Mr. Carteret shone with his candour. "Doesn't she love you then?"

"That's what I ask her. Her answer is that she loves me only too well.

She's so afraid of being a burden to me that she gives me my freedom

till I've taken another year to think."

"I like the way you talk about other years!" Mr. Carteret cried. "You

had better do it while I'm here to bless you."

"She thinks I proposed to her because she got me in for Harsh," said

Nick.

"Well, I'm sure it would be a very pretty return."

"Ah she doesn't believe in me," the young man repeated.

"Then I don't believe in _her_."

"Don't say that--don't say that. She's a very rare creature. But she's

proud, shy, suspicious."

"Suspicious of what?"

"Of everything. She thinks I'm not persistent."

"Oh, oh!"--Nick's host deprecated such freedom.

"She can't believe I shall arrive at true eminence."

"A good wife should believe what her husband believes," said Mr.

Carteret.

"Ah unfortunately"--and Nick took the words at a run--"I don't believe

it either."

Mr. Carteret, who might have been watching an odd physical rush, spoke

with a certain dryness. "Your dear father did."

"I think of that--I think of that," Nick replied.

"Certainly it will help me. If I say we're engaged," he went on, "it's

because I consider it so. She gives me my liberty, but I don't take it."

"Does she expect you to take back your word?"

"That's what I ask her. _She_ never will. Therefore we're as good as

tied."

"I don't like it," said Mr. Carteret after a moment. "I don't like

ambiguous, uncertain situations. They please me much better when they're

definite and clear." The retreat of expression had been sounded in his

face--the aspect it wore when he wished not to be encouraging. But after

an instant he added in a tone more personal: "Don't disappoint me, dear

boy."

"Ah not willingly!" his visitor protested.

"I've told you what I should like to do for you. See that the conditions

come about promptly in which I _may_, do it. Are you sure you do

everything to satisfy Mrs. Dallow?" Mr. Carteret continued.

"I think I'm very nice to her," Nick declared. "But she's so ambitious.

Frankly speaking, it's a pity for her that she likes me."

"She can't help that!" the old man charmingly said.

"Possibly. But isn't it a reason for taking me as I am? What she wants

to do is to take me as I may be a year hence."

"I don't understand--since you tell me that even then she won't take

back her word," said Mr. Carteret.

"If she doesn't marry me I think she'll never marry again at all."

"What then does she gain by delay?"

"Simply this, as I make it out," said Nick--"that she'll feel she has

been very magnanimous. She won't have to reproach herself with not

having given me a chance to change."

"To change? What does she think you liable to do?"

Nick had a pause. "I don't know!" he then said--not at all candidly.

"Everything has altered: young people in my day looked at these

questions more naturally," Mr. Carteret observed. "A woman in love has

no need to be magnanimous. If she plays too fair she isn't in love," he

added shrewdly.

"Oh, Julia's safe--she's safe," Nick smiled.

"If it were a question between you and another gentleman one might

comprehend. But what does it mean, between you and nothing?"

"I'm much obliged to you, sir," Nick returned. "The trouble is that she

doesn't know what she has got hold of."

"Ah, if you can't make it clear to her!"--and his friend showed the note

of impatience.

"I'm such a humbug," said the young man. And while his companion stared

he continued: "I deceive people without in the least intending it."

"What on earth do you mean? Are you deceiving me?"

"I don't know--it depends on what you think."

"I think you're flighty," said Mr. Carteret, with the nearest approach

to sternness Nick had ever observed in him. "I never thought so before."

"Forgive me; it's all right. I'm not frivolous; that I promise you I'm

not."

"You _have_ deceived me if you are."

"It's all right," Nick stammered with a blush.

"Remember your name--carry it high."

"I will--as high as possible."

"You've no excuse. Don't tell me, after your speeches at Harsh!" Nick

was on the point of declaring again that he was a humbug, so vivid was

his inner sense of what he thought of his factitious public utterances,

which had the cursed property of creating dreadful responsibilities and

importunate credulities for him. If _he_ was "clever" (ah the idiotic

"clever"!) what fools many other people were! He repressed his impulse

and Mr. Carteret pursued. "If, as you express it, Mrs. Dallow doesn't

know what she has got hold of, won't it clear the matter up a little by

informing her that the day before your marriage is definitely settled to

take place you'll come into something comfortable?"

A quick vision of what Mr. Carteret would be likely to regard as

something comfortable flitted before Nick, but it didn't prevent his

replying: "Oh I'm afraid that won't do any good. It would make her like

you better, but it wouldn't make her like me. I'm afraid she won't care

for any benefit that comes to me from another hand than hers. Her

affection's a very jealous sentiment."

"It's a very peculiar one!" sighed Mr. Carteret. "Mine's a jealous

sentiment too. However, if she takes it that way don't tell her."

"I'll let you know as soon as she comes round," said Nick.

"And you'll tell your mother," Mr. Carteret returned. "I shall like

_her_ to know."

"It will be delightful news to her. But she's keen enough already."

"I know that. I may mention now that she has written to me," the old man

added.

"So I suspected."

"We've--a--corresponded on the subject," Mr. Carteret continued to

confess. "My view of the advantageous character of such an alliance has

entirely coincided with hers."

"It was very good-natured of you then to leave me to speak first," said

Nick.

"I should have been disappointed if you hadn't. I don't like all you've

told me. But don't disappoint me now."

"Dear Mr. Carteret!" Nick vaguely and richly sounded.

"I won't disappoint _you_," that gentleman went on with a finer point

while he looked at his big old-fashioned watch.

The Tragic Muse · 第 36 / 108 题