他喜欢你不过是因为你有几分姿色：唯一可取之处就是活泼
Confusion
混乱
Two hours behind Bicket, Michael wavered towards home. Old Danby was right as usual—if you couldn't trust your packers, you might shut up shop! Away from Bicket's eyes, he doubted. Perhaps the chap hadn't a wife at all! Then Wilfrid's manner usurped the place of Bicket's morals. Old Wilfrid had been abrupt and queer the last three times of meeting. Was he boiling-up for verse?
比克特离开两个小时以后，迈克尔摇摇摆摆地回家了。老丹比一如既往地正确——信不过自己店里的包装工，还是关店大吉吧！比克特走后，他心生疑虑了。也许这家伙根本就没有妻子！随后，比克特的道德问题让位给了威尔弗里德的怪异举止。最近三次会面，威尔弗里德老兄显得唐突而古怪。他是因为作诗而情绪不稳吗？
He found Ting-a-ling at the foot of the stairs in a conservative attitude. "I am not going up," he seemed saying, "until some one carries me—at the same time it is later than usual!"
他发现小叮铃在楼梯角那里一动不动，态度十分固执。它似乎在说：“没人抱我，我就不上去，平时早就有人抱我上去了！”
"Where's your mistress, you heraldic little beast?"
“女主人呢，你这个传令官小畜生？”
Ting-a-ling snuffled. "I could put up with it," he implied, "if YOU carried me—these stairs are laborious!"
小叮铃抽了抽鼻子。它似乎在说：“如果抱我上去，我就不计较您这句话了。上楼梯太费劲了！”
Michael took him up. "Let's go and find her."
迈克尔把它抱起来。“咱们去找找她吧。”
Squeezed under an arm harder than his mistress', Ting-a-ling stared as if with black-glass eyes; and the plume of his emergent tail quivered.
夹在比女主人更硬的手臂下，小叮铃瞪着它那黑玻璃球似的眼睛，尾巴翘起，上面的毛发微微颤动着。
In the bedroom Michael dropped him so absent-mindedly that he went to his corner plume pendent, and couched there in dudgeon.
到了卧室，迈克尔心不在焉地把它丢下，它便垂着尾巴走到自己的角落，愤愤地蹲在那里。
Nearly dinner time and Fleur not in! Michael went over his sketchy recollection of her plans. To-day she had been having Hubert Marsland and that Vertiginist—what was his name?—to lunch. There would have been fumes to clear off. Vertiginists—like milk—made carbonic acid gas in the lungs! Still! Half-past seven! What was happening to-night? Weren't they going to that play of L.S.D.'s? No—that was tomorrow! Was there conceivably nothing? If so, of course she would shorten her unoccupied time as much as possible. He made that reflection humbly. Michael had no illusions, he knew himself to be commonplace, with only a certain redeeming liveliness, and, of course, his affection for her. He even recognised that his affection was a weakness, tempting him to fussy anxieties, which on principle he restrained. To enquire, for instance, of Coaker or Philps—their man and their maid—when she had gone out, would be thoroughly against that principle. The condition of the world was such that Michael constantly wondered if his own affairs were worth paying attention to; but then the condition of the world was also such that sometimes one's own affairs seemed all that were worth paying attention to. And yet his affairs were, practically speaking, Fleur; and if he paid too much attention to them, he was afraid of annoying her.
快开饭了，弗勒还没回来！迈克尔把自己大概记得的她今天的日程安排回想了一遍。今天，她约了休伯特·马斯兰德和那个旋转派画家——忘了他叫什么名字了——吃午饭。那里一定闹得乌烟瘴气，不可开交。旋转派画家，像牛奶一样，会在胃里制造碳酸气体！还不回来！都7点半了！难道今晚发生了什么事情？他们该不会去看L. S. D.写的那部戏了吧？不对呀，那是明天啊！或许没什么事？如果这样的话，她自然会尽量缩短非应酬的时间。他这么保守估计着。迈克尔没有任何奢望，他知道自己很普通，唯一可取之处就是活泼，当然，还有对她的爱。他甚至认为对她的爱是自己的弱点，因为爱，他总是惶恐不安，原则却又极力克制这一点。比如，他会向家里的仆人科克和菲尔普斯询问她何时出去的，这就完全违背了他的原则。世事就是如此，自己的事情是否值得关注，这常常让迈克尔困惑不已；可是，世事又是这样，有时，自己的事情才是唯一值得关心的。可实际上，他的事只与弗勒有关，如果他抓得太紧，又怕惹恼了她。
He went into his dressing-room and undid his waistcoat.
他走进更衣室，脱下马甲。
But no!' he thought; 'if she finds me "dressed" already, it'll put too much point on it.' So he did up his waistcoat and went downstairs again. Coaker was in the hall.
他心想：“不妥，如果她发现我‘穿戴整齐’，那未免做得太明显了。”所以，他又穿上马甲，又下楼去了。科克在门厅里。
"Mr. Forsyte and Sir Lawrence looked in about six, sir. Mrs. Mont was out. What time shall I serve dinner?"
“先生，福赛特先生和劳伦斯爵士大约6点钟来过。蒙特夫人已经出去了。您准备什么时候开饭？”
"Oh! about a quarter past eight. I don't think we're going out."
“嗯，8点15分左右吧。我想我们不会出去了。”
He went into the drawing-room and passing down its Chinese emptiness, drew aside the curtain. The square looked cold and dark and draughty; and he thought: 'Bicket—pneumonia—I hope she's got her fur coat.' He took out a cigarette and put it back. If she saw him at the window she would think him fussy; and he went up again to see if she had put on her fur!
他走进客厅，在这间空荡荡的中国式房间里走着，拉开了窗帘。外面起风了，广场显得又冷又黑，于是他想：“比克特——肺炎——希望她穿那件皮大衣了。”他拿出一支烟，又放了回去。如果她发现我站在窗旁，她又会认为我大惊小怪了。于是他又上楼了，看看她穿没穿皮大衣！
Ting-a-ling, still couchant, greeted him plume dansetti arrested as at disappointment. Michael opened a wardrobe. She had! Good! He was taking a sniff round, when Ting-a-ling passed him trottant, and her voice said: "Well, my darling!" Wishing that he was, Michael emerged from behind the wardrobe door. Heaven! She looked pretty, coloured by the wind! He stood rather wistfully silent.
小叮铃仍旧蹲在那里，以为主人回来了，立刻摇尾表示欢迎，一看不对，又失望地停住了。迈克尔打开衣橱。她穿了！很好！就在他打量衣橱时，小叮铃忽然从他身边走过，同时，响起了她的声音：“嗨，亲爱的！”迈克尔希望这是在叫他，立刻从衣橱门后走出来。天啊！她太美了，被风吹红了面颊！他默然地站在那里，若有所思。
"Hallo, Michael! I'm rather late. Been to the Club and walked home."
“嗨，迈克尔！我回来晚了。我去俱乐部了，走着回来的。”
Michael had a quite unaccountable feeling that there was suppression in that statement. He also suppressed, and said: "I was just looking to see that you'd got your fur, it's beastly cold. Your dad and Bart have been and went away fasting."
迈克尔有种说不出来的感觉，他认为弗勒对自己有所保留。他也有所保留，说道：“我刚才在那儿，是看你穿没穿大衣出去，天气挺冷的。你父亲和准爵爷来过，没吃饭就离开了。”
Fleur shed her coat and dropped into a chair. "I'm tired. Your ears are sticking up so nicely to-night, Michael."
弗勒脱下大衣，往椅子上一靠。“我累了。迈克尔，今晚，你的耳朵竖得特别好看。”
Michael went on his knees and joined his hands behind her waist. Her eyes had a strange look, a scrutiny which held him in suspense, a little startled.
迈克尔跪了下去，双手搂着她的腰。她审视着他，眼神奇怪，让他感到不安，还有点儿摸不着头脑。
"If YOU got pneumonia," he said, "I should go clean out of curl."
“如果你染上肺炎，”他说，“那我就完了。”
"Why on earth should I?"
“为什么我偏要得这种病呢？”
"You don't know the connection—never mind, it wouldn't interest you. We're not going out, are we?"
“你不知道这其中的联系——没什么，你不会感兴趣的。我们不出去了，是吗？”
"Of course we are. It's Alison's monthly."
“我们当然出去了。今天是艾莉森的每月例会啊。”
"Oh! Lord! If you're tired we could cut that."
“哦！哎呀！如果你累了，我们可以不去。”
"My dear! Impos.! She's got all sorts of people coming."
“亲爱的！这可不行！她请了很多人来。”
Stifling a disparagement, he sighed out: "Right-o! War-paint?"
他忍下了一句轻蔑的话，叹了口气，说道：“那好吧！穿礼服吗？”
"Yes, white waistcoat. I like you in white waistcoats."
“是的，还要穿白马甲。我喜欢看你穿白马甲。”
Cunning little wretch? He squeezed her waist and rose. Fleur laid a light stroke on his hand, and he went into his dressing-room comforted....
狡猾的小坏蛋！他紧紧抱了一下她的腰，然后站起身来。弗勒轻轻拍了一下他的手，他感到很满足，朝更衣室走去……
But Fleur sat still for at least five minutes—not precisely 'a prey to conflicting emotions,' but the victim of very considerable confusion. TWO men within the last hour had done this thing—knelt at her knees and joined their fingers behind her waist. Undoubtedly she had been rash to go to Wilfrid's rooms. The moment she got there she had perceived how entirely unprepared she really was to commit herself to what was physical. True he had done no more than Michael. But—Goodness!—she had seen the fire she was playing with, realised what torment he was in. She had strictly forbidden him to say a word to Michael, but intuitively she knew that in his struggle between loyalties she could rely on nothing. Confused, startled, touched, she could not help a pleasant warmth in being so much loved by two men at once, nor an itch of curiosity about the upshot. And she sighed. She had added to her collection of experiences—but how to add further without breaking up the collection, and even perhaps the collector, she could not see.
可是，弗勒在那里静静地坐了至少五分钟——虽然不全是挣扎的情感所致，但却是目前极其混乱的局面造成的。在刚才的一个小时里，两个男人在她面前做了同一件事情——跪在她膝前，搂住她的腰。无疑，她去威尔弗里德家的举动过于鲁莽了。她一到那里，就发现自己并非想要委身于肉欲。他所做的也不过同迈克尔刚才一样。可是——天哪！——她发觉自己在******，也意识到了他的痛苦。她告诫他，绝对不能对迈克尔透露一个字，但她的直觉告诉她，如果要他在情和义中间选一个，她毫无胜算。她感到混乱、惊恐、还有感动，想到同时被两个男人这样深爱着，一丝愉快的暖意不由得涌上心头。她对未来也充满好奇，渴望知道结局。她不禁叹了口气。她增加了一份收藏经验——但是如何进一步增加，而不破坏整个收藏乃至收藏者，她却不知道。
After her words to Wilfrid before the Eve: "You will be a fool to go—wait!" she had known he would expect something before long. Often he had asked her to come and pass judgment on his 'junk.' A month, even a week, ago she would have gone without thinking more than twice about it, and discussed his 'junk' with Michael afterwards! But now she thought it over many times, and but for the fumes of lunch, and the feeling, engendered by the society of the 'Vertiginist,' of Amabel Nazing, of Linda Frewe, that scruples of any kind were 'stuffy,' sensations of all sorts 'the thing,' she would probably still have been thinking it over now. When they departed, she had taken a deep breath and her telephone receiver from the Chinese tea chest.
自从上次在夏娃画像前，她对威尔弗里德说了“你要是走了，你就是个傻瓜。等着！”之后，她知道他会期待不久的将来发生什么事情。他经常请她帮忙鉴定他的“旧货”。要是在一个月前，哪怕是一周前，她会想也不想就去了，事后还会和迈克尔讨论这些“旧货”！可是现在，她却反复考虑这件事了，一直到乌烟瘴气的午餐会上，“旋转派画家”、阿玛贝尔·内津和琳达·弗鲁的讨论提醒了她——任何性质的顾虑都是“乏味的”，各种各样的感觉才是“正事”——她可能到现在都想不明白呢。大家走后，她才深吸了一口气，同时打开中国式茶柜，拿出电话听筒。
If Wilfrid were going to be in at half-past five, she would come and see his 'junk.'
如果威尔弗里德五点半在家的话，她就去看他的“旧货”。
His answer: "My God! Will you?" almost gave her pause. But dismissing hesitation with the thought: 'I WILL be Parisian—Proust!' she had started for her Club. Three-quarters of an hour, with no more stimulant than three cups of China tea, three back numbers of the 'Glass of Fashion,' three back views of country members 'dead in chairs,' had sent her forth a careful quarter of an hour behind her time.
他回答道：“上帝啊！你会来吗？”这又让她踌躇了。但是，她用“我一定要有普鲁斯特式的巴黎气派”排解了自己的踌躇，动身去了俱乐部。俱乐部里没有更令她兴奋的事可做，只是在三刻钟的时间里喝了三杯茶，看了三本过期的《时装镜》，看了“三个呆坐在椅子上”的乡村会员的背影，然后特意比约定时间晚了一刻钟动身了。
On the top floor Wilfrid was standing in his open doorway, pale as a soul in purgatory. He took her hand gently, and drew her in. Fleur thought with a little thrill: 'Is this what it's like? Du cote de chez Swann!' Freeing her hand, she began at once to flutter round the 'junk,' clinging to it piece by piece.
他家的门敞开着，威尔弗里德站在楼顶，脸色苍白，就像饱受煎熬的幽灵。他轻轻地拉牵着她的手，引她进去。弗勒有点儿激动，她想：“这事就像这样吗？在斯万家里！”她松开手，即刻开始打量那些“旧货”，着迷地一件件看起来。
Old English 'junk' rather manorial, with here and there an eastern or First Empire bit, collected by some bygone Desert, nomadic, or attached to the French court. She was afraid to sit down, for fear that he might begin to follow the authorities; nor did she want to resume the intense talk of the Tate Gallery. Junk' was safe, and she only looked at him in those brief intervals when he was not looking at her. She knew she was not playing the game according to 'La Garconne' and Amabel Nazing; that, indeed, she was in danger of going away without having added to her sensations. And she couldn't help being sorry for Wilfrid; his eyes yearned after her, his lips were bitter to look at. When at last from sheer exhaustion of 'junk' she sat down, he had flung himself at her feet. Half hypnotised, with her knees against his chest, as safe as she could hope for, she really felt the tragedy of it—his horror of himself, his passion for herself. It was painful, deep; it did not fit in with what she had been led to expect; it was not in the period, and how—how was she to get away without more pain to him and to herself? When she HAD got away, with one kiss received but not answered, she realised that she had passed through a quarter of an hour of real life, and was not at all sure that she liked it.... But now, safe in her own room, undressing for Alison's monthly, she felt curious as to what she would have been feeling if things had gone as far as was proper according to the authorities. Surely she had not experienced one-tenth of the thoughts or sensations that would have been assigned to her in any advanced piece of literature! It had been disillusioning, or else she was deficient, and Fleur, could not bear to feel deficient. And, lightly powdering her shoulders, she bent her thoughts towards Alison's monthly.
这些古老的英国“旧货”颇有点儿庄园气息，其中还散落着几件东方或是第一帝国时期的物件，东西是某个德赛特先人的藏品，这位收藏者若不是一位流浪者，就是曾经出入法兰西宫廷的人。弗勒不敢坐下，怕他会顺势对自己做出越矩的行为；她也不愿意继续他们在泰特美术馆的那场激烈的谈话。看“旧货”显得很安全，在他不看她的瞬间，她才瞟他一眼。她知道自己没按照《独身女人》和阿玛贝尔·内津的方式耍手段；事实上，她明白这样离开，会一无所获。她禁不住为威尔弗里德而忧伤；他的目光充满渴望，双唇饱含了苦涩。后来，她实在看累了，就坐了下来，这时，威尔弗里德扑到她的脚旁。她陷入了半梦半醒的状态，用双膝顶着他的胸部，希望这种方式会尽可能安全些。她感觉到了事态的严重性——他如此不顾自己，如此迷恋她。这是撕心裂肺的痛苦，这种做法不符合大家对她的期望，这种爱也不为这个时代所接受——要怎样脱身，才不会增加彼此的痛苦呢？带着她无法回应的一吻离开后，她才意识到刚才那一刻钟才是真爱的生活，但对于自己是否喜欢这种生活，她还不确定……此刻，她终于安全地呆在自己的房间里，为参加艾莉森的每月例会更衣。她很好奇，如果事情真发展到书上所写的肉欲程度，她又会作何感想呢。诚然，她体会到的感受还不及任何优秀的文学作品里描绘的十分之一！这就是幻想破灭，要不然，就是她还不完美，可弗勒无法容忍自己有任何欠缺。然后，她轻轻在肩膀扑了些粉，便把思想集中到艾莉森的每月例会上了。
Though Lady Alison enjoyed an occasional encounter with the younger generation, the Aubrey Greenes and Linda Frewes of this life were not conspicuous by their presence at her gatherings. Nesta Gorse, indeed, had once attended, but one legal and two literary politicos who had been in contact with her, had complained of it afterwards. She had, it seemed, rent little spiked holes in the garments of their self-esteem. Sibley Swan would have been welcome, for his championship of the past, but he seemed, so far, to have turned up his nose and looked down it. So it was not the intelligentsia, but just intellectual society, which was gathered there when Fleur and Michael entered, and the conversation had all the sparkle and all the 'savoir faire' incidental to talk about art and letters by those who—as Michael put it—"fortunately had not to faire"
尽管艾莉森夫人偶尔也喜欢和年轻人见见面，可像奥布里·格林和琳达·弗鲁这类人，却很少出现在她的聚会上。内丝塔·戈斯确实参加过一次，但是一个法律政客和两个文学政客同她接触后，都表示不满。她似乎伤了他们的自尊心。大家倒是十分欢迎昔日的文坛巨匠西布莉·斯旺出席例会，可是，斯旺对此类聚会不屑一顾，不愿现身。当迈克尔和弗勒进去时，他们发现那里并不是知识分子的聚会，而是有知识的社交人物的聚会。这些人偶尔谈及文艺，却也显出些机敏和才华，只是正如迈克尔所说，他们幸亏是些“不干事的人”。
"All the same, these are the guys," he muttered in Fleur's ear, "who make the names of artists and writers. What's the stunt, to-night?"
“这些人全是捧场的。”他在弗勒耳边轻声低语，“就是他们这些人把艺术家和作家给捧起来的。今晚的特别节目是什么？”
It appeared to be the London debut of a lady who sang Balkan folk songs. But in a refuge to the right were four tables set out for bridge. They were already filled. Among those who still stood listening, were, here and there, a Gurdon Minho, a society painter and his wife, a sculptor looking for a job. Fleur, wedged between Lady Feynte, the painter's wife, and Gurdon Minho himself, began planning an evasion. There—yes, there was Mr. Chalfont! At Lady Alison's, Fleur, an excellent judge of 'milieu' never wasted her time on artists and writers—she could meet THEM anywhere. Here she intuitively picked out the biggest 'bug,' politico-literary, and waited to pin him. Absorbed in the idea of pinning Mr. Chalfont, she overlooked a piece of drama passing without.
原来有一位初登伦敦社交界的女士来唱巴尔干民歌。但是，右边的角落里摆着四张桥牌桌。桌边坐满了人。还有些人分散站在各处，继续听歌。这其中包括格登·明霍、一位社交界的画家和他的妻子，还有一位正在找工作的雕刻家。弗勒正挤在那位画家的妻子芬特夫人和格登·明霍之间，设法脱身。查尔方特先生也来了——就是他没错！在艾莉森夫人的每月例会上，弗勒对社交环境极具判断力，她从来不在那些艺术家和作家身上浪费时间，因为这些人在随便什么地方都能碰到。在这里，她凭借直觉挑选出最重要的政界和文学界的名流，然后伺机盯住他们。她一心想盯住查尔方特先生，却忽视了外面发生的一出闹剧。
Michael had clung to the top of the stairway, in no mood for talk and skirmish; and, leaning against the balustrade, wasp-thin in his long white waistcoat, with hands deep thrust into his trousers' pockets, he watched the turns and twists of Fleur's white neck, and listened to the Balkan songs, with a sort of blankness in his brain. The word: "Mont!" startled him. Wilfrid was standing just below. Mont? He had not been that to Wilfrid for two years!
迈克尔一直站在上面的楼梯口处，没有什么心情和旁人交谈或者争论，只是靠着栏杆站着，那件白色长马甲让他看上去瘦骨嶙峋。他双手深深地插在裤兜里，望着弗勒那雪白的脖子扭来扭去，听着巴尔干民歌，脑子里却一片空白。一声“蒙特！”惊醒了他。威尔弗里德就站在他下面。蒙特？他有两年没听到威尔弗里德这样叫他了！
"Come down here."
“下来。”
On that half-landing was a bust of Lionel Charwell, K.C., by Boris Strumolowski, in the genre he had cynically adopted when June Forsyte gave up supporting his authentic but unrewarded genius. It had been almost indistinguishable from any of the other busts in that year's Academy, and was used by the young Charwells to chalk moustaches on.
在楼梯中间的平台上，摆有一尊前王室法律顾问莱昂内尔·查韦尔的半身雕塑，这是鲍里斯·斯特拉莫洛斯基的作品。当琼·福赛特不再支持他创作那种反映现实却无利可图的作品后，他就玩世不恭地进入了这一艺术流派。这尊塑像几乎同当年在皇家艺术学院里展出的其他作品没什么区别，现在却成了查韦尔家孩子们的玩具了，他们在上面乱画胡须。
Beside this object Desert leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. His face was a study to Michael.
德赛特站在这尊雕像旁，靠墙倚着，眼睛闭着。他的表情让迈克尔捉摸不透。
"What's wrong, Wilfrid?"
“什么事，威尔弗里德？”
Desert did not move. "You've got to know—I'm in love with Fleur."
德赛特一动不动。“我必须告诉你——我爱上弗勒了。”
"What!"
“你说什么？”
"I'm not going to play the snake. You're up against me. Sorry, but there it is! You can let fly!" His face was death-pale, and its muscles twitched. In Michael, it was the mind, the heart that twitched. What a very horrible, strange, "too beastly" moment! His best friend—his best man! Instinctively he dived for his cigarette case—instinctively handed it to Desert. Instinctively they both took cigarettes, and lighted each other's. Then Michael said:
“我不想偷偷摸摸。我是你的情敌。很抱歉，可情况就是这样！你尽管骂我吧！”他脸色惨白，面部肌肉抽搐着。听到这些话，迈克尔头脑混乱，心乱如麻。这一刻太可怕、太诡异、“太让人恶心”了！这就是他的最好朋友——他的伴郎！他下意识地掏出烟盒，又下意识地递给德赛特。两人都不由自主地取出香烟，互相点着了。然后，迈克尔说：
"Fleur—knows?"
“弗勒——知道吗？”
Desert nodded: "She doesn't know I'm telling you—wouldn't have let me. You've nothing against her—yet." And, still with closed eyes, he added: "I couldn't help it."
德赛特点点头，说道：“她不知道我会和你讲——她肯定不让我告诉你。她没有对不起你的地方——到目前为止。”然后，他继续闭着眼睛，又加了一句，“我可忍不住了。”
It was Michael's own subconscious thought! Natural! Natural! Fool not to see how natural! Then something shut-to within him, and he said: "Decent of you to tell me; but—aren't you going to clear out?"
这正符合迈克尔的猜测！自然！太自然了！傻瓜才看不出来这有多自然呢！接着，他内心一阵疼痛，说：“你告诉我，还算个正人君子，但——你不觉得你现在应该马上离开吗？”
Desert's shoulders writhed against the wall.
德赛特倚着墙，肩膀微动了一下。
"I thought so; but it seems not."
“我之前也这样想，可现在我好像不想这样了。”
"Seems? I don't understand."
“好像是什么意思？我听糊涂了。”
"If I knew for certain I'd no chance—but I don't," and he suddenly looked at Michael: "Look here, it's no good keeping gloves on. I'm desperate, and I'll take her from you if I can."
“如果我知道我没有一点儿机会的话，我当然会离开——可我知道情况并非如此。”这时，他突然看着迈克尔，说道，“你看，咱们都别再伪装了。我豁出去了，如果可行的话，我会从你身边抢走她。”
"Good God!" said Michael. "It's the limit!"
“上帝啊！”迈克尔说，“太过分了！”
"Yes! Rub it in! But, I tell you, when I think of you going home with her, and of myself," he gave a dreadful little laugh, "I advise you NOT to rub it in."
“好！你尽管嘀咕吧！但是，我告诉你，当想到你和她一起回家，而我却孤独一人，”他发出一声可怕的笑声，“奉劝你还是别嘀咕的好。”
"Well," said Michael, "as this isn't a Dostoievsky novel, I suppose there's no more to be said."
“嗯，”迈克尔说道，“既然这不是陀思妥耶夫斯基的小说，我也没什么好说的了。”
Desert moved from the wall and laid his hand on the bust of Lionel Charwell.
德赛特离开墙壁，把手放在那尊莱昂内尔·查韦尔的半身塑像上。
"You realise, at least, that I've gone out of my way—perhaps dished myself—by telling you. I've not bombed without declaring war."
“至少，你应该知道我把事情告诉你，我已经无路可走了——也可能完全把路堵死了。我向来不干不宣而战的事。”
"No," said Michael dully.
“可不是。”迈克尔呆呆地说。
"You can chuck my books over to some other publisher." Michael shrugged.
“你可以把我的书转给别的出版商。”迈克尔只是耸了耸肩。
"Good-night, then," said Desert. "Sorry for being so primitive."
“那么，晚安。”德赛特说，“很抱歉，失礼了。”
Michael looked straight into his 'best man's' face. There was no mistaking its expression of bitter despair. He made a half-movement with his hand, uttered half the word "Wilfrid," and, as Desert went down, he went upstairs.
迈克尔的目光直视着他的“伴郎”。他的表情的确痛苦而绝望。他做了半个手势，“威尔弗里德，”这几个字只说了一半，然后，德赛特下楼了，他就上楼了。
Back in his place against the balustrade, he tried to realise that life was a laughing matter, and couldn't. His position required a serpent's cunning, a lion's courage, a dove's gentleness: he was not conscious of possessing such proverbial qualities. If Fleur had loved him as he loved her, he would have had for Wilfrid a real compassion. It was so natural to fall in love with Fleur! But she didn't—oh! no, she didn't! Michael had one virtue—if virtue it be—a moderate opinion of himself, a disposition to think highly of his friends. He had thought highly of Desert; and—odd!—he still did not think lowly of him. Here was his friend trying to do him mortal injury, to alienate the affection—more honestly, the toleration—of his wife; and yet he did not think him a cad. Such leniency, he knew, was hopeless; but the doctrines of free-will, and free contract, were not to him mere literary conceptions, they were part of his nature. To apply duress, however desirable, would not be on his cards. And something like despair ravaged the heart of him, watching Fleur's ingratiating little tricks with the great Gerald Chalfont. If she left him for Wilfrid! But surely—no—her father, her house, her dog, her friends, her—her collection of—of—she would not—could not give THEM up? But suppose she kept everything, Wilfrid included! No, no! She wouldn't! Only for a second did that possibility blur the natural loyalty of his mind.
迈克尔继续回到原来的位子，倚在栏杆旁，努力让自己相信人生不过是场玩笑，可他做不到。他目前的处境需要像蛇一样狡猾、狮子一样的勇猛、鸽子一样的温柔，可是他知道自己并不具备这么高的品质。如果弗勒也能像他爱她那样深爱着他，他的确会同情威尔弗里德。爱上弗勒是再自然不过的事情！但是她不爱他——哦！不爱，她不爱他！迈克尔有个优点——如果这个算是优点的话——他对自己评价很谦虚，对朋友评价很高。他曾经对德赛特评价很高，而且——说来也怪！——一直到现在，他对德赛特的看法也还没有改变。他的这个朋友企图给他致命的一击，挑拨他们夫妻的感情——说得更明白点——煽动他妻子出轨，可他并不认为他是个无赖。他知道这种宽宏大量是无济于事的。但是，对他而言，意志自由和婚姻自由的原则不只是文学上的概念，也是他天性的一部分。无论强硬的办法多有用，都不符合他的原则。当看着弗勒正对那个了不起的杰拉尔德·查尔方特施展一些小花招时，迈克尔的心被一种类似于绝望的情感蹂躏着。万一她离开他，去找威尔弗里德呢！但是，肯定——不会——她的父亲、她的房子、她的狗、她的朋友，她——她的收藏——她不会——她无法放弃这些吧？可是她如果既要这些，也要威尔弗里德呢！不，不！她不会这样的！在他天性忠诚的头脑里，这种揣测只是一闪而过。
Well, what to do? Tell her—talk the thing out? Or wait and watch? For what? Without deliberate spying, he could not watch. Desert would come to their house no more. No! Either complete frankness; or complete ignoring—and that meant living with the sword of Damocles above his head! No! Complete frankness! And not do anything that seemed like laying a trap! He passed his hand across a forehead that was wet. If only they were at home, away from that squalling and these cultivated jackanapes! Could he go in and hook her out? Impossible without some reason! Only his brain-storm for a reason! He must just bite on it. The singing ceased. Fleur was looking round. Now she would beckon! On the contrary, she came towards him. He could not help the cynical thought: 'She's hooked old Chalfont!' He loved her, but he knew her little weaknesses. She came up and took hold of his sleeve.
那么，怎么办呢？告诉她——把事情讲清楚？还是静观事态发展？观望什么呢？没有周密的监视，他就无从观察。德赛特不会再来他们家了。不行！要么开诚布公地讲出来，要么假装什么也没发生——但这就意味着今后头上要悬着一把剑，像达摩克里斯那样生活！不行！还是应该开诚布公地讲出来！不做背地里捣鬼的事情！他用手抹了下湿漉漉的额头。他们要是在家里，远离这种嘈杂的世界和这些自命不凡的家伙，该有多好！他能进去把她哄出来吗？没有正当理由，肯定不行！他努力思考，想找出个理由！他必须找个理由。歌唱结束了。弗勒在四处张望。现在，她可能要招呼他了！相反，弗勒朝他这边走了过来。他的脑子里不由得出现了一个恶意的想法：“她一定勾引了老查尔方特！”他爱她，也了解她的小缺点。她走到他面前，拽住他的袖子。
"I've had enough, Michael, let's slip off; d'you mind?"
“我玩够了，迈克尔，咱们撤吧，行吗？”
"Quick!" he said, "before they spot us!"
“赶快！”他说，“别让他们发现我们！”
In the cold air outside he thought: 'Now? Or in her room?'
走在寒冷的室外，他在想：“现在说吗？还是回家再说？”
"I think," said Fleur, "that Mr. Chalfont is overrated—he's nothing but a mental yawn. He's coming to lunch tomorrow week."
“我认为，”弗勒说，“人们对查尔方特先生的评价太高了——他只不过是个酸腐的文人。他下周的明天会来吃午饭。”
Not now—in her room!
现在不说——回家再说！
"Whom do you think to meet him, besides Alison?"
“除了艾莉森，你还想请谁与他共进午餐呢？”
"Nothing jazzy."
“爵士派的一个也不请。”
"Of course not; but it must be somebody intriguing, Michael. Bother! sometimes I think it isn't worth it."
“当然不请，但也必须请些有魅力的人，迈克尔。真讨厌！有时我觉得这么做真没劲。”
Michael's heart stood still. Was that a portent—sign of 'the primitive' rising within his adored practitioner of social arts? An hour ago he would have said:
迈克尔的心差点儿就不跳了。这该不会是凶兆吧？难道他所崇拜的这位社会艺术实践家的心里萌生了原始情感了？如果是一小时以前，他会这么说：
"You're right, my child; it jolly well isn't!" But now—any sign of change was ominous! He slipped his arm in hers.
“宝贝，你说得对，这么做确实没什么乐趣而言！”可现在——任何变化都不是好兆头！他挽住她的手臂。
"Don't worry, we'll snare the just-right cuckoos, somehow."
“别担心，不管怎样，我们总会找到合适的人来。”
"A Chinese Minister would be perfect," mused Fleur, "with Minho and Bart—four men—two women—cosy. I'll talk to Bart."
“要是有位中国公使就太好了。”弗勒沉思着，“加上明霍和准爵爷——四位男士，两位女士——刚刚好。我去和准爵爷说。”
Michael had opened their front door. She passed him; he lingered to see the stars, the plane trees, a man's figure motionless, collared to the eyes, hatted down to them. Wilfrid!' he thought: 'Spain! Why Spain? And all poor devils who are in distress—the heart—oh! darn the heart!' He closed the door.
迈克尔打开他们家的前门。弗勒从他身边进去。他在外面徘徊了一会儿，望着天空中的点点繁星和一排排法国梧桐树。这时，他看到树边站着一个一动不动的人影，那人衣领遮到眼睛下面，用帽子盖住了眼睛。“威尔弗里德！”他想，“西班牙式的！为何是西班牙式的？所有挣扎着的可怜人——爱情——该死的爱情！”他关上了门。
But soon he had another to open, and never with less enthusiasm. Fleur was sitting on the arm of a chair, in the dim lavender pyjamas she sometimes wore just to keep in with things, staring at the fire. Michael stood, looking at her and at his own reflection beyond in one of the five mirrors—white and black, the pierrot pyjamas she had bought him. Figures in a play,' he thought, 'figures in a play! Is it real?' He moved forward and sat on the chair's other arm.
可是，随后他要打开另一扇窗，再没有比这更提不起劲的事了。弗勒坐在椅子扶手上，凝望着壁炉。她身穿那件淡紫色的睡衣，有时她只是为了配合屋内的色调才穿这件睡衣。迈克尔站在那里，看看她，再看看其中一面墙镜中的自己——穿着她给买的那件黑白相间、丑角似的睡衣。“戏剧中的人物，”他想道，“戏剧中的人物！这一切是真的吗？”他走过去，坐在椅子另一边的扶手上。
"Hang it!" he muttered. "Wish I were Antinous!" And he slipped from the arm into the chair, to be behind her face, if she wanted to hide it from him.
“该死！”他喃喃自语道，“我要是安提诺乌斯就好了！”于是，他从扶手滑进椅子里，坐在她身后，万一她不想让自己看到她的脸呢。
"Wilfrid's been telling me," he said, quietly.
“威尔弗里德已经告诉我了。”他平静地说。
Off his chest! What now? He saw the blood come flushing into her neck and cheek.
总算把憋在心里的话说出来了！现在是什么状况？他看到弗勒的脖子和脸涨得通红。
"Oh! What business—how do you mean 'telling you'?"
“哦！什么事——‘他告诉你’是什么意思？”
"Just that he's in love with you—nothing more—there's nothing more to tell, is there?" And drawing his feet up on to the chair, he clasped his hands hard round his knees. Already—already he had asked a question! Bite on it! Bite on it! And he shut his eyes.
“就是说他爱上你了——没说别的——没别的事可说了，是吗？”说着，他把脚缩到椅子里，用双手抱着膝盖。他已经——已经问了一个问题了！稳住！稳住！然后他闭上了眼睛。
"Of course," said Fleur, very slowly, "there's nothing more. If Wilfrid chooses to be so silly."
“当然。”弗勒慢条斯理地说，“当然没别的事了。如果威尔弗里德愿意这样犯傻的话。”
Chooses! The word seemed unjust to one whose own 'silliness' was so recent—so enduring! And—curious! his heart wouldn't bound. Surely it ought to have bounded at her words!
愿意！这个词听着这么接近“愚蠢”，似乎对一个如此执著于你的人很不公平！而且——奇怪的是，他的心情并没因此而好起来。听到这话，他本应该高兴起来的！
"Is that the end of Wilfrid, then?"
“那么，这就是威尔弗里德的结局了吗？”
"The end? I don't know."
“结局?我不清楚。”
Ah! Who knew anything—when passion was about?
啊！当激情奔放之时，谁知道会发生什么呢？
"Well," he said, holding himself hard together, "don't forget I love you awfully!"
“嗯。”他一边紧紧抱住自己，一边说，“别忘了我非常爱你！”
He saw her eyelids flicker, her shoulders shrugging.
他看到她眼睛眨了一下，肩膀耸了耸。
"Am I likely to?"
“我像是会忘记吗？”
Bitter, cordial, simple—which? Suddenly her hands came round and took him by the ears. Holding them fast she looked down at him, and laughed. And again his heart WOULD not bound. If she did not lead him by the nose, she—! But he clutched her to him in the chair. Lavender and white and black confused—she returned his kiss. But from the heart? Who knew? Not Michael.
痛苦、热忱、简单——究竟是哪一种？突然间，她把双手伸过来，抓住他的耳朵。她一边紧紧捏住他的耳朵，一边低头向下看着他，哈哈一笑。可是，他的心还是没有高兴起来。如果她不是牵着他的鼻子走，她——！但他还是一把把她搂进椅子里。淡紫色和黑白相间的颜色混在一起——她回应着他的吻。可这是不是发自内心的？谁知道？反正迈克尔不知道。