the dark flower-第49章
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subterfuge； wariness； aching。 A round of half…ecstatic torment；
out of which he seemed no more able to break than a man can break
through the walls of a cell。 。 。 。
Though it live but a day in the sun； though it drown in tenebrous
night； the dark flower of passion will have its hour。 。 。 。
XII
To deceive undoubtedly requires a course of training。 And；
unversed in this art； Lennan was fast finding it intolerable to
scheme and watch himself； and mislead one who had looked up to him
ever since they were children。 Yet； all the time； he had a feeling
that； since he alone knew all the circumstances of his case； he
alone was entitled to blame or to excuse himself。 The glib
judgments that moralists would pass upon his conduct could be
nothing but the imbecilities of smug and pharisaic foolsof those
not under this drugging spellof such as had not blood enough；
perhaps； ever to fall beneath it！
The day after the ride Nell had not come； and he had no word from
her。 Was she； then； hurt； after all？ She had lain back very
inertly in that chair！ And Sylvia never asked if he knew how the
girl was after her fall； nor offered to send round to inquire。 Did
she not wish to speak of her； or had she simplynot believed？
When there was so much he could not talk of it seemed hard that
just what happened to be true should be distrusted。 She had not
yet； indeed； by a single word suggested that she felt he was
deceiving her； but at heart he knew that she was not deceived。 。 。 。
Those feelers of a woman who lovescan anything check their
delicate apprehension？ 。 。 。
Towards evening； the longing to see the girla sensation as if she
were calling him to come to herbecame almost insupportable； yet；
whatever excuse he gave； he felt that Sylvia would know where he
was going。 He sat on one side of the fire； she on the other； and
they both read books； the only strange thing about their reading
was； that neither of them ever turned a leaf。 It was 'Don Quixote'
he read； the page which had these words： 〃Let Altisidora weep or
sing； still I am Dulcinea's and hers alone； dead or alive； dutiful
and unchanged； in spite of all the necromantic powers in the
world。〃 And so the evening passed。 When she went up to bed； he
was very near to stealing out； driving up to the Dromores' door；
and inquiring of the confidential man； but the thought of the
confounded fellow's eyes was too much for him； and he held out。 He
took up Sylvia's book； De Maupassant's 'Fort comme la mort'open
at the page where the poor woman finds that her lover has passed
away from her to her own daughter。 And as he read； the tears
rolled down his cheek。 Sylvia！ Sylvia！ Were not his old
favourite words from that old favourite book still true？ 〃Dulcinea
del Toboso is the most beautiful woman in the world； and I the most
unfortunate knight upon the earth。 It were unjust that such
perfection should suffer through my weakness。 No； pierce my body
with your lance； knight； and let my life expire with my honour。 。 。 。〃
Why could he not wrench this feeling from his heart； banish
this girl from his eyes？ Why could he not be wholly true to her
who was and always had been wholly true to him？ Horriblethis
will…less； nerveless feeling； this paralysis； as if he were a
puppet moved by a cruel hand。 And； as once before； it seemed to
him that the girl was sitting there in Sylvia's chair in her dark
red frock； with her eyes fixed on him。 Uncannily vividthat
impression！ 。 。 。 A man could not go on long with his head in
Chancery like this； without becoming crazed！
It was growing dusk on Saturday afternoon when he gave up that
intolerable waiting and opened the studio door to go to Nell。 It
was now just two days since he had seen or heard of her。 She had
spoken of a dance for that very nightof his going to it。 She
MUST be ill！
But he had not taken six steps when he saw her coming。 She had on
a grey furry scarf； hiding her mouth； making her look much older。
The moment the door was shut she threw it off； went to the hearth；
drew up a little stool； and； holding her hands out to the fire；
said：
〃Have you thought about me？ Have you thought enough now？〃
And he answered： 〃Yes； I've thought； but I'm no nearer。〃
〃Why？ Nobody need ever know you love me。 And if they did； I
wouldn't care。〃
Simple！ How simple！ Glorious； egoistic youth！
He could not speak of Sylvia to this childspeak of his married
life； hitherto so dignified； so almost sacred。 It was impossible。
Then he heard her say：
〃It can't be wrong to love YOU！ I don't care if it is wrong；〃 and
saw her lips quivering； and her eyes suddenly piteous and scared；
as if for the first time she doubted of the issue。 Here was fresh
torment！ To watch an unhappy child。 And what was the use of even
trying to make clear to heron the very threshold of lifethe
hopeless maze that he was wandering in！ What chance of making her
understand the marsh of mud and tangled weeds he must drag through
to reach her。 〃Nobody need know。〃 So simple！ What of his heart
and his wife's heart？ And； pointing to his new workthe first man
bewitched by the first nymphhe said：
〃Look at this； Nell！ That nymph is you； and this man is me。〃 She
got up； and came to look。 And while she was gazing he greedily
drank her in。 What a strange mixture of innocence and sorcery！
What a wonderful young creature to bring to full knowledge of love
within his arms！ And he said： 〃You had better understand what you
are to meall that I shall never know again； there it is in that
nymph's face。 Oh； no！ not YOUR face。 And there am I struggling
through slime to reach younot MY face； of course。〃
She said： 〃Poor face！〃 then covered her own。 Was she going to cry；
and torture him still more？ But； instead； she only murmured： 〃But
you HAVE reached me！〃 swayed towards him； and put her lips to his。
He gave way then。 From that too stormy kiss of his she drew back
for a second； then； as if afraid of her own recoil； snuggled close
again。 But the instinctive shrinking of innocence had been enough
for Lennanhe dropped his arms and said：
〃You must go； child。〃
Without a word she picked up her fur； put it on； and stood waiting
for him to speak。 Then； as he did not； she held out something
white。 It was the card for the dance。
〃You said you were coming？〃
And he nodded。 Her eyes and lips smiled at him； she opened the
door； and； still with that slow； happy smile； went out。 。 。 。
Yes； he would be coming； wherever she was； whenever she wanted
him！ 。 。 。
His blood on fire； heedless of everything but to rush after
happiness； Lennan spent those hours before the dance。 He had told
Sylvia that he would be dining at his Cluba set of rooms owned by
a small coterie of artists in Chelsea。 He had taken this
precaution； feeling that he could not sit through dinner opposite
her and then go out to that danceand Nell！ He had spoken of a
guest at the Club； to account for evening dressanother lie； but
what did it matter？ He was lying all the time； if not in words； in
actionmust lie； indeed； to save her suffering！
He stopped at the Frenchwoman's flower shop。
〃Que desirez…vous； monsieur？ Des oeillets rougesj'en ai de bien
beaux； ce soir。〃
Des oeillets rouges？ Yes； those to…night！ To this address。 No
green with them； no card！
How strange the feelingwith the die once cast for loveof
rushing； of watching his own self being left behind！
In the Brompton Road； outside a little restaurant； a thin musician
was playing on a violin。 Ah！ and he knew this place； he would go
in there； not to the Cluband the fiddler should have all he had
to spare； for playing those tunes of love。 He turned in。 He had
not been there since the day before that night on the river； twenty
years ago。 Never since； and yet it was not changed。 The same
tarnished gilt； and smell of cooking； the same macaroni in the same
tomato sauce； the same Chianti flasks； the same staring； light…blue
walls wreathed with pink flowers。 Only the waiter different
hollow…cheeked； patient； dark of eye。 He； too； should be well
tipped！ And that poor； over…hatted lady； eating her frugal meal
to h
