The Rainbow-虹(英文版)- 第86部分

〃She　won't　wait　to　be　taken　away；〃　said　her　father。　But　that
seemed　clumsy。　She　wished　he　would　leave　her　to　say　her　own
things。

〃Don't　you　like　study？〃　asked　Skrebensky；　turning　to　her；
putting　the　question　from　his　own　case。

〃I　like　some　things；〃　said　Ursula。　〃I　like　Latin　and
French……and　grammar。〃

He　watched　her；　and　all　his　being　seemed　attentive　to　her；
then　he　shook　his　head。

〃I　don't；〃　he　said。　〃They　say　all　the　brains　of　the　army　are
in　the　Engineers。　I　think　that's　why　I　joined　them……to　get
the　credit　of　other　people's　brains。〃

He　said　this　quizzically　and　with　chagrin。　And　she　became
alert　to　him。　It　interested　her。　Whether　he　had　brains　or　not；
he　was　interesting。　His　directness　attracted　her；　his
independent　motion。　She　was　aware　of　the　movement　of　his　life
over　against　hers。

〃I　don't　think　brains　matter；〃　she　said。

〃What　does　matter　then？〃　came　her　Uncle　Tom's　intimate；
caressing；　half…jeering　voice。

She　turned　to　him。

〃It　matters　whether　people　have　courage　or　not；〃　she
said。

〃Courage　for　what？〃　asked　her　uncle。

〃For　everything。〃

Tom　Brangwen　gave　a　sharp　little　laugh。　The　mother　and　father
sat　silent；　with　listening　faces。　Skrebensky　waited。　She　was
speaking　for　him。

〃Everything's　nothing；〃　laughed　her　uncle。

She　disliked　him　at　that　moment。

〃She　doesn't　practice　what　she　preaches；〃　said　her　father；
stirring　in　his　chair　and　crossing　one　leg　over　the　other。　〃She
has　courage　for　mighty　little。〃

But　she　would　not　answer。　Skrebensky　sat　still；　waiting。　His
face　was　irregular；　almost　ugly；　flattish；　with　a　rather　thick
nose。　But　his　eyes　were　pellucid；　strangely　clear；　his　brown
hair　was　soft　and　thick　as　silk；　he　had　a　slight　moustache。　His
skin　was　fine；　his　figure　slight；　beautiful。　Beside　him；　her
Uncle　Tom　looked　full…blown；　her　father　seemed　uncouth。　Yet　he
reminded　her　of　her　father；　only　he　was　finer；　and　he　seemed　to
be　shining。　And　his　face　was　almost　ugly。

He　seemed　simply　acquiescent　in　the　fact　of　his　own　being；　as
if　he　were　beyond　any　change　or　question。　He　was　himself。　There
was　a　sense　of　fatality　about　him　that　fascinated　her。　He　made
no　effort　to　prove　himself　to　other　people。　Let　it　be　accepted
for　what　it　was；　his　own　being。　In　its　isolation　it　made　no
excuse　or　explanation　for　itself。

So　he　seemed　perfectly；　even　fatally　established；　he　did　not
asked　to　be　rendered　before　he　could　exist；　before　he　could　have
relationship　with　another　person。

This　attracted　Ursula　very　much。　She　was　so　used　to　unsure
people　who　took　on　a　new　being　with　every　new　influence。　Her
Uncle　Tom　was　always　more　or　less　what　the　other　person　would
have　him。　In　consequence；　one　never　knew　the　real　Uncle　Tom；
only　a　fluid；　unsatisfactory　flux　with　a　more　or　less　consistent
appearance。

But；　let　Skrebensky　do　what　he　would；　betray　himself
entirely；　he　betrayed　himself　always　upon　his　own
responsibility。　He　permitted　no　question　about　himself。　He　was
irrevocable　in　his　isolation。

So　Ursula　thought　him　wonderful；　he　was　so　finely
constituted；　and　so　distinct；　self…contained；　self…supporting。
This；　she　said　to　herself；　was　a　gentleman；　he　had　a　nature　like
fate；　the　nature　of　an　aristocrat。

She　laid　hold　of　him　at　once　for　her　dreams。　Here　was　one
such　as　those　Sons　of　God　who　saw　the　daughters　of　men；　that
they　were　fair。　He　was　no　son　of　Adam。　Adam　was　servile。　Had　not
Adam　been　driven　cringing　out　of　his　native　place；　had　not　the
human　race　been　a　beggar　ever　since；　seeking　its　own　being？　But
Anton　Skrebensky　could　not　beg。　He　was　in　possession　of　himself；
of　that；　and　no　more。　Other　people　could　not　really　give　him
anything　nor　take　anything　from　him。　His　soul　stood　alone。

She　knew　that　her　mother　and　father　acknowledged　him。　The
house　was　changed。　There　had　been　a　visit　paid　to　the　house。
Once　three　angels　stood　in　Abraham's　doorway；　and　greeted　him；
and　stayed　and　ate　with　him；　leaving　his　household　enriched　for
ever　when　they　went。

The　next　day　she　went　down　to　the　Marsh　according　to
invitation。　The　two　men　were　not　e　home。　Then；　looking
through　the　window；　she　saw　the　dogcart　drive　up；　and　Skrebensky
leapt　down。　She　saw　him　draw　himself　together；　jump；　laugh　to
her　uncle；　who　was　driving；　then　e　towards　her　to　the　house。
He　was　so　spontaneous　and　revealed　in　his　movements。　He　was
isolated　within　his　own　clear；　fine　atmosphere；　and　as　still　as
if　fated。

His　resting　in　his　own　fate　gave　him　an　appearance　of
indolence；　almost　of　languor：　he　made　no　exuberant　movement。
When　he　sat　down；　he　seemed　to　go　loose；　languid。

〃We　are　a　little　late；〃　he　said。

〃Where　have　you　been？〃

〃We　went　to　Derby　to　see　a　friend　of　my　father's。〃

〃Who？〃

It　was　an　adventure　to　her　to　put　direct　questions　and　get
plain　answers。　She　knew　she　might　do　it　with　this　man。

〃Why；　he　is　a　clergyman　too……he　is　my　guardian……one
of　them。〃

Ursula　knew　that　Skrebensky　was　an　orphan。

〃Where　is　really　your　home　now？〃　she　asked。

〃My　home？……I　wonder。　I　am　very　fond　of　my
colonel……Colonel　Hepburn：　then　there　are　my　aunts：　but　my
real　home；　I　suppose；　is　the　army。〃

〃Do　you　like　being　on　your　own？〃

His　clear；　greenish…grey　eyes　rested　on　her　a　moment；　and；　as
he　considered；　he　did　not　see　her。

〃I　suppose　so；〃　he　said。　〃You　see　my　father……well；　he
was　never　acclimatized　here。　He　wanted……I　don't　know　what
he　wanted……but　it　was　a　strain。　And　my　mother……I
always　knew　she　was　too　good　to　me。　I　could　feel　her　being　too
good　to　me……my　mother！　Then　I　went　away　to　school　so　early。
And　I　must　say；　the　outside　world　was　always　more　naturally　a
home　to　me　than　the　vicarage……I　don't　know　why。〃

〃Do　you　feel　like　a　bird　blown　out　of　its　own　latitude？〃　she
asked；　using　a　phrase　she　had　met。

〃No；　no。　I　find　everything　very　much　as　I　like　it。〃

He　seemed　more　and　more　to　give　her　a　sense　of　the　vast
world；　a　sense　of　distances　and　large　masses　of　humanity。　It
drew　her　as　a　scent　draws　a　bee　from　afar。　But　also　it　hurt
her。

It　was　summer；　and　she　wore　cotton　frocks。　The　third　time　he
saw　her　she　had　on　a　dress　with　fine　blue…and…white　stripes；
with　a　white　collar；　and　a　large　white　hat。　It　suited　her
golden；　warm　plexion。

〃I　like　you　best　in　that　dress；〃　he　said；　standing　with　his
head　slightly　on　one　side；　and　appreciating　her　in　a　perceiving；
critical　fashion。

She　was　thrilled　with　a　new　life。　For　the　first　time　she　was
in　love　with　a　vision　of　herself：　she　saw　as　it　were　a　fine
little　reflection　of　herself　in　his　eyes。　And　she　must　act　up　to
this：　she　must　be　beautiful。　Her　thoughts　turned　swiftly　to
clothes；　her　passion　was　to　make　a　beautiful　appearance。　Her
family　looked　on　in　amazement　at　the　sudden　transformation　of
Ursula。　She　became　elegant；　really　elegant；　in　figured　cotton
frocks　she　made　for　herself；　and　hats　she　bent　to　her　fancy。　An
inspiration　was　upon　her。

He　sat　with　a　sort　of　languor　in　her　grandmother's　rocking
chair；　rocking　slowly；　languidly；　backward　and　forward；　as
Ursula　talked　to　him。

〃You　are　not　poor；　are　you？〃　she　said。

〃Poor　in　money？　I　have　about　a　hundred　and　fifty　a　year　of　my
own……so　I　am　poor　or　rich；　as　you　like。　I　am　poor　enough