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Penelope's Experiences in Scotland-Part27_Kate Douglas Wiggin(1856-1923)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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the orchestra."

"Francesca, look me in the eye! Do--you--love him?"



"Love him? I adore him!" she exclaimed in good clear decisive

English, as she rose impetuously and paced up and down in front of



the sofa. "But in the first place there is the difference in

nationality."



"I have no patience with you. One would think he was a Turk, an

Esquimau, or a cannibal. He is white, he speaks English, and he



believes in the Christian religion. The idea of calling such a man

a foreigner!"



"Oh, it didn't prevent me from loving him," she confessed, "but I

thought at first it would be unpatriotic to marry him."



"Did you think Columbia could not spare you even as a rare specimen

to be used for exhibition purposes?" I asked wickedly.



"You know I am not so conceited as that! No," she continued

ingenuously, "I feared that if I accepted him it would look, over



here, as if the home-supply of husbands were of inferior quality;

and then we had such disagreeable discussions at the beginning, I



simply could not bear to leave my nice new free country, and ally

myself with his aeons of tiresome history. But it came to me in the



night, a week ago, that after all I should hate a man who didn't

love his Fatherland; and in the illumination of that new idea



Ronald's character assumed a different outline in my mind. How

could he love America when he had never seen it? How could I



convince him that American women are the most charming in the world

in any better way than by letting him live under the same roof with



a good example? How could I expect him to let me love my country

best unless I permitted him to love his best?"



"You needn't offer so many apologies for your infatuation, my dear,"

I answered dryly.



"I am not apologising for it!" she exclaimed impulsively. "Oh, if

you could only keep it to yourself, I should like to tell you how I



trust and admire and reverence Ronald Macdonald, but of course you

will repeat everything to Willie Beresford within the hour! You



think he has gone on and on loving me against his better judgment.

You believe he has fought against it because of my unfitness, but



that I, poor, weak, trivial thing, am not capable of deep feeling

and that I shall never appreciate the sacrifices he makes in



choosing me! Very well, then, I tell you plainly that if I had to

live in a damp manse the rest of my life, drink tea and eat scones



for breakfast, and--and buy my hats of the Inchcaldy milliner, I

should still glory in the possibility of being Ronald Macdonald's



wife--a possibility hourly growing more uncertain, I am sorry to

say!"



"And the extreme aversion with which you began," I asked--"what has

become of that, and when did it begin to turn in the opposite



direction?"

"Aversion!" she cried, with convincing and unblushing candour.



"That aversion was a cover, clapped on to keep my self-respect warm.

I abused him a good deal, it is true, because it was so delightful



to hear you and

Salemina take his part. Sometimes I trembled for fear you would



agree with me, but you never did. The more I criticised him, the

louder you sang his praises--it was lovely! The fact is--we might



as well throw light upon the whole matter, and then never allude to

it again; and if you tell Willie Beresford, you shall never visit my



manse, nor see me preside at my mothers' meetings, nor hear me

address the infant class in the Sunday-school--the fact is, I liked



him from the beginning at Lady Baird's dinner. I liked the bow he

made when he offered me his arm (I wish it had been his hand); I



liked the top of his head when it was bowed; I liked his arm when I

took it; I liked the height of his shoulder when I stood beside it;



I liked the way he put me in my chair (that showed chivalry), and

unfolded his napkin (that was neat and business-like), and pushed



aside all his wine-glasses but one (that was temperate); I liked the

side view of his nose, the shape of his collar, the cleanness of his



shave, the manliness of his tone--oh, I liked him altogether, you

must know how it is, Penelope--the goodness and strength and



simplicity that radiated from him. And when he said, within the

first half-hour, that international alliances presented even more



difficulties to the imagination than others, I felt, to my

confusion, a distinct sense of disappointment. Even while I was



quarrelling with him, I said to myself, `Poor darling, you cannot

have him even if you should want him, so don't look at him much!'--






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