　the　world？〃

〃Where　it　should　be　an　example；　to　my　idea。〃

〃Is　the　world　agreeable　to　holiness？〃

〃Then；　are　you　in　favour　of　monasteries？〃

He　poured　a　little　runlet　of　half　laughter　over　her　head；　of　the
sound　assumed　by　genial　compassion。

It　is　irritating　to　hear　that　when　we　imagine　we　have　spoken　to
the　point。

〃Now　in　my　letters；　Clara　。　。　。〃

〃I　have　no　memory；　Willoughby！〃

〃You　will；　however；　have　observed　that　I　am　not　completely　
myself　in　my　letters　。　。　。〃

〃In　your　letters　to　men　you　may　be。〃

The　remark　threw　a　pause　across　his　thoughts。　He　was　of　a
sensitiveness　terribly　tender。　A　single　stroke　on　it　reverberated　
swellingly　within　the　man；　and　most；　and　infuriately　searching；　at
the　spots　where　he　had　been　wounded；　especially　where　he　feared
the　world　might　have　guessed　the　wound。　Did　she　imply　that　he　had
no　hand　for　love…letters？　Was　it　her　meaning　that　women　would　not
have　much　taste　for　his　epistolary　correspondence？　She　had　spoken
in　the　plural；　with　an　accent　on　〃men〃。　Had　she　heard　of
Constantia？　Had　she　formed　her　own　judgement　about　the　creature？
The　supernatural　sensitiveness　of　Sir　Willoughby　shrieked　a　peal
of　affirmatives。　He　had　often　meditated　on　the　moral　obligation　of
his　unfolding　to　Clara　the　whole　truth　of　his　conduct　to
Constantia；　for　whom；　as　for　other　suicides；　there　were　excuses。
He　at　least　was　bound　to　supply　them。　She　had　behaved　badly；　but
had　he　not　given　her　some　cause？　If　so；　manliness　was　bound　to
confess　it。

Supposing　Clara　heard　the　world's　version　first！　Men　whose　pride
is　their　backbone　suffer　convulsions　where　other　men　are　barely
aware　of　a　shock；　and　Sir　Willoughby　was　taken　with　galvanic
jumpings　of　the　spirit　within　him；　at　the　idea　of　the　world
whispering　to　Clara　that　he　had　been　jilted。

〃My　letters　to　men；　you　say；　my　love？〃

〃Your　letters　of　business。〃

〃Completely　myself　in　my　letters　of　business？〃　He　stared　indeed。

She　relaxed　the　tension　of　his　figure　by　remarking：　〃You　are　able
to　express　yourself　to　men　as　your　meaning　dictates。　In　writing
to　。。。　to　us　it　is；　I　suppose；　more　difficult。〃

〃True；　my　love。　I　will　not　exactly　say　difficult。　I　can
acknowledge　no　difficulty。　Language；　I　should　say；　is　not　fitted
to　express　emotion。　Passion　rejects　it。〃

〃For　dumb…show　and　pantomime？〃

〃No；　but　the　writing　of　it　coldly。〃

〃Ah；　coldly！〃

〃My　letters　disappoint　you？〃

〃I　have　not　implied　that　they　do。〃

〃My　feelings；　dearest；　are　too　strong　for　transcription。　I　feel；
pen　in　hand；　like　the　mythological　Titan　at　war　with　Jove；　strong
enough　to　hurl　mountains；　and　finding　nothing　but　pebbles。　The
simile　is　a　good　one。　You　must　not　judge　of　me　by　my　letters。〃

〃I　do　not；　I　like　them；〃　said　Clara。

She　blushed；　eyed　him　hurriedly；　and　seeing　him　complacent；　
resumed；　〃I　prefer　the　pebble　to　the　mountain；　but　if　you　read
poetry　you　would　not　think　human　speech　incapable　of。　。　。〃

〃My　love；　I　detest　artifice。　Poetry　is　a　profession。〃

〃Our　poets　would　prove　to　you　。　。　。〃

〃As　I　have　often　observed；　Clara；　I　am　no　poet。〃

〃I　have　not　accused　you；　Willoughby：

〃No　poet；　and　with　no　wish　to　be　a　poet。　Were　I　one；　my　life　would
supply　material；　I　can　assure　you；　my　love。　My　conscience　is　not
entirely　at　rest。　Perhaps　the　heaviest　matter　troubling　it　is　that
in　which　I　was　least　wilfully　guilty。　You　have　heard　of　a　Miss
Durham？〃

〃I　have　heardyesof　her。〃

〃She　may　be　happy。　I　trust　she　is。　If　she　is　not；　I　cannot　escape
some　blame。　An　instance　of　the　difference　between　myself　and　the
world；　now。　The　world　charges　it　upon　her。　I　have　interceded　to
exonerate　her。〃

〃That　was　generous；　Willoughby。〃

〃Stay。　I　fear　I　was　the　primary　offender。　But　I；　Clara；　I；　under
a　sense　of　honour；　acting　under　a　sense　of　honour；　would　have
carried　my　engagement　through。〃

〃What　had　you　done？〃

〃The　story　is　long；　dating　from　an　early　day；　in　the　'downy
antiquity　of　my　youth'；　as　Vernon　says。〃

〃Mr。　Whitford　says　that？〃

〃One　of　old　Vernon's　odd　sayings。　It's　a　story　of　an　early
fascination。〃

〃Papa　tells　me　Mr。　Whitford　speaks　at　times　with　wise
humour。〃

〃Family　considerationsthe　lady's　health　among　other　things；　her
position　in　the　calculations　of　relativesintervened。　Still
there　was　the　fascination。　I　have　to　own　it。　Grounds　for　feminine
jealousy。〃

〃Is　it　at　an　end？〃

〃Now？　with　you？　my　darling　Clara！　indeed　at　an　end；　or　could　I
have　opened　my　inmost　heart　to　you！　Could　I　have　spoken　of　myself
so　unreservedly　that　in　part　you　know　me　as　I　know　myself！　Oh；　but
would　it　have　been　possible　to　enclose　you　with　myself　in　that
intimate　union？　so　secret；　unassailable！〃

〃You　did　not　speak　to　her　as　you　speak　to　me？〃

〃In　no　degree。〃

〃What　could　have！　。　。　。〃　Clara　checked　the　murmured　exclamation。

Sir　Willoughby's　expoundings　on　his　latest　of　texts　would　have
poured　forth；　had　not　a　footman　stepped　across　the　lawn　to　inform
him　that　his　builder　was　in　the　laboratory　and　requested　
permission　to　consult　with　him。

Clara's　plea　of　a　horror　of　the　talk　of　bricks　and　joists　excused　
her　from　accompanying　him。　He　had　hardly　been　satisfied　by　her
manner；　he　knew　not　why。　He　left　her；　convinced　that　he　must　do
and　say　more　to　reach　down　to　her　female　intelligence。

She　saw　young　Crossjay；　springing　with　pots　of　jam　in　him；　join
his　patron　at　a　bound；　and　taking　a　lift　of　arms；　fly　aloft；
clapping　heels。　Her　reflections　were　confused。　Sir　Willoughby　was
admirable　with　the　lad。　〃Is　he　two　men？〃　she　thought；　and　the
thought　ensued；　〃Am　I　unjust？〃　She　headed　a　run　with　young
Crossjay　to　divert　her　mind。



CHAPTER　VIII

A　Run　with　the　Truant；　a　Walk　with　the　Master

The　sight　of　Miss　Middleton　running　inflamed　young　Crossjay　with
the　passion　of　the　game　of　hare　and　hounds。　He　shouted　a
view…halloo；　and　flung　up　his　legs。　She　was　fleet；　she　ran　as
though　a　hundred　little　feet　were　bearing　her　onward　smooth　as
water　over　the　lawn　and　the　sweeps　of　grass　of　the　park；　so
swifily　did　the　hidden　pair　multiply　one　another　to　speed　her。　So
sweet　was　she　in　her　flowing　pace；　that　the　boy；　as　became　his
age；　translated　admiration　into　a　dogged　frenzy　of　pursuit；　and
continued　pounding　along；　when　far　outstripped；　determined　to　run
her　down　or　die。　Suddenly　her　flight　wound　to　an　end　in　a　dozen
twittering　steps；　and　she　sank。　Young　Crossjay　attained　her；
with　just　breath　enough　to　say：　〃You　are　a　runner！〃

〃I　forgot　you　had　been　having　your　tea；　my　poor　boy；〃　said　she。

〃And　you　don't　pant　a　bit！〃　was　his　encomium。

〃Dear　me；　no；　not　more　than　a　bird。　You　might　as　well　try　to　catch
a　bird。〃

Young　Crossjay　gave　a　knowing　nod。　〃Wait　till　I　get　my　second
wind。〃

〃Now　you　must　confess　that　girls　run　faster　than　boys。〃

〃They　may　at　the　start。〃

〃They　do　everything　better。〃

〃They're　flash…in…the…pans。〃

〃They　learn　their　lessons。〃

〃You　can't　make　soldiers　or　sailors　of　them；　though。〃

〃And　that　is　untrue。　Have　you　never　read　of　Mary　Ambree？　and
Mistress　Hannah　Snell　of　Pondicherry？　And　there　was　the　bride　of
the　celebrated　William　Taylor。　And　what　do　you　say　to　Joan　of
Arc？　What　do　you　say　to　Boadicea？　I　suppose　you　have　never　heard
of　the　Amazons。〃

〃They　weren't　English。〃

〃Then　it　is　your　own　countrywomen　you　decry；　sir！〃

Young　Crossjay　betrayed　anxiety　about　his　false　position；　and
begged　for　the　stories　of　Mary　Ambree　and　the　others　who　were
English。

〃See；　you　will　not　read　for　yourself；　you　hide　and　play　truant
with　Mr。　Whitford；　and　the　consequence　is　you　are　ignorant　of　your
country's　history。〃　

Miss　Middleton　rebuked　him；　enjoying　his　wriggle　between　a
perception　of　her　fun　and　an　acknowledgment　of　his　peccancy。　She
commanded　him　to　tell　her　which　was　the　glorious　Valentine's　day
of　our　naval　annals；　the　name　of　the　hero　of　the　day；　and　the　name
of　his　ship。　To　these　questions　his　answers　were　as　ready　as　the
guns　of　the　good　ship　Captain；　for　the　Spanish　four…decker。

〃And　that　you　owe　to　Mr。　Whitford；〃　said　Miss　Middleton。

〃He　bought　me　the　books；〃　young　Crossjay　growled；　and　plucked　at
grass　blades　and　bit　thern；　foreseeing　dimly　but　certainly　the
termination　of　all　this。

Miss　Middleton　lay　back　on　the　grass　and　said：　〃Are　you　going　to
be　fond　of　me；　Crossjay？〃

The　boy　sat　blinking。　His　desire　was　to　prove　to　her　that　lie　was
immoderately　fond　of　her　already；　and　he　might　have　flown　at　her
neck　had　she　been　sitting　up；　but　her　recumbency　and　eyelids　half
closed　excited　wonder　in　him　and　awe。　His　young　heart　beat　fast。

〃Because；　my　dear　boy；〃　she　said；　leaning　on　her　elbow；　〃you　are　a
very　nice　boy；　but　an　ungrateful　boy；　and　there　is　no　telling
whether　you　will　not　punish　any　one