少校在阴暗光线的掩护下，踌躇满志，得意扬扬，来回摇晃着他那发青的脸，并眨着龙虾眼，直到后来他呼哧呼哧地一阵阵喘起气来，因此在他的女朋友能继续说话之前，他不得不站起身来，在房间里转了一、两圈。
“董贝先生十分客气，”斯丘顿夫人终于恢复了说话能力之后，说道，“好多个星期之前跟你，我亲爱的少校，一道到这里来拜访我们，使我们感到光荣之至。我承认——请允许我坦率地说——，我是个易受冲动的人，可以说，我的心就好像亮在外面似的。我对我的弱点知道得清清楚楚。我的敌人也不能比我知道得更清楚。可是我并不后悔；我宁肯不要被冰冷无情的世界冻僵，对这责怪我倒是心安理得，处之泰然的。”
斯丘顿夫人整了整领子，捏了捏瘦削的喉咙，使它表面光滑些，然后十分扬扬自得地继续说道：
“我接待董贝先生感到无比高兴（我相信，我最亲爱的伊迪丝也一样）。作为你的一个朋友，我亲爱的少校，我们很自然地事先就对他产生了好感。我觉得，我看到董贝先生充满了善良的心意，这是使人极能振奋精神的。”
“董贝先生现在什么心也没有了，夫人，”少校说道。
“坏蛋！”斯丘顿夫人没精打采地看着他说，“请别吱声！”
“乔•白一个字也不说了，夫人，”少校说道。
“董贝先生后来就不断到这里来拜访，”克利奥佩特拉揉平脸颊上的红粉，继续说道，“也许是发现我们纯朴和自然的风格中有什么吸引力吧——因为在自然中总是有一种魅力的——它是很引人入胜的——，他成了我们每天晚上小小聚会中的一员。当初我决没想到我会背负起这可怕的责任，那时候我鼓励董贝先生——”
“上这里来随便串串门，夫人，”白格斯托克少校提示说。
“粗野的人！”斯丘顿夫人说，“你猜对了我的意思，但使用了讨厌的语言。”
这时斯丘顿夫人把胳膊肘搁在身边的一张小桌子上，用她认为优美和合适的姿态垂下手腕，悬吊着扇子来回摆动，一边说话一边赞赏着她自己的手。
“当我逐渐明白真相的时候，”她装腔作势地说道，“我所忍受过的痛苦真是太可怕了，我不想去细细说它；我的整个一生都跟我最亲爱的伊迪丝紧密地联系在一起；我美丽的宝贝孩子，自从那极讨人喜欢的人儿格兰杰死去以后，她简直把心也给掩藏起来了；看到她的容颜一天天地改变，真是世界上最令人伤心的事情。”
如果人们从那最伤心的痛苦对斯丘顿夫人所产生的影响来判断的话，那么她的世界并不是很难于忍受的，不过这只是顺便说说而已。
“人们都说，”斯丘顿夫人傻笑着说道，“我生活中十全十美的的珍珠伊迪丝像我。我相信，我们确实是相像的。”
“世界上有一个人永远也不会承认有谁能像你，夫人，”少校说，“这个人的名字就是老乔•白格斯托克。”
克利奥佩特拉装着要用扇子打破马屁精的脑袋，但却又发了慈悲心，对他微笑着，继续说道：
“如果我迷人的女儿继承了我的什么优点的话，坏东西！”坏东西是指少校，“那么她也继承了我的傻脾气。她有着强烈的性格——人们说我的性格也是很强烈的，虽然我不相信——，但是她一旦被感动了，她是极容易动心和敏感的。当我看到她憔悴下去的时候，我的心情是什么滋味啊！它简直要毁了我。”
少校向前伸出他的双下巴，表示安慰地噘着发青的嘴唇，假装出极为深切的同情。
“我们之间存在的信任：心灵的自由发展和思想感情的尽情倾吐，”斯丘顿夫人说道，“想起来真是动人。我们像是姐妹俩，而不像妈妈和女儿。”
“乔•白就有这样的看法，”少校说道，“乔•白已讲过五万次了！”
“别插嘴，粗鲁的人！”克利奥佩特拉说，“当我发现有一个问题我们避开不谈的时候，我的心情是什么滋味啊！在我们中间悬隔着一道——该叫什么——鸿沟。我的天真朴实的伊迪丝要变成我的模样了！自然，这是最沉痛难忍的心情。”
少校离开他的椅子，坐到挨近小桌子的那一张中。
“一天又一天，我看到了这一点，我亲爱的少校，”斯丘顿夫人继续说道，“一天又一天，我感觉到了这一点。一小时又一小时，我责备自己，过分的信任，过分的无猜无疑，它已造成了如此痛苦的结果；差不多一分钟又一分钟，我希望董贝先生会自己来解释，并解除我遭受的痛苦，这痛苦真使我精疲力竭。但是什么也没有发生，我亲爱的少校。我深深地悔恨——小心别打破咖啡杯子，你这笨手笨脚的人——我最亲爱的伊迪丝是个已经改变了的人；我实在不知道该怎么办，也不知道我可以跟哪位好人商量。”
斯丘顿夫人曾经好多次采用，现在终于完全采用了温柔和信任的语气，白格斯托克少校也许受到这种语气的鼓励，就把手伸过小桌子，斜眼看着说道：
“跟乔商量吧，夫人。”
“既然这样，你这讨厌的怪物，”克利奥佩特拉把一只手递给少校，用另一只手中拿着的扇子轻轻地敲打他的指节，说道，“你为什么不跟我谈谈？你知道我指的是什么。为什么你不跟我谈谈这方面的事？”
少校哈哈大笑，吻了吻她伸给他的手，又连连不停地哈哈大笑。
“董贝先生是不是像我所认为的心地真诚善良的人？”有气无力的克利奥佩特拉亲切地说道，“你认为他是真心实意的吗？我亲爱的少校？你认为需要跟他说说还是听他自便？现在请告诉我，亲爱的人，你的意见怎么样？”
“我们要不要让他去跟伊迪丝•格兰杰结婚呢，夫人？”少校声音嘶哑地吃吃笑道。
“莫名其妙的东西！”克利奥佩特拉举起扇子去打少校的鼻子，说道，“我们怎么能让他去结婚？”
“我说，夫人，我们要不要让他去跟伊迪丝•格兰杰结婚？”少校又吃吃地笑道。
斯丘顿夫人没有答话，而是十分调皮、十分快活地向少校微笑着；这位好色的军官认为这是对自己的挑引，本想在她非常红的嘴唇上印上一个亲吻的，可是她却以十分可爱的、少女般的敏捷劲儿，用扇子挡住了。她这么做，也许是由于羞怯，但也许是由于她害怕嘴唇上涂染上的色泽会受到损害。
“夫人，”少校说道，“董贝是个人人想开采的金矿。”
“啊，你这满身铜臭的势利小人！”克利奥佩特拉轻轻地尖声喊道，“真叫我毛骨悚然。”
“夫人，”少校伸长脖子，睁大眼睛，继续说道，“董贝是真心实意的。约瑟夫这样说；白格斯托克知道这一点。乔•白正把他引到这一步。听凭董贝自己去吧，夫人。董贝是稳能到手的。你就跟过去一样行事好了，不要别的。请相信乔•白会把事情办到底的。”
“你真的这样想吗，我亲爱的少校？”克利奥佩特拉问道。她虽然是一副没精打采的姿态，但却很机警、很敏锐地逼视着他。
“绝对是真的，夫人，”少校回答道，“世上无双的克利奥佩特拉和她的安东尼•白格斯托克在伊迪丝•董贝富丽堂皇的公馆中享受财富时，将会经常得意扬扬地谈到这一点。夫人，董贝的左右手，”少校在吃吃的笑声中突然停住，一本正经地说道，“已经到这里来了。”
“今天早上？”克利奥佩特拉问道。
“今天早上，夫人，”少校回答道，“董贝曾经焦急地等待着他的来到，夫人，这说明了——请相信乔•白的话，因为乔是魔鬼般狡猾的人，”少校轻轻地敲打着自己的鼻子，并眯缝着一只眼睛，这并没有改善他天生的美容，“这说明了董贝希望他得知这个消息，不用他告诉他或跟他商量。因为，夫人，”少校说，“董贝就跟魔王一样骄傲。”
“这是个可爱的性格，”斯丘顿夫人吐字不清地说道，“它使人想起了我最亲爱的伊迪丝。”
“唔，夫人，”少校说，“我已经作出了一些暗示，那位左右手明白了，我将再作出一些暗示，直到那天来到为止。董贝今天早上建议明天乘车到沃里克城堡①和凯尼尔沃思②去游览，动身之前先跟我们一起吃早饭。我是替他来送请柬的。您肯不肯赏光，夫人？”少校说，当他取出一张短笺时，他脸上扬扬得意，露出狡猾的神气，气都喘不过来；这张短笺是烦请白格斯托克少校转交给尊敬的斯丘顿夫人的；在这张短笺中，她的永远忠实的保罗•董贝恳求她和她和蔼可亲的、多才多艺的女儿同意参加这次建议中的游览。在附言中，这同一位永远忠实的保罗•董贝请求她向格兰杰夫人转致他的问候。
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①沃里克（Warwick）：英格兰沃里克郡的一个城镇，以古城堡著名；该城堡规模宏大，结构完整，收藏有精美绘画和兵器。
②凯尼尔沃思（Kenilworth）：也是英格兰沃里克郡的一个城镇。
“别说话！”克利奥佩特拉突然说道，“伊迪丝！”
这位可爱的母亲在发出这个惊叫声之后又重新装出那副没有精神、装腔作势的神态，这种情景简直是不可能描写的；因为她从来没有抛开过这个神态，大概除了坟墓之外，不论在其他任何地方她都不想，也不可能抛开这个神态的。但是她在脸孔、声音或神态中曾经在片刻间暴露出她曾经认真怀有一种目的或微弱地承认她怀有那个目的（不论这目的是高尚的或邪恶的），而当伊迪丝走进房间的时候，她就急急忙忙地驱除掉她曾一时暴露出的所有这些神色的任何阴影，懒洋洋地斜靠在长沙发上，又是原先那极为没精打采和有气无力的神态。
伊迪丝十分美丽和庄严，但却又十分冷淡和拒人于千里之外。她对白格斯托克少校几乎没打招呼，向母亲敏锐地看了一眼之后，把一个窗子的窗帘拉开，在窗前坐下，望着外面。
“我最亲爱的伊迪丝，”斯丘顿夫人说道，“你这些时候待在哪里？我多么想看到你呀，我亲爱的。”
“你刚才说你有事，所以我就没进来，”她头也不回地回答道。
“这对老乔太残酷无情了，夫人，”少校以他特有的殷勤说道。
“是很残酷无情，我知道，”她仍然望着外面，说道，说话时不动声色，十分傲慢；少校十分狼狈，想不出什么话来回答。
“我亲爱的伊迪丝，”她的母亲慢声慢气地说道，“你知道，白格斯托克少校总的来说，是世界上最没用、最讨厌的人——”
“妈妈，完全不必采用这种讲话方式，”伊迪丝回过头来说道，“这里就我们三个人。我们彼此了解。”
她俊俏的脸上平平静静地显露出的轻蔑表情（对她自己的轻蔑显然并不比对他们的少）十分强烈和深刻，因此她母亲原先发出的傻笑，尽管是习惯性的，也不得不在这种表情前顷刻间从唇边消失了。
“我亲爱的女儿，”她又开始说道。
“还不是个女人吗？”伊迪丝微笑着说道。
“你今天多么古怪，我亲爱的！请让我说，我的宝贝，白格斯托克少校替董贝先生送来了十分客气的请柬，建议我们明天和他一起吃早饭，然后乘车去沃里克和肯尼尔沃思。你去吗，伊迪丝？”
“我去吗！”她重复着说道，她回过头来看母亲时，脸孔涨得通红，并急促地呼吸着。
“我
Chapter 27
Deeper Shadows
Mr Carker the Manager rose with the lark, and went out, walking in the summer day. His meditations - and he meditated with contracted brows while he strolled along - hardly seemed to soar as high as the lark, or to mount in that direction; rather they kept close to their nest upon the earth, and looked about, among the dust and worms. But there was not a bird in the air, singing unseen, farther beyond the reach of human eye than Mr Carker's thoughts. He had his face so perfectly under control, that few could say more, in distinct terms, of its expression, than that it smiled or that it pondered. It pondered now, intently. As the lark rose higher, he sank deeper in thought. As the lark poured out her melody clearer and stronger, he fell into a graver and profounder silence. At length, when the lark came headlong down, with an accumulating stream of song, and dropped among the green wheat near him, rippling in the breath of the morning like a river, he sprang up from his reverie, and looked round with a sudden smile, as courteous and as soft as if he had had numerous observers to propitiate; nor did he relapse, after being thus awakened; but clearing his face, like one who bethought himself that it might otherwise wrinkle and tell tales, went smiling on, as if for practice.
Perhaps with an eye to first impressions, Mr Carker was very carefully and trimly dressed, that morning. Though always somewhat formal, in his dress, in imitation of the great man whom he served, he stopped short of the extent of Mr Dombey's stiffness: at once perhaps because he knew it to be ludicrous, and because in doing so he found another means of expressing his sense of the difference and distance between them. Some people quoted him indeed, in this respect, as a pointed commentary, and not a flattering one, on his icy patron - but the world is prone to misconstruction, and Mr Carker was not accountable for its bad propensity.
Clean and florid: with his light complexion, fading as it were, in the sun, and his dainty step enhancing the softness of the turf: Mr Carker the Manager strolled about meadows, and green lanes, and glided among avenues of trees, until it was time to return to breakfast. Taking a nearer way back, Mr Carker pursued it, airing his teeth, and said aloud as he did so, 'Now to see the second Mrs Dombey!'
He had strolled beyond the town, and re-entered it by a pleasant walk, where there was a deep shade of leafy trees, and where there were a few benches here and there for those who chose to rest. It not being a place of general resort at any hour, and wearing at that time of the still morning the air of being quite deserted and retired, Mr Carker had it, or thought he had it, all to himself. So, with the whim of an idle man, to whom there yet remained twenty minutes for reaching a destination easily able in ten, Mr Carker threaded the great boles of the trees, and went passing in and out, before this one and behind that, weaving a chain of footsteps on the dewy ground.
But he found he was mistaken in supposing there was no one in the grove, for as he softly rounded the trunk of one large tree, on which the obdurate bark was knotted and overlapped like the hide of a rhinoceros or some kindred monster of the ancient days before the Flood, he saw an unexpected figure sitting on a bench near at hand, about which, in another moment, he would have wound the chain he was making.
It was that of a lady, elegantly dressed and very handsome, whose dark proud eyes were fixed upon the ground, and in whom some passion or struggle was raging. For as she sat looking down, she held a corner of her under lip within her mouth, her bosom heaved, her nostril quivered, her head trembled, indignant tears were on her cheek, and her foot was set upon the moss as though she would have crushed it into nothing. And yet almost the self-same glance that showed him this, showed him the self-same lady rising with a scornful air of weariness and lassitude, and turning away with nothing expressed in face or figure but careless beauty and imperious disdain.
A withered and very ugly old woman, dressed not so much like a gipsy as like any of that medley race of vagabonds who tramp about the country, begging, and stealing, and tinkering, and weaving rushes, by turns, or all together, had been observing the lady, too; for, as she rose, this second figure strangely confronting the first, scrambled up from the ground - out of it, it almost appeared - and stood in the way.
'Let me tell your fortune, my pretty lady,' said the old woman, munching with her jaws, as if the Death's Head beneath her yellow skin were impatient to get out.
'I can tell it for myself,' was the reply.
'Ay, ay, pretty lady; but not right. You didn't tell it right when you were sitting there. I see you! Give me a piece of silver, pretty lady, and I'll tell your fortune true. There's riches, pretty lady, in your face.'
'I know,' returned the lady, passing her with a dark smile, and a proud step. 'I knew it before.
'What! You won't give me nothing?' cried the old woman. 'You won't give me nothing to tell your fortune, pretty lady? How much will you give me to tell it, then? Give me something, or I'll call it after you!' croaked the old woman, passionately.
Mr Carker, whom the lady was about to pass close, slinking against his tree as she crossed to gain the path, advanced so as to meet her, and pulling off his hat as she went by, bade the old woman hold her peace. The lady acknowledged his interference with an inclination of the head, and went her way.
'You give me something then, or I'll call it after her!' screamed the old woman, throwing up her arms, and pressing forward against his outstretched hand. 'Or come,' she added, dropping her voice suddenly, looking at him earnestly, and seeming in a moment to forget the object of her wrath, 'give me something, or I'll call it after you! '
'After me, old lady!' returned the Manager, putting his hand in his pocket.
'Yes,' said the woman, steadfast in her scrutiny, and holding out her shrivelled hand. 'I know!'
'What do you know?' demanded Carker, throwing her a shilling. 'Do you know who the handsome lady is?'
Munching like that sailor's wife of yore, who had chestnuts In her lap, and scowling like the witch who asked for some in vain, the old woman picked the shilling up, and going backwards, like a crab, or like a heap of crabs: for her alternately expanding and contracting hands might have represented two of that species, and her creeping face, some half-a-dozen more: crouched on the veinous root of an old tree, pulled out a short black pipe from within the crown of her bonnet, lighted it with a match, and smoked in silence, looking fixedly at her questioner.
Mr Carker laughed, and turned upon his heel.
'Good!' said the old woman. 'One child dead, and one child living: one wife dead, and one wife coming. Go and meet her!'
In spite of himself, the Manager looked round again, and stopped. The old woman, who had not removed her pipe, and was munching and mumbling while she smoked, as if in conversation with an invisible familiar, pointed with her finger in the direction he was going, and laughed.
'What was that you said, Beldamite?' he demanded.
The woman mumbled, and chattered, and smoked, and still pointed before him; but remained silent Muttering a farewell that was not complimentary, Mr Carker pursued his way; but as he turned out of that place, and looked over his shoulder at the root of the old tree, he could yet see the finger pointing before him, and thought he heard the woman screaming, 'Go and meet her!'
Preparations for a choice repast were completed, he found, at the hotel; and Mr Dombey, and the Major, and the breakfast, were awaiting the ladies. Individual constitution has much to do with the development of such facts, no doubt; but in this case, appetite carried it hollow over the tender passion; Mr Dombey being very cool and collected, and the Major fretting and fuming in a state of violent heat and irritation. At length the door was thrown open by the Native, and, after a pause, occupied by her languishing along the gallery, a very blooming, but not very youthful lady, appeared.
'My dear Mr Dombey,' said the lady, 'I am afraid we are late, but Edith has been out already looking for a favourable point of view for a sketch, and kept me waiting for her. Falsest of Majors,' giving him her little finger, 'how do you do?'
'Mrs Skewton,' said Mr Dombey, 'let me gratify my friend Carker:' Mr Dombey unconsciously emphasised the word friend, as saying "no really; I do allow him to take credit for that distinction:" 'by presenting him to you. You have heard me mention Mr Carker.'
'I am charmed, I am sure,' said Mrs Skewton, graciously.
Mr Carker was charmed, of course. Would he have been more charmed on Mr Dombey's behalf, if Mrs Skewton had been (as he at first supposed her) the Edith whom they had toasted overnight?
'Why, where, for Heaven's sake, is Edith?' exclaimed Mrs Skewton, looking round. 'Still at the door, giving Withers orders about the mounting of those drawings! My dear Mr Dombey, will you have the kindness -
Mr Dombey was already gone to seek her. Next moment he returned, bearing on his arm the same elegantly dressed and very handsome lady whom Mr Carker had encountered underneath the trees.
'Carker - ' began Mr Dombey. But their recognition of each other was so manifest, that Mr Dombey stopped surprised.
'I am obliged to the gentleman,' said Edith, with a stately bend, 'for sparing me some annoyance from an importunate beggar just now.'
'I am obliged to my good fortune,' said Mr Carker, bowing low, 'for the opportunity of rendering so slight a service to one whose servant I am proud to be.'
As her eye rested on him for an instant, and then lighted on the ground, he saw in its bright and searching glance a suspicion that he had not come up at the moment of his interference, but had secretly observed her sooner. As he saw that, she saw in his eye that her distrust was not without foundation.
'Really,' cried Mrs Skewton, who had taken this opportunity of inspecting Mr Carker through her glass, and satisfying herself (as she lisped audibly to the Major) that he was all heart; 'really now, this is one of the most enchanting coincidences that I ever heard of. The idea! My dearest Edith, there is such an obvious destiny in it, that really one might almost be induced to cross one's arms upon one's frock, and say, like those wicked Turks, there is no What's-his-name but Thingummy, and What-you-may-call-it is his prophet!'
