Mr. Hungerton, her father, really was absolutely centered upon his own silly self. If anything could have driven me from Gladys, it would have been the thought of such a father-in-law. I am convinced that he really believed in his heart that I came round to the Chestnuts three days a week for the pleasure of his company, and very especially to hear his views upon bimetallism (金银双币制). For an hour or more that evening I listened to his tiring talk about bad money driving out good, and the true standards of exchange. “Suppose,” he cried, “that all the debts in the world were called up at once, and immediate payment insisted upon,—what under our present conditions would happen then?” I gave the self-evident answer that I should be a ruined man, upon which he jumped from his chair, scolding me for my thoughtless quickness, which made it impossible for him to discuss any reasonable subject in my presence. At last I was alone with Gladys, and the moment of Fate had come! She sat with that proud, delicate figure of hers outlined against the red curtain. How beautiful she was! Gladys was full of every womanly quality. I was about to break the long and uneasy silence, when two critical, dark eyes looked round at me, and the proud head was shaken disapprovingly. “I have a feeling that you are going to propose, Ned. I do wish you wouldn’t; for things are so much nicer as they are.” I drew my chair a little nearer. “Now, how did you know that I was going to propose?” I asked in wonder. “Don’t women always know? Do you suppose any woman in the world was ever taken unawares? But—oh, Ned, our friendship has been so good and so pleasant! What a pity to spoil it! Don’t you feel how splendid it is that a young man and a young woman should be able to talk face to face as we have talked?” She had sprung from her chair, as she saw signs that I proposed to announce some of my wants. “You’ve spoiled everything, Ned,” she said. “It’s all so beautiful and natural until this kind of thing comes in! It is such a pity! Why can't you control yourself?” “But why can’t you love me, Gladys? Is it my appearance, or what?” “No, it isn’t that.” “My character?” She nodded severely. “What can I do to mend it?” She looked at me with a wondering distrust which was much more to my mind than her whole-hearted confidence. “Now tell me what’s amiss with me?” “I’m in love with somebody else,” said she. It was my turn to jump out of my chair. “It’s nobody in particular,” she explained, laughing at the expression of my face: “only an ideal. I’ve never met the kind of man I mean.” “Tell me about him. What does he look like?” “Oh, he might look very much like you.” “How dear of you to say that! Well, what is it that he does that I don’t do? I’ll have a try at it, Gladys, if you will only give me an idea what would please you.” “Well, it is never a man that I should love, but always the glories he had won; for they would be reflected upon me. Think of Richard Burton! When I read his wife’s life of him I could so understand her love! And Lady Stanley! Did you ever read the wonderful last chapter of that book about her husband? These are the sort of men that a woman could worship with all her soul, and yet be the greater, not the less, on account of her love, honored by all the world as the inspirer of noble deeds.” “And if I do——” Her dear hand rested upon my lips. “Not another word, Sir! You should have been at the office for evening duty half an hour ago; only I hadn’t the heart to remind you. Some day, perhaps, when you have won your place in the world, we shall talk it over again.” 小题1:Why did the writer often come round to the Chestnuts?
|