the egoist-第34部分
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will deny that you are ageing； they will cover you from scandal；
they will refuse to see you ridiculous。 Sir Willoughby's
instinct； or skin； or outfloating feelers； told him of these
mysteries of the influence of the sex； he had as little need to
study them as a lady breathed on。
He had some need to know them in fact； and with him the need of a
protection for himself called it forth； he was intuitively a
conjurer in self…defence； long…sighted； wanting no directions to
the herb he was to suck at when fighting a serpent。 His dulness of
vision into the heart of his enemy was compensated by the agile
sensitiveness obscuring but rendering him miraculously active；
and； without supposing his need immediate； he deemed it politic to
fascinate Mrs。 Mountstuart and anticipate ghastly possibilities in
the future by dropping a hint； not of Clara's fickleness； you may
he sure； of his own； rather； or； more justly； of an altered view of
Clara's character。 He touched on the rogue in porcelain。
Set gently laughing by his relishing humour。 〃I get nearer to it；〃
he said。
〃Remember I'm in love with her；〃 said Mrs。 Mountstuart。
〃That is our penalty。〃
〃A pleasant one for you。〃
He assented。 〃Is the 'rogue' to be eliminated？〃
〃Ask when she's a mother； my dear Sir Willoughby。〃
〃This is how I read you：〃
〃I shall accept any interpretation that is complimentary。〃
〃Not one will satisfy me of being sufficiently so。 and so I leave
it to the character to fill out the epigram。〃
〃Do。 what hurry is there？ And don't be misled by your objection to
rogue； which would be reasonable if you had not secured her。〃
The door of a hollow chamber of horrible reverberation was opened
within him by this remark。
He tried to say in jest； that it was not always a passionate
admiration that held the rogue fast； but he muddled it in the
thick of his conscious thunder； and Mrs。 Mountstuart smiled to see
him shot from the smooth…flowing dialogue into the cataracts by
one simple reminder to the lover of his luck。 Necessarily； after
a fall； the pitch of their conversation relaxed。
〃Miss Dale is looking well；〃 he said。
〃Fairly： she ought to marry；〃 said Mrs。 Mountstuart。
He shook his head。 〃Persuade her。〃
She nodded。 〃Example may have some effect。〃
He looked extremely abstracted。 〃Yes； it is time。 Where is the man
you could recommend for her complement？ She has now what was
missing before； a ripe intelligence in addition to her happy
dispositionromantic； you would say。 I can't think women the
worse for that。〃
〃A dash of it。〃
〃She calls it 'leafage'。〃
〃Very pretty。 And have you relented about your horse Achmet？〃
〃I don't sell him under four hundred。〃
〃Poor Johnny Busshe！ You forget that his wife doles him out his
money。 You're a hard bargainer； Sir Willoughby。〃
〃I mean the price to be prohibitive。〃
〃Very well； and 'leafage' is good for hide…and…seek； especially
when there is no rogue in ambush。 And that's the worst I can say of
Laetitia Dale。 An exaggerated devotion is the scandal of our sex。
They say you're the hardest man of business in the county too；
and I can believe it； for at home and abroad your aim is to get
the best of everybody。 You see I've no leafage； I am perfectly
matter…of…fact； bald。〃
〃Nevertheless； my dear Mrs。 Mountstuart； I can assure you
that conversing with you has much the same exhilarating effect on
me as conversing with Miss Dale。〃
〃But； leafage！ leafage！ You hard bargainers have no compassion for
devoted spinsters。〃
〃I tell you my sentiments absolutely。〃
〃And you have mine moderately expressed。〃
She recollected the purpose of her morning's visit； which was to
engage Dr。 Middleton to dine with her； and Sir Willoughby conducted
her to the library…door。 〃Insist；〃 he said。
Awaiting her reappearance； the refreshment of the talk he had
sustained； not without point； assisted him to distinguish in its
complete abhorrent orb the offence committed against him by his
bride。 And this he did through projecting it more and more away
from him； so that in the outer distance it involved his personal
emotions less； while observation was enabled to compass its
vastness； and； as it were； perceive the whole spherical mass of
the wretched girl's guilt impudently turning on its axis。
Thus to detach an injury done to us； and plant it in space； for
mathematical measurement of its weight and bulk； is an art； it may
also be an instinct of self…preservation； otherwise； as when
mountains crumble adjacent villages are crushed； men of feeling
may at any moment be killed outright by the iniquitous and the
callous。 But； as an art； it should be known to those who are for
practising an art so beneficent； that circumstances must lend
their aid。 Sir Willoughby's instinct even had sat dull and crushed
before his conversation with Mrs。 Mountstuart。 She lifted him to
one of his ideals of himself。 Among gentlemen he was the English
gentleman； with ladies his aim was the Gallican courtier of any
period from Louis Treize to Louis Quinze。 He could doat on those
who led him to talk in that characterbacked by English
solidity； you understand。 Roast beef stood eminent behind the
souffle and champagne。 An English squire excelling his fellows at
hazardous leaps in public； he was additionally a polished
whisperer； a lively dialoguer； one for witty bouts； with something
in himcapacity for a drive and dig or twobeyond mere wit； as
they soon learned who called up his reserves； and had a bosom for
pinking。 So much for his ideal of himself。 Now； Clara not only
never evoked； never responded to it； she repelled it； there was no
flourishing of it near her。 He considerately overlooked these
facts in his ordinary calculations； he was a man of honour and she
was a girl of beauty； but the accidental blooming of his ideal；
with Mrs。 Mountstuart； on the very heels of Clara's offence；
restored him to full command of his art of detachment； and he
thrust her out； quite apart from himself； to contemplate her
disgraceful revolutions。
Deeply read in the Book of Egoism that he was； he knew the wisdom
of the sentence： An injured pride that strikes not out will strike
home。 What was he to strike with？ Ten years younger； Laetitia
might have been the instrument。 To think of her now was
preposterous。 Beside Clara she had the hue of Winter under the
springing bough。 He tossed her away； vexed to the very soul by an
ostentatious decay that shrank from comparison with the blooming
creature he had to scourge in self…defence； by some agency or
other。
Mrs。 Mountstuart was on the step of her carriage when the silken
parasols of the young ladies were descried on a slope of the park；
where the yellow green of May…clothed beeches flowed over the
brown ground of last year's leaves。
〃Who's the cavalier？〃 she inquired。
A gentleman escorted them。
〃Vernon？ No！ he's pegging at Crossjay；〃 quoth Willoughby。
Vernon and Crossjay came out for the boy's half…hour's run before
his dinner。 Crossjay spied Miss Middleton and was off to meet her
at a bound。 Vernon followed him leisurely。
〃The rogue has no cousin； has she？〃 said Mrs。 Mountstuart。
〃It's a family of one son or one daughter for generations；〃
replied Willoughby。
〃And Letty Dale？〃
〃Cousin！〃 he exclaimed； as if wealth had been imputed to Miss
Dale； adding： 〃No male cousin。〃
A railway station fly drove out of the avenue on the circle to the
hall…entrance。 Flitch was driver。 He had no right to be there； he
was doing wrong； but he was doing it under cover of an office； to
support his wife and young ones； and his deprecating touches of
the hat spoke of these apologies to his former master with
dog…like pathos。
Sir Willoughby beckoned to him to approach。
〃So you are here；〃 he said。 〃You have luggage。〃
Flitch jumped from the box and read one of the labels aloud：
〃Lieutenant…Colonel H。 De Craye。〃
〃And the colonel met the ladies？ Overtook them？〃
Here seemed to come dismal matter for Flitch to relate。
He began upon the abstract origin of it： he had lost his place in
Sir Willoughby's establishment； and was obliged to look about for
work where it was to be got； and though he knew he had no right to
be where he was； he hoped to be forgiven because of the mouths he
had to feed as a flyman attached to the railway station； where
this gentleman； the colonel； hired him； and he believed Sir
Willoughby would excuse him for driving a friend； which the
colonel was； he recollected well； and the colonel recollected him；
and he said； not noticing how he was rigged： 〃What！ Flitch！ back
in your old place？ Am I expected？〃 and he told the colonel his
unfortunate situation。 〃Not back； colonel； no such luck for me〃
and Colonel De Craye was a very kind…hearted gentleman； as he
always had been； and asked kindly after his family。 And it might
be that such poor work as he was doing now he might be deprived
of； such is misfortune when it once harpoons a man； you may dive；
and you may fly； but it sticks in you； once do a foolish thing。
〃May I humbly beg of you； if you'll be so good； Sir Willoughby；〃
said Flitch； passing to evidence of the sad mishap。 He opened the
door of the fly； displaying fragments of broken porcelain。
〃But； what； what！ what's the story of this？〃 cried Sir Willoughby。
〃What is it？〃 said Mrs。 Mountstuart； pricking up her ears。
〃It was a vaws；〃 Flitch replied in elegy。
〃A porcelain vase！〃 interpreted Sir Willoughby。
〃China！〃 Mrs。 Mountstuart faintly shrieked。
One of the pieces was handed to her inspection。
She held it close； she held it distant。 She sighed horribly。
〃The man had better have hanged himself；〃 said she。
Flitch bestirred his misfortune…sodden features and members for a
continuation of the doleful narrative。
〃How did this occur？〃 Sir Willoughby peremptorily asked him。
Flitch appealed to his former master for testimony that he was a
good and a careful driver。
Sir Willoughby thundered： 〃I tell you to tell me how this
occurred。〃
〃Not a drop； my lady！ not since my supper last night； if there's
any truth in me！〃 Flitch implored succour of Mrs Mountstuart。
〃Drive straight；〃 she said； and braced him。
His narrative was then dire
