the research magnificent-第42部分

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ee　or　four　times　to　Emsworth　and　Bognorfor　eight　years。　　When　you　go〃the　tears　glittered　in　the　moonlight〃I　shall　cry。　　It　will　be　worse　than　the　excursion　to　London。　。　。　。　　Ever　since　you　were　here　before　I've　been　thinking　of　it。〃　It　seemed　to　Benham　that　here　indeed　was　the　very　sister　of　his　spirit。　　His　words　sprang　into　his　mind　as　one　thinks　of　a　repartee。　〃But　why　shouldn't　you　come　too？〃　he　said。　She　stared　at　him　in　silence。　　The　two　white…lit　faces　examined　each　other。　　Both　she　and　Benham　were　trembling。　〃COME　TOO？〃　she　repeated。　〃Yes；　with　me。〃　〃ButHOW？〃　Then　suddenly　she　was　weeping　like　a　child　that　is　teased；　her　troubled　eyes　looked　out　from　under　puckered　brows。　　〃You　don't　mean　it；〃　she　said。　　〃You　don't　mean　it。〃　And　then　indeed　he　meant　it。　〃Marry　me；〃　he　said　very　quickly；　glancing　towards　the　dark　group　at　the　end　of　the　garden。　　〃And　we　will　go　together。〃　He　seized　her　arm　and　drew　her　to　him。　　〃I　love　you；〃　he　said。　　〃I　love　your　spirit。　　You　are　not　like　any　one　else。〃　There　was　a　moment's　hesitation。　Both　he　and　she　looked　to　see　how　far　they　were　still　alone。　Then　they　turned　their　dusky　faces　to　each　other。　　He　drew　her　still　closer。　〃Oh！〃　she　said；　and　yielded　herself　to　be　kissed。　　Their　lips　touched；　and　for　a　moment　he　held　her　lithe　body　against　his　own。　〃I　wantn　you；〃　he　whispered　close　to　her。　　〃You　are　my　mate。　　From　the　first　sighawould　certainly　have　done　at　this　point　had　he　had　the　telling　of　Benham's　story　uncontrolledly　in　his　hands。　　But；　indeed；　indeed；　in　real　life；　in　very　truth；　the　heart　has　not　this　simplicity。　　Only　the　heroes　of　romance；　and　a　few　strong　simple　clean…shaven　Americans　have　that　much　emotional　integrity。　　（And　even　the　Americans　do　at　times　seem　to　an　observant　eye　to　be　putting　in　work　at　the　job　and　keeping　up　their　gladness。）　Benham　was　excited　that　night；　but　not　in　the　proper　bright…eyed；　red…cheeked　way；　he　did　not　dance　down　the　village　street　of　Harting　to　his　harbour　at　the　Ship；　and　the　expression　in　his　eyes　as　he　sat　on　the　edge　of　his　bed　was　not　the　deep　elemental　wonder　one　could　have　wished　there；　but　amazement。　　Do　not　suppose　that　he　did　not　love　Amanda；　that　a　rich　majority　of　his　being　was　not　triumphantly　glad　to　have　won　her；　that　the　image　of　the　two　armour…clad　lovers　was　not　still　striding　and　flourishing　through　the　lit　wilderness　of　his　imagination。　　For　three　weeks　things　had　pointed　him　to　this。　They　would　do　everything　together　now；　he　and　his　mate；　they　would　scale　mountains　together　and　ride　side　by　side　towards　ruined　cities　across　the　deserts　of　the　World。　　He　could　have　wished　no　better　thing。　　But　at　the　same　time；　even　as　he　felt　and　admitted　this　and　rejoiced　at　it；　the　sky　of　his　mind　was　black　with　consternation。　。　。　。　It　is　remarkable；　White　reflected；　as　he　turned　over　the　abundant　but　confused　notes　upon　this　perplexing　phase　of　Benham's　development　that　lay　in　the　third　drawer　devoted　to　the　Second　Limitation；　how　dependent　human　beings　are　upon　statement。　　Man　is　the　animal　that　states　a　case。　　He　lives　not　in　things　but　in　expressed　ideas；　and　what　was　troubling　Benham　inordinately　that　night；　a　night　that　should　have　been　devoted　to　purely　blissful　and　exalted　expectations；　was　the　sheer　impossibility　of　stating　what　had　happened　in　any　terms　that　would　be　tolerable　either　to　Mrs。　Skelmersdale　or　Lady　Marayne。　　The　thing　had　happened　with　the　suddenness　of　a　revelation。　　Whatever　had　been　going　on　in　the　less　illuminated　parts　of　his　mind；　his　manifest　resolution　had　been　merely　to　bid　South　Harting　good…bye　　And　in　short　they　would　never　understand。　　They　would　accuse　him　of　the　meanest　treachery。　He　could　see　his　mother's　face；　he　could　hear　her　voice　saying；　〃And　so　because　of　this　sudden　infatuation　for　a　swindler's　daughter；　a　girl　who　runs　about　the　roads　with　a　couple　of　retrievers　hunting　for　a　man；　you　must　spoil　all　my　plans；　ruin　my　year；　tell　me　a　lot　of　pretentious　stuffy　lies。　。　。　。〃　　And　Mrs。　Skelmersdale　too　would　say；　〃Of　course　he　just　talked　of　the　world　and　duty　and　all　that　rubbish　to　save　my　face。　。　。　。〃　It　wasn't　so　at　all。　But　it　looked　so　frightfully　like　it！　Couldn't　they　realize　that　he　had　fled　out　of　London　before　ever　he　had　seen　Amanda？　　They　might　be　able　to　do　it　perhaps；　but　they　never　would。　　It　just　happened　that　in　the　very　moment　when　the　edifice　of　his　noble　resolutions　had　been　ready；　she　had　stepped　into　itout　of　nothingness　and　nowhere。　　She　wasn't　an　accident；　that　was　just　the　point　upon　which　they　were　bound　to　misjudge　her；　she　was　an　embodiment。　　If　only　he　could　show　her　to　them　as　she　had　first　shown　herself　to　him；　swift；　light；　a　little　flushed　from　running　but　not　in　the　least　out　of　breath；　quick　as　a　leopard　upon　the　dogs。　。　。　。　　But　even　if　the　improbable　opportunity　arose；　he　perceived　it　might　still　be　impossible　to　produce　the　Amanda　he　loved；　the　Amanda　of　the　fluttering　short　skirt　and　the　clear　enthusiastic　voice。　　Because；　already　he　knew　she　was　not　the　only　Amanda。　　There　was　another；　there　might　be　others；　there　was　this　perplexing　person　who　had　flashed　into　being　at　the　very　moment　of　their　mutual　confession；　who　had　produced　the　entirely　disconcerting　demand　that　nobody　must　be　told。　　Then　Betty　had　intervened。　　But　that　sub…Amanda　and　her　carneying　note　had　to　be　dealt　with　on　the　first　occasion；　because　when　aristocrats　love　they　don't　care　a　rap　who　is　told　and　who　is　not　told。　　They　just　step　out　into　the　light　side　by　side。　。　。　。　〃Don't　tell　any　one；〃　she　had　said；　〃not　for　a　few　days。　。　。　。〃　This　sub…Amanda　was　perceptible　next　morning　again；　flitting　about　in　the　background　of　a　glad　and　loving　adventuress；　a　pre…occupied　Amanda　who　had　put　her　head　down　while　the　real　Amanda　flung　her　chin　up　and　contemplated　things　on　the　Asiatic　scale；　and　who　was　apparently　engaged　in　disentangling　something　obscure　connected　with　Mr。　Rathbone…Sanders　that　ought　never　to　have　been　entangled。　。　。　。　〃A　human　being；〃　White　read；　〃the　simplest　human　being；　is　a　clustering　mass　of　aspects。　　No　man　will　judge　another　justly　who　judges　everything　about　him。　　And　of　love　in　particular　is　this　true。　　We　love　not　persons　but　revelations。　　The　woman　one　loves　is　like　a　goddess　hidden　in　a　shrine；　for　her　sake　we　live　on　hope　and　suffer　the　kindred　priestesses　that　make　up　herself。　　The　art　of　love　is　patience　till　the　gleam　returns。　。　。　。〃　Sunday　and　Monday　did　much　to　develop　this　idea　of　the　intricate　complexity　of　humanity　in　Benham's　mind。　　On　Monday　morning　he　went　up　from　the　Ship　again　to　get　Amanda　alone　and　deliver　his　ultimatum　agaist　a　further　secrecy；　so　that　he　could　own　her　openly　and　have　no　more　of　the　interventions　and　separations　that　had　barred　him　from　any　intimate　talk　with　her　throughout　the　whole　of　Sunday。　　The　front　door　stood　open；　the　passage　hall　was　empty；　but　as　he　hesitated　whether　he　should　proclaim　himself　with　the　knocker　or　walk　through；　the　door　of　the　little　drawing…room　flew　open　and　a　black…clad　cylindrical　clerical　person　entirely　unknown　to　Benham　stumbled　over　the　threshold；　blundered　blindly　against　him；　made　a　sound　like　〃MOO〃　and　a　pitiful　gesture　with　his　arm；　and　fled　forth。　。　。　。　It　was　a　curate　and　he　was　weeping　bitterl