pgw.uneasymoney-第19部分

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he　fact　that　they　understood　each　other　so　well。　It　accounted　for　everything　so　satisfactorily　that　he　was　able　to　get　to　sleep　that　night　after　all。
　But　next　morningfor　his　conscience　was　one　of　those　persistent　conscienceshe　began　to　have　doubts　again。　Nothing　clings　like　a　suspicion　in　the　mind　of　a　conscientious　young　man　that　he　has　been　allowing　his　heart　to　stray　from　its　proper　anchorage。
　Could　it　be　that　he　was　behaving　badly　toward　Claire？　The　thought　was　unpleasant；　but　he　could　not　get　rid　of　it。　He　extracted　Claire's　photograph　from　his　suit…case　and　gazed　solemnly　upon　it。
　At　first　he　was　shocked　to　find　that　it　only　succeeded　in　convincing　him　that　Elizabeth　was　quite　the　most　attractive　girl　he　ever　had　met。　The　photographer　had　given　Claire　rather　a　severe　look。　He　had　told　her　to　moisten　the　lips　with　the　tip　of　the　tongue　and　assume　a　pleasant　smile；　with　the　result　that　she　seemed　to　glare。　She　had　a　rather　markedly　aggressive　look；　queenly　perhaps；　but　not　very　fortable。
　But　there　is　no　species　of　self…hypnotism　equal　to　that　of　a　man　who　gazes　persistently　at　a　photograph　with　the　preconceived　idea　that　he　is　in　love　with　the　original　of　it。　Little　by　little　Bill　found　that　the　old　feeling　began　to　return。　He　persevered。　By　the　end　of　a　quarter　of　an　hour　he　had　almost　succeeded　in　capturing　anew　that　first　fine　careless　rapture　which；　six　months　ago；　had　caused　him　to　propose　to　Claire　and　walk　on　air　when　she　accepted　him。
　He　continued　the　treatment　throughout　the　day；　and　by　dinner…time　had　arranged　everything　with　his　conscience　in　the　most　satisfactory　manner　possible。　He　loved　Claire　with　a　passionate　fervour；　he　liked　Elizabeth　very　much　indeed。　He　submitted　this　diagnosis　to　conscience；　and　conscience　graciously　approved　and　accepted　it。
　It　was　Sunday　that　day。　That　helped。　There　is　nothing　like　Sunday　in　a　foreign　country　for　helping　a　man　to　sentimental　thoughts　of　the　girl　he　has　left　behind　him　elsewhere。　And　the　fact　that　there　was　a　full　moon　clinched　it。　Bill　was　enabled　to　go　for　an　after…dinner　stroll　in　a　condition　of　almost　painful　loyalty　to　Claire。
　From　time　to　time；　as　he　walked　along　the　road；　he　took　out　the　photograph　and　did　some　more　gazing。　The　last　occasion　on　which　he　did　this　was　just　as　he　emerged　from　the　shadow　of　a　large　tree　that　stood　by　the　roadside；　and　a　gush　of　rich　emotion　rewarded　him。
　'Claire！'　he　murmured。
　An　exclamation　at　his　elbow　caused　him　to　look　up。　There；　leaning　over　a　gate；　the　light　of　the　moon　falling　on　her　beautiful　face；　stood　Claire　herself！
　
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　In　trying　interviews；　as　in　sprint　races；　the　start　is　everything。　It　was　the　fact　that　she　recovered　more　quickly　from　her　astonishment　that　enabled　Claire　to　dominate　her　scene　with　Bill。　She　had　the　advantage　of　having　a　less　plicated　astonishment　to　recover　from；　for；　though　it　was　a　shock　to　see　him　there　when　she　had　imagined　that　he　was　in　New　York；　it　was　not　nearly　such　a　shock　as　it　was　to　him　to　see　her　here　when　he　had　imagined　that　she　was　in　England。　She　had　adjusted　her　brain　to　the　situation　while　he　was　still　gaping。
　'Well；　Bill？'
　This　speech　in　itself　should　have　been　enough　to　warn　Lord　Dawlish　of　impending　doom。　As　far　as　love；　affection；　and　tenderness　are　concerned；　a　girl　might　just　as　well　hit　a　man　with　an　axe　as　say　'Well；　Bill？'　to　him　when　they　have　met　unexpectedly　in　the　moonlight　after　long　separation。　But　Lord　Dawlish　was　too　shattered　by　surprise　to　be　capable　of　observing　_nuances_。　If　his　love　had　ever　waned　or　faltered；　as　conscience　had　suggested　earlier　in　the　day；　it　was　at　full　blast　now。
　'Claire！'　he　cried。
　He　was　moving　to　take　her　in　his　arms；　but　she　drew　back。
　'No；　really；　Bill！'　she　said；　and　this　time　it　did　filter　through　into　his　disordered　mind　that　all　was　not　well。　A　man　who　is　a　good　deal　dazed　at　the　moment　may　fail　to　appreciate　a　remark　like　'Well；　Bill？'　but　for　a　girl　to　draw　back　and　say；　'No；　really；　Bill！'　in　a　tone　not　exactly　of　loathing；　but　certainly　of　pained　aversion；　is　a　deliberately　unfriendly　act。　The　three　short　words；　taken　in　conjunction　with　the　movement；　brought　him　up　with　as　sharp　a　turn　as　if　she　had　punched　him　in　the　eye。
　'Claire！　What's　the　matter？'
　She　looked　at　him　steadily。　She　looked　at　him　with　a　sort　of　queenly　woodenness；　as　if　he　were　behind　a　camera　with　a　velvet　bag　over　his　head　and　had　just　told　her　to　moisten　the　lips　with　the　tip　of　the　tongue。　Her　aspect　staggered　Lord　Dawlish。　A　cursory　inspection　of　his　conscience　showed　nothing　but　purity　and　whiteness；　but　he　must　have　done　something；　or　she　would　not　be　staring　at　him　like　this。
　'I　don't　understand！'　was　the　only　remark　that　occurred　to　him。
　'Are　you　sure？'
　'What　do　you　mean？'
　'I　was　at　Reigelheimer's　RestaurantAh！'
　The　sudden　start　which　Lord　Dawlish　had　given　at　the　opening　words　of　her　sentence　justified　the　concluding　word。　Innocent　as　his　behaviour　had　been　that　night　at　Reigelheimer's；　he　had　been　glad　at　the　time　that　he　had　not　been　observed。　It　now　appeared　that　he　had　been　observed；　and　it　seemed　to　him　that　Long　Island　suddenly　flung　itself　into　a　whirling　dance。　He　heard　Claire　speaking　a　long　way　off：　'I　was　there　with　Lady　Wetherby。　It　was　she　who　invited　me　to　e　to　America。　I　went　to　the　restaurant　to　see　her　danceand　I　saw　you！'
　With　a　supreme　effort　Bill　succeeded　in　calming　down　the　excited　landscape。　He　willed　the　trees　to　stop　dancing；　and　they　came　reluctantly　to　a　standstill。　The　world　ceased　to　swim　and　flicker。
　'Let　me　explain；'　he　said。
　The　moment　he　had　said　the　words　he　wished　he　could　recall　them。　Their　substance　was　right　enough；　it　was　the　sound　of　them　that　was　wrong。　They　sounded　like　a　line　from　a　farce；　where　the　erring　husband　has　been　caught　by　the　masterful　wife。　They　were　ridiculous。　Worse　than　being　merely　ridiculous；　they　created　an　atmosphere　of　guilt　and　evasion。
　'Explain！　How　can　you　explain？　It　is　impossible　to　explain。　I　saw　you　with　my　own　eyes　making　an　exhibition　of　yourself　with　a　horrible　creature　in　salmon…pink。　I'm　not　asking　you　who　she　is。　I'm　not　questioning　you　about　your　relations　with　her　at　all。　I　don't　care　who　she　was。　The　mere　fact　that　you　were　at　a　public　restaurant　with　a　person　of　that　kind　is　enough。　No　doubt　you　think　I　am　making　a　great　deal　of　fuss　about　a　very　ordinary　thing。　You　consider　that　it　is　a　man's　privilege　to　do　these　things；　if　he　can　do　them　without　being　found　out。　But　it　ended　everything　so　far　as　I　am　concerned。　Am　I　unreasonable？　I　don't　think　so。　You　steal　off　to　America；　thinking　I　am　in　England；　and　behave　like　this。　How　could　you　do　that　if　you　really　loved　me？　It's　the　deceit　of　it　that　hurts　me。'
　Lord　Dawlish　drew　in　a　few　breaths　of　pure　Long　Island　air；　but　he　did　not　speak。　He　felt　helpless。　If　he　were　to　be　allowed　to　withdraw　into　the　privacy　of　the　study　and　wrap　a　cold；　wet　towel　about　his　forehead　and　buckle　down　to　it；　he　knew　that　he　could　draft　an　excellent　and　satisfactory　explanation　of　his　presence　at　Reigelheimer's　with　the　Good　Sport。　But　to　do　it　on　the　spur　of　the　moment　like　this　was　beyond　him。
　Claire　was　speaking　again。　She　had　paused　for　a　while　after　her　recent　speech；　in　order　to　think　of　something　else　to　say；　and　during　this　pause　had　e　to　her　mind　certain　excerpts　from　one　of　those　admirable　articles　on　love；　by　Luella　Delia　Philpotts；　which　do　so　much　to　boost　the　reading　public　of　the　United　States　into　the　higher　planes。　She　had　read　it　that　afternoon　in　the　Sunday　paper；　and　it　came　back　to　her　now。
　'I　may　be　hypersensitive；'　she　said；　dropping　her　voice　from　the　accusatory　register　to　the　lower　tones　of　pathos；　'but　I　have　such　high　ideals　of　love。　There　can　be　no　true　love　where　there　is　not　perfect　trust。　Trust　is　to　love　what'
　She　paused　again。　She　could　not　remember　just　what　Luella　Delia　Philpotts　had　said　trust　was　to　love。　It　was　something　extremely　neat；　but　it　had　slipped　her　memory。
　'A　woman　has　the　right　to　expect　the　man　she　is　about　to　marry　to　regard　their　troth　as　a　sacred　obligation　that　shall　keep　him　as　pure　as　a　young　knight　who　has　dedicated　himself　to　the　quest　of　the　Holy　Grail。　And　I　find　you　in　a　public　restaurant；　dancing　with　a　creature　with　yellow　hair；　upsetting　waiters；　and　staggering　about　with　pats　of　butter　all　over　you。'
　Here　a　sense　of　injustice　stung　Lord　Dawlish。　It　was　true　that　after　his　regrettable　collision　with　Heinrich；　the　waiter；　he　had　discovered　butter　upon　his　person；　but　it　was　only　one　pat。　Claire　had　spoken　as　if　he　had　been　festooned　with　butter。
　'I　am　not　angry　with　you；　only　disappointed。　What　has　happened　has　shown　me　that　you　do　not　really　love　me；　not　as　I　think　of　love。　Oh；　I　know　that　when　we　are　together　you　think　you　do；　but　absence　is　the　test。　Absence　is　the　acid…test　of　love　that　separates　the　base　metal　from　the　true。　After　what　has　happened；　we　can't　go　on　with　our　engagement。　It　would　be　farcical。　I　could　never　feel　that　way　toward　you　again。　We　shall　always　be　friends；　I　hope。　But　as　for　lovelove　is　not　a　machine。　It　cannot　be　shattered　and　put　together　again。'
　She　turned　and　began　to　walk　up　the　drive。　Hanging　over　the　top　of　the　gate　like　a　wet　sock；　Lord　Dawlish　watch