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A Cathedral Courtship-Part2_Kate Douglas Wiggin(1856-1923)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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sees him, and thus never recognizes him when he appears again,

always as the flower of chivalry and guardian of ladies in distress.



I will never again travel abroad without a man, even if I have to

hire one from a Feeble-Minded Asylum. We work like galley slaves,



aunt Celia and I, finding out about trains and things. Neither of

us can understand Bradshaw, and I can't even grapple with the lesser



intricacies of the A B C railway guide. The trains, so far as I can

see, always arrive before they go out, and I can never tell whether



to read up the page or down. It is certainly very queer that the

stupidest man that breathes, one that barely escapes idiocy, can



disentangle a railway guide, when the brightest woman fails. Even

the Boots at the inn in Wells took my book, and, rubbing his



frightfully dirty finger down the row of puzzling figures, found the

place in a minute, and said, "There ye are, miss." It is very



humiliating. All the time I have left from the study of routes and

hotels I spend on guide-books. Now I'm sure that if any one of the



men I know were here, he could tell me all that is necessary as we

walk along the streets. I don't say it in a frivolous or



sentimental spirit in the least, but I do affirm that there is

hardly any juncture in life where one isn't better off for having a



man about. I should never dare divulge this to aunt Celia, for she

doesn't think men very nice. She excludes them from conversation as



if they were indelicate subjects.

But, to go on, we were standing at the door of Ye Olde Bell and



Horns, at Bath, waiting for the fly which we had ordered to take us

to the station, when who should drive up in a four-wheeler but the



flower of chivalry. Aunt Celia was saying very audibly, "We shall

certainly miss the train if the man doesn't come at once."



"Pray take this fly," said the flower of chivalry. "I am not

leaving till the next train."



Aunt Celia got in without a murmur; I sneaked in after her. I don't

think she looked at him, though she did vouchsafe the remark that he



seemed to be a civil sort of person.

At Bristol, I was walking about by myself, and I espied a sign,



"Martha Huggins, Licensed Victualer." It was a nice, tidy little

shop, with a fire on the hearth and flowers in the window, and, as



it was raining smartly, I thought no one would catch me if I stepped

inside to chat with Martha. I fancied it would be so delightful and



Dickensy to talk quietly with a licensed victualer by the name of

Martha Huggins.



Just after I had settled myself, the flower of chivalry came in and

ordered ale. I was disconcerted at being found in a dramshop alone,



for I thought, after the bag episode, he might fancy us a family of

inebriates. But he didn't evince the slightest astonishment; he



merely lifted his hat, and walked out after he had finished his ale.

He certainly has the loveliest manners!



And so it goes on, and we never get any further. I like his

politeness and his evident feeling that I can't be flirted and



talked with like a forward boarding-school miss, but I must say I

don't think much of his ingenuity. Of course one can't have all the



virtues, but, if I were he, I would part with my distinguished air,

my charming ease, in fact almost anything, if I could have in



exchange a few grains of common sense, just enough to guide me in

the practical affairs of life.



I wonder what he is? He might be an artist, but he doesn't seem

quite like an artist; or a dilettante, but he doesn't seem in the



least like a dilettante. Or he might be an architect; I think that

is the most probable guess of all. Perhaps he is only "going to be"



one of these things, for he can't be more than twenty-five or

twenty-six. Still he looks as if he were something already; that



is, he has a kind of self-reliance in his mien,--not self-assertion,

nor self-esteem, but belief in self, as if he were able, and knew



that he was able, to conquer circumstances.

HE



GLOUCESTER, June 10

The Bell.



Nothing accomplished yet. Her aunt is a Van Tyck, and a stiff one,

too. I am a Copley, and that delays matters. Much depends upon the



manner of approach. A false move would be fatal. We have six more

towns (as per itinerary), and if their thirst for cathedrals isn't



slaked when these are finished we have the entire continent to do.

If I could only succeed in making an impression on the retina of



aunt Celia's eye! Though I have been under her feet for ten days,




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