in the cage- 第3部分

were　again　shoulder　to　shoulder　in　their　high　encounter　with　life；

their　large　and　complicated　game。　　The　fine　soundless　pulse　of　this

game　was　in　the　air　for　our　young　woman　while　they　remained　in　the

shop。　　While　they　remained？　　They　remained　all　day；　their　presence

continued　and　abode　with　her；　was　in　everything　she　did　till

nightfall；　in　the　thousands　of　other　words　she　counted；　she

transmitted；　in　all　the　stamps　she　detached　and　the　letters　she

weighed　and　the　change　she　gave；　equally　unconscious　and　unerring

in　each　of　these　particulars；　and　not；　as　the　run　on　the　little

office　thickened　with　the　afternoon　hours；　looking　up　at　a　single

ugly　face　in　the　long　sequence；　nor　really　hearing　the　stupid

questions　that　she　patiently　and　perfectly　answered。　　All　patience

was　possible　now；　all　questions　were　stupid　after　his；　all　faces

were　ugly。　　She　had　been　sure　she　should　see　the　lady　again；　and

even　now　she　should　perhaps；　she　should　probably；　see　her　often。

But　for　him　it　was　totally　different；　she　should　never　never　see

him。　　She　wanted　it　too　much。　　There　was　a　kind　of　wanting　that

helpedshe　had　arrived；　with　her　rich　experience；　at　that

generalisation；　and　there　was　another　kind　that　was　fatal。　　It　was

this　time　the　fatal　kind；　it　would　prevent。



Well；　she　saw　him　the　very　next　day；　and　on　this　second　occasion　it

was　quite　different；　the　sense　of　every　syllable　he　paid　for　was

fiercely　distinct；　she　indeed　felt　her　progressive　pencil；　dabbing

as　if　with　a　quick　caress　the　marks　of　his　own；　put　life　into　every

stroke。　　He　was　there　a　long　timehad　not　brought　his　forms　filled

out　but　worked　them　off　in　a　nook　on　the　counter；　and　there　were

other　people　as　wella　changing　pushing　cluster；　with　every　one　to

mind　at　once　and　endless　right　change　to　make　and　information　to

produce。　　But　she　kept　hold　of　him　throughout；　she　continued；　for

herself；　in　a　relation　with　him　as　close　as　that　in　which；　behind

the　hated　ground　glass；　Mr。　Buckton　luckily　continued　with　the

sounder。　　This　morning　everything　changed；　but　rather　to

dreariness；　she　had　to　swallow　the　rebuff　to　her　theory　about　fatal

desires；　which　she　did　without　confusion　and　indeed　with　absolute

levity；　yet　if　it　was　now　flagrant　that　he　did　live　close　at　hand

at　Park　Chambersand　belonged　supremely　to　the　class　that　wired

everything；　even　their　expensive　feelings　（so　that；　as　he　never

wrote；　his　correspondence　cost　him　weekly　pounds　and　pounds；　and　he

might　be　in　and　out　five　times　a　day）　there　was；　all　the　same；

involved　in　the　prospect；　and　by　reason　of　its　positive　excess　of

light；　a　perverse　melancholy；　a　gratuitous　misery。　　This　was　at

once　to　give　it　a　place　in　an　order　of　feelings　on　which　I　shall

presently　touch。



Meanwhile；　for　a　month；　he　was　very　constant。　　Cissy；　Mary；　never

re…appeared　with　him；　he　was　always　either　alone　or　accompanied

only　by　some　gentleman　who　was　lost　in　the　blaze　of　his　glory。

There　was　another　sense；　howeverand　indeed　there　was　more　than

onein　which　she　mostly　found　herself　counting　in　the　splendid

creature　with　whom　she　had　originally　connected　him。　　He　addressed

this　correspondent　neither　as　Mary　nor　as　Cissy；　but　the　girl　was

sure　of　whom　it　was；　in　Eaten　Square；　that　he　was　perpetually

wiring　toand　all　so　irreproachably！as　Lady　Bradeen。　　Lady

Bradeen　was　Cissy；　Lady　Bradeen　was　Mary；　Lady　Bradeen　was　the

friend　of　Fritz　and　of　Gussy；　the　customer　of　Marguerite；　and　the

close　ally　in　short　（as　was　ideally　right；　only　the　girl　had　not

yet　found　a　descriptive　term　that　was）　of　the　most　magnificent　of

men。　　Nothing　could　equal　the　frequency　and　variety　of　his

communications　to　her　ladyship　but　their　extraordinary；　their

abysmal　propriety。　　It　was　just　the　talkso　profuse　sometimes　that

she　wondered　what　was　left　for　their　real　meetingsof　the　very

happiest　people。　　Their　real　meetings　must　have　been　constant；　for

half　of　it　was　appointments　and　allusions；　all　swimming　in　a　sea　of

other　allusions　still；　tangled　in　a　complexity　of　questions　that

gave　a　wondrous　image　of　their　life。　　If　Lady　Bradeen　was　Juno　it

was　all　certainly　Olympian。　　If　the　girl；　missing　the　answers；　her

ladyship's　own　outpourings；　vainly　reflected　that　Cocker's　should

have　been　one　of　the　bigger　offices　where　telegrams　arrived　as　well

as　departed；　there　were　yet　ways　in　which；　on　the　whole；　she

pressed　the　romance　closer　by　reason　of　the　very　quantity　of

imagination　it　demanded　and　consumed。　　The　days　and　hours　of　this

new　friend；　as　she　came　to　account　him；　were　at　all　events

unrolled；　and　however　much　more　she　might　have　known　she　would

still　have　wished　to　go　beyond。　　In　fact　she　did　go　beyond；　she

went　quite　far　enough。



But　she　could　none　the　less；　even　after　a　month；　scarce　have　told

if　the　gentlemen　who　came　in　with　him　recurred　or　changed；　and　this

in　spite　of　the　fact　that　they　too　were　always　posting　and　wiring；

smoking　in　her　face　and　signing　or　not　signing。　　The　gentlemen　who

came　in　with　him　were　nothing　when　he　was　there。　　They　turned　up

alone　at　other　timesthen　only　perhaps　with　a　dim　richness　of

reference。　　He　himself；　absent　as　well　as　present；　was　all。　　He　was

very　tall；　very　fair；　and　had；　in　spite　of　his　thick

preoccupations；　a　good…humour　that　was　exquisite；　particularly　as

it　so　often　had　the　effect　of　keeping　him　on。　　He　could　have

reached　over　anybody；　and　anybodyno　matter　whowould　have　let

him；　but　he　was　so　extraordinarily　kind　that　he　quite　pathetically

waited；　never　waggling　things　at　her　out　of　his　turn　nor　saying

〃Here！〃　with　horrid　sharpness。　　He　waited　for　pottering　old　ladies；

for　gaping　slaveys；　for　the　perpetual　Buttonses　from　Thrupp's；　and

the　thing　in　all　this　that　she　would　have　liked　most　unspeakably　to

put　to　the　test　was　the　possibility　of　her　having　for　him　a

personal　identity　that　might　in　a　particular　way　appeal。　　There

were　moments　when　he　actually　struck　her　as　on　her　side；　as

arranging　to　help；　to　support；　to　spare　her。



But　such　was　the　singular　spirit　of　our　young　friend　that　she　could

remind　herself　with　a　pang　that　when　people　had　awfully　good

mannerspeople　of　that　class；you　couldn't　tell。　　These　manners

were　for　everybody；　and　it　might　be　drearily　unavailing　for　any

poor　particular　body　to　be　overworked　and　unusual。　　What　he　did

take　for　granted　was　all　sorts　of　facility；　and　his　high

pleasantness；　his　relighting　of　cigarettes　while　he　waited；　his

unconscious　bestowal　of　opportunities；　of　boons；　of　blessings；　were

all　a　part　of　his　splendid　security；　the　instinct　that　told　him

there　was　nothing　such　an　existence　as　his　could　ever　lose　by。　　He

was　somehow　all　at　once　very　bright　and　very　grave；　very　young　and

immensely　complete；　and　whatever　he　was　at　any　moment　it　was　always

as　much　as　all　the　rest　the　mere　bloom　of　his　beatitude。　　He　was

sometimes　Everard；　as　he　had　been　at　the　Hotel　Brighton；　and　he　was

sometimes　Captain　Everard。　　He　was　sometimes　Philip　with　his

surname　and　sometimes　Philip　without　it。　　In　some　directions　he　was

merely　Phil；　in　others　he　was　merely　Captain。　　There　were　relations

in　which　he　was　none　of　these　things；　but　a　quite　different　person…

…〃the　Count。〃　　There　were　several　friends　for　whom　he　was　William。

There　were　several　for　whom；　in　allusion　perhaps　to　his　complexion；

he　was　〃the　Pink　'Un。〃　　Once；　once　only　by　good　luck；　he　had；

coinciding　comically；　quite　miraculously；　with　another　person　also

near　to　her；　been　〃Mudge。〃　　Yes；　whatever　he　was；　it　was　a　part　of

his　happinesswhatever　he　was　and　probably　whatever　he　wasn't。

And　his　happiness　was　a　partit　became　so　little　by　littleof

something　that；　almost　from　the　first　of　her　being　at　Cocker's；　had

been　deeply　with　the　girl。







CHAPTER　V







This　was　neither　more　nor　less　than　the　queer　extension　of　her

experience；　the　double　life　that；　in　the　cage；　she　grew　at　last　to

lead。　　As　the　weeks　went　on　there　she　lived　more　and　more　into　the

world　of　whiffs　and　glimpses；　she　found　her　divinations　work　faster

and　stretch　further。　　It　was　a　prodigious　view　as　the　pressure

heightened；　a　panorama　fed　with　facts　and　figures；　flushed　with　a

torrent　of　colour　and　accompanied　with　wondrous　world…music。　　What

it　mainly　came　to　at　this　period　was　a　picture　of　how　London　could

amuse　itself；　and　that；　with　the　running　commentary　of　a　witness　so

exclusively　a　witness；　turned　for　the　most　part　to　a　hardening　of

the　heart。　　The　nose　of　this　observer　was　brushed　by　the　bouquet；

yet　she　could　never　really　pluck　even　a　daisy。　　What　could　still

remain　fresh　in　her　daily　grind　was　the　immense　disparity；　the

difference　and　contrast；　from　class　to　class；　of　every　instant　and

every　motion。　　There　were　times　when　all　the　wires　in　the　country

seemed　to　start　from　the　little　hole…and…corner　where　she　plied　for

a　livelihood；　and　where；　in　the　shuffle　of　feet；　the　flutter　of

〃forms；〃　the　straying　of　stamps　and　the　ring　of　change　over　the

counter；　the　people　she　had　fallen　into　the　habit　of　remembering

and　fitting　together　with　others；　and　of　having　her　theories　and

interpretations　of；　kept　up　before　her　their　long　procession　and

rotation。　　What　twisted　the　knife　in　her　vitals　was　the　way　the

profligate　rich　scattered　about　them；　in　extravagant　chatter　over

their　extravagant　pleasures　and　sins；　an　amount　of　money　that　would

have　held　the　stricken　household　of　her　frightened　childhood；　her

poor　pinched　mother　and　tormented　father　and　lost　brother　and

starved　sister；　together　for　a　lifetime。　　During　her　first　weeks

she　had　often　gasped　at　the　sums　people　were　willing　to　pay　for　the

stuff　they　transmittedthe　〃much　love〃s；　the　〃awful〃　regrets；　the

compliments　and　wonderments　and　vain　vague　gestures　that　cost　the

price　of　a　new　pair　of　boots。　　She　had　had　a　way　then　of　glancing

at　the　people's　faces；　but　she　had　early　learnt　that　if　you　became

a　telegraphist　you　soon　ceased　to　be　astonished。　　Her　eye　for　types