malbone- an oldport romance[1].(马尔布恩)-第23节
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leave his more spiritual chase so soon；it made him too happy。
Sometimes； indeed； when he had thus caught his emotion； it caught him in
return； and for a few moments made him almost unhappy。 This he liked
best of all； he nursed the delicious pain； knowing that it would die out
soon enough； there was no need of hurrying it to a close。 At least； there
had never been need for such solicitude before。
Except for his genius for keeping his own counsel； every acquaintance
of Malbone's would have divined the meaning of these reveries。 As it was；
he was called whimsical and sentimental； but he was a man of sufficiently
assured position to have whims of his own； and could even treat himself to
an emotion or so； if he saw fit。 Besides； he talked well to anybody on
anything； and was admitted to exhibit； for a man of literary tastes； a good
deal of sense。 If he had engaged himself to a handsome schoolmistress； it
was his fancy； and he could afford it。 Moreover she was well connected；
and had an air。 And what more natural than that he should stand at the
club…window and watch； when his young half…sister （that was to be） drove
by with John Lambert？ So every afternoon he saw them pass in a vehicle
of lofty description； with two wretched appendages in dark blue
broadcloth； who sat with their backs turned to their masters； kept their
arms folded； and nearly rolled off at every corner。 Hope would have
dreaded the close neighborhood of those Irish ears； she would rather have
ridden even in an omnibus； could she and Philip have taken all the seats。
But then Hope seldom cared to drive on the Avenue at all； except as a
means of reaching the ocean； whereas with most people it appears the
appointed means to escape from that spectacle。 And as for the footmen；
there was nothing in the conversation worth their hearing or repeating； and
their presence was a relief to Emilia； for who knew but Mr。 Lambert
himself might end in growing sentimental？ Yet she did not find him
always equally tedious。 Their drives had some variety。 For instance； he
sometimes gave her some lovely present before they set forth； and she
could feel that； if his lips did not yield diamonds and rubies； his pockets
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did。 Sometimes he conversed about money and investments； which she
rather liked； this was his strong and commanding point； he explained
things quite clearly； and they found； with mutual surprise； that she also had
a shrewd little brain for those matters； if she would but take the trouble to
think about them。 Sometimes he insisted on being tender； and even this
was not so bad as she expected； at least for a few minutes at a time； she
rather enjoyed having her hand pressed so seriously； and his studied
phrases amused her。 It was only when he wished the conversation to be
brilliant and intellectual； that he became intolerable； then she must
entertain him； must get up little repartees； must tell him lively anecdotes；
which he swallowed as a dog bolts a morsel； being at once ready for the
next。 He never made a comment； of course； but at the height of his
enjoyment he gave a quick； short； stupid laugh； that so jarred upon her ears；
she would have liked to be struck deaf rather than hear it again。
At these times she thought of Malbone； how gifted he was； how
inexhaustible； how agreeable； with a faculty for happiness that would have
been almost provoking had it not been contagious。 Then she looked from
her airy perch and smiled at him at the club…window； where he stood in the
most negligent of attitudes； and with every faculty strained in observation。
A moment and she was gone。
Then all was gone； and a mob of queens might have blocked the way；
without his caring to discuss their genealogies； even with old General Le
Breton； who had spent his best （or his worst） years abroad； and was
supposed to have been confidential adviser to most of the crowned heads
of Europe。
For the first time in his life Malbone found himself in the grasp of a
passion too strong to be delightful。 For the first time his own heart
frightened him。 He had sometimes feared that it was growing harder； but
now he discovered that it was not hard enough。
He knew it was not merely mercenary motives that had made Emilia
accept John Lambert； but what troubled him was a vague knowledge that
it was not mere pique。 He was used to dealing with pique in women； and
had found it the most manageable of weaknesses。 It was an element of
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spasmodic conscience than he saw here； and it troubled him。
Something told him that she had said to herself： 〃I will be married；
and thus do my duty to Hope。 Other girls marry persons whom they do
not love； and it helps them to forget。 Perhaps it will help me。 This is a
good man； they say； and I think he loves me。〃
〃Think？〃 John Lambert had adored her when she had passed by him
without looking at him； and now when the thought came over him that she
would be his wife； he became stupid with bliss。 And as latterly he had
thought of little else； he remained more or less stupid all the time。
To a man like Malbone； self…indulgent rather than selfish； this poor；
blind semblance of a moral purpose in Emilia was a great embarrassment。
It is a terrible thing for a lover when he detects conscience amidst the
armory of weapons used against him； and faces the fact that he must blunt
a woman's principles to win her heart。 Philip was rather accustomed to
evade conscience； but he never liked to look it in the face and defy it。
Yet if the thought of Hope at this time came over him； it came as a
constraint； and he disliked it as such； and the more generous and beautiful
she was； the greater the constraint。 He cursed himself that he had allowed
himself to be swayed back to her； and so had lost Emilia forever。 And
thus he drifted on； not knowing what he wished for； but knowing
extremely well what he feared。
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MALBONE： AN OLDPORT ROMANCE。
CHAPTER XIV。
THE NEMESIS OF PASSION。
MALBONE was a person of such ready； emotional nature； and such
easy expression； that it was not hard for Hope to hide from herself the
gradual ebbing of his love。 Whenever he was fresh and full of spirits； he
had enough to overflow upon her and every one。 But when other thoughts
and cares were weighing on him； he could not share them； nor could he at
such times； out of the narrowing channel of his own life； furnish more than
a few scanty drops for her。
At these times he watched with torturing fluctuations the signs of
solicitude in Hope； the timid withdrawing of her fingers； the questioning
of her eyes； the weary drooping of her whole expression。 Often he cursed
himself as a wretch for paining that pure and noble heart。 Yet there were
moments when a vague inexpressible delight stole in； a glimmering of
shame…faced pleasure as he pondered on this visible dawning of distrust； a
sudden taste of freedom in being no longer fettered by her confidence。
By degrees he led himself； still half ashamed； to the dream that she might
yet be somehow weaned from him； and leave his conscience free。 By
constantly building upon this thought； and putting aside all others； he
made room upon the waste of his life for a house of cards； glittering；
unsubstantial； lofty；until there came some sudden breath that swept it
away； and then he began on it again。
In one of those moments of more familiar faith which still alternated
with these cold； sad intervals； she asked him wit
