The house in South Square, Westminster, to which the young Monts had come after their Spanish honeymoon two years before, might have been called 'emancipated.' It was the work of an architect whose dream was a new house perfectly old, and an old house perfectly new. It followed, therefore, no recognised style or tradition, and was devoid of structural prejudice; but it soaked up the smuts of the metropolis with such special rapidity that its stone already respectably resembled that of Wren. Its windows and doors had gently rounded tops. The high-sloping roof, of a fine sooty pink, was almost Danish, and two 'ducky little windows' looked out of it, giving an impression that very tall servants lived up there. There were rooms on each side of the front door, which was wide and set off by bay trees in black and gold bindings. The house was thick through, and the staircase, of a broad chastity, began at the far end of a hall which had room for quite a number of hats and coats and cards. There were four bathrooms; and not even a cellar underneath. The Forsyte instinct for a house had co-operated in its acquisition. Soames had picked it up for his daughter, undecorated, at that psychological moment when the bubble of inflation was pricked, and the air escaping from the balloon of the world's trade. Fleur, however, had established immediate contact with the architect—an element which Soames himself had never quite got over—and decided not to have more than three styles in her house: Chinese, Spanish, and her own. The room to the left of the front door, running the breadth of the house, was Chinese, with ivory panels, a copper floor, central heating, and cut glass lustres. It contained four pictures—all Chinese—the only school in which her father had not yet dabbled. The fireplace, wide and open, had Chinese dogs with Chinese tiles for them to stand on. The silk was chiefly of jade green. There were two wonderful old black tea-chests, picked up with Soames' money at Jobson's—not a bargain. There was no piano, partly because pianos were too uncompromisingly occidental, and partly because it would have taken up much room. Fleur aimed at space-collecting people rather than furniture or bibelots. The light, admitted by windows at both ends, was unfortunately not Chinese. She would stand sometimes in the centre of this room, thinking—how to 'bunch' her guests, how to make her room more Chinese without making it uncomfortable; how to seem to know all about literature and politics; how to accept everything her father gave her, without making him aware that his taste had no sense of the future; how to keep hold of Sibley Swan, the new literary star, and to get hold of Gurdon Minho, the old; of how Wilfrid Desert was getting too fond of her; of what was really her style in dress; of why Michael had such funny ears; and sometimes she stood not thinking at all—just aching a little.

坐落在威斯敏斯特南广场的这幢房子是“解放式”的。两年前，年轻的蒙特夫妇在西班牙度完蜜月，回到了这里。设计它的那位建筑师梦想建造一幢完全古式的新房子和一幢全然一新的老房子。因此，这幢房子并不循规蹈矩，也不墨守结构上的陈规，但它却以惊人的速度收集了这个大都市的煤尘，连砖块也已经快赶上雷恩设计的典雅的建筑物砖块了。房子的门窗都有圆润的穹顶。高斜的屋顶刷着雅致的暗红色，很有丹麦的风格，上面的两扇“玲珑小窗”从屋顶往外探，让人以为上面住着一些魁梧的仆人。前门处很宽敞，装饰着金色和黑色的月桂树，门两侧各有几间房间。房子很深，宽大、典雅的楼梯从门厅尽头开始延伸，门厅很宽敞，足可以放下很多的帽子、大衣和卡片。房子里有四间盥洗室，却没有一间地下室。福赛特家族善于甄别房屋的天赋帮助他们买下了这座房子。索姆斯是在极为恰当的时候为女儿挑选了这幢还未装修的房子，当时通货膨胀的气泡刚被戳破，世界贸易的大气球正在漏气。可是，弗勒早已直接跟建筑师联系了——这恰是索姆斯自己不太具备的能力——并且决定在装修她的房子时仅限于三种风格：中国式、西班牙式以及自己独特的风格。前门左侧的房间和房子的跨度一样宽，是中国式的，镶嵌着象牙色的护墙板，铺着红棕色地板，装有中央暖气，还有雕花玻璃吊灯。屋内挂着四幅画——都是中国国画——这是她父亲至今唯一没有尝试的画派。壁炉宽大开阔，底部镶有中国瓷砖，瓷砖上镶着中国狗的图案。丝绸以翠绿色的居多。屋内有两个古色古香的黑色茶柜，它们是索姆斯从乔布森拍卖行花钱买来的——绝不是廉价品。屋内没有钢琴，其一是因为钢琴带有西洋韵味，风格很不协调，其二是由于它占的空间太大。弗勒希望有空间来招待宾客，而不是收纳家具或者装饰品。可惜的是，从屋内两端窗户透进的光线不是中国的。有时她会站在房子中间，思量着——该如何“汇拢”她的那些客人呢；该如何使她的房间更显中国化而又不失舒适呢；该如何显得自己精通文学和政治呢；该如何接纳父亲给予自己的一切，同时还让父亲察觉不到他的兴趣已跟不上潮流呢；该如何同时抓住文坛新秀西布莉·斯旺和文学泰斗格登·明霍呢；威尔弗里德·德赛特是如何越来越迷恋她呢；她的衣着究竟应该是什么风格呢，还有迈克尔为何长着一副如此滑稽的耳朵呢。但有时她站在那里，什么也不想——只是有一点点心痛。

When those three came in she was sitting before a red lacquer tea-table, finishing a very good tea. She always had tea brought in rather early, so that she could have a good quiet preliminary 'tuck-in' all by herself, because she was not quite twenty-one, and this was her hour for remembering her youth. By her side Ting-a-ling was standing on his hind feet, his tawny forepaws on a Chinese footstool, his snubbed black and tawny muzzle turned up towards the fruits of his philosophy.

当那三人走进来时，弗勒正坐在一张红漆茶桌前，刚刚吃完精致的茶点。她总是吩咐仆人把茶点早一些送过来，这样一来，她便可以独自一人悠然自得地享受“一顿美餐”，因为她还未满21岁，而这正是她记住青春岁月的大好时候。小叮铃正踮着后脚站在她身旁，它那黄褐色的前爪搁在一把中国式的脚凳上，那扁平的黑褐色口鼻朝上仰着，望着他眼中的“果子”。

"That'll do, Ting. No more, ducky! NO MORE!"

“好了，叮铃。没了，宝贝！一点儿也没有了！”

The expression of Ting-a-ling answered:

小叮铃的表情仿佛回答道：

Well, then, stop, too! Don't subject me to torture!'

“哦，那你也别吃了！别再折磨我了！”

A year and three months old, he had been bought by Michael out of a Bond Street shop window on Fleur's twentieth birthday, eleven months ago.

它一岁零三个月，是11个月前，迈克尔在弗勒20岁生日那天，从邦德大街的一家商店橱窗里买来的。

Two years of married life had not lengthened her short dark chestnut hair; had added a little more decision to her quick lips, a little more allurement to her white-lidded, dark-lashed hazel eyes, a little more poise and swing to her carriage, a little more chest and hip measurement; had taken a little from waist and calf measurement, a little colour from cheeks a little less round, and a little sweetness from a voice a little more caressing.

两年的婚姻生活，没有使她深栗色的短发变长，却让她那灵巧的嘴唇多了一份坚决神情，让那双白眼皮、黑睫毛、淡褐色的眼睛更加妩媚，给她的仪态平添了几分端庄和婀娜。她的胸围和臀部愈加丰满，腰身和小腿愈加纤细；她的面庞愈加清瘦，少了几分血色；她嗓音没有以前甜美了，却多了一丝柔情。

She stood up behind the tray, holding out her white round arm without a word. She avoided unnecessary greetings or farewells. She would have had to say them so often, and their purpose was better served by look, pressure, and slight inclination of head to one side.

她从茶盘后面站起来，一语不发地伸出她那白皙而丰润的手臂。她回避了那些不必要的问候和道别。她本该经常说这些话的，但使个眼色、握一下手、微微点头，似乎更能达到目的。

With circular movement of her squeezed hand, she said:

她用那只刚被紧握过的手划了个圆圈，说道：

"Draw up. Cream, sir? Sugar, Wilfrid? Ting has had too much—don't feed him! Hand things, Michael. I've heard all about the meeting at 'Snooks.' You're not going to canvass for Labour, Michael—canvassing's so silly. If any one canvassed me, I should vote the other way at once."

“坐下来吧。先生，要奶油吗？威尔弗里德，要糖吗？叮铃吃的够多的了——别再喂它了！迈克尔，递一下。‘轻蔑’俱乐部开会的情况我已经全听说了。迈克尔，你不要再去为工党拉选票了——那太愚蠢了。如果有人来找我拉票，我会毫不犹豫地给另一方投票。”

"Yes, darling; but you're not the average elector."

“是呀，亲爱的。不过你可不是普通的选民啊。”

Fleur looked at him. Very sweetly put! Conscious of Wilfrid biting his lips, of Sir Lawrence taking that in, of the amount of silk leg she was showing, of her black and cream teacups, she adjusted these matters. A flutter of her white lids—Desert ceased to bite his lips; a movement of her silk legs—Sir Lawrence ceased to look at him. Holding out her cups, she said:

弗勒看看他。话里有话！弗勒留意到威尔弗里德咬着双唇，而劳伦斯爵士也注意到了威尔弗里德的举动。她知道她露出了一截穿着丝袜的腿，还有她桌上奶油色和黑色相间的茶杯。她对这一切都心中有数。她那白眼皮一翻，德赛特立刻不咬嘴唇了；她那穿丝袜的腿一动，劳伦斯爵士立刻不再看威尔弗里德了。她伸手放下茶杯，说道：

"I suppose I'm not modern enough?"

“我想我还不够时髦吧？”

Desert, moving a bright little spoon round in his magpie cup, said without looking up:

德赛特用一把光亮的小勺在他那只绘着喜鹊的茶杯里搅动着，头也不抬地说：

"As much more modern than the moderns, as you are more ancient."

“你比现代人更时髦，比时髦的人更复古。”

"'Ware poetry!" said Michael.

“注意诗律！”迈克尔说。

But when he had taken his father to see the new cartoons by Aubrey Greene, she said:

待迈克尔带他父亲去参观奥布里·格林新创作的漫画时，她说：

"Kindly tell me what you meant, Wilfrid."

“威尔弗里德，你说这话是什么意思。”

Desert's voice seemed to leap from restraint.

德赛特的声音似乎是强挤出来的。

"What does it matter? I don't want to waste time with that."

“这话怎么了？我不想为此耽误时间。”

"But I want to know. It sounded like a sneer."

“可是我想知道。这话听上去像是在讽刺。”

"A sneer? From me? Fleur!"

“讽刺？我说的？弗勒！”

"Then tell me."

“那告诉我到底是什么意思。”

"I meant that you have all their restlessness and practical get-thereness; but you have what they haven't, Fleur—power to turn one's head. And mine is turned. You know it."

“我的意思是，你具有了他们那种不安分以及务实的定要成功的精神，但弗勒，你还具有他们所没有的东西——使人迷糊的能力。我就是被你弄迷糊的。这点你心里明白。”

"How would Michael like that—from YOU, his best man?"

“要是迈克尔听见这话该有何感想——出自你，他的男傧相之口？”

Desert moved quickly to the windows.

德赛特快速走到窗边。

Fleur took Ting-a-ling on her lap. Such things had been said to her before; but from Wilfrid it was serious. Nice to think she had his heart, of course! Only, where on earth could she put it, where it wouldn't be seen except by her? He was incalculable—did strange things! She was a little afraid—not of him, but of that quality in him. He came back to the hearth, and said:

弗勒把小叮铃抱到腿上。类似的话以前也有人对她说过，但出自威尔弗里德之口，事情就变得严重了。但想到她已经占有了他的心，自然值得高兴！只是，她究竟要把这颗心放在哪里呢，一个除她之外别人都不知道的地方？他可是个让人猜不透的人——干些令人费解的古怪事。她有些害怕——不是怕他，而是害怕他那怪脾气。他走回到壁炉前，说：

"Ugly, isn't it? Put that dam' dog down, Fleur; I can't see your face. If you were really fond of Michael—I swear I wouldn't; but you're not, you know."

“很丑恶，是不是？弗勒，把那只该死的狗放下去。我看不见你的脸了。你要是真心喜欢迈克尔的话——我发誓我不会这样做。但你并不喜欢他，你心里明白。”

Fleur said coldly:

弗勒冷冷地说：

"You know very little; I AM fond of Michael."

“你知道得太少了。我是喜欢迈克尔的。”

Desert gave his little jerky laugh.

德赛特急促地笑笑。

"Oh yes; not the sort that counts."

“不错，但算不上爱。”

Fleur looked up.

弗勒抬起头来。

"It counts quite enough to make one safe."

“能给人安全感，就算得上了。”

"A flower that I can't pick."

“这是一朵我采不到的花。”

Fleur nodded.

弗勒点点头。

"Quite sure, Fleur? Quite, quite sure?"

“弗勒，你肯定吗？非常、非常肯定吗？”

Fleur stared; her eyes softened a little, her eyelids, so excessively white, drooped over them; she nodded. Desert said slowly:

弗勒凝视着他。她的眼神变得柔和了一些，她闭上那白得过分的眼皮，点了点头。德赛特慢吞吞地说：

"The moment I believe that, I shall go East."

“一旦我相信你说的话，我就去东方。”

"East?"

“东方？”

"Not so stale as going West, but much the same—you don't come back."

“不像上西天那样乏味，但结果是一样的——一去就再也不回来了。”

Fleur thought: 'The East? I should love to know the East! Pity one can't manage that, too. Pity!'

弗勒心想：“东方？我倒很想去东方看看！遗憾的是，这无法办到。遗憾啊！”

"You won't keep me in your Zoo, my dear. I shan't hang around and feed on crumbs. You know what I feel—it means a smash of some sort."

“亲爱的，你不可能把我关在你的动物园里。我也不会在此逗留，并以残羹冷炙为生。你知道我是什么感觉吗——那就意味着决裂。”

"It hasn't been my fault, has it?"

“这不是我的过错，是吧？”

"Yes; you've collected me, as you collect everybody that comes near you."

“是你的错，是你把我招揽来的，就像你招揽着每个来到你身边的人一样。”

"I don't know what you mean."

“我不明白你的意思。”

Desert bent down, and dragged her hand to his lips.

德赛特弯腰，把她的手慢慢拉近自己的唇边。

"Don't be riled with me; I'm too unhappy."

“别生我的气，我非常难过。”

Fleur let her hand stay against his hot lips.

弗勒让自己的手贴着他那炽热的嘴唇。

"Sorry, Wilfrid."

“对不起，威尔弗里德。”

"All right, dear. I'll go."

“好吧，亲爱的。我走了。”

"But you're coming to dinner tomorrow?"

“那你明天来吃饭吗？”

Desert said violently:

德赛特激动地说：

"TO-MORROW? Good God—no! What d'you think I'm made of?"

“明天？上帝啊——绝不来！在你眼里我算什么？”

He flung her hand away.

他甩开她的手。

"I don't like violence, Wilfrid."

“我不喜欢见你如此粗暴，威尔弗里德。”

"Well, good-bye; I'd better go."

“好吧，再见。我还是走吧。”

The words "And you'd better not come again" trembled up to her lips, but were not spoken. Part from Wilfrid—life would lose a little warmth! She waved her hand. He was gone. She heard the door closing. Poor Wilfrid!—nice to think of a flame at which to warm her hands! Nice but rather dreadful! And suddenly, dropping Ting-a-ling, she got up and began to walk about the room. To-morrow! Second anniversary of her wedding-day! Still an ache when she thought of what it had not been. But there was little time to think—and she made less. What good in thinking? Only one life, full of people, of things to do and have, of things wanted—a life only void of—one thing, and that—well, if people had it, they never had it long! On her lids two tears, which had gathered, dried without falling. Sentimentalism! No! The last thing in the world—the unforgivable offence! Whom should she put next whom tomorrow? And whom should she get in place of Wilfrid, if Wilfrid wouldn't come—silly boy! One day—one night—what difference? Who should sit on her right, and who on her left? Was Aubrey Greene more distinguished, or Sibley Swan? Were they either as distinguished as Walter Nazing or Charles Upshire? Dinner of twelve, exclusively literary and artistic, except for Michael and Alison Charwell. Ah! Could Alison get her Gurdon Minho—just one writer of the old school, one glass of old wine to mellow effervescence? He didn't publish with Danby and Winter; but he fed out of Alison's hand. She went quickly to one of the old tea chests, and opened it. Inside was a telephone.

“你最好再也别来了”这句话已到嘴边，但她还是没说出口。如果和威尔弗里德分手——那么她的生活将失去一丝温暖。她挥挥手。他走了。她听到大门关上的声音。可怜的威尔弗里德！——一想到有一团可以暖手的火焰就令人兴奋！兴奋，却更令人胆战心惊！突然，她放下小叮铃，站起来，在房间里踱起步来。明天！她结婚两周年纪念日！一想到还未实现的事，她心中不免难过。可是没什么时间再去想了——况且她也不愿意再去想了。想了又有什么好处呢？唯一的一种生活，充斥着人、要做的和拥有的事、想要得到的东西——这种生活唯一缺少的——一件东西，而且——对，人们即使得到它，也不会永远拥有它！两滴泪珠凝聚在她的眼睑上，干了，没有掉下来。多愁善感！不！这是世界上最不应该有的东西——是不可饶恕的罪过！明天她该把谁安排坐在谁的身旁呢？最重要的是，她到底找谁来填补威尔弗里德的位置呢？要是他不来的话——这个傻瓜！白天——晚上——有什么区别呢？谁坐在她的右边，谁又该坐在她的左边呢？奥布里·格林和西布莉·斯旺，谁更有名一些呢？他们两个人都像沃尔特·内津一样出名，还是都像查尔斯·厄普夏一样有名呢？晚宴的12人中，除了迈克尔和艾莉森·查韦尔之外，其他都是文学界和艺术界的。啊！艾莉森能帮她请到格登·明霍吗？——一位老派作家，一杯令人兴奋的陈年佳酿。他没有在丹比&温特出版社出过书，但还是很给艾莉森面子的。她迅速走到一个陈旧的茶柜旁，打开它。里面是一部电话。

"Can I speak to Lady Alison—Mrs. Michael Mont... Yes... That you, Alison?... Fleur speaking. Wilfrid has fallen through tomorrow night... Is there any chance of your bringing Gurdon Minho? I don't know him, of course; but he might be interested. You'll try?... That'll be ever so delightful. Isn't the 'Snooks' Club meeting rather exciting? Bart says they'll eat each other now they've split... About Mr. Minho. Could you let me know to-night? Thanks—thanks awfully!... Goodbye!"

“我能和艾莉森夫人通话吗——是迈克尔·蒙特夫人……对……是你吗，艾莉森？我是弗勒啊。威尔弗里德明晚不来了……你能邀请格登·明霍来吗？我当然不认识他了，但他也许会感兴趣的。那你试试？……那可真让人兴奋。‘轻蔑’俱乐部的会议是不是很热闹？准爵爷说他们现在已经分裂了，一定要拼个你死我活……说关于明霍先生的事吧。今晚你能给我确切消息吗？谢谢——真是万分感激！……再见！”

Failing Minho, whom? Her mind hovered over the names in her address book. At so late a minute it must be some one who didn't stand on ceremony; but except Alison, none of Michael's relations would be safe from Sibley Swan or Nesta Gorse, and their subversive shafts; as to the Forsytes—out of the question; they had their own sub-acid humour (some of them), but they were not modern, not really modern. Besides, she saw as little of them as she could—they dated, belonged to the dramatic period, had no sense of life without beginning or end. No! If Gurdon Minho was a frost, it would have to be a musician, whose works were hieroglyphical with a dash of surgery; or, better, perhaps, a psycho-analyst. Her fingers turned the pages till she came to those two categories. Hugo Solstis? A possibility; but suppose he wanted to play them something recent? There was only Michael's upright Grand, and that would mean going to his study. Better Gerald Hanks—he and Nesta Gorse would get off together on dreams; still, if they did, there would be no actual loss of life. Yes, failing Gurdon Minho, Gerald Hanks; he would be free—and put him between Alison and Nesta. She closed the book, and, going back to her jade-green settee, sat gazing at Ting-a-ling. The little dog's prominent round eyes gazed back; bright, black, very old. Fleur thought: 'I DON'T want Wilfrid to drop off.' Among all the crowd who came and went, here, there and everywhere, she cared for nobody. Keep up with them, keep up with everything, of course! It was all frightfully amusing, frightfully necessary! Only—only—what?

假如明霍先生邀请不到，那么该请谁好呢？她的脑子里反复思考着通讯录中的人名。剩下的时间不多了，必须找一个不拘礼节的人。除了艾莉森以外，迈克尔的亲戚中还没有一个人能应付西布莉·斯旺或内丝塔·戈斯，并应对他们那些刻薄话；至于福赛特家族——就更不必多说了，他们具有独特的晦涩的幽默（他们中的一些人），但他们绝不是真正时髦的人。此外，她对他们很看不上眼——毕竟他们已经过时了，他们属于戏剧时代，根本不懂得没有开始或结局的人生。不！如果格登·明霍不肯来，那就得邀请一位音乐家，而他们的作品都像外科手术一样晦涩难懂。或许还是邀请一位精神分析学家更好一些。她用手指一页页翻着，直到那两栏，她停了下来。雨果·苏斯迪斯？值得考虑，但是如果他要表演近期的作品，该怎么办？家里只有迈克尔的那架竖式大钢琴，这就意味着大家只能到他书房去了。还是杰拉尔德·汉克斯更适合一些——他会和内丝塔·戈斯一起讨论梦，而且，他们就是那样做了，也没有什么大不了的。对，要是不能邀请格登·明霍，那就邀请杰拉尔德·汉克斯，他应该有空——把他的座位安排在艾莉森和内丝塔两人之间。她合上通讯录，走回到那把翠绿色的长靠椅旁边，坐在那里盯着小叮铃。小狗突出的圆眼睛也盯着她，眼睛明亮、乌黑，是她非常熟悉的眼神。弗勒心想：“我不愿意让威尔弗里德就这么离开了。”在所有来来往往的人中，无论是在此处、他处，或是任何其他地方，她从来没有喜欢上一个人。当然，应该与他们保持联系，与所有的事情保持联系！这一切都非常有趣，非常有必要！只是——只是——又怎么样呢？

Voices! Michael and Bart coming back. Bart had noticed Wilfrid. He WAS a noticing old Bart. She was never very comfortable when he was about—lively and twisting, but with something settled and ancestral in him; a little like Ting-a-ling—something judgmatic, ever telling her that she was fluttering and new. He was anchored, could only move to the length of his old-fashioned cord, but he could drop on to things disconcertingly. Still, he admired her, she felt—oh! yes.

有说话声！迈克尔和准爵爷回来了。准爵爷已经注意到威尔弗里德的神情了。他可是一位洞悉一切的老准爵爷。每当他在身旁，她就感到不大自在——他活泼但又很偏执，在他身上有某种很难改变的遗传的东西。他有点儿像小叮铃——善于识别人，还总是说她不仅情绪不稳定，还不谙世事。他的性格已经固定不变，只能在固有的习惯约束下行动，但是他会对事情刨根问底。但她仍感觉，他是很欣赏她的——对！欣赏。

Well! What had he thought of the cartoons? Ought Michael to publish them, and with letterpress or without? Didn't he think that the cubic called 'Still Life'—of the Government, too frightfully funny—especially the 'old bean' representing the Prime? For answer she was conscious of a twisting, rapid noise; Sir Lawrence was telling her of his father's collection of electioneering cartoons. She did wish Bart would not tell her about his father; he had been so distinguished, and he must have been so dull, paying all his calls on horseback, with trousers strapped under his boots. He and Lord Charles Cariboo and the Marquis of Forfar had been the last three 'callers' of that sort. If only they hadn't, they'd have been clean forgot. She had that dress to try, and fourteen things to see to, and Hugo's concert began at eight-fifteen! Why did people of the last generation always have so much time? And, suddenly, she looked down. Ting-a-ling was licking the copper floor. She took him up: "Not that, darling; nasty!" Ah! the spell was broken! Bart was going, reminiscent to the last. She waited at the foot of the stairs till Michael shut the door on him, then flew. Reaching her room, she turned on all the lights. Here was her own style—a bed which did not look like one, and many mirrors. The couch of Ting-a-ling occupied a corner, whence he could see himself in three. She put him down, and said: "Keep quiet, now!" His attitude to the other dogs in the room had long become indifferent; though of his own breed and precisely his colouring, they had no smell and no licking power in their tongues—nothing to be done with them, imitative creatures, incredibly unresponsive.

哦！他对那些漫画有什么看法呢？迈克尔究竟应该不应该把它们出版呢，是否该配上文字呢？对于这幅叫做“静物画”的立体漫画——它描绘的是政府，他是不是觉得滑稽好笑呢？——尤其是那位影射首相的“老兄”。她得到的答案含糊其辞，劳伦斯爵士正在给她讲他父亲收集选举漫画的事情。她从内心希望准爵爷不要向她诉说他父亲的往事；他曾经是那样高贵，但肯定也很无趣：骑马去会客，裤脚掖在靴筒里。他、查尔斯·卡列布勋爵和福法侯爵可以算得上是这类“访客”中最后的三位了。假如他们没有这些特征，也许早已被人遗忘了。她还要试穿一件衣服，此外还有14件事要处理，而雨果的音乐会在八点一刻就要开始了！为什么上一代人总有那么多空闲时间呢？就在这时，她突然往下望了望。小叮铃正在舔着红棕色的地板。她一把抱起它：“亲爱的，脏啊，别再舔了！”啊！危急解除了！准爵爷要走了，直到最后，他还在回首往事。她在楼梯下面等着，直到迈克尔把他送出门，把门关上后，她才又飞奔回去。回到自己的屋里，她打开了所有的灯。这里是她独有的风格——有一张怎么看都不像床的床，还有很多面镜子。小叮铃的睡椅占据房间一角，在那里它能看见镜子反映出的三个自己。她把它放下来，说：“从现在开始，安静！”对于屋里的其他几条狗，它早已丧失兴趣了；这些狗虽然跟小叮铃是同种，皮毛也一样，但它们全然没有嗅觉，也不会用舌头舔东西——拿它们没辙，他们就会模仿，极其迟钝。

Stripping off her dress, Fleur held the new frock under her chin.

弗勒脱下身上的衣服，用下巴夹着那件新衣服。

"May I kiss you?" said a voice, and there was Michael's image behind her own reflection in the glass.

“我可以吻你吗？”一个声音说道，镜中映出了她身后站着的迈克尔。

"My dear boy, there isn't time! Help me with this." She slipped the frock over her head. "Do those three top hooks. How do you like it? Oh! and—Michael! Gurdon Minho may be coming to dinner tomorrow—Wilfrid can't. Have you read his things? Sit down and tell me something about them. All novels, aren't they? What sort?"

“亲爱的，没时间啦！帮我穿上它吧。”她赶紧把衣服往头上一套，“把上面的三个挂钩扣上。你觉得这衣服怎样？啊！还有——迈克尔！格登·明霍明天可能要来吃饭——而威尔弗里德不来了。你阅读过他的作品吗？坐下给我讲讲他的作品吧。他的作品都是小说是吗？是哪一类的呢？”

"Well, he's always had something to say. And his cats are good. He's a bit romantic, of course."

“嗯，他总是有很多素材。而且他很会描写猫。当然，他还有些浪漫。”

"Oh! Have I made a gaff?"

“啊！我是不是说错话了？”

"Not a bit; jolly good shot. The vice of our lot is, they say it pretty well, but they've nothing to say. They won't last."

“一点儿也没说错，而且还一针见血。我们这群人的缺点是说起话来冠冕堂皇，但却言之无物。这样的人终究不会太长久。”

"But that's just why they will last. They won't date."

“但那反倒是他们能保持长久的方法。他们不会落伍的。”

"Won't they? My gum!"

“真的吗？我的天哪！”

"Wilfrid will last."

“威尔弗里德会保持长久的。”

"Ah! Wilfrid has emotions, hates, pities, wants; at least, sometimes; when he has, his stuff is jolly good. Otherwise, he just makes a song about nothing—like the rest."

“啊！威尔弗里德爱憎分明，有怜悯之心，也有欲望，至少他有时是这样的。当他拥有这些情感时，他的作品就会很精彩。否则，就是无病呻吟，无关痛痒——像其他人一样。”

Fleur tucked in the top of her undergarment.

弗勒把她的内衣上端掖进去。

"But, Michael, if that's so, we—I've got the wrong lot."

“但是，迈克尔，如果是这样，我们——我是请错人了。”

Michael grinned.

迈克尔咧嘴笑笑。

"My dear child! The lot of the hour is always right; only you've got to watch it, and change it quick enough."

“亲爱的宝贝！一时之选总是对的，但你要时刻关注，及时更新。”

"But d'you mean to say that Sibley isn't going to live?"

“那你的意思是说西布莉不会持久存在？”

"Sib? Lord, no!"

“茜布？上帝，绝不会的！”

"But he's so perfectly sure that almost everybody else is dead or dying. Surely he has critical genius!"

“但他很自信，他相信除他以外所有人都已死去，或正在死去。但他的确是批判的高手！”

"If I hadn't more judgment than Sib, I'd go out of publishing tomorrow."

“如果我的判断力不如茜布，那我明天就离开出版社。”

"You—more than Sibley Swan?"

“你——比西布莉·斯旺还精明？”

"Of course, I've more judgment than Sib. Why! Sib's judgment is just his opinion of Sib—common or garden impatience of any one else. He doesn't even read them. He'll read one specimen of every author and say: 'Oh! that fellow! He's dull, or he's moral, or he's sentimental, or he dates, or he drivels'—I've heard him dozens of times. That's if they're alive. Of course, if they're dead, it's different. He's always digging up and canonising the dead; that's how he's got his name. There's always a Sib in literature. He's a standing example of how people can get taken at their own valuation. But as to lasting—of course he won't; he's never creative, even by mistake."

“当然，我的判断力肯定比茜布强。咳！茜布的判断力只是他自己书里的见解——陈词滥调，对于别人的观点一向不耐烦。他甚至都不读别人的作品。他只是大略读一下每位作家的作品节选，然后说：‘啊！那家伙！他是愚笨的，或者是说教的、多愁善感的、过时的、胡说八道的’——我已经听他这样说过几十遍了。如果那些作家还在世，他就会这样说。当然，如果他们已经去世，情况就不同了。他总是高举和吹捧死者，他就是这样出的名。在文学界，总是有像茜布这样的人。总想凭借对自己的评估来获取公众信任，他就是个典型的例子。但提到持久——他自然是不会的，他自始至终就没有创造才能，哪怕是歪打正着。”

Fleur had lost the thread. Yes! It suited her—quite a nice line! Off with it! Must write those three notes before she dressed.

弗勒已经糊涂了。是的！这席话对她大有益处！记下来吧！她必须在穿好衣服前记下这三条。

Michael had begun again.

迈克尔继续说着。

"Take my tip, Fleur. The really big people don't talk—and don't bunch—they paddle their own canoes in what seem backwaters. But it's the backwaters that make the main stream. By Jove, that's a mot, or is it a bull; and are bulls mots or mots bulls?"

“记着我的忠告，弗勒。真正的大人物是不会滔滔不绝的——也不会拉帮结伙的——他们只是独自一人，逆水行舟。但那逆流恰好成为了主流。天啊，真是警世良言，但其实也是自相矛盾；那到底自相矛盾的话就是警世良言呢，还是警世良言就会自相矛盾呢？”

"Michael, if you were me, would you tell Frederic Wilmer that he'll be meeting Hubert Marsland at lunch next week? Would it bring him or would it put him off?"

“迈克尔，假如你是我，你会通知弗雷德里克·威尔默下周午餐时他会遇见休伯特·马斯兰德吗？听完这话，他是来还是不来呢？”

"Marsland's rather an old duck, Wilmer's rather an old goose—I don't know."

“马斯兰德是个老好人，威尔默是个十足的傻瓜——我也不清楚。”

"Oh! do be serious, Michael—you never give me any help in arranging—No! Don't maul my shoulders please."

“啊！严肃点儿，迈克尔——我准备请客的事情，你从来没帮过我——从来都没有！请别弄疼我的肩膀。”

"Well, darling, I DON'T know. I've no genius for such things, like you. Marsland paints windmills, cliffs and things—I doubt if he's heard of the future. He's almost a Mathew Mans for keeping out of the swim. If you think he'd like to meet a Vertiginist—"

“哦，亲爱的，我确实不清楚啊。对于这些事情，我可不像你那么有天赋。马斯兰德只画风车、悬崖峭壁和静物——我甚至怀疑他是否听说过未来的事情。他简直就和马修·马里斯一样不入流。如果你以为他愿意见到一位旋转派画家——”

"I didn't ask you if he'd like to meet Wilmer; I asked you if Wilmer would like to meet him."

“我并不是问你他是否愿意遇见威尔默，我想问的是威尔默是否愿意遇见他。”

"Wilmer will just say: 'I like little Mrs. Mont, she gives deuced good grub'—and so you do, ducky. A Vertiginist wants nourishing, you know, or it wouldn't go to his head."

“威尔默只会说：‘我喜欢娇小的蒙特夫人，她给我们准备美食’——你的确如此，宝贝。你应该清楚旋转派画家是需要营养的，否则他的脑子会生锈。”

Fleur's pen resumed its swift strokes, already becoming slightly illegible. She murmured:

弗勒又开始奋笔疾书，字已经很潦草了。她咕哝着：

"I think Wilfrid would help—you won't be there; one—two—three. What women?"

“我想威尔弗里德会帮我的——你不必在那里；一——二——三。女嘉宾是谁呢？”

"For painters—pretty and plump; no intellect."

“对画家而言——喜欢既漂亮又丰满的女子，而不喜欢那些有智慧的。”

Fleur said crossly:

弗勒恼怒地说着：

"I can't get them plump; they don't go about now." And her pen flowed on:

“我可找不到丰满的女子，现在这种人早就绝种了。”说着，她又继续写着，

"DEAR WILFRID,—Wednesday—lunch; Wilmer, Hubert Marsland, two other women. Do help me live it down.

“亲爱的威尔弗里德——周三——午餐；威尔默，休伯特·马斯兰德，还有两位女士。真切恳求你助我渡过难关。

"Yours ever,

你永远的，

"FLEUR."

弗勒。”

"Michael, your chin is like a bootbrush."

“迈克尔，你的下巴像一把靴刷子。”

"Sorry, old thing; your shoulders shouldn't be so smooth. Bart gave Wilfrid a tip as we were coming along."

“不好意思，亲爱的，你的肩膀不该这么光滑。在我们来时的路上，准爵爷给了威尔弗里德一些提示。”

Fleur stopped writing. "Oh!"

弗勒停下笔来。“哦！”

"Reminded him that the state of love was a good stunt for poets."

“爵爷提示他，对于诗人来说，恋爱可是施展才华的绝好机会。”

"A propos of what?"

“都说了些什么呢？”

"Wilfrid was complaining that he couldn't turn it out now."

“威尔弗里德一直在抱怨现在他创作不出来作品。”

"Nonsense! His last things are his best."

“胡说！他最新的作品正是他最好的作品。”

"Well, that's what I think. Perhaps he's forestalled the tip. Has he, d'you know?"

“嗯，我也有同感。也许他早就实践过那个提示了。他有没有实践过，你知道吗？”

Fleur turned her eyes towards the face behind her shoulder. No, it had its native look—frank, irresponsible, slightly faun-like, with its pointed ears, quick lips, and nostrils.

弗勒转过头，望着身后的那张脸。还是那张脸——坦率真诚、不负责任，有点儿像尊农牧神像，有着尖尖的耳朵、灵巧的嘴唇和鼻孔。

She said slowly:

她缓缓地说：

"If YOU don't know, nobody does."

“如果连你都不知道，那更没有人知道了。”

A snuffle interrupted Michael's answer. Ting-a-ling, long, low, slightly higher at both ends, was standing between them, with black muzzle upturned. My pedigree is long,' he seemed to say; 'but my legs are short—what about it?'

一阵鼻息声打断了迈克尔的回答。是小叮铃——它身子长、个头矮，头和尾巴稍微高一些——正站在他们两个人中间，黑乎乎的脸朝上仰着。它好像在说：“我可是纯种，就是腿短——这又有什么关系呢？” yFgY+c9MVKhU/FegRRkZcCpEBXnPkRTTy6b1yfWBRiaWOn5D/Fhk4apjC++H/XgR