the new machiavelli-第80部分

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filled　me　with　pride　and　a　kind　of　gratitude。　　I　was　already　in　no　

doubt　that　her　value　in　my　life　was　tremendous。　　It　made　it　none　the　

less；　that　in　those　days　I　was　obsessed　by　the　idea　that　she　was　

transitory；　and　bound　to　go　out　of　my　life　again。　　It　is　no　good　

trying　to　set　too　fine　a　face　upon　this　complex　business；　there　is　

gold　and　clay　and　sunlight　and　savagery　in　every　love　story；　and　a　

multitude　of　elvish　elements　peeped　out　beneath　the　fine　rich　

curtain　of　affection　that　masked　our　future。　　I've　never　properly　

weighed　how　immensely　my　vanity　was　gratified　by　her　clear　

preference　for　me。　　Nor　can　I　for　a　moment　determine　how　much　

deliberate　intention　I　hide　from　myself　in　this　affair。



Certainly　I　think　some　part　of　me　must　have　been　saying　in　the　

train：　〃Leave　go　of　her。　　Get　away　from　her。　　End　this　now。〃　　I　

can't　have　been　so　stupid　as　not　to　have　had　that　in　my　mind。　。　。　。



If　she　had　been　only　a　beautiful　girl　in　love　with　me；　I　think　I　

could　have　managed　the　situation。　　Once　or　twice　since　my　marriage　

and　before　Isabel　became　of　any　significance　in　my　life；　there　had　

been　incidents　with　other　people；　flashes　of　temptationno　telling　

is　possible　of　the　thing　resisted。　　I　think　that　mere　beauty　and　

passion　would　not　have　taken　me。　　But　between　myself　and　Isabel　

things　were　incurably　complicated　by　the　intellectual　sympathy　we　

had；　the　jolly　march　of　our　minds　together。　　That　has　always　

mattered　enormously。　　I　should　have　wanted　her　company　nearly　as　

badly　if　she　had　been　some　crippled　old　lady；　we　would　have　hunted　

shoulder　to　shoulder；　as　two　men。　　Only　two　men　would　never　have　had　

the　patience　and　readiness　for　one　another　we　two　had。　　I　had　never　

for　years　met　any　one　with　whom　I　could　be　so　carelessly　sure　of　

understanding　or　to　whom　I　could　listen　so　easily　and　fully。　　She　

gave　me；　with　an　extraordinary　completeness；　that　rare；　precious　

effect　of　always　saying　something　fresh；　and　yet　saying　it　so　that　

it　filled　into　and　folded　about　all　the　little　recesses　and　corners　

of　my　mind　with　an　infinite；　soft　familiarity。　　It　is　impossible　to　

explain　that。　　It　is　like　trying　to　explain　why　her　voice；　her　voice　

heard　speaking　to　any　oneheard　speaking　in　another　roompleased　

my　ears。



She　was　the　only　Oxford　woman　who　took　a　first　that　year。　　She　spent　

the　summer　in　Scotland　and　Yorkshire；　writing　to　me　continually　of　

all　she　now　meant　to　do；　and　stirring　my　imagination。　　She　came　to　

London　for　the　autumn　session。　　For　a　time　she　stayed　with　old　Lady　

Colbeck；　but　she　fell　out　with　her　hostess　when　it　became　clear　she　

wanted　to　write；　not　novels；　but　journalism；　and　then　she　set　every　

one　talking　by　taking　a　flat　near　Victoria　and　installing　as　her　

sole　protector　an　elderly　German　governess　she　had　engaged　through　a　

scholastic　agency。　　She　began　writing；　not　in　that　copious　flood　the　

undisciplined　young　woman　of　gifts　is　apt　to　produce；　but　in　exactly　

the　manner　of　an　able　young　man；　experimenting　with　forms；　

developing　the　phrasing　of　opinions；　taking　a　definite　line。　　She　

was；　of　course；　tremendously　discussed。　　She　was　disapproved　of；　but　

she　was　invited　out　to　dinner。　　She　got　rather　a　reputation　for　the　

management　of　elderly　distinguished　men。　　It　was　an　odd　experience　

to　follow　Margaret's　soft　rustle　of　silk　into　some　big　drawing…room　

and　discover　my　snub…nosed　girl　in　the　blue　sack　transformed　into　a　

shining　creature　in　the　soft　splendour　of　pearls　and　ivory…white　and　

lace；　and　with　a　silver　band　about　her　dusky　hair。



For　a　time　we　did　not　meet　very　frequently；　though　always　she　

professed　an　unblushing　preference　for　my　company；　and　talked　my　

views　and　sought　me　out。　　Then　her　usefulness　upon　the　BLUE　WEEKLY　

began　to　link　us　closelier。　　She　would　come　up　to　the　office；　and　

sit　by　the　window；　and　talk　over　the　proofs　of　the　next　week's　

articles；　going　through　my　intentions　with　a　keen　investigatory　

scalpel。　　Her　talk　always　puts　me　in　mind　of　a　steel　blade。　　Her　

writing　became　rapidly　very　good；　she　had　a　wit　and　a　turn　of　the　

phrase　that　was　all　her　own。　　We　seemed　to　have　forgotten　the　little　

shadow　of　embarrassment　that　had　fallen　over　our　last　meeting　at　

Oxford。　　Everything　seemed　natural　and　easy　between　us　in　those　

days；　a　little　unconventional；　but　that　made　it　all　the　brighter。



We　developed　something　like　a　custom　of　walks；　about　once　a　week　or　

so；　and　letters　and　notes　became　frequent。　　I　won't　pretend　things　

were　not　keenly　personal　between　us；　but　they　had　an　air　of　being　

innocently　mental。　　She　used　to　call　me　〃Master〃　in　our　talks；　a　

monstrous　and　engaging　flattery；　and　I　was　inordinately　proud　to　

have　her　as　my　pupil。　　Who　wouldn't　have　been？　　And　we　went　on　at　

that　distance　for　a　long　timeuntil　within　a　year　of　the　Handitch　

election。



After　Lady　Colbeck　threw　her　up　as　altogether　too　〃intellectual〃　for　

comfortable　control；　Isabel　was　taken　up　by　the　Balfes　in　a　less　

formal　and　compromising　manner；　and　week…ended　with　them　and　their　

cousin　Leonora　Sparling；　and　spent　large　portions　of　her　summer　with　

them　in　Herefordshire。　　There　was　a　lover　or　so　in　that　time；　men　

who　came　a　little　timidly　at　this　brilliant　young　person　with　the　

frank　manner　and　the　Amazonian　mind；　and；　she　declared；　received　her　

kindly　refusals　with　manifest　relief。　　And　Arnold　Shoesmith　struck　

up　a　sort　of　friendship　that　oddly　imitated　mine。　　She　took　a　liking　

to　him　because　he　was　clumsy　and　shy　and　inexpressive；　she　embarked　

upon　the　dangerous　interest　of　helping　him　to　find　his　soul。　　I　had　

some　twinges　of　jealousy　about　that。　　I　didn't　see　the　necessity　of　

him。　　He　invaded　her　time；　and　I　thought　that　might　interfere　with　

her　work。　　If　their　friendship　stole　some　hours　from　Isabel's　

writing；　it　did　not　for　a　long　while　interfere　with　our　walks　or　our　

talks；　or　the　close　intimacy　we　had　together。







4





Then　suddenly　Isabel　and　I　found　ourselves　passionately　in　love。



The　change　came　so　entirely　without　warning　or　intention　that　I　find　

it　impossible　now　to　tell　the　order　of　its　phases。　　What　disturbed　

pebble　started　the　avalanche　I　cannot　trace。　　Perhaps　it　was　simply　

that　the　barriers　between　us　and　this　masked　aspect　of　life　had　been　

wearing　down　unperceived。



And　there　came　a　change　in　Isabel。　　It　was　like　some　change　in　the　

cycle　of　nature；　like　the　onset　of　springa　sharp　brightness；　an　

uneasiness。　　She　became　restless　with　her　work；　little　encounters　

with　men　began　to　happen；　encounters　not　quite　in　the　quality　of　the　

earlier　proposals；　and　then　came　an　odd　incident　of　which　she　told　

me；　but　somehow；　I　felt；　didn't　tell　me　completely。　　She　told　me　all　

she　was　able　to　tell　me。　　She　had　been　at　a　dance　at　the　Ropers'；　

and　a　man；　rather　well　known　in　London；　had　kissed　her。　　The　thing　

amazed　her　beyond　measure。　　It　was　the　sort　of　thing　immediately　

possible　between　any　man　and　any　woman；　that　one　never　expects　to　

happen　until　it　happens。　　It　had　the　surprising　effect　of　a　judge　

generally　known　to　be　bald　suddenly　whipping　off　his　wig　in　court。　　

No　absolutely　unexpected　revelation　could　have　quite　the　same　

quality　of　shock。　　She　went　through　the　whole　thing　to　me　with　a　

remarkable　detachment；　told　me　how　she　had　feltand　the　odd　things　

it　seemed　to　open　to　her。



〃I　WANT　to　be　kissed；　and　all　that　sort　of　thing；〃　she　avowed。　　〃I　

suppose　every　woman　does。〃



She　added　after　a　pause：　〃And　I　don't　want　any　one　to　do　it。〃



This　struck　me　as　queerly　expressive　of　the　woman's　attitude　to　

these　things。　　〃Some　one　presently　willsolve　that；〃　I　said。



〃Some　one　will　perhaps。〃



I　was　silent。



〃Some　one　will；〃　she　said；　almost　viciously。　　〃And　then　we'll　have　

to　stop　these　walks　and　talks　of　ours；　dear　Master。　。　。　。　　I'll　be　

sorry　to　give　them　up。〃



〃It's　part　of　the　requirements　of　the　situation；〃　I　said；　〃that　he　

should　beoh；　very　interesting！　　He'll　start；　no　doubt；　all　sorts　

of　new　topics；　and　open　no　end　of　attractive　vistas。　。　。　。　　You　

can't；　you　know；　always　go　about　in　a　state　of　pupillage。〃



〃I　don't　think　I　can；〃　said　Isabel。　　〃But　it's　only　just　recently　

I've　begun　to　doubt　about　it。〃



I　remember　these　things　being　said；　but　just　how　much　we　saw　and　

understood；　and　just　how　far　we　were　really　keeping　opaque　to　each　

other　then；　I　cannot　remember。　　But　it　must　have　been　quite　soon　

after　this　that　we　spent　nearly　a　whole　day　together　at　Kew　Gardens；　

with　the　curtains　up　and　the　barriers　down；　and　the　thing　that　had　

happened　plain　before　our　eyes。　　I　don't　remember　we　ever　made　any　

declaration。　　We　just　assumed　the　new　footing。　。　。　。



It　was　a　day　early　in　that　yearI　think　in　January；　because　there　

was　thin；　crisp　snow　on　the　grass；　and　we　noted　that　only　two　other　

people　had　been　to　the　Pagoda　that　day。　　I've　a　curious　impression　

of　greenish　colour