bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第137节
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pretty for an old lady。 I don’t know what it was。 Or at least if I do；
now； I thought I did not then。 Or at least—but it don’t matter。
Of a night when I was going upstairs to bed； she would invite
me into her room； where she sat before the fire in a great chair；
and； dear me； she would tell me about Morgan ap Kerrig until I
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was quite low…spirited！ Sometimes she recited a few verses from
Crumlinwallinwer and the Mewlinwillinwodd （if those are the
right names； which I dare say they are not）； and would become
quite fiery with the sentiments they expressed。 Though I never
knew what they were （being in Welsh）； further than that they were
highly eulogistic of the lineage of Morgan ap Kerrig。
“So； Miss Summerson；” she would say to me with stately
triumph； “this you see； is the fortune inherited by my son。
Wherever my son goes； he can claim kindred with Ap Kerrig。 He
may not have money； but he always has what is much better—
family； my dear。”
I had my doubts of their caring so very much for Morgan ap
Kerrig； in India and China； but of course I never expressed them。 I
used to say it was a great thing to be so highly connected。
“It is my dear； a great thing；” Mrs Woodcourt would reply。 “It
has its disadvantages； my son’s choice of a wife； for instance； is
limited by it； but the matrimonial choice of the Royal family
limited in much the same manner。”
Then she would pat me on the arm and smooth my dress； as
much as to assure me that she had a good opinion of me； the
distance between us notwithstanding。
“Poor Mr Woodcourt； my dear；” she would say； and always with
some emotion； for with her lofty pedigree she had a very
affectionate heart； “was descended from a great Highland family；
the Mac Coorts of Mac Coort。 He served his king and country as an
officer in the Royal Highlanders； and he died on the field。 My son
is one of the last representatives of two old families。 With the
blessing of Heaven he will set them up again； and unite them with
another old family。”
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It was in vain for me to try to change the subject； as I used to
try—only for the sake of novelty—or perhaps because—but I need
not be so particular。 Mrs Woodcourt never would let me change it。
“My dear；” she said one night； “you have so much sense； and
you look at the world in a quiet manner so superior to your time of
life； that it is a comfort to me to talk to you about these family
matters of mine。 You don’t know much of my son； my dear； but
you know enough of him； I dare say； to recollect him？”
“Yes； ma’am。 I recollect him。”
“Yes； my dear。 Now； my dear； I think you are a judge of
character； and I should like to have your opinion of him？”
“O； Mrs Woodcourt；” said I； “that is so difficult。”
“Why is it so difficult； my dear？” she returned。 “I don’t see it
myself。”
“To give an opinion—”
“On so slight an acquaintance； my dear。 That’s true。”
I didn’t mean that； because Mr Woodcourt had been at our
house a good deal altogether； and had become quite intimate with
my Guardian。 I said so； and added that he seemed to be very
clever in his profession—we thought—and that his kindness and
gentleness to Miss Flite were above all praise。
“You do him justice！” said Mrs Woodcourt； pressing my hand。
“You define him exactly。 Allan is a dear fellow； and in his
profession faultless。 I say it； though I am his mother。 Still； I must
confess he is not without faults； love。”
“None of us are；” said I。
“Ah！ But his really are faults that he might correct； and ought
to correct；” returned the sharp old lady； sharply shaking her head。
“I am so much attached to you； that I may confide in you； my dear；
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as a third party wholly disinterested； that he is fickleness itself。”
I said； I should have thought it hardly possible that he could
have been otherwise than constant to his profession； and zealous
in the pursuit of it； judging from the reputation he had earned。
“You are right again； my dear；” the old lady retorted； “but I
don’t refer to his profession； look you。”
“O！” said I。
“No；” said she。 “I refer； my dear； to his social conduct。 He is
always paying trivial attentions to young ladies； and always has
been ever since he was eighteen。 Now； my dear； he has never
really cared for any one of them； and has never meant in doing
this to do any harm； or to express anything but politeness and
good nature。 Still； it’s not right； you know； is it？”
“No；” said I； as she seemed to wait for me。
“And it might lead to mistaken notions； you see； my dear。”
I supposed it might。
“Therefore I have told him； many times； that he really should
be more careful； both in justice to himself and in justice to others。
And he has always said； ‘Mother； I will be； but you know me better
than anybody else does； and you know I mean no harm—in short；
mean nothing。’ All of which is very true； my dear； but is no
justification。 However； as he is now gone so far away； and for an
indefinite time； and as he will have good opportunities and
introductions； we may consider this past and gone。 And you； my
dear；” said the old lady； who was now all nods and smiles；
“regarding your dear self； my love？”
“Me； Mrs Woodcourt？”
“Not to be always selfish； talking of my son； who has gone to
seek his fortune； and to find a wife—when do you mean to seek
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your fortune and to find a husband； Miss Summerson？ Hey； look
you！ Now you blush！”
I don’t think I did blush—at all events； it was not important if I
did—and I said； my present fortune perfectly contented me； and I
had no wish to change it。
“Shall I tell you what I always think of you； and the fortune yet
to come for you； my love？” said Mrs Woodcourt。
“If you believe you are a good prophet；” said I。
“Why； then； it is that you will marry some one； very rich and
very worthy； much older—five and twenty years； perhaps—than
yourself。 And you will be an excellent wife； and much beloved； and
very happy。”
“That is a good fortune；” said I。 “But； why is it to be mine？”
“My dear；” she returned； “there’s suitability in it—you are so
busy； and so neat； and so peculiarly situated altogether； that
there’s suitability in it； and it will come to pass。 And nobody； my
love； will congratulate you more sincerely on such a marriage than
I shall。”
It was curious that this should make me uncomfortable； but I
think it did。 I know it did。 It made me for some part of that night
quite uncomfortable。 I was so ashamed of my folly； that I did not
like to confess it even to Ada； and that made me more
uncomfortable still。 I would have given anything not to have been
so much in the bright old lady’s confidence； if I could have
possibly declined it。 It gave me the most inconsistent opinions of
her。 At one time I thought she was a storyteller； and at another
time that s
