第五十六章
菲利普怎么也没法把她忘了。对自己的愚蠢行为，他觉得又气又好笑：堂堂男子汉竟为了那么几句话而同个患贫血症的女招待斤斤计较起来，说来岂不荒唐，可他就是想不开，像是蒙受了什么奇耻大辱似的。其实就算它是件丢人的事吧，也只有邓斯福德一个人知道，而且他肯定早给忘了。可菲利普觉得，自己一天不洗刷掉这层耻辱，心里就一天得不到安宁。他左思右想，不知该如何办才好。最后他打定主意，以后每天都要上那点心店去。他显然已给她落了个环印象。不过，要消除这种印象，自己这点本事还是有的吧。今后在她面前，自己的出言谈吐得多留点神，要做到即使让最敏感的人听了也不会觉得受了冒犯。后来他也确实这么做了，但毫无效果。他进店时，总要道一声"晚上好"，她也依样回他一句。有一回他故意没向她打招呼，想看看她是否会主动向自己问好，结果她什么也没说。菲利普肚子里暗暗嘀咕了一声，而他嘀咕的那个词，尽管对某些女性往往很适用，但是在上流社会里却难得用来谈论她们。他脸上装着没事儿似地要了份茶点。他咬紧牙关，一语不发，临走时，连平日那声"晚安"也没说。他决心再也不上那儿去了。可到了第二天吃茶点的时候，他只觉得站也不是，坐也不是。他尽量去想别的事情，可就是控制不了自己的思绪。最后，他心一横，说：
"想去就去呗，何苦定要同自己作对呢！"
就这样，菲利普已经折腾了好一阵子，等他最后走进那家点心店，已快七点了。
"我还以为你今天不来了呢，"菲利普就座时，那姑娘招呼说。
菲利普的心怦地一跳，觉得自己脸也红了。
"有事给耽搁了，没法早来。"
"怕是在外面同人胡闹吧？"
"还不至于那么淘气。"
"你大概还在学校里念书，是吗？"
"不错。"
她的好奇心似乎得到了满足，径自走开了。这会儿时间已经不早，她照管的那几张餐桌上已没其他顾客，她专心致志地看起小说来，那时候，市面上还没流行那种廉价版的单行本小说。自有一批没出息的雇佣文人，专门为一些识字不多的市民定期炮制些廉价小说，供他们消闲遣闷。菲利普心里喜滋滋的。她毕竟主动同他打招呼了，他感到风水在转了，等真的轮到自己逞威风的时候，他可要把自己对她的看法当面说个明白。要是能把自己一肚子的轻蔑之情统统发泄出来，那才真叫一吐为快呢。他定睛打量她。不错，她的侧影很美。说来也奇怪，属于她那个阶层的英国姑娘，常具有完美无缺的、令人惊叹的轮廓线条，然而她那侧影，却给人一种冷感，仿佛是用大理石雕刻出来的，微微发青的细洁皮肤，给人一种病态的印象。所有的女招待，都是一式打扮：白围裙，黑色平布服，再加上一副护腕和一顶小帽。菲利普从口袋里掏出半员白纸，趁她坐在那儿一面伏案看书，一面努动嘴唇喃喃念诵的当儿，给她画了幅速写。菲利普离开时，随手把画留在餐桌上。想不到这一招还真起作用。第二天，他一进店门，她就冲着他嫣然一笑。
"真没想到你还会画画呢，"她说。
"我在巴黎学过两年美术。"
"昨晚你留下来的那张画，我拿去给女经理看了，她竟看得出了神。那画的是我吧。"
"没错，"菲利普说。
当她去端茶点时，另外一个女招待朝他走过来。
"您给罗杰斯小姐画的那张画我看到了，画得真像，"她说。
菲利普还是第一次听说她姓罗杰斯，当他索取帐单时，就用这个姓招呼她。
"看来你知道我名字了，"她走到跟前时这么说。
"你朋友同我讲起那幅画的时候，提到了你的芳名。"
"她也想要你替她画一幅呢。你可别替她画。一开了个头，事情就没个完了，她们会排着队来叫你画的。"稍顿之后，她突然把话题一转，问道："过去常和你一块来的那个小伙子，现在上哪儿去了？已离开这儿了？"
"没想到你还惦记着他，"菲利普说。
"小伙子长得挺帅。"
菲利普心里顿生一股奇异的感觉。他自己也说不清是怎么回事。邓斯福德长着一头讨人喜欢的鬈发，脸上气色很好，笑起来也很甜。菲利普想起邓斯福德的这些长处，心里很有点酸溜溜的滋味。
"哎，他忙着谈情说爱呢，"菲利普呵呵一笑。
菲利普一瘸一拐地走回家去，一路上一字一句地回味着刚才的那一席话。现在她已对他相当友好。以后有机会，他打算为她画幅精致些的素描，相信她一定会喜欢的。她那张脸蛋叫人感兴趣，侧面轮廓很可爱，即使那因贫血而微微发育的皮肤，也有一种奇特的吸引力。这颜色像什么呢，菲利普胡思乱想着。一上来他想到了豌豆汤，但立刻气呼呼地把这个念头赶跑了，继而又想到黄玫瑰花蕾的花瓣，是那种含苞未放就被人摘下的玫瑰花朵。此刻，菲利普对她已全无反感。
"这妞儿毕竟不赖呢，"他低声自语。
就因为她曾当面冲了自己几句而生她一肚子的气？好傻呀。她又没存心要冒犯谁。说起来还应怪他自己不好，初次见面时没给人留下好印象。何止仅此一次？对这种情况自己现在也该习以为常才是。他对自己那幅画的成功颇洋洋自得。她现在既然知道他还有这么一手，自然要对他刮目相看了。次日，菲利普一整天坐立不安。他想去点心店用午餐，但知道那时候店里顾客一定很多，米尔德丽德不会有工夫来陪他闲谈的。菲利普现在已没有同邓斯福德共进茶点的习惯，到四点半整（他已看了十二次手表），菲利普走进那家点心店。
米尔德丽德背对着菲利普，这时正一边坐下来，一边同那个德国佬交谈。前一阵子，菲利普几乎天天见到那个德国佬，可最近这两个星期，他一直没在店里露面。不知德国佬说了些什么，把个米尔德丽德逗得格格直笑。她笑得好俗气，菲利普不由得打了个寒噤。菲利普唤了她一声，她没理会。他又叫了她一声，这下子菲利普可不耐烦了，他生气地用手杖啪嗒啪嗒敲打桌面。米尔德丽德绷着脸走了过来。
"你好！"菲利普说。
"你好像有什么天大的急事似的。"
她双目看着菲利普，那脸的傲慢之色倒是菲利普非常熟悉的呢。
"我说你怎么啦？"他问道。
"你想要点什么，我可以给你端来，可要我一晚上光站着说话，我可受不了。"
"请来客茶和烤面包，"菲利普简短地应了一句。
菲利普对她十分恼火。他身边带着一份《星》报，等她来上茶点的时候，就故意装作埋头看报的样子。
"假如您愿意现在就把帐单开给我，您就不必劳神再跑一趟了，"菲利普冷冷地说。
米尔德丽德随手开了帐单，往餐桌上一放，扭头又往德国佬那边走去。不一会，她就同他谈笑风生地扯开了。这个德国人中等身材，长着典型的日耳曼民族的圆脑袋，一张灰黄色的脸，一撮浓而密的小胡子，身上穿着一件燕尾服和一条灰裤于，胸前拖着一根粗粗的金表链。菲利普心想，店里其他的女招待，这会儿大概正溜转着眼睛，轮流瞅着自己和那边餐桌上的一对，同时还相互交换着意味深长的眼色。他甚至觉得她们准在笑他，想到这儿，他全身血液沸腾。现在他打心眼里恨死了米尔德丽德。他知道自己最好的对策，就是以后再别光顾这家点心店，想想自己竞被她搞得如此狼狈，这口恶气怎能咽得下去！于是，他想出一个主意，要让她明白他菲利普压根儿就瞧她不起。第二天，菲利普换了张餐桌坐下，向另一个女招待要了茶点。米尔德丽德的朋友这会儿也在店里，米尔德丽德只顾同他拉扯，没去注意菲利普。于是，菲利普有意趁她非得从他面前穿过的当儿，起身朝店门外走去。他俩交臂而过时，菲利普漠然地朝她看了一眼，就像不认识她似的。这办法他一连试了三四天，哪天都在盼望她会凑准个机会找他说话。他想，她可能会问他最近为什么一直没光顾她照管的餐桌。菲利普甚至还想好了答话，话里充溢着对她的厌恶之情。他明知自己是在自寻烦恼，可笑得很，但就是控制不了自己。他又一次败下阵来。后来，那个德国佬突然不见了，但是菲利普照旧坐在别的餐桌干。米尔德丽德仍对他不加理会。菲利普恍然醒悟了，任凭自己爱怎么干，她才不在乎呢。像这样硬顶下去，哪怕顶到世界末日，也不见得会有什么效果。
"我可是一不干，二不休呢！"菲利普喃喃自语道。
次日，他又坐回到原来的餐桌上，等米尔德丽德走近时，向她道了声"晚安"，仿佛这一星期来他并没有冷落过她。菲利普脸面上很平静，心儿却上不住狂跳。那时候，喜歌剧刚刚时兴起来，颇受公众欢迎。菲利普料定米尔德丽德很乐意去看一场的。
"我说，"他突然开口说，"不知您是否肯常个脸，哪天陪我吃顿晚饭，然后再去看场《纽约美女》。我可以搞到两张正厅头等座的戏票。"
他那最后一句是有意加上去的，为的是诱她上钩。他知道女招待上戏院，一般都坐在正厅后座，即使有男朋友陪着，也很少有机会坐到比楼厅更贵的座位上去。米尔德丽德那张脸上，不见有一丝半点的表情。
"好吧，我没意见，"她说。
"你哪天有空？"
"星期四我下班早。"
他们商量怎么碰头。米尔德丽德同她姨妈一块儿住在赫尼希尔。戏八点钟开场，所以他们得在七点用晚餐。她建议菲利普在维多利亚车站的二等候车室里等她。她脸上没一点儿高兴的表示，明明是她接受别人的邀请，看上去倒像她在帮别人忙似的。菲利普心里隐隐感到不悦。
saturday. it was the day on which he had promised to pay his landlady. he had been expecting something to turn up all through the week. he had found no work. he had never been driven to extremities before, and he was so dazed that he did not know what to do. he had at the back of his mind a feeling that the whole thing was a preposterous joke. he had no more than a few coppers left, he had sold all the clothes he could do without; he had some books and one or two odds and ends upon which he might have got a shilling or two, but the landlady was keeping an eye on his comings and goings: he was afraid she would stop him if he took anything more from his room. the only thing was to tell her that he could not pay his bill. he had not the courage. it was the middle of june. the night was fine and warm. he made up his mind to stay out. he walked slowly along the chelsea embankment, because the river was restful and quiet, till he was tired, and then sat on a bench and dozed. he did not know how long he slept; he awoke with a start, dreaming that he was being shaken by a policeman and told to move on; but when he opened his eyes he found himself alone. he walked on, he did not know why, and at last came to chiswick, where he slept again. presently the hardness of the bench roused him. the night seemed very long. he shivered. he was seized with a sense of his misery; and he did not know what on earth to do: he was ashamed at having slept on the embankment; it seemed peculiarly humiliating, and he felt his cheeks flush in the darkness. he remembered stories he had heard of those who did and how among them were officers, clergymen, and men who had been to universities: he wondered if he would become one of them, standing in a line to get soup from a charitable institution. it would be much better to commit suicide. he could not go on like that: lawson would help him when he knew what straits he was in; it was absurd to let his pride prevent him from asking for assistance. he wondered why he had come such a cropper. he had always tried to do what he thought best, and everything had gone wrong. he had helped people when he could, he did not think he had been more selfish than anyone else, it seemed horribly unjust that he should be reduced to such a pass.
he could not get her out of his mind. he laughed angrily at his own foolishness: it was absurd to care what an anaemic little waitress said to him; but he was strangely humiliated. though no one knew of the humiliation but dunsford, and he had certainly forgotten, philip felt that he could have no peace till he had wiped it out. he thought over what he had better do. he made up his mind that he would go to the shop every day; it was obvious that he had made a disagreeable impression on her, but he thought he had the wits to eradicate it; he would take care not to say anything at which the most susceptible person could be offended. all this he did, but it had no effect. when he went in and said good-evening she answered with the same words, but when once he omitted to say it in order to see whether she would say it first, she said nothing at all. he murmured in his heart an expression which though frequently applicable to members of the female sex is not often used of them in polite society; but with an unmoved face he ordered his tea. he made up his mind not to speak a word, and left the shop without his usual good-night. he promised himself that he would not but it was no good thinking about it. he walked on. it was now light: the river was beautiful in the silence, and there was something mysterious in the early day; it was going to be very fine, and the sky, pale in the dawn, was cloudless. he felt very tired, and hunger was gnawing at his entrails, but he could not sit still; he was constantly afraid of being spoken to by a policeman. he dreaded the mortification of that. he felt dirty and wished he could have a wash. at last he found himself at hampton court. he felt that if he did not have something to eat he would cry. he chose a cheap eating-house and went in; there was a smell of hot things, and it made him feel slightly sick: he meant to eat something nourishing enough to keep up for the rest of the day, but his stomach revolted at the sight of food. he had a cup of tea and some bread and butter. he remembered then that it was sunday and he could go to the athelnys; he thought of the roast beef and the yorkshire pudding they would eat; but he was fearfully tired and could not face the happy, noisy family. he was feeling morose and wretched. he wanted to be left alone. he made up his mind that he would go into the gardens of the palace and lie down. his bones ached. perhaps he would find a pump so that he could wash his hands and face and drink something; he was very thirsty; and now that he was no longer hungry he thought with pleasure of the flowers and the lawns and the great leafy trees. he felt that there he could think out better what he must do. he lay on the grass, in the shade, and lit his pipe. for economy’s sake he had for a long time confined himself to two pipes a day; he was thankful now that his pouch was full. he did not know what people did when they had no money. presently he fell asleep. when he awoke it was nearly mid-day, and he thought that soon he must be setting out for london so as to be there in the early morning and answer any advertisements which seemed to promise. he thought of his uncle, who had told him that he would leave him at his death the little he had; philip did not in the least know how much this was: it could not be more than a few hundred pounds. he wondered whether he could raise money on the reversion. not without the old man’s consent, and that he would never give.
‘not so bad as that.’
‘yes.’
but that seemed to satisfy her curiosity. she went away and, since at that late hour there was nobody else at her tables, she immersed herself in a novelette. this was before the time of the sixpenny reprints. there was a regular supply of inexpensive fiction written to order by poor hacks for the consumption of the illiterate. philip was elated; she had addressed him of her own accord; he saw the time approaching when his turn would come and he would tell her exactly what he thought of her. it would be a great comfort to express the immensity of his contempt. he looked at her. it was true that her profile was beautiful; it was extraordinary how english girls of that class had so often a perfection of outline which took your breath away, but it was as cold as marble; and the faint green of her delicate skin gave an impression of unhealthiness. all the waitresses were dressed alike, in plain black dresses, with a white apron, cuffs, and a small cap. on a half sheet of paper that he had in his pocket philip made a sketch of her as she sat leaning over her book (she outlined the words with her lips as she read), and left it on the table when he went away. it was an inspiration, for next day, when he came in, she smiled at him.
go any more, but the next day at tea-time he grew restless. he tried to think of other things, but he had no command over his thoughts. at last he said desperately:
‘after all there’s no reason why i shouldn’t go if i want to.’
the struggle with himself had taken a long time, and it was getting on for seven when he entered the shop. silent; and when he took up his place those around him gave him a look of hostility. he heard one man say:
‘i thought you weren’t coming,’ the girl said to him, when he sat down. ‘the only thing i look forward to is getting my refusal soon enough to give me time to look elsewhere.’
his heart leaped in his bosom and he felt himself reddening. ‘i was detained. i couldn’t come before.’ the man, standing next him, glanced at philip and asked:
‘cutting up people, i suppose?’ ‘had any experience?’
‘i didn’t know you could draw,’ she said.
‘i was an art-student in paris for two years.’
‘i showed that drawing you left be’ind you last night to the manageress and she was struck with it. was it meant to be me?’
‘it was,’ said philip.
when she went for his tea, one of the other girls came up to him.
‘i saw that picture you done of miss rogers. it was the very image of her,’ she said.
that was the first time he had heard her name, and when he wanted his bill he called her by it.
‘i see you know my name,’ she said, when she came.
‘your friend mentioned it when she said something to me about that drawing.’
‘she wants you to do one of her. don’t you do it. if you once begin you’ll have to go on, and they’ll all be wanting you to do them.’ then without a pause, with peculiar inconsequence, she said: ‘where’s that young fellow that used to come with you? has he gone away?’
‘fancy your remembering him,’ said philip.
‘he was a nice-looking young fellow.’
philip felt quite a peculiar sensation in his heart. he did not know what it was. dunsford had jolly curling hair, a fresh complexion, and a beautiful smile. philip thought of these advantages with envy.
‘oh, he’s in love,’ said he, with a little laugh.
philip repeated every word of the conversation to himself as he limped home. she was quite friendly with him now. when opportunity arose he would offer to make a more finished sketch of her, he was sure she would like that; her face was interesting, the profile was lovely, and there was something curiously fascinating about the chlorotic colour. he tried to think what it was like; at first he thought of pea soup; but, driving away that idea angrily, he thought of the petals of a yellow rosebud when you tore it to pieces before it had burst. he had no ill-feeling towards her now.
‘she’s not a bad sort,’ he murmured.
it was silly of him to take offence at what she had said; it was doubtless his own fault; she had not meant to make herself disagreeable: he ought to be accustomed by now to making at first sight a bad impression on people. he was flattered at the success of his drawing; she looked upon him with more interest now that she was aware of this small talent. he was restless next day. he thought of going to lunch at the tea-shop, but he was certain there would be many people there then, and mildred would not be able to talk to him. he had managed before this to get out of having tea with dunsford, and, punctually at half past four (he had looked at his watch a dozen times), he went into the shop.
mildred had her back turned to him. she was sitting down, talking to the german whom philip had seen there every day till a fortnight ago and since then had not seen at all. she was laughing at what he said. philip thought she had a common laugh, and it made him shudder. he called her, but she took no notice; he called her again; then, growing angry, for he was impatient, he rapped the table loudly with his stick. she approached sulkily.
‘how d’you do?’ he said.
‘you seem to be in a great hurry.’
she looked down at him with the insolent manner which he knew so well.
‘i say, what’s the matter with you?’ he asked.
‘if you’ll kindly give your order i’ll get what you want. i can’t stand talking all night.’
‘tea and toasted bun, please,’ philip answered briefly.
he was furious with her. he had the star with him and read it elaborately when she brought the tea.
‘if you’ll give me my bill now i needn’t trouble you again,’ he said icily.
she wrote out the slip, placed it on the table, and went back to the german. soon she was talking to him with animation. he was a man of middle height, with the round head of his nation and a sallow face; his moustache was large and bristling; he had on a tail-coat and gray trousers, and he wore a massive gold watch-chain. philip thought the other girls looked from him to the pair at the table and exchanged significant glances. he felt certain they were laughing at him, and his blood boiled. he detested mildred now with all his heart. he knew that the best thing he could do was to cease coming to the tea-shop, but he could not bear to think that he had been worsted in the affair, and he devised a plan to show her that he despised her. next day he sat down at another table and ordered his tea from another waitress. mildred’s friend was there again and she was talking to him. she paid no attention to philip, and so when he went out he chose a moment when she had to cross his path: as he passed he looked at her as though he had never seen her before. he repeated this for three or four days. he expected that presently she would take the opportunity to say something to him; he thought she would ask why he never came to one of her tables now, and he had prepared an answer charged with all the loathing he felt for her. he knew it was absurd to trouble, but he could not help himself. she had beaten him again. the german suddenly disappeared, but philip still sat at other tables. she paid no attention to him. suddenly he realised that what he did was a matter of complete indifference to her; he could go on in that way till doomsday, and it would have no effect.
‘i’ve not finished yet,’ he said to himself.
the day after he sat down in his old seat, and when she came up said good-evening as though he had not ignored her for a week. his face was placid, but he could not prevent the mad beating of his heart. at that time the musical comedy had lately leaped into public favour, and he was sure that mildred would be delighted to go to one.
‘i say,’ he said suddenly, ‘i wonder if you’d dine with me one night and come to the belle of new york. i’ll get a couple of stalls.’
he added the last sentence in order to tempt her. he knew that when the girls went to the play it was either in the pit, or, if some man took them, seldom to more expensive seats than the upper circle. mildred’s pale face showed no change of expression.
‘i don’t mind,’ she said.
‘when will you come?’
‘i get off early on thursdays.’
they made arrangements. mildred lived with an aunt at herne hill. the play began at eight so they must dine at seven. she proposed that he should meet her in the second-class waiting-room at victoria station. she showed no pleasure, but accepted the invitation as though she conferred a favour. philip was vaguely irritated.
