The Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (33 Works in One Edition). Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

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СКАЧАТЬ for you, Mr. Dryland. I can never forget the great compliment you have paid me. I shall always think of you as the best friend I have."

      "Can you say nothing more to me than that?" asked the curate, despondently.

      Mary stretched out her hand. "I will be a sister to you."

      "Oh, Miss Clibborn, how sad it is to think that your affections should be unrequited. Why am I not Captain Parsons? Miss Clibborn, can you give me no hope?"

      "I should not be acting rightly towards you if I did not tell you at once that so long as Captain Parsons lives, my love for him can never alter."

      "I wish I were a soldier!" murmured Mr. Dryland.

      "Oh, it's not that. I think there's nothing so noble as a clergyman. If it is any consolation to you, I may confess that if I had never known Captain Parsons, things might have gone differently."

      "Well, I suppose I had better go away now. I must try to bear my disappointment."

      Mary gave him her hand, and, bending down with the utmost gallantry, the curate kissed it; then, taking up his low, clerical hat, hurriedly left her.

       Mrs. Jackson was a woman of singular penetration, so that it was not strange if she quickly discovered what had happened. Mr. Dryland was taking tea at the Vicarage, whither, with characteristic manliness, he had gone to face his disappointment. Not for him was the solitary moping, nor the privacy of a bedchamber; his robust courage sent him rather into the field of battle, or what was under the circumstances the only equivalent, Mrs. Jackson's drawing-room.

      But even he could not conceal the torments of unsuccessful love. He stirred his tea moodily, and his usual appetite for plum-cake had quite deserted him.

      "What's the matter with you, Mr. Dryland?" asked the Vicar's wife, with those sharp eyes which could see into the best hidden family secret.

      Mr. Dryland started at the question. "Nothing!"

      "You're very funny this afternoon."

      "I've had a great disappointment."

      "Oh!" replied Mrs. Jackson, in a tone which half-a-dozen marks of interrogation could inadequately express.

      "It's nothing. Life is not all beer and skittles. Ha! ha!"

      "Did you say you'd been calling on Mary Clibborn this afternoon?"

      Mr. Dryland blushed, and to cover his confusion filled his mouth with a large piece of cake.

      "Yes," he said, as soon as he could. "I paid her a little call."

      "Mr. Dryland, you can't deceive me. You've proposed to Mary Clibborn."

      He swallowed his food with a gulp. "It's quite true."

      "And she's refused you?"

      "Yes!"

      "Mr. Dryland, it was a noble thing to do. I must tell Archibald."

      "Oh, please don't, Mrs. Jackson! I don't want it to get about."

      "Oh, but I shall. We can't let you hide your light under a bushel. Fancy you proposing to that poor, dear girl! But it's just what I should have expected of you. That's what I always say. The clergy are constantly doing the most beautiful actions that no one hears anything about. You ought to receive a moral Victoria Cross. I'm sure you deserve it far more than that wicked and misguided young man."

      "I don't think I ought to take any credit for what I've done," modestly remonstrated the curate.

      "It was a beautiful action. You don't know how much it means to that poor, jilted girl."

      "It's true my indignation was aroused at the heartless conduct of Captain Parsons; but I have long loved her, Mrs. Jackson."

      "I knew it; I knew it! When I saw you together I said to Archibald: 'What a good pair they'd make!' I'm sure you deserve her far more than that worthless creature."

      "I wish she thought so."

      "I'll go and speak to her myself. I think she ought to accept you. You've behaved like a knight-errant, Mr. Dryland. You're a true Christian saint."

      "Oh, Mrs. Jackson, you embarrass me!"

      The news spread like wild-fire, and with it the opinion that the curate had vastly distinguished himself. Neither pagan hero nor Christian martyr could have acted more becomingly. The consideration which had once been Jamie's was bodily transferred to Mr. Dryland. He was the man of the hour, and the contemplation of his gallant deed made everyone feel nobler, purer. The curate accepted with quiet satisfaction the homage that was laid at his feet, modestly denying that he had done anything out of the way. With James, all unconscious of what had happened, he was mildly patronising; with Mary, tender, respectful, subdued. If he had been an archbishop, he could not have behaved with greater delicacy, manliness, and decorum.

      "I don't care what anyone says," cried Mrs. Jackson, "I think he's worth ten Captain Parsons! He's so modest and gentlemanly. Why, Captain Parsons simply used to look bored when one told him he was brave."

      "He's a conceited creature!"

      But in Primpton House the proposal was met with consternation.

      "Suppose she accepted him?" said Colonel Parsons, anxiously.

      "She'd never do that."

      Major Forsyth suggested that James should be told, in the belief that his jealousy would be excited.

      "I'll tell him," said Mrs. Parsons.

      She waited till she was alone with her son, and then, without stopping her needlework, said suddenly:

      "James, have you heard that Mr. Dryland has proposed to Mary?"

      He looked up nonchalantly. "Has she accepted him?"

      "James!" cried his mother, indignantly, "how can you ask such a question? Have you no respect for her? You must know that for nothing in the world would she be faithless to you."

      "I should like her to marry the curate. I think it would be a very suitable match."

      "You need not insult her, James."

      XVI

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       The tension between James and his parents became not less, but greater. That barrier which, almost from the beginning, they had watched with pain rise up between them now seemed indestructible, and all their efforts only made it more obvious and more stable. It was like some tropical plant which, for being cut down, grew ever with greater luxuriance. And there was a mischievous devil present at all their conversations that made them misunderstand one another as completely as though they spoke in different tongues. Notwithstanding their love, they were like strangers together; they could look at nothing from the same point of view.

      The Parsons had lived their whole lives in an artificial state. Ill-educated СКАЧАТЬ