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The Wheels of Chance-Part17_H. G. WELLS (1866-1946)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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come to think of it."

"Nonsense. If Mr. Bechamel troubles you--I will tell the whole



world--if need be."

"I believe you would," said Mr. Hoopdriver, admiring her. "You're



plucky enough--goodness knows."

Discovering suddenly that she was standing, he, too, rose and



picked up her machine. She took it and wheeled it into the road.

Then he took his own. He paused, regarding it. "I say!"said he.



"How'd this bike look, now, if it was enamelled grey?" She looked

over her shoulder at his grave face. "Why try and hide it in that



way?"

"It was jest a passing thought," said Mr. Hoopdriver, airily.



"Didn't MEAN anything, you know."

As they were riding on to Havant it occurred to Mr. Hoopdriver in



a transitory manner that the interview had been quite other than

his expectation. But that was the way with everything in Mr.



Hoopdriver's experience. And though his Wisdom looked grave

within him, and Caution was chinking coins, and an ancient



prejudice in favour of Property shook her head, something else

was there too, shouting in his mind to drown all these saner



considerations, the intoxicating thought of riding beside Her all

to-day, all to-morrow, perhaps for other days after that. Of



talking to her familiarly, being brother of all her slender

strength and freshness, of having a golden, real, and wonderful



time beyond all his imaginings. His old familiar fancyings gave

place to anticipations as impalpable and fluctuating and



beautiful as the sunset of a summer day.

At Havant he took an opportunity to purchase, at small



hairdresser's in the main street, a toothbrush,pair of nail

scissors, and a little bottle of stuff to darken the moustache,



an article the shopman introduced to his attention, recommended

highly, and sold in the excitement of the occasion.



THE UNEXPECTED ANECDOTE OF THE LION

XXIX



They rode on to Cosham and lunched lightly but expensively there.

Jessie went out and posted her letter to her school friend. Then



the green height of Portsdown Hill tempted them, and leaving

their machines in the village they clambered up the slope to the



silent red-brick fort that crowned it. Thence they had a view of

Portsmouth and its cluster of sister towns, the crowded narrows



of the harbour, the Solent and the Isle of Wight like a blue

cloud through the hot haze. Jessie by some miracle had become a



skirted woman in the Cosham inn. Mr. Hoopdriver lounged

gracefully on the turf, smoked a Red Herring cigarette, and



lazily regarded the fortified towns that spread like a map away

there, the inner line of defence like toy fortifications, a mile



off perhaps ; and beyond that a few little fields and then the

beginnings of Landport suburb and the smoky cluster of the



multitudinous houses. To the right at the head of the harbour

shallows the town of Porchester rose among the trees. Mr.



Hoopdriver's anxiety receded to some remote corner of his brain

and that florid half-voluntary imagination of his shared the



stage with the image of Jessie. He began to speculate on the

impression he was creating. He took stock of his suit in a more



optimistic spirit, and reviewed, with some complacency, his

actions for the last four and twenty hours. Then he was dashed at



the thought of her infinite perfections.

She had been observing him quietly, rather more closely during



the last hour or so. She did not look at him directly because he

seemed always looking at her. Her own troubles had quieted down a



little, and her curiosity about the chivalrous, worshipping, but

singular gentleman in brown, was awakening. She had recalled,



too, the curious incident of their first encounter. She found him

hard to explain to herself. You must understand that her



knowledge of the world was rather less than nothing, having been

obtained entirely from books. You must not take a certain



ignorance for foolishness.

She had begun with a few experiments. He did not know French



except 'sivver play,' a phrase he seemed to regard as a very good

light table joke in itself. His English was uncertain, but not



such as books informed her distinguished the lower classes. His

manners seemed to her good on the whole, but a trifle






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