The Rainbow-虹(英文版)- 第118节

〃All　right；〃　he　said。

He　would　rather　the　thing　was　left　indefinite；　and　that　she
took　the　responsibility。

They　talked　of　the　Easter　vacation。　She　thought　only　of
plete　enjoyment。

They　went　to　an　hotel　in　Piccadilly。　She　was　supposed　to　be
his　wife。　They　bought　a　wedding…ring　for　a　shilling；　from　a　shop
in　a　poor　quarter。

They　had　revoked　altogether　the　ordinary　mortal　world。　Their
confidence　was　like　a　possession　upon　them。　They　were　possessed。
Perfectly　and　supremely　free　they　felt；　proud　beyond　all
question；　and　surpassing　mortal　conditions。

They　were　perfect；　therefore　nothing　else　existed。　The　world
was　a　world　of　servants　whom　one　civilly　ignored。　Wherever　they
went；　they　were　the　sensuous　aristocrats；　warm；　bright；　glancing
with　pure　pride　of　the　senses。

The　effect　upon　other　people　was　extraordinary。　The　glamour
was　cast　from　the　young　couple　upon　all　they　came　into　contact
with；　waiters　or　chance　acquaintances。

〃Oui；　Monsieur　le　baron；〃　she　would　reply　with　a
mocking　courtesy　to　her　husband。

So　they　came　to　be　treated　as　titled　people。　He　was　an
officer　in　the　engineers。　They　were　just　married；　going　to　India
immediately。

Thus　a　tissue　of　romance　was　round　them。　She　believed　she　was
a　young　wife　of　a　titled　husband　on　the　eve　of　departure　for
India。　This；　the　social　fact；　was　a　delicious　make…belief。　The
living　fact　was　that　he　and　she　were　man　and　woman；　absolute　and
beyond　all　limitation。

The　days　went　by……they　were　to　have　three　weeks
together……in　perfect　success。　All　the　time；　they　themselves
were　reality；　all　outside　was　tribute　to　them。　They　were　quite
careless　about　money；　but　they　did　nothing　very　extravagant。　He
was　rather　surprised　when　he　found　that　he　had　spent　twenty
pounds　in　a　little　under　a　week；　but　it　was　only　the　irritation
of　having　to　go　to　the　bank。　The　machinery　of　the　old　system
lasted　for　him；　not　the　system。　The　money　simply　did　not
exist。

Neither　did　any　of　the　old　obligations。　They　came　home　from
the　theatre；　had　supper；　then　flitted　about　in　their
dressing…gowns。　They　had　a　large　bedroom　and　a　corner
sitting…room　high　up；　remote　and　very　cosy。　They　ate　all　their
meals　in　their　own　rooms；　attended　by　a　young　German　called
Hans；　who　thought　them　both　wonderful；　and　answered
assiduously：

〃Gewiss；　Herr　Baron……bitte　sehr；　Frau
Baronin。〃

Often；　they　saw　the　pink　of　dawn　away　across　the　park。　The
tower　of　Westminster　Cathedral　was　emerging；　the　lamps　of
Piccadilly；　stringing　away　beside　the　trees　of　the　park；　were
being　pale　and　moth…like；　the　morning　traffic　was
clock…clocking　down　the　shadowy　road；　which　had　gleamed　all
night　like　metal；　down　below；　running　far　ahead　into　the　night；
beneath　the　lamps；　and　which　was　now　vague；　as　in　a　mist；
because　of　the　dawn。

Then；　as　the　flush　of　dawn　became　stronger；　they　opened　the
glass　doors　and　went　on　to　the　giddy　balcony；　feeling　triumphant
as　two　angels　in　bliss；　looking　down　at　the　still　sleeping
world；　which　would　wake　to　a　dutiful；　rumbling；　sluggish　turmoil
of　unreality。

＇But　the　air　was　cold。　They　went　into　their　bedroom；　and　bathed　before
going　to　bed；　leaving　the　partition　doors　of　the　bathroom　open；　so　that
the　vapour　came　into　the　bedroom　and　faintly　dimmed　the　mirror。　She　was
always　in　bed　first。　She　watched　him　as　he　bathed；　his　quick；　unconscious
movements；　the　electric　light　glinting　on　his　wet　shoulders。　He　stood　out
of　the　bath；　his　hair　all　washed　flat　over　his　forehead；　and　pressed　the
water　out　of　his　eyes。　He　was　slender；　and；　to　her；　perfect；　a　clean；
straight…cut　youth；　without　a　grain　of　superfluous　body。　The　brown　hair　on
his　body　was　soft　and　fine　and　adorable；　he　was　all　beautifully　flushed；
as　he　stood　in　the　white　bath…apartment。

He　saw　her　warm；　dark；　lit…up　face　watching　him　from　the　pillow……yet
he　did　not　see　it……it　was　always　present；　and　was　to　him　as　his　own
eyes。　He　was　never　aware　of　the　separate　being　of　her。　She　was　like　his
own　eyes　and　his　own　heart　beating　to　him。

So　he　went　across　to　her；　to　get　his　sleeping　suit。　It　was　always　a
perfect　adventure　to　go　near　to　her。　She　put　her　arms　round　him；　and
snuffed　his　warm；　softened　skin。

〃Scent；〃　she　said。

〃Soap；〃　he　answered。

〃Soap；〃　she　repeated；　looking　up　with　bright　eyes。　They　were　both
laughing；　always　laughing。＇

Soon　they　were　fast　asleep；　asleep　till　midday；　close
together；　sleeping　one　sleep。　Then　they　awoke　to　the
ever…changing　reality　of　their　state。　They　alone　inhabited　the
world　of　reality。　All　the　rest　lived　on　a　lower　sphere。

Whatever　they　wanted　to　do；　they　did。　They　saw　a　few
people……Dorothy；　whose　guest　she　was　supposed　to　be；　and　a
couple　of　friends　of　Skrebensky；　young　Oxford　men；　who　called
her　Mrs。　Skrebensky　with　entire　simplicity。　They　treated　her；
indeed；　with　such　respect；　that　she　began　to　think　she　was
really　quite　of　the　whole　universe；　of　the　old　world　as　well　as
of　the　new。　She　forgot　she　was　outside　the　pale　of　the　old
world。　She　thought　she　had　brought　it　under　the　spell　of　her
own；　real　world。　And　so　she　had。

In　such　ever…changing　reality　the　weeks　went　by。　All　the
time；　they　were　an　unknown　world　to　each　other。　Every　movement
made　by　the　one　was　a　reality　and　an　adventure　to　the　other。
They　did　not　want　outside　excitements。　They　went　to　very　few
theatres；　they　were　often　in　their　sitting…room　high　up　over
Piccadilly；　with　windows　open　on　two　sides；　and　the　door　open　on
to　the　balcony；　looking　over　the　Green　Park；　or　down　upon　the
minute　travelling　of　the　traffic。

Then　suddenly；　looking　at　a　sunset；　she　wanted　to　go。　She
must　be　gone。　She　must　be　gone　at　once。　And　in　two　hours'　time
they　were　at　Charing　Cross　taking　train　for　Paris。　Paris　was　his
suggestion。　She　did　not　care　where　it　was。　The　great　joy　was　in
setting　out。　And　for　a　few　days　she　was　happy　in　the　novelty　of
Paris。

Then；　for　some　reason；　she　must　call　in　Rouen　on　the　way　back
to　London。　He　had　an　instinctive　mistrust　of　her　desire　for　the
place。　But；　perversely；　she　wanted　to　go　there。　It　was　as　if　she
wanted　to　try　its　effect　upon　her。

For　the　first　time；　in　Rouen；　he　had　a　cold　feeling　of　death；
not　afraid　of　any　other　man；　but　of　her。　She　seemed　to　leave
him。　She　followed　after　something　that　was　not　him。　She　did　not
want　him。　The　old　streets；　the　cathedral；　the　age　and　the
monumental　peace　of　the　town　took　her　away　from　him。　She　turned
to　it　as　if　to　something　she　had　forgotten；　and　wanted。　This　was
now　the　reality；　this　great　stone　cathedral　slumbering　there　in
its　mass；　which　knew　no　transience　nor　heard　any　denial。　It　was
majestic　in　its　stability；　its　splendid　absoluteness。

Her　soul　began　to　run　by　itself。　He　did　not　realize；　nor　did
she。　Yet　in　Rouen　he　had　the　first　deadly　anguish；　the　first
sense　of　the　death　towards　which　they　were　wandering。　And　she
felt　the　first　heavy　yearning；　heavy；　heavy　hopeless　warning；
almost　like　a　deep；　uneasy　sinking　into　apathy；
hopelessness。

They　returned　to　London。　But　still　they　had　two　days。　He
began　to　tremble；　he　grew　feverish　with　the　fear　of　her
departure。　She　had　in　her　some　fatal　prescience；　that　made　her
calm。　What　would　be；　would　be。

He　remained　fairly　easy；　however；　still　in　his　state　of
heightened　glamour；　till　she　had　gone；　and　he　had　turned　away
from　St。　Pancras；　and　sat　on　the　tram…car　going　up　Pimlico　to
the　〃Angel〃；　to　Moorgate　Street　on　Sunday　evening。

Then　the　cold　horror　gradually　soaked　into　him。　He　saw　the
horror　of　the　City　Road；　he　realized　the　ghastly　cold　sordidness
of　the　tram…car　in　which　he　sat。　Cold；　stark；　ashen　sterility
had　him　surrounded。　Where　then　was　the　luminous；　wonderful　world
he　belonged　to　by　rights？　How　did　he　e　to　be　thrown　on　this
refuse…heap　where　he　was？

He　was　as　if　mad。　The　horror　of　the　brick　buildings；　of　the
tram…car；　of　the　ashen…grey　people　in　the　street　made　him
reeling　and　blind　as　if　drunk。　He　went　mad。　He　had　lived　with
her　in　a　close；　living；　pulsing　world；　where　everything　pulsed
with　rich　being。　Now　he　found　himself　struggling　amid　an
ashen…dry；　cold　world　of　rigidity；　dead　walls　and　mechanical
traffic；　and　creeping；　spectre…like　people。　The　life　was
extinct；　only　ash