0f course Miss Bartlett accepted. And, equally of course, she felt sure that she would prove a nuisance, and begged to be given an inferior spare room--something with no view, anything. Her love to Lucy. And, equally of course, George Emerson could come to tennis on the Sunday week.
Lucy faced the situation bravely, though, like most of us, she only faced the situation that encompassed her. She never gazed inwards. If at times strange images rose from the depths, she put them down to nerves. When Cecil brought the Emersons to Summer Street, it had upset her nerves. Charlotte would burnish up past foolishness, and this might upset her nerves. She was nervous at night. When she talked to George--they met again almost immediately at the Rectory--his voice moved her deeply, and she wished to remain near him. How dreadful if she really wished to remain near him! Of course, the wish was due to nerves, which love to play such perverse tricks upon us. Once she had suffered from "things that came out of nothing and meant she didn't know what." Now Cecil had explained psychology to her one wet afternoon, and all the troubles of youth in an unknown world could be dismissed.
It is obvious enough for the reader to conclude, "She loves young Emerson." A reader in Lucy's place would not find it obvious. Life is easy to chronicle, but bewildering to practice, and we welcome "nerves" or any other shibboleth that will cloak our personal desire. She loved Cecil; George made her nervous; will the reader explain to her that the phrases should have been reversed?
But the external situation--she will face that bravely.
The meeting at the Rectory had passed off well enough. Standing between Mr. Beebe and Cecil, she had made a few temperate allusions to Italy, and George had replied. She was anxious to show that she was not shy, and was glad that he did not seem shy either.
"A nice fellow," said Mr. Beebe afterwards "He will work off his crudities in time. I rather mistrust young men who slip into life gracefully."
Lucy said, "He seems in better spirits. He laughs more."
"Yes," replied the clergyman. "He is waking up."
That was all. But, as the week wore on, more of her defences fell, and she entertained an image that had physical beauty. In spite of the clearest directions, Miss Bartlett contrived to bungle her arrival. She was due at the South-Eastern station at Dorking, whither Mrs. Honeychurch drove to meet her. She arrived at the London and Brighton station, and had to hire a cab up. No one was at home except Freddy and his friend, who had to stop their tennis and to entertain her for a solid hour. Cecil and Lucy turned up at four o'clock, and these, with little Minnie Beebe, made a somewhat lugubrious sextette upon the upper lawn for tea.
"I shall never forgive myself," said Miss Bartlett, who kept on rising from her seat, and had to be begged by the united company to remain. "I have upset everything. Bursting in on young people! But I insist on paying for my cab up. Grant that, at any rate."
"Our visitors never do such dreadful things," said Lucy, while her brother, in whose memory the boiled egg had already grown unsubstantial, exclaimed in irritable tones: "Just what I've been trying to convince Cousin Charlotte of, Lucy, for the last half hour."
"I do not feel myself an ordinary visitor," said Miss Bartlett, and looked at her frayed glove
"All right, if you'd really rather. Five shillings, and I gave a bob to the driver."
Miss Bartlett looked in her purse. Only sovereigns and pennies. Could any one give her change? Freddy had half a quid and his friend had four half-crowns. Miss Bartlett accepted their moneys and then said: "But who am I to give the sovereign to?"
"Let's leave it all till mother comes back," suggested Lucy.
"No, dear; your mother may take quite a long drive now that she is not hampered with me. We all have our little foibles, and mine is the prompt settling of accounts."
Here Freddy's friend, Mr. Floyd, made the one remark of his that need be quoted: he offered to toss Freddy for Miss Bartlett's quid. A solution seemed in sight, and even Cecil, who had been ostentatiously drinking his tea at the view, felt the eternal attraction of Chance, and turned round.
But this did not do, either.
"Please--please--I know I am a sad spoilsport, but it would make me wretched. I should practically be robbing the one who lost."
"Freddy owes me fifteen shillings," interposed Cecil. "So it will work out right if you give the pound to me."
"Fifteen shillings," said Miss Bartlett dubiously. "How is that, Mr. Vyse?"
"Because, don't you see, Freddy paid your cab. Give me the pound, and we shall avoid this deplorable gambling."
Miss Bartlett, who was poor at figures, became bewildered and rendered up the sovereign, amidst the suppressed gurgles of the other youths. For a moment Cecil was happy. He was playing at nonsense among his peers. Then he glanced at Lucy, in whose face petty anxieties had marred the smiles. In January he would rescue his Leonardo from this stupefying twaddle.
"But I don't see that!" exclaimed Minnie Beebe who had narrowly watched the iniquitous transaction. "I don't see why Mr. Vyse is to have the quid."
"Because of the fifteen shillings and the five," they said solemnly. "Fifteen shillings and five shillings make one pound, you see."
"But I don't see--"
They tried to stifle her with cake.
"No, thank you. I'm done. I don't see why--Freddy, don't poke me. Miss Honeychurch, your brother's hurting me. Ow! What about Mr. Floyd's ten shillings? Ow! No, I don't see and I never shall see why Miss What's-her-name shouldn't pay that bob for the driver."'
"I had forgotten the driver," said Miss Bartlett, reddening. "Thank you, dear, for reminding me. A shilling was it? Can any one give me change for half a crown?"
"I'll get it," said the young hostess, rising with decision.
"Cecil, give me that sovereign. No, give me up that sovereign. I'll get Euphemia to change it, and we'll start the whole thing again from the beginning."
"Lucy--Lucy--what a nuisance I am!" protested Miss Bartlett, and followed her across the lawn. Lucy tripped ahead, simulating hilarity. When they were out of earshot Miss Bartlett stopped her wails and said quite briskly: "Have you told him about him yet?"
"No, I haven't," replied Lucy, and then could have bitten her tongue for understanding so quickly what her cousin meant. "Let me see--a sovereign's worth of silver."
She escaped into the kitchen. Miss Bartlett's sudden transitions were too uncanny. It sometimes seemed as if she planned every word she spoke or caused to be spoken; as if all this worry about cabs and change had been a ruse to surprise the soul.
"No, I haven't told Cecil or any one," she remarked, when she returned. "I promised you I shouldn't. Here is your money--all shillings, except two half-crowns. Would you count it? You can settle your debt nicely now."
Miss Bartlett was in the drawing-room, gazing at the photograph of St. John ascending, which had been framed.
"How dreadful!" she murmured, "how more than dreadful, if Mr. Vyse should come to hear of it from some other source."
"Oh, no, Charlotte," said the girl, entering the battle. "George Emerson is all right, and what other source is there?"
Miss Bartlett considered. "For instance, the driver. I saw him looking through the bushes at you, remember he had a violet between his teeth."
Lucy shuddered a little. "We shall get the silly affair on our nerves if we aren't careful. How could a Florentine cab-driver ever get hold of Cecil?"
"We must think of every possibility."
"Oh, it's all right."
"Or perhaps old Mr. Emerson knows. In fact, he is certain to know."
"I don't care if he does. I was grateful to you for your letter, but even if the news does get round, I think I can trust Cecil to laugh at it."
"To contradict it?"
"No, to laugh at it." But she knew in her heart that she could not trust him, for he desired her untouched.
"Very well, dear, you know best. Perhaps gentlemen are different to what they were when I was young. Ladies are certainly different."
"Now, Charlotte!" She struck at her playfully. "You kind, anxious thing. What WOULD you have me do? First you say 'Don't tell'; and then you say, 'Tell'. Which is it to be? Quick!"
Miss Bartlett sighed "I am no match for you in conversation, dearest. I blush when I think how I interfered at Florence, and you so well able to look after yourself, and so much cleverer in all ways than I am. You will never forgive me."
"Shall we go out, then. They will smash all the china if we don't."
For the air rang with the shrieks of Minnie, who was being scalped with a teaspoon.
"Dear, one moment--we may not have this chance for a chat again. Have you seen the young one yet?"
"Yes, I have."
"What happened?"
"We met at the Rectory."
"What line is he taking up?"
"No line. He talked about Italy, like any other person. It is really all right. What advantage would he get from being a cad, to put it bluntly? I do wish I could make you see it my way. He really won't be any nuisance, Charlotte."
"Once a cad, always a cad. That is my poor opinion."
Lucy paused. "Cecil said one day--and I thought it so profound--that there are two kinds of cads--the conscious and the subconscious." She paused again, to be sure of doing justice to Cecil's profundity. Through the window she saw Cecil himself, turning over the pages of a novel. It was a new one from Smith's library. Her mother must have returned from the station.
"Once a cad, always a cad," droned Miss Bartlett.
"What I mean by subconscious is that Emerson lost his head. I fell into all those violets, and he was silly and surprised. I don't think we ought to blame him very much. It makes such a difference when you see a person with beautiful things behind him unexpectedly. It really does; it makes an enormous difference, and he lost his head: he doesn't admire me, or any of that nonsense, one straw. Freddy rather likes him, and has asked him up here on Sunday, so you can judge for yourself. He has improved; he doesn't always look as if he's going to burst into tears. He is a clerk in the General Manager's office at one of the big railways--not a porter! and runs down to his father for week-ends. Papa was to do with journalism, but is rheumatic and has retired. There! Now for the garden." She took hold of her guest by the arm. "Suppose we don't talk about this silly Italian business any more. We want you to have a nice restful visit at Windy Corner, with no worriting."
Lucy thought this rather a good speech. The reader may have detected an unfortunate slip in it. Whether Miss Bartlett detected the slip one cannot say, for it is impossible to penetrate into the minds of elderly people. She might have spoken further, but they were interrupted by the entrance of her hostess. Explanations took place, and in the midst of them Lucy escaped, the images throbbing a little more vividly in her brain.
当然，巴特利特小姐接受了邀请。同样理所当然的是，她感到她肯定将成为一名给别人添很多麻烦的人，因此请求给她一间较差的备用房间——譬如说看不见风景的房间，或者随便什么房间。她还向露西问好。同样理所当然的是，下星期天乔治·艾默森能前来打网球。
露西勇敢地面对这一局势，虽然，她和我们大多数人一样，仅仅是面对她周围的局势。她从来不把目光投向内部。如果有时候有些古怪的形象从她内心深处浮现出来，她便把它们归为神经紧张的缘故。塞西尔把艾默森父子弄到夏街来，使她神经紧张。夏绿蒂很可能会把过去的荒唐事梳妆打扮后端出来，这也可能使她神经紧张。～到晚上，她的神经就很紧张。她和乔治谈话时——他们几乎立刻在教区长家里又会晤了——他的嗓音深深地打动了她，她巴不得继续和他在一起。要是她真巴不得和他继续在一起，那是多么可怕呀！当然，这种想法也是由于神经紧张才有的，神经紧张就喜欢这样恶意地作弄我们。有一次，她被“一些无中生有的、她弄不明白是什么意思的情绪”所困扰。后来在一个下雨天的下午，塞西尔对她讲解r心理学，于是青年人在这个她很不理解的世界里的一切烦恼都可以给打消。
情况很清楚，读者可以得出结论：“她爱上了小艾默森。”但是如果一位读者处于露西的地位，他就会感到情况并不那么清楚了。记录生活中所发生的事是容易的，但是该怎样生活却使人感到惶惑，因此我们欢迎“神经紧张”或其他能掩盖我们个人欲望的陈词滥调。她爱塞西尔；乔治使她神经紧张；读者可愿意向她解释这两句话里的词语应该倒过来用？
然而外部的局势——她将勇敢地面对它。
在教区长家里的那次会晤相当顺利。当时，她站在毕比先生与塞西尔之间，有几次恰如其分地提到了意大利，乔治做了回答。她迫切地想表明自己并不胆怯，很高兴乔治也并不显得胆怯。
“是个好小伙子，”毕比先生后来说。“他到时候会把自己的不成熟的地方消除的。倒是有些青年人，八面玲珑，应付自如，我却有些信不过。”
露西说，“看来他的情绪比先前好。笑得比以前多了。”
“是的，”教区长回答。“他正在苏醒。”
事情的经过就是这样。可是随着那一周时光的流逝，她的防御工事又倒塌了一些，脑海里出现的形象是个俊男子。
尽管有关巴特利特小姐应如何到达风角的说明写得再清楚不过，她还是把事情弄得一团糟。她应该准时抵达多金的东南铁路的车站，霍尼彻奇太太乘车去那里接她。然而她却来到了伦敦和布赖顿铁路的车站，然后不得不雇一辆马车过来。那时家里除了弗雷迪和他那个朋友外，没有别人，他们只好停止打网球来招待她，足足陪了她一小时。塞西尔和露西四点回到家，这些人加上小明妮·毕比组成了一个多少带点忧郁的六人小组，在高坡的草地上吃茶点。
“我将永远不会原谅自己，”巴特利特小姐说，她不断地站起来，大家不得不恳求她坐下来继续用茶。“我把一切都搞乱了。闯到年轻人中间来！不过我坚持要付来这里的马车钱。无论如何，请允许我付车钱。”
“我们家的客人从来不做这样令人震惊的事，”露西说，她的弟弟也嚷道，“露西，我已经讲了半个钟头，讲来讲去要夏绿蒂表姐相信的就是这一点。”他的语气很烦躁，在他的记忆中，那只水煮鸡蛋已经很淡薄了。
“我不认为我自己是个一般客人，”巴特利特小姐说，注视着她的那双已经磨损的手套。
“好吧，假使你一定要付的话。五先令，我还给了车夫一先令。”
巴特利特小姐朝钱袋里一看。只有几个金镑和便士。有人能找零钱给她吗？弗雷迪有半镑，他那个朋友有四枚面值两先令六便士的硬币。巴特利特小姐收下了他们的钱币，接着说，“这个金镑我应该给谁？”
“这件事放一放，等妈妈回来再说吧，”露西建议。
“不，亲爱的；你妈妈现在没有我来牵制她，可能去兜风了。我们每个人都有自己的一点小小的怪脾气，而我的怪脾气就是账要马上结清。”
这时，弗雷迪的朋友弗洛伊德先生说了他的唯一一句值得弓l述的话：他提出用投掷弗雷迪的那枚钱币的办法来决定巴特利特小姐的那个金镑的归属。一种解决办法似乎已在望，连一直以引人注意的姿态对着景色喝着茶的塞西尔也感受到机会之神所具有的永恒的魅力，于是他转过身来。
然而这个方法也不行。
“对不起——对不起——我知道我是个十分糟糕、使人扫兴的人，不过这样做会使我很难受。我实际上是在掠夺输家。”
“弗雷迪欠我十五先令，”塞西尔插话道。“假使你把那镑钱给我就万事大吉了。”
“十五先令，”巴特利特小姐满腹狐疑地说。“维斯先生，这是怎么回事？”
“你不明白吗？这是因为弗雷迪给你付的车钱。你把英镑给我，我们就能避免这场不幸的赌博了。”
巴特利特小姐对数字不很精通，这下子给搞糊涂了，便把英镑交了出来，弗雷迪与弗洛伊德竭力想忍住，但还是咯咯地笑出声来。那一瞬间，塞西尔十分得意。他正在和身份与他相同的人在一起瞎胡闹啊。接着他朝露西一望，只见她脸上的淡淡的忧虑神情破坏了她的笑容。明年一月，他就将把他的莱奥纳多（译注：他在这里把露西的表情比作莱奥纳多·达·芬奇的《蒙娜·丽莎》的神秘的微笑）从这种极端无聊的废话中拯救出来。
“但是这样我不明白！”明妮·毕比高声嚷道，她仔细地观看了这一幕不公平的交易。“我不明白为什么维斯先生要得到这个英镑。”
“那是因为是十五先令和五先令，”他们严肃地说。“你知道，十五先令加五先令正好是一镑，”
“但是我不明白——”
他们塞给她许多蛋糕，不让她说话。
“不，谢谢。我吃饱了。我不明白为什么——弗雷迪，别拿手指捅我。霍尼彻奇小姐，你弟弟把我戳痛了。啊唷！那么弗洛伊德先生的十先令怎么办？啊唷！是啊，我不明白，而且将永远弄不明白那位叫什么来着的小姐不该支付给车夫的那一先令。”
“我忘了那个车夫了，”巴特利特小姐说，脸颊泛红了。“亲爱的，谢谢你提醒我。是一先令，是不？谁能给这枚两先令六便士的硬币找钱？”
“我去拿，”年轻的女主人说，果断地站起来。“塞西尔，把那个金镑给我。对——拿出来给我。我让尤菲米娅去把它兑开，我们来从头算起。”
“露西——露西——我多惹人厌啊！”巴特利特小姐表示反对，便跟着她穿过草地。露西在前面轻快地走着，装出兴高采烈的样子。等她们走到了别人听不见她们讲话的地方，巴特利特小姐不再唉声叹气，而是相当欢快地说：“关于他，你跟他讲了没有？”
“没有，我没有讲，”露西回答，接着，因为自己这样快就领会她表姐的意思，恨不得咬掉自己的舌头。“让我想想——一个金镑换多少银币。”
她躲到厨房里去了。巴特利特小姐突然改变话题，实在太不可思议了。有时候她说的每句话或引起她说每一句话的原因好像都是有计划的；所有这些有关车钱和找零钱的令人头痛的事好像也是一种策略，为了对她的心灵进行突然袭击。
“没有，我没有告诉塞西尔或任何人。”她从厨房里出来说。“我答应过你不告诉任何人的。钱在这里——除了两枚两先令六便上的硬币，都是先令。你数一下好吗？你现在可以满意地了结你的欠账了。”
这时巴特利特小姐正在客厅里，凝视着那幅圣约翰升天图，这幅画已配上了镜框。
“多可怕呀！”她喃喃地说，“要是维斯先生从别人嘴里知道这件事，那简直不堪设想。”
“不会的，夏绿蒂，”姑娘说，她进入了战斗。“乔治·艾默森不会有问题，那么还有什么别人呢？”
巴特利特小姐想了想。“譬如说，那个车夫。我看到他透过树丛偷看你们。我还记得他嘴里衔了一支紫罗兰。”
露西微微战栗起来。“要是我们不小心，这件蠢事就会搞得我们心神不安。一名佛罗伦萨的车夫怎么可能找到塞西尔呢？”
“我们必须考虑各种可能性。”
“噢，这不会有什么问题。”
“再说，也许老艾默森先生知道这件事，事实上，他一定知道的。”
“我不在乎他知道不知道。我很感谢你的信，不过即使消息真的传开了，我想我也能信赖塞西尔会付之一笑。”
“会反驳？”
“不，会一笑了之。”不过她心里明白她是不能信赖他的，因为他希望她白璧无瑕。
“很好，亲爱的，你最最明白。或许先生们和我年轻时的先生们不一样了。女士们是肯定不一样了。”
“啊，夏绿蒂！”她开玩笑地打了她一下。“你这个好心的、喜欢替人担心的人儿！你到底要我怎么样呢？起先你说，‘不要讲，’后来你又说，‘讲。’那么到底讲还是不讲？快说！”
巴特利特小姐叹了口气。“最亲爱的，我讲不过你。我想到在佛罗伦萨如何对你干预，而你却能非常好地照顾自己，在各方面都比我聪明得多，我真感到羞愧。你永远也不会原谅我了。”
“那么我们出去好不好？要是我们不出去，他们会把所有的瓷器都打碎的。”
因为这时空气中震响着明妮的尖叫声，有人用茶匙在刮她的头皮。
“等一下，亲爱的——我们很可能再也没有这样谈心的机会了。你见到过那个年轻人没有？”
“是的，见到过。”
“是怎么回事？”
“我们在教区长家里会晤的。”
“他采取什么态度？”
“没有什么态度。他像其他人一样谈到了意大利。真的没有什么问题。直话直说，要是他真的耍无赖，对他又有什么好处？我真希望能使你和我一样看问题。他不会惹什么麻烦的，夏绿蒂。”
“一次是无赖，终身是无赖。这是我区区的意见。”
露西停顿了一下。“有一天，塞西尔说一我认为他说得非常深刻——有两种无赖——有意识的和下意识的无赖。”她又停下来，想把塞西尔说的话的深刻含义明确地传达出来。她向窗外望去，看到了塞西尔本人，正在翻阅一本小说。这是从史密斯图书馆借来的一本新书。看来她的妈妈一定已从车站回来了。
“一次是无赖，终身是无赖，”巴特利特小姐念念有词地说。
“我说的下意识指的是艾默森先生失去了自制。我跌倒在一大片紫罗兰花丛里，他一时晕头转向，猝不及防。我想我们不应该过分指责他。当你冷不防看到一个人背后有那么多美丽的东西，感觉就大不一样。真的不一样，大大的不一样，于是他失去了自制；他一点也不爱慕我，或者有诸如此类的无聊想法，拿我当一棵小草。弗雷迪很喜欢他，请他星期天到这里来，这样你可以自己去作出判断。他很有进步，并不老是看上去就要突然哭起来的样子。他现在是一家大铁路公司总经理办公室的职员——可不是茶房——周末赶来看望他的爸爸。他爸爸原想搞新闻工作，不过现在得了风湿病，退休在家。好啦！我们现在到花园里去吧！”她挽起了客人的手臂。“我们不再谈这起荒唐的意大利事件好不好？我们希望你这次在风角无忧无虑，能安安静静、舒舒服服地玩上几天。”
露西自以为这番话讲得挺不错。读者可能察觉这里面有个不幸的漏洞。至于巴特利特小姐是否察觉这一点倒也难说，因为要深入地看清上了年纪的人的内心是不可能的。她可能还要讲下去，不过女主人进屋打断了她们。于是有一番解释，在这过程中，露西悄悄地溜走了，脑海里的那些形象搏动得更加鲜龙活跳了。