章节正文
by a low, grated door; or even of having their lamp,
their only lamp, extinguished by a sudden gust of wind,
and of being left in total darkness. In the meanwhile,
they proceeded on their journey without any mischance,
and were within view of the town of Keynsham, when a halloo
from Morland, who was behind them, made his friend pull up,
to know what was the matter. The others then came close
enough for conversation, and Morland said, "We had
better go back, Thorpe; it is too late to go on today;
your sister thinks so as well as I. We have been exactly
an hour coming from Pulteney Street, very little more
than seven miles; and, I suppose, we have at least eight
more to go. It will never do. We set out a great deal
too late. We had much better put it off till another day,
and turn round."
"It is all one to me," replied Thorpe rather angrily;
and instantly turning his horse, they were on their way
back to Bath.
"If your brother had not got such a d-- beast to drive,"
said he soon afterwards, "we might have done it very well.
My horse would have trotted to Clifton within the hour,
if left to himself, and I have almost broke my arm with
pulling him in to that cursed broken-winded jade's pace.
Morland is a fool for not keeping a horse and gig of
his own."
"No, he is not," said Catherine warmly, "for I am
sure he could not afford it."
"And why cannot he afford it?"
"Because he has not money enough."
"And whose fault is that?"
"Nobody's, that I know of." Thorpe then said something
in the loud, incoherent way to which he had often recourse,
about its being a d-- thing to be miserly; and that if
people who rolled in money could not afford things,
he did not know who could, which Catherine did not even
endeavour to understand. Disappointed of what was to
have been the consolation for her first disappointment,
she was less and less disposed either to be agreeable
herself or to find her companion so; and they returned
to Pulteney Street without her speaking twenty words.
As she entered the house, the footman told her that a
gentleman and lady had catted and inquired for her a few
minutes after her setting off; that, when he told them she
was gone out with Mr. Thorpe, the lady had asked whether
any message had been left for her; and on his saying no,
had felt for a card, but said she had none about her,
and went away. Pondering over these heart-rending tidings,
Catherine walked slowly upstairs. At the head of them
she was met by Mr. Allen, who, on hearing the reason
of their speedy return, said, "I am glad your brother
had so much sense; I am glad you are come back.
It was a strange, wild scheme."
They all spent the evening together at Thorpe's.
Catherine was disturbed and out of spirits; but Isabella
seemed to find a pool of commerce, in the fate of
which she shared, by private partnership with Morland,
a very good equivalent for the quiet and country air
of an inn at Clifton. Her satisfaction, too, in not
being at the Lower Rooms was spoken more than once.
"How I pity the poor creatures that are going there! How
glad I am that I am not amongst them! I wonder whether
it will be a full ball or not! They have not begun
dancing yet. I would not be there for all the world.
It is so delightful to have an evening now and then
to oneself. I dare say it will not be a very good ball.
I know the Mitchells will not be there. I am sure I
pity everybody that is. But I dare say, Mr. Morland,
you long to be at it, do not you? I am sure you do.
Well, pray do not let anybody here be a restraint on you.
I dare say we could do very well without you; but you men
think yourselves of such consequence."
Catherine could almost have accused Isabella of being
wanting in tenderness towards herself and her sorrows,
so very little did they appear to dwell on her mind,
and so very inadequate was the comfort she offered.
"Do not be so dull, my dearest creature," she whispered.
"You will quite break my heart. It was amazingly" target="_blank" title="ad.惊人地；惊奇地">amazingly shocking,
to be sure; but the Tilneys were entirely to blame.
Why were not they more punctual? It was dirty, indeed,
but what did that signify? I am sure John and I should
not have minded it. I never mind going through anything,
where a friend is concerned; that is my disposition,
and John is just the same; he has amazing strong feelings.
Good heavens! What a delightful hand you have got! Kings,
I vow! I never was so happy in my life! I would fifty times
rather you should have them than myself."
And now I may dismiss my heroine to the
sleepless couch, which is the true heroine's portion;
to a pillow strewed with thorns and wet with tears.
And lucky may she think herself, if she get another
good night's rest in the course of the next three months.
CHAPTER 12
"Mrs. Allen," said Catherine the next morning,
"will there be any harm in my calling on Miss Tilney today?
I shall not be easy till I have explained everything."
"Go, by all means, my dear; only put on a white gown;
Miss Tilney always wears white."
Catherine cheerfully complied, and being properly equipped,
was more impatient than ever to be at the pump-room,
that she might inform herself of General Tilneys lodgings,
for though she believed they were in Milsom Street,
she was not certain of the house, and Mrs. Allen's wavering
convictions only made it more doubtful. To Milsom Street she
was directed, and having made herself perfect in the number,
hastened away with eager steps and a beating heart
to pay her visit, explain her conduct, and be forgiven;
tripping lightly through the church-yard, and resolutely
turning away her eyes, that she might not be obliged to see
her beloved Isabella and her dear family, who, she had
reason to believe, were in a shop hard by. She reached
the house without any impediment, looked at the number,
knocked at the door, and inquired for Miss Tilney.
The man believed Miss Tilney to be at home, but was not
quite certain. Would she be pleased to send up her name?
She gave her card. In a few minutes the servant returned,
and with a look which did not quite confirm his words,
said he had been mistaken, for that Miss Tilney was
walked out. Catherine, with a blush of mortification,
left the house. She felt almost persuaded that Miss
Tilney was at home, and too much offended to admit her;
and as she retired down the street, could not withhold
one glance at the drawing-room windows, in expectation
of seeing her there, but no one appeared at them.
At the bottom of the street, however, she looked back again,
and then, not at a window, but issuing from the door,
she saw Miss Tilney herself. She was followed by
a gentleman, whom Catherine believed to be her father,
and they turned up towards Edgar's Buildings.
Catherine, in deep mortification, proceeded on her way.
She could almost be angry herself at such angry incivility;
but she checked the resentful sensation; she remembered
her own ignorance. She knew not how such an offence as hers
might be classed by the laws of worldlypoliteness, to what
a degree of unforgivingness it might with propriety lead,
nor to what rigours of rudeness in return it might justly
make her amenable.
Dejected and humbled, she had even some thoughts of not
going with the others to the theatre that night; but it
must be confessed that they were not of long continuance,
for she soon recollected, in the first place, that she was
without any excuse for staying at home; and, in the second,
that it was a play she wanted very much to see.
To the theatre accordingly they all went; no Tilneys
appeared to plague or please her; she feared that,
amongst the many perfections of the family, a fondness
for plays was not to be ranked; but perhaps it was because
they were habituated to the finer performances of the
London stage, which she knew, on Isabella's authority,
rendered everything else of the kind "quite horrid."
She was not deceived in her own expectation of pleasure;
the comedy so well suspended her care that no one,
observing her during the first four acts, would have supposed
she had any wretchedness about her. On the beginning
of the fifth, however, the sudden view of Mr. Henry Tilney
and his father, joining a party in the opposite box,
recalled her to anxiety and distress. The stage could
no longer excitegenuine merriment--no longer keep her
whole attention. Every other look upon an average was
directed towards the opposite box; and, for the space
of two entire scenes, did she thus watch Henry Tilney,
without being once able to catch his eye. No longer could
he be suspected of indifference for a play; his notice was
never withdrawn from the stage during two whole scenes.
At length, however, he did look towards her, and he
bowed--but such a bow! No smile, no continued observance
attended it; his eyes were immediately returned to their
former direction. Catherine was restlessly miserable;
she could almost have run round to the box in which he sat
and forced him to hear her explanation. Feelings rather
natural than heroic possessed her; instead of considering
her own dignity injured by this ready condemnation--instead
of proudly resolving, in consciousinnocence, to show her
resentment towards him who could harbour a doubt of it,
to leave to him all the trouble of seeking an explanation,
and to enlighten him on the past only by avoiding his sight,
or flirting with somebody else--she took to herself all
the shame of misconduct, or at least of its appearance,
and was only eager for an opportunity of explaining
its cause.
The play concluded--the curtain fell--Henry Tilney
was no longer to be seen where he had hitherto sat, but his
father remained, and perhaps he might be now coming round
to their box. She was right; in a few minutes he appeared,
and, making his way through the then thinning rows,
spoke with like calm politeness to Mrs. Allen and her friend.
Not with such calmness was he answered by the latter:
"Oh! Mr. Tilney, I have been quite wild to speak to you,
and make my apologies. You must have thought me so rude;
but indeed it was not my own fault, was it, Mrs. Allen?
Did not they tell me that Mr. Tilney and his sister were
gone out in a phaeton together? And then what could I do?
But I had ten thousand times rather have been with you;
now had not I, Mrs. Allen?"
"My dear, you tumble my gown," was Mrs. Allen's reply.
Her assurance, however, standing sole as it did,
was not thrown away; it brought a more cordial,
more natural smile into his countenance, and he replied
in a tone which retained only a little affected reserve:
"We were much obliged to you at any rate for wishing us
a pleasant walk after our passing you in Argyle Street:
you were so kind as to look back on purpose."
their only lamp, extinguished by a sudden gust of wind,
and of being left in total darkness. In the meanwhile,
they proceeded on their journey without any mischance,
and were within view of the town of Keynsham, when a halloo
from Morland, who was behind them, made his friend pull up,
to know what was the matter. The others then came close
enough for conversation, and Morland said, "We had
better go back, Thorpe; it is too late to go on today;
your sister thinks so as well as I. We have been exactly
an hour coming from Pulteney Street, very little more
than seven miles; and, I suppose, we have at least eight
more to go. It will never do. We set out a great deal
too late. We had much better put it off till another day,
and turn round."
"It is all one to me," replied Thorpe rather angrily;
and instantly turning his horse, they were on their way
back to Bath.
"If your brother had not got such a d-- beast to drive,"
said he soon afterwards, "we might have done it very well.
My horse would have trotted to Clifton within the hour,
if left to himself, and I have almost broke my arm with
pulling him in to that cursed broken-winded jade's pace.
Morland is a fool for not keeping a horse and gig of
his own."
"No, he is not," said Catherine warmly, "for I am
sure he could not afford it."
"And why cannot he afford it?"
"Because he has not money enough."
"And whose fault is that?"
"Nobody's, that I know of." Thorpe then said something
in the loud, incoherent way to which he had often recourse,
about its being a d-- thing to be miserly; and that if
people who rolled in money could not afford things,
he did not know who could, which Catherine did not even
endeavour to understand. Disappointed of what was to
have been the consolation for her first disappointment,
she was less and less disposed either to be agreeable
herself or to find her companion so; and they returned
to Pulteney Street without her speaking twenty words.
As she entered the house, the footman told her that a
gentleman and lady had catted and inquired for her a few
minutes after her setting off; that, when he told them she
was gone out with Mr. Thorpe, the lady had asked whether
any message had been left for her; and on his saying no,
had felt for a card, but said she had none about her,
and went away. Pondering over these heart-rending tidings,
Catherine walked slowly upstairs. At the head of them
she was met by Mr. Allen, who, on hearing the reason
of their speedy return, said, "I am glad your brother
had so much sense; I am glad you are come back.
It was a strange, wild scheme."
They all spent the evening together at Thorpe's.
Catherine was disturbed and out of spirits; but Isabella
seemed to find a pool of commerce, in the fate of
which she shared, by private partnership with Morland,
a very good equivalent for the quiet and country air
of an inn at Clifton. Her satisfaction, too, in not
being at the Lower Rooms was spoken more than once.
"How I pity the poor creatures that are going there! How
glad I am that I am not amongst them! I wonder whether
it will be a full ball or not! They have not begun
dancing yet. I would not be there for all the world.
It is so delightful to have an evening now and then
to oneself. I dare say it will not be a very good ball.
I know the Mitchells will not be there. I am sure I
pity everybody that is. But I dare say, Mr. Morland,
you long to be at it, do not you? I am sure you do.
Well, pray do not let anybody here be a restraint on you.
I dare say we could do very well without you; but you men
think yourselves of such consequence."
Catherine could almost have accused Isabella of being
wanting in tenderness towards herself and her sorrows,
so very little did they appear to dwell on her mind,
and so very inadequate was the comfort she offered.
"Do not be so dull, my dearest creature," she whispered.
"You will quite break my heart. It was amazingly" target="_blank" title="ad.惊人地；惊奇地">amazingly shocking,
to be sure; but the Tilneys were entirely to blame.
Why were not they more punctual? It was dirty, indeed,
but what did that signify? I am sure John and I should
not have minded it. I never mind going through anything,
where a friend is concerned; that is my disposition,
and John is just the same; he has amazing strong feelings.
Good heavens! What a delightful hand you have got! Kings,
I vow! I never was so happy in my life! I would fifty times
rather you should have them than myself."
And now I may dismiss my heroine to the
sleepless couch, which is the true heroine's portion;
to a pillow strewed with thorns and wet with tears.
And lucky may she think herself, if she get another
good night's rest in the course of the next three months.
CHAPTER 12
"Mrs. Allen," said Catherine the next morning,
"will there be any harm in my calling on Miss Tilney today?
I shall not be easy till I have explained everything."
"Go, by all means, my dear; only put on a white gown;
Miss Tilney always wears white."
Catherine cheerfully complied, and being properly equipped,
was more impatient than ever to be at the pump-room,
that she might inform herself of General Tilneys lodgings,
for though she believed they were in Milsom Street,
she was not certain of the house, and Mrs. Allen's wavering
convictions only made it more doubtful. To Milsom Street she
was directed, and having made herself perfect in the number,
hastened away with eager steps and a beating heart
to pay her visit, explain her conduct, and be forgiven;
tripping lightly through the church-yard, and resolutely
turning away her eyes, that she might not be obliged to see
her beloved Isabella and her dear family, who, she had
reason to believe, were in a shop hard by. She reached
the house without any impediment, looked at the number,
knocked at the door, and inquired for Miss Tilney.
The man believed Miss Tilney to be at home, but was not
quite certain. Would she be pleased to send up her name?
She gave her card. In a few minutes the servant returned,
and with a look which did not quite confirm his words,
said he had been mistaken, for that Miss Tilney was
walked out. Catherine, with a blush of mortification,
left the house. She felt almost persuaded that Miss
Tilney was at home, and too much offended to admit her;
and as she retired down the street, could not withhold
one glance at the drawing-room windows, in expectation
of seeing her there, but no one appeared at them.
At the bottom of the street, however, she looked back again,
and then, not at a window, but issuing from the door,
she saw Miss Tilney herself. She was followed by
a gentleman, whom Catherine believed to be her father,
and they turned up towards Edgar's Buildings.
Catherine, in deep mortification, proceeded on her way.
She could almost be angry herself at such angry incivility;
but she checked the resentful sensation; she remembered
her own ignorance. She knew not how such an offence as hers
might be classed by the laws of worldlypoliteness, to what
a degree of unforgivingness it might with propriety lead,
nor to what rigours of rudeness in return it might justly
make her amenable.
Dejected and humbled, she had even some thoughts of not
going with the others to the theatre that night; but it
must be confessed that they were not of long continuance,
for she soon recollected, in the first place, that she was
without any excuse for staying at home; and, in the second,
that it was a play she wanted very much to see.
To the theatre accordingly they all went; no Tilneys
appeared to plague or please her; she feared that,
amongst the many perfections of the family, a fondness
for plays was not to be ranked; but perhaps it was because
they were habituated to the finer performances of the
London stage, which she knew, on Isabella's authority,
rendered everything else of the kind "quite horrid."
She was not deceived in her own expectation of pleasure;
the comedy so well suspended her care that no one,
observing her during the first four acts, would have supposed
she had any wretchedness about her. On the beginning
of the fifth, however, the sudden view of Mr. Henry Tilney
and his father, joining a party in the opposite box,
recalled her to anxiety and distress. The stage could
no longer excitegenuine merriment--no longer keep her
whole attention. Every other look upon an average was
directed towards the opposite box; and, for the space
of two entire scenes, did she thus watch Henry Tilney,
without being once able to catch his eye. No longer could
he be suspected of indifference for a play; his notice was
never withdrawn from the stage during two whole scenes.
At length, however, he did look towards her, and he
bowed--but such a bow! No smile, no continued observance
attended it; his eyes were immediately returned to their
former direction. Catherine was restlessly miserable;
she could almost have run round to the box in which he sat
and forced him to hear her explanation. Feelings rather
natural than heroic possessed her; instead of considering
her own dignity injured by this ready condemnation--instead
of proudly resolving, in consciousinnocence, to show her
resentment towards him who could harbour a doubt of it,
to leave to him all the trouble of seeking an explanation,
and to enlighten him on the past only by avoiding his sight,
or flirting with somebody else--she took to herself all
the shame of misconduct, or at least of its appearance,
and was only eager for an opportunity of explaining
its cause.
The play concluded--the curtain fell--Henry Tilney
was no longer to be seen where he had hitherto sat, but his
father remained, and perhaps he might be now coming round
to their box. She was right; in a few minutes he appeared,
and, making his way through the then thinning rows,
spoke with like calm politeness to Mrs. Allen and her friend.
Not with such calmness was he answered by the latter:
"Oh! Mr. Tilney, I have been quite wild to speak to you,
and make my apologies. You must have thought me so rude;
but indeed it was not my own fault, was it, Mrs. Allen?
Did not they tell me that Mr. Tilney and his sister were
gone out in a phaeton together? And then what could I do?
But I had ten thousand times rather have been with you;
now had not I, Mrs. Allen?"
"My dear, you tumble my gown," was Mrs. Allen's reply.
Her assurance, however, standing sole as it did,
was not thrown away; it brought a more cordial,
more natural smile into his countenance, and he replied
in a tone which retained only a little affected reserve:
"We were much obliged to you at any rate for wishing us
a pleasant walk after our passing you in Argyle Street:
you were so kind as to look back on purpose."
- instantly [´instəntli]
ad.立即，立刻 (初中英语单词) - companion [kəm´pæniən] n.同伴；同事；伴侣 (初中英语单词)
- commerce [´kɔmə:s] n.商业；社交；交流 (初中英语单词)
- satisfaction [,sætis´fækʃən] n.满意；满足 (初中英语单词)
- spoken [´spəukən] speak的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- delightful [di´laitful] a.讨人喜欢的 (初中英语单词)
- punctual [´pʌŋktjuəl] a.准时的；精确的 (初中英语单词)
- amazing [ə´meiziŋ] a.惊人的；惊奇的 (初中英语单词)
- dismiss [dis´mis] vt.解散；下课；解雇 (初中英语单词)
- properly [´prɔpəli] ad.适当地；严格地 (初中英语单词)
- lightly [´laitli] ad.轻微地，稍微 (初中英语单词)
- beloved [bi´lʌvd] a.为....所爱的 n.爱人 (初中英语单词)
- confirm [kən´fə:m] vt.证实；认可；加强 (初中英语单词)
- sensation [sen´seiʃən] n.感觉；轰动；轰动一时 (初中英语单词)
- ignorance [´ignərəns] n.无知，愚昧 (初中英语单词)
- accordingly [ə´kɔ:diŋli] ad.因此；从而；依照 (初中英语单词)
- anxiety [æŋ´zaiəti] n.挂念；渴望；焦虑的事 (初中英语单词)
- distress [di´stres] n.痛苦 vt.使苦恼 (初中英语单词)
- excite [ik´sait] vt.激动；引起，招惹 (初中英语单词)
- explanation [,eksplə´neiʃən] n.解释；说明；辩解 (初中英语单词)
- dignity [´digniti] n.尊严，尊贵；高官显贵 (初中英语单词)
- proudly [´praudli] ad.骄傲地；傲慢地 (初中英语单词)
- conscious [´kɔnʃəs] a.意识的；自觉的 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- countenance [´kauntinəns] n.面部表情；脸色；面容 (初中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- hearing [´hiəriŋ] n.听力；听证会；审讯 (高中英语单词)
- partnership [´pɑ:tnəʃip] n.合伙关系 (高中英语单词)
- equivalent [i´kwivələnt] a.相等的 n.同等物 (高中英语单词)
- amongst [ə´mʌŋst] prep.其中之一 =among (高中英语单词)
- restraint [ri´streint] n.抑制；管束；克制 (高中英语单词)
- tenderness [´tendənis] n.娇嫩；柔软；温柔 (高中英语单词)
- signify [´signifai] vt.表示 vi.有重要性 (高中英语单词)
- concerned [kən´sə:nd] a.有关的；担心的 (高中英语单词)
- cheerfully [´tʃiəfuli] ad.高兴地，愉快地 (高中英语单词)
- impatient [im´peiʃənt] a.不耐烦的，急躁的 (高中英语单词)
- doubtful [´dautful] a.怀疑的，可疑的 (高中英语单词)
- mistaken [mis´teikən] mistake的过去分词 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- plague [pleig] n.瘟疫 vt.使...染疫 (高中英语单词)
- expectation [,ekspek´teiʃən] n.期待(望)；预期 (高中英语单词)
- comedy [´kɔmidi] n.喜剧；喜剧场面 (高中英语单词)
- genuine [´dʒenjuin] a.真正的；真诚的 (高中英语单词)
- indifference [in´difrəns] n.冷淡；无足轻重 (高中英语单词)
- heroic [hi´rəuik] a.英雄的，英勇的 (高中英语单词)
- innocence [´inəsəns] n.无罪；天真 (高中英语单词)
- hitherto [,hiðə´tu:] ad.至今，迄今 (高中英语单词)
- assurance [ə´ʃuərəns] n.保证；自信；信任 (高中英语单词)
- consolation [,kɔnsə´leiʃən] n.安慰，慰问 (英语四级单词)
- setting [´setiŋ] n.安装；排字；布景 (英语四级单词)
- upstairs [,ʌp´steəz] ad.在楼上 a.楼上的 (英语四级单词)
- speedy [´spi:di] a.快的，迅速的 (英语四级单词)
- heroine [´herəuin] n.女英雄；女主人公 (英语四级单词)
- worldly [´wə:ldli] a.现世的；世俗的 (英语四级单词)
- withdrawn [wið´drɔ:n] withdraw过去分词 (英语四级单词)
- enlighten [in´laitn] vt.启发，开导 (英语四级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- footman [´futmən] n.侍应员；男仆 (英语六级单词)
- amazingly [ə´meiziŋli] ad.惊人地；惊奇地 (英语六级单词)
- minded [´maindid] a.有...心的 (英语六级单词)
- calling [´kɔ:liŋ] n.点名；职业；欲望 (英语六级单词)
- beating [´bi:tiŋ] n.敲；搅打；失败 (英语六级单词)
- impediment [im´pedimənt] n.妨碍，阻碍物；口吃 (英语六级单词)
- retired [ri´taiəd] a.退休的；通职的 (英语六级单词)
- politeness [pə´laitnis] n.礼貌；文雅；温和 (英语六级单词)
- propriety [prə´praiəti] n.正当；合适；礼貌 (英语六级单词)
- restlessly [´restlisli] ad.不安定地；烦躁地 (英语六级单词)
- calmness [´kɑ:mnis] n.平静；安静 (英语六级单词)
- affected [ə´fektid] a.做作的；假装的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
京公网安备 11011202003401号
