双语·面纱 第十八章

18

He came into the room. Her heart was beating wildly and her hands were shaking; it was lucky that she lay on the sofa. She was holding an open book as though she had been reading. He stood for an instant on the threshold and their eyes met. Her heart sank; she felt on a sudden a cold chill pass through her limbs and she shivered. She had that feeling which you describe by saying that some one was walking over your grave. His face was deathly pale; she had seen it like that once before, when they sat together in the Park and he asked her to marry him. His dark eyes, immobile and inscrutable, seemed pretematurally large. He knew everything.

“You're back early,” she remarked.

Her lips trembled so that she could hardly frame the words. She was terrified. She was afraid she would faint.

“I think it's about the usual time.”

His voice sounded strange to her. It was raised on the last word in order to give his remark a casual air, but it was forced. She wondered if he saw that she was shaking in every limb. It was only by an effort that she did not scream. He dropped his eyes.

“I'm just going to dress.”

He left the room. She was shattered. For two or three minutes she could not stir, but at last, raising herself from the sofa, with difficulty, as though she had had an illness and were still weak, she found her feet. She did not know if her legs would support her. She felt her way by means of chairs and tables to the verandah and then with one hand on the wall went to her room. She put on a tea-gown and when she went back into her boudoir (they only used the drawing-room when there was a party) he was standing at a table looking at the pictures of the Sketch. She had to force herself to enter.

“Shall we go down? Dinner is ready.”

“Have I kept you waiting?”

It was dreadful that she could not control the trembling of her lips.

When was he going to speak?

They sat down and for a moment there was silence between them. Then he made a remark and because it was so commonplace it had a sinister air.

“The Empress didn't come in to-day,” he said.“I wonder if she's been delayed by a storm.”

“Was she due to-day?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him now and saw that his eyes were fixed on his plate. He made another observation, equally trivial, about a tennis tournament that was about to be played, and he spoke at length. His voice as a rule was agreeable, with a variety of tone, but now he spoke on one note. It was strangely unnatural. It gave Kitty the impression that he was speaking from a long way off. And all the time his eyes were directed to his plate, or the table, or to a picture on the wall. He would not meet hers. She realised that he could not bear to look at her.

“Shall we go upstairs?” he said when dinner was finished.

“If you like.”

She rose and he held open the door for her. His eyes were cast down as she passed him. When they reached the sittingroom he took up the illustrated paper once more.

“Is this a new Sketch? I don't think I've seen it.”

“I don't know. I haven't noticed.”

It had been lying about for a fortnight and she knew that he had looked it through and through. He took it and sat down. She lay again on the sofa and took her book. As a rule in the evening, when they were alone, they played coon-can or patience. He was leaning back in an arm-chair, in a comfortable attitude, and his attention seemed absorbed by the illustration he was looking at. He did not turn the page. She tried to read, but she could not see the print before her eyes. The words were blurred. Her head began to ache violently.

When would he speak?

They sat in silence for an hour. She gave up the pretence of reading, and letting her novel fall on her lap, gazed into space. She was afraid to make the smallest gesture or the smallest sound. He sat quite still, in that same easy attitude, and stared with those wide, immobile eyes of his at the picture. His stillness was strangely menacing. It gave Kitty the feeling of a wild beast prepared to spring.

When suddenly he stood up she started. She clenched her hands and she felt herself grow pale. Now!

“I have some work to do,” he said in that quiet, toneless voice, his eyes averted. “If you don't mind I'll go into my study. I daresay you'll have gone to bed by the time I've finished.”

“I am rather tired to-night.”

“Well, good-night.”

“Good-night.”

He left the room.

第十八章

他走进了房间。她的心怦怦直跳，手也不知不觉地在颤抖。庆幸的是，她正斜靠在沙发上，手上拿着一本摊开的书，好像她在他回来之前一直在看书。他在门口站了片刻，两人的目光相遇了。她的心又沉了下去，突然觉得一股寒意穿过了四肢。她打了个寒战，感觉到了俗话说的那种有人在坟头走过的感觉。他的脸色像死人一样惨白，她曾经见过一次，就是他们一起坐在公园里，他向她求婚的那次。他乌黑的眼珠目不转睛而且深不可测，好像异乎寻常地睁大了看着她。他已经知道了一切。

“你今天回来早了。”她打破了沉默。

她的嘴唇颤抖着，几乎都听不清自己在说些什么。她很害怕，担心自己会晕过去。

“我觉得回来的时间跟往常没什么不同。”

对她来说，他的声音听上去挺奇怪。他在说最后一个字时，声调高了上去，好像让他的话有种随便的口吻，但是显得很生硬，像是故意的。她想知道，如果他看到了她浑身在颤抖会怎样。她努力克制着不让自己喊叫出来。他垂下眼帘。

“我去换身衣服。”

他离开了房间，她快崩溃了，有那么两三分钟她都动不了身子。但终于，她还是很困难地从沙发上站了起来，好像大病初愈，仍然很虚弱。她挪动了一下脚步，不知道她的腿能否支撑住自己。她摸着桌椅向阳台方向走去，然后用一只手扶着墙进了自己的卧室。她穿上了一件在家里穿的长裙，然后又回到了她的化妆间（他们只是在举行聚会时才使用客厅）。他正站在一张餐桌前，翻看着《摘要报》，她硬着头皮走进了房间。

“我们下楼吧，晚餐已经准备好了。”

“我让你久等了吗？”

真是要命，她无法控制住声音的颤抖。

什么时候他会把窗户纸捅破？

他们坐下来，有一阵子两人相对无语。然后他开口打破了沉默，因为他所说的是无聊琐事，反而有种不祥的气氛。

“‘女皇号’今天没有回来。”他说道，“我想船可能被暴风雨给耽搁了。”

“它本来是应该今天进港的吗？”

“是的。”

她现在才看了他一眼，注意到他的眼睛正盯着面前的盘子。他又开始聊另一件事，同样也无关紧要，一场网球锦标赛马上就要开始了，而且他一股脑儿说了半天。通常，他说话的声音带着不同的口吻，让人感到很舒服，而现在他的声音好像只有一个调儿，干巴巴的，显得怪怪的，不自然。这让凯蒂感觉到他说话正在兜圈子，而且他的眼睛一直盯着盘子，或者桌子，或者墙上的画，回避着她的目光，她意识到他不想多看她一眼。

“我们可以上楼去吗？”当晚饭吃完的时候，他说道。

“如果你想上楼，可以。”

她站起身来，他为她打开了门。当她从他身边走过的时候，他的目光落在了她身上。他们到了客厅，他再一次拿起了报纸。

“这是新一期的《摘要报》吗？我觉得我以前没看过。”

“我不知道，我也没注意。”

这份报纸在那儿大约有两周的时间了，她知道他已经看过它好几遍了。他拿着它坐了下来，她靠在沙发上也拿起了书。在平常的晚上，当他们单独待在一起的时候，一般情况下，他们会玩一阵碰对牌游戏或者单人纸牌游戏。而此时，他用一种舒服的姿势斜坐在一把扶手椅上，他的注意力似乎被手上的图片所吸引，半天没有翻动一页报纸。她也想努力地把书读进去，但是眼前的字她根本读不进去，这些印刷的字都是模糊的。她的头开始痛得厉害。

他到底什么时候开口呀？

他们静静地坐了大约有一个小时，她放弃了阅读的努力，让她的小说摊在膝盖上，眼睛茫然地看着眼前的空气。她害怕做出最微小的动作或者发出最微弱的声音。他也一动不动地坐着，带着同样放松的神态，但是用大大的、呆滞的眼睛盯着图片。他的纹丝不动带给人的是一种奇怪的威胁，让凯蒂感到一头猛兽要准备向前一扑。

突然他站了起来，着实吓了她一跳。她握紧了拳头，觉得自己的脸色又变白了。这个时刻来了！

“我还有些工作要做。”他用一种安静、毫无感情的声音说道，眼睛看着别处，“如果你不介意的话，我要去我的书房了。我敢说在我完成工作的时候，你已经上床睡了。”

“我今晚很累。”

“那好吧，晚安。”

“晚安。”

他离开了房间。