the dust-第45节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



She　seated　herself　deliberately。

After　he　had　waited　in　vain　for　her　to　speak；　he　went　on：　　〃If　you　married　me；　I　know　you'd　play　square。　I　could　trust　you　absolutely。　　I　don't　knowcan't　find　out　much　about　youbut　at　least　I　know　that。〃

〃But　I　don't　love　you；〃　said　she。

〃You　needn't　remind　me　of　it；〃　rejoined　he　curtly。

〃I　don't　think　soso　poorly　of　you　as　I　used　to；〃　she　went　on。　　〃I　understand　a　lot　of　things　better　than　I　did。　　But　I　don't　love　you；　and　I　feel　that　I　never　could。〃

〃I'll　risk　that；〃　said　Norman。　　Through　his　clinched　teeth；　〃I've　got　to　risk　it。〃

〃I'd　be　marrying　you　because　I　don't　feel　able　to　to　make　my　own　way。〃

〃That's　the　reason　most　girls　have　for　marrying；〃　said　he。　　〃Love　comes　afterwardif　it　comes。　　And　it's　the　more　likely　to　come　for　the　girl　not　having　faked　the　man　and　herself　beforehand。〃

She　glanced　at　the　clock。　　He　frowned。　　She　started　up。　　〃You　MUST　go；〃　she　said。

〃What　is　your　answer？〃

〃Oh；　I　couldn't　decide　so　quickly。　　I　must　think。〃

〃You　mean　you　must　see　your　young　man　again　see　whether　there　isn't　some　way　of　working　it　out　with　him。〃

〃That；　too；〃　replied　she　simply。　　〃Butit's　nearly　four　o'clock〃

〃I'll　come　back　at　seven　for　my　answer。〃

〃No；　I'll　write　you　to…night。〃

〃I　must　know　at　once。　　This　suspense　has　got　to　end。　　It　unfits　me　for　everything。〃

〃I'llI'll　decideto…night；〃　she　said；　with　a　queer　catch　in　her　voice。　　〃You'll　get　the　letter　in　the　morning　mail。〃

〃Very　well。〃　　And　he　gave　her　his　club　address。

She　opened　the　door　in　her　impatience　to　be　rid　of　him。　　He　went　with　a　hasty　〃Good…by〃　which　she　echoed　as　she　closed　the　door。

When　he　left　the　house　he　saw　standing　on　the　curb　before　it　a　tall；　good…looking　young　manwith　a　frank　amiable　face。　　He　hesitated；　glowering　at　the　young　man's　profile。　　Then　he　went　his　way；　suffocating　with　jealous　anger；　depressed；　despondent；　fit　for　nothing　but　to　drink　and　to　brood　in　fatuous　futility。



XVI


UNTIL　very　recently　indeed　psychology　was　not　an　ology　at　all　but　an　indefinite　something　or　other　〃up　in　the　air；〃　the　sport　of　the　winds　and　fogs　of　transcendental　tommy　rot。　　Now；　however；　science　has　drawn　it　down；　has　fitted　it　in　its　proper　place　as　a　branch　of　physiology。　　And　we　are　beginning　to　have　a　clearer　understanding　of　the　thoughts　and　the　thought…producing　actions　of　ourselves　and　our　fellow　beings。　　Soon　it　will　be　no　longer　possible　for　the　historian　and　the　novelist；　the　dramatist；　the　poet；　the　painter　or　sculptor　to　present　in　all　seriousness　as　instances　of　sane　human　conduct；　the　aberrations　resulting　from　various　forms　of　disease　ranging　from　indigestion　in　its　mild；　temper…　breeding　forms　to　acute　homicidal　or　suicidal　mania。　In　that　day　of　greater　enlightenment　a　large　body　of　now　much　esteemed　art　will　become　ridiculous。　　Practically　all　the　literature　of　strenuous　passion　will　go　by　the　board　or　will　be　relegated　to　the　medical　library　where　it　belongs；　and　it；　and　the　annals　of　violence　found　in　the　daily　newspapers　of　our　remote　time　will　be　cited　as　documentary　proof　of　the　low　economic　and　hygienic　conditions　prevailing　in　that　almost　barbarous　period。　　For　certain　it　is　that　the　human　animal　when　healthy　and　well　fed　is　invariably　peaceable　and　kindly　and　tolerantup　to　the　limits　of　selfishness；　and　even　encroaching　upon　those　limits。

Of　writing　rubbish　about　love　and　passion　there　is　no　endand　will　be　no　end　until　the　venerable　traditional　nonsense　about　those　interesting　emotions　shares　the　fate　that　should　overtake　all　the　cobwebs　of　ignorance　thickly　clogging　the　windows　and　walls　of　the　human　mind。　　Of　all　the　fiddle…faddle　concerning　passion　probably　none　is　more　shudderingly　admired　than　the　notion　that　one　possessed　of　an　overwhelming　desire　for　another　longs　to　destroy　that　other。　　It　is　true　there　is　a　form　of　murderous　mania　that　involves　practically　all　the　emotions；　including　of　course　the　passionswhich　are　as　readily　subject　to　derangement　as　any　other　part　of　the　human　organism。　　But　passion　in　itselfeven　when　it　is　so　powerful　that　it　dominates　the　whole　life；　as　in　the　case　of　Frederick　Normanpassion　in　itself　is　not　a　form　of　mental　derangement　in　the　medical　sense。　　And　it　does　not　produce　acute　selfishness；　paranoiac　egotism；　but　a　generous　and　beautiful　kind　of　unselfishness。　　Not　from　the　first　moment　of　Fred　Norman's　possession　did　he　wish　to　injure　or　in　any　way　to　make　unhappy　the　girl　he　loved。　　He　longed　to　be　happy　with　her；　to　have　her　happy　with　and　through　him。　　He　represented　his　plotting　to　himself　as　a　plan　to　make　her　happier　than　she　ever　had　been；　as　for　ultimate　consequences；　he　refused　to　consider　them。　The　most　hardened　rake；　when　passion　possesses　him；　wishes　all　happiness　to　the　woman　of　his　pursuit。　Indifference；　coldnessthe　natural　hard…heartedness　of　the　normal　manreturns　only　when　the　inspiration　and　elevation　of　passion　disappear　in　satiety。　　The　man　or　the　woman　who　continues　to　inspire　passion　continues　to　inspire　tenderness　and　considerateness。

So　when　Norman　left　Dorothy　that　Sunday　afternoon；　he；　being　a　normal　if　sore　beset　human　being；　was　soon　in　the　throes　of　an　agonized　remorse。　　There　may　have　been　some　hypocrisy　in　it；　some　struggling　to　cover　up　the　baser　elements　in　his　infatuation　for　her。　　What　human　emotion　of　upward　tendency　has　not　at　least　a　little　of　the　varnish　of　hypocrisy　on　certain　less　presentable　spots　in　it？　　But　in　the　main　it　was　a　creditable；　a　manly　remorse；　and　not　altogether　the　writhings　of　jealousy　and　jealous　fear　of　losing　her。

He　saw　clearly　that　she　was　telling　the　truth；　and　telling　it　too　gently；　when　she　said　he　was　responsible　for　her　having　standards　of　living　which　she　could　not　unaided　hope　to　attain。　　It　is　a　dreadful　thing　to　interfere　in　the　destiny　of　a　fellow　being。　　We　do　it　all　the　time；　we　do　it　lightly。　　Nevertheless；　it　is　a　dreadful　thingnot　one　that　ought　not　to　be　done；　but　one　that　ought　to　be　done　only　under　imperative　compulsion；　and　then　with　every　precaution。　　He　had　interfered　in　Dorothy　Hallowell's　destiny。　　He　had　lifted　her　out　of　the　dim　obscure　niche　where　she　was　ensconced　in　comparative　contentment。　　He　had　lifted　her　up　where　she　had　seen　and　felt　the　pleasures　of　a　life　of　luxury。

〃But　for　me；〃　he　said　to　himself；　〃she　would　now　be　marrying　this　poor　young　lawyer；　or　some　chap　of　the　same　sort；　and　would　be　looking　forward　to　a　life　of　happiness　in　a　little　flat　or　suburban　cottage。〃

If　she　should　refuse　his　offerwhat　then？　　Clearly　he　ought　to　do　his　best　to　help　her　to　happiness　with　the　other　man。　　He　smiled　cynically　at　the　moral　height　to　which　his　logic　thus　pointed　the　way。　　Nevertheless；　he　did　not　turn　away　but　surveyed　itand　there　formed　in　his　mind　an　impulse　to　make　an　effort　to　attempt　that　height；　if　Fate　should　rule　against　him　with　her。　〃If　I　were　a　really　decent　man；〃　thought　he；　〃I'd　sit　down　now　and　write　her　that　I　would　not　marry　her　but　would　give　her　young　man　a　friendly　hand　in　the　law　if　she　wished　to　marry　him。〃　　But　he　knew　that　such　utter　generosity　was　far　beyond　him。　　〃Only　a　hero　could　do　it；〃　said　he；　he　added　with　what　a　sentimentalist　might　have　called　a　return　of　his　normal　cynicism；　〃only　a　hero　who　really　in　the　bottom　of　his　heart　didn't　especially　want　the　girl。〃　　And　a　candid　person　of　experience　might　possibly　admit　that　there　was　more　truth　than　cynicism　in　his　look　askance　at　the　grand　army　of　martyrs　of　renunciation；　most　of　whom　have　simply　given　up　something　they　didn't　really　want。

〃If　she　accepts　me；　I'll　make　it　impossible　for　her　not　to　be　happy；〃　he　said　to　himself；　in　all　the　fine　unselfishness　of　passionnot　divine　unselfishness　but　humannot　the　kind　we　read　about　and　pretend　to　have　and　get　a　savage　attack　of　bruised　vanity　if　we　are　accused　of　not　having　itno；　but　just　the　kind　we　have　and　show　in　our　daily　livesthe　unselfishness　of　longing　to　make　happy　those　whom　it　would　make　us　happier　to　see　happy。　　〃She　may　think　she　cares　for　this　young　clerk〃　so　ran　his　thoughts〃but　she　doesn't　know　her　own　mind。　　When　she　is　mine；　I'll　take　her　in　hand　as　a　gardener　does　a　delicate　rare　flower　and；　by　Heaven；　how　I　shall　make　her　blossom　and　bloom！〃

It　would　hardly　be　possible　for　a　human　being　to　pass　a　stormier　night　than　was　that　night　of　his。　Alternations　between　hope　and　despairfantastic　pictures　of　future　with　and　without　her；　wild　pleadings　with　herthose　delirious　transports　to　which　our　imaginations　give　way　if　we　happen　to　be　blessed　and　cursed　with　imaginationsin　the　security　of　the　darkness　and　aloneness　of　night　and　bed。　　And　through　it　all　he　was　tormented　body　and　soul　by　her　lovelinessher　hair；　her　skin；　her　eyes；　the　shy；　slender　graces　of　her　form　He　tossed　about　until　his　bed　was　so　wildly　disheveled　that　he　had　to　rise　and　remake　it。

When　day　came　and　the　first　mail；　there　was　her　letter　on　the　salver　of　the　boy　entering　the　room。　He　reached　for　it　with　eager；　trembling　arm；　drew　back。　〃Put　it　on　the　table；〃　he　said。

The　boy　left。　　He　was　alone。　　Leaning　upon　his　elbow　in　the　bed　he　stared　at　the　letter　with　hollow；　terrified　eyes。　　It　contained　his　destiny。　　If　she　accepted；　he　would　go　up；　for　his　soul　sickness　would　be　cured。　If　she　re