the quest of the golden girl-第18节

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st；　thrust　her　into　her　ancestral　carriage；　haul　the　coachman　from　his　box；　and；　seizing　the　reins；　drive　away　in　triumph　before　astonishment　had　time　to　change　into　pursuit。　Truly　it　had　been　but　the　work　of　a　moment；　and　there　was　only　one　consideration　which　prevented　my　following　this　now…I…call…that…heroic　course。　　It　is　a　consideration　I　dare　hardly　venture　to　write；　and　the　confession　of　which　will；　I　know；　necessitate　my　changing　my　age　back　again　to　thirty　on　the　instant。　　Oh；　be　merciful；　dear　romantic　reader！　　I　didn't　strike　the　Major…General；　because；　oh；　because　I　AGREED　WITH　HIM！

I　loved　Nicolete；　you　must　have　felt　that。　She　was　sweet　to　me　as　the　bunch　of　white　flowers　that；　in　their　frail　Venetian　vase；　stand　so　daintily　on　my　old　bureau　as　I　write；　doing　their　best　to　sweeten　my　thoughts。　Dear　was　she　to　me　as　the　birds　that　out　in　the　old　garden　yonder　sing　and　sing　their　best　to　lift　up　my　leaden　heart。　　She　was　dear　as　the　Spring　itself；　she　was　only　less　dear　than　Autumn。

Yes；　black　confession！　after　the　first　passion　of　her　loss；　the　immediate　ache　of　her　young　beauty　had　passed；　and　I　was　able　to　analyse　what　I　really　felt；　I　not　only　agreed　with　him；　I　thanked　God　for　the　Major…General！　　He　had　saved　me　from　playing　the　terrible　part　of　executioner。　He　had　just　come　in　time　to　behead　the　Lady　Jane　Grey　of　our　dreams。

I　should　have　no　qualms　about　tightening　the　rope　round　the　neck　of　some　human　monster；　or　sticking　a　neat　dagger　or　bullet　into　a　dangerous；　treacherous　foe；　but　to　kill　a　dream　is　a　sickening　business。　　It　goes　on　moaning　in　such　a　heart…breaking　fashion；　and　you　never　know　when　it　is　dead。　　All　on　a　sudden　some　night　it　will　come　wailing　in　the　wind　outside　your　window；　and　you　must　blacken　your　heart　and　harden　your　face　with　another　strangling　grip　of　its　slim　appealing　throat；　another　blow　upon　its　angel　eyes。　　Even　then　it　will　recover；　and　you　will　go　on　being　a　murderer；　making　for　yourself　day　by　day　a　murderer's　face；　without　the　satisfaction　of　having　really　murdered。

But　what　of　Nicolete？　do　you　exclaim。　Have　you　no　thought　for　her；　bleeding　her　heart　away　in　solitude？　　Can　you　so　soon　forget　those　appealing　eyes？　　Yes；　I　have　thought　for　her。　　Would　God　that　I　could　bear　for　her　those　growing　pains　of　the　heart！　and　I　shall　never　forget　those　farewell　eyes。　　But　then；　you　see；　I　had　firmly　realised　this；　that　she　would　sooner　recover　from　our　separation　than　from　our　marriage；　that　her　love　for　me；　pretty　and　poignant　and　dramatic　while　it　lasted；　was　a　book…　born；　book…fed　dream；　which　must　die　soon　or　late；the　sooner　the　better　for　the　peace　of　the　dreams　that　in　the　course　of　nature　would　soon　spring　up　to　take　its　place。

But　while　I　realised　all　this；　and；　with　a　veritable　aching　of　the　heart　at　the　loss　of　her；　felt　a　curious　satisfaction　at　the　turn　of　events；　still　my　own　psychology　became　all　the　more　a　puzzle　to　me；　and　I　asked　myself；　with　some　impatience；　what　I　would　be　at；　and　what　it　was　I　really　wanted。

Here　had　I　but　a　few　moments　ago　been　holding　in　my　hands　the　very　dream　I　had　set　out　to　find；　and　here　was　I　secretly　rejoicing　to　be　robbed　of　it！　　If　Nicolete　did　not　fulfil　the　conditions　of　that　mystical　Golden　Girl；　in　professed　search　for　whom　I　had　set　out　that　spring　morning；　well；　the　good　genius　of　my　pilgrimage　felt　it　time　to　resign。　　Better　give　it　up　at　once；　and　go　back　to　my　books　and　my　bachelorhood；　if　I　were　so　difficult　to　please。　　No　wonder　my　kind　providence　felt　provoked。　It　had　provided　me　with　the　sweetest　pink…　and…porcelain　dream　of　a　girl；　and　might　reasonably　have　concluded　that　his　labours　on　my　behalf　were　at　an　end。

But；　really；　there　is　no　need　to　lecture　me　upon　the　charms　and　virtues　of　Nicolete；　for　I　loved　them　from　the　first　moment　of　our　strange　introduction；　and　I　dream　of　them　still。　　There　was　indeed　only　one　quality　of　womanhood　in　which　she　was　lacking；　and　in　which；　after　much　serious　self…　examination；　I　discovered　the　reason　of　my　instinctive　self…sacrifice　of　her；SHE　HAD　NEVER　SUFFERED。　　As　my　heart　had　warned　me　at　the　beginning；　〃she　was　hoping　too　much　from　life　to　spend　one's　days　with。〃　　She　lacked　the　subtle　half…tones　of　experience。　She　lacked　all　that　a　pretty　wrinkle　or　two　might　have　given。　　There　was　no　shadowy　melancholy　in　her　sky…clear　eyes。　　She　was　gay　indeed；　and　had　a　certain　childish　humour；　but　she　had　none　of　that　humour　which　comes　of　the　resigned　perception　that　the　world　is　out　of　joint；　and　that　you　were　never　born　to　set　it　right。　　These　characteristics　I　had　yet　to　find　in　woman。　　There　was　still；　therefore；　an　object　to　my　quest。　Indeed　my　experience　had　provided　me　with　a　formula。　　I　was　in　search　of　a　woman　who；　in　addition　to　every　other　feminine　charm　and　virtue；　was　a　woman　who　had　suffered。

With　this　prayer　I　turned　once　more　to　the　genius　of　my　pilgrimage。　　〃Grant　me；〃　I　asked；　〃but　thisA　WOMAN　WHO　HAS　SUFFERED！〃　and；　apparently　as　a　consequence；　he　became　once　more　quite　genial。　　He　seemed　to　mean　that　a　prayer　so　easy　to　grant　would　put　any　god　into　a　good　temper；　and　possibly　he　smiled　with　a　deeper　meaning　too。




BOOK　III



CHAPTER　I


IN　WHICH　I　RETURN　TO　MY　RIGHT　AGE　AND　ENCOUNTER　A　COMMON　OBJECT　OF　THE　COUNTRY

And　so　when　the　days　of　my　mourning　for　Nicolete　were　ended　（and　in　this　sentence　I　pass　over　letters　to　and　fro；letters　wild　from　Nicolete；　letters　wise　from　Aucassin；　letters　explanatory　and　apologetic　from　the　Obstaclehow　the　Major…General　had　suddenly　come　home　quite　unexpectedly　and　compelled　her　to　explain　Nicolete's　absence；　etc。；　etc。　　Dear　Obstacle！　I　should　rather　have　enjoyed　a　pilgrimage　with　her　too）I　found　myself　one　afternoon　again　upon　the　road。　　The　day　had　been　very　warm　and　dusty；　and　had　turned　sleepy　towards　tea…time。

I　had　now　pretty　clearly　in　my　mind　what　I　wanted。　　This　time　it　was；　all　other　things　equal；　to　be　〃a　woman　who　had　suffered；〃　and　to　this　end；　I　had；　before　starting　out　once　more；　changed　my　age　back　again　at　the　inn　and　written　〃Aetat。　30〃　after　my　name　in　the　visitors'　book。　　As　a　young　man　I　was　an　evident　failure；　and　so；　having　made　the　countersign；　I　was　speedily　transformed　to　my　old　self；　and　I　must　say　that　it　was　a　most　comfortable　feeling；　something　like　getting　back　again　into　an　old　coat　or　an　old　pair　of　shoes。　　I　never　wanted　to　be　young　again　as　long　as　I　lived。　　Youth　was　too　much　like　the　Sunday　clothes　of　one's　boyhood。　　Moreover；　I　had　a　secret　conviction　that　the　woman　I　was　now　in　search　of　would　prefer　one　who　had　had　some　experience　at　being　a　man；　who　would　bring　her　not　the　green　plums　of　his　love；　but　the　cunningly　ripened　nectarines；　a　man　to　whom　love　was　something　of　an　art　as　well　as　an　inspiration。

It　was　in　this　frame　of　mind　that　I　came　upon　the　following　scene。

The　lane　was　a　very　cloistral　one；　with　a　ribbon　of　gravelly　road；　bordered　on　each　side　with　a　rich　margin　of　turf　and　a　scramble　of　blackberry　bushes；　green　turf　banks　and　dwarf　oak…trees　making　a　rich　and　plenteous　shade。　　My　attention　was　caught　firstly　by　a　bicycle　lying　carelessly　on　the　turf；　and　secondly　and　lastly　by　a　graceful　woman's　figure；　recumbent　and　evidently　sleeping　against　the　turf　bank；　well　tucked　in　among　the　afternoon　shadows。　　My　coming　had　not　aroused　her；　and　so　I　stole　nearer　to　her　on　tiptoe。

She　was　a　pretty　woman；　of　a　striking　modern　type；　tall；　well…proportioned；　strong；　I　should　say；　with　a　good　complexion　that　had　evidently　been　made　just　a　little　better。　　But　her　most　striking　feature　was　an　opulent　mass　of　dark　red　hair；　which　had　fallen　in　some　disorder　and　made　quite　a　pillow　for　her　head。　　Her　hat　was　off；　lying　in　its　veil　by　her　side；　and　a　certain　general　abandon　of　her　figure；which　was　clothed　in　a　short　cloth　skirt；　cut　with　that　unmistakable　touch　which　we　call　stylebetokened　weariness　that　could　no　longer　wait　for　rest。

Poor　child！　she　was　tired　out。　　She　must　never　be　left　to　sleep　on　there；　for　she　seemed　good　to　sleep　till　midnight。

I　turned　to　her　bicycle；　and；　examining　it　with　the　air　of　a　man　who　had　won　silver　cups　in　his　day；　I　speedily　discovered　what　had　been　the　mischief。　　The　tire　of　the　front　wheel　had　been　pierced；　and　a　great　thorn　was　protruding　from　the　place。　Evidently　this　had　been　too　much　for　poor　Rosalind；　and　it　was　not　unlikely　that　she　had　cried　herself　to　sleep。

I　bent　over　her　to　lookyes；　there　were　traces　of　tears。　　Poor　thing！　　Then　I　had　a　kindly　human　impulse。　　I　would　mend　the　tire；　having　attended　ambulance　classes；　do　it　very　quietly　so　that　she　wouldn't　hear；　like　the　fairy　cobblers　who　used　to　mend　people's　boots　while　they　slept；　and　then　wait　in　ambush　to　watch　the　effect　upon　her　when　she　awoke。

What　do　you　think　of　the　idea？

But　one　important　detail　I　have　omitted　from　my　description　of　the　sleeper。　　Her　left　hand　lay　gloveless；　and　of　the　four　rings　on　her　third　finger　one　was　a　wedding…ring。

〃Such　red　hair；and　a　wedding…ring！〃　I　exclaimed　inwardly。　　〃How　this　woman　must　have　suffered！〃



CHAPTER　II


IN　WHICH　I　HEAL　A　BICYCLE　AND　COME　TO　THE　WHEEL　OF　PLEASURE

Moving　the　bicycle　a　little　away；　so　that　my　operations　upon　it　might　not　arouse　her；　I　had　soon　made　all　right　again；　an