Chapter 6 chapter Five

Confused and distressed, Daisy strode away from the artificial lake. Although she wanted to tell Lilian what happened to the goose so that she could smile, Daisy still didn't intend to tell anyone what happened just now.She didn't want to reveal that she had discovered another side of Matthew Swift, that for a moment she had allowed herself to dangerously seduce him, flirt with him.It doesn't mean anything, really. Although Daisy is still an innocent virgin, she has learned something about sexuality, and understands that a woman can respond to a man without emotion and only physically.Realizing that she was doing the same to Matthew Swift as she had been to Cam Lohan terrified her.The two men are so different, the one romantic, the other reserved; the handsome young gypsy with his unearthly potential to spark her imagination, and the hard-eyed, ambitious, practical businessman.

During her years on Fifth Avenue, Daisy had seen countless men in pursuit of fame and fortune.They strive for perfection, want their wives to be the perfect hostesses who can throw the best dinner parties, wear the best dresses, and give birth to the best children--who can be upstairs in the nursery while the father talks business in the downstairs study. play quietly. And Matthew Swift, whom her father had appointed for her fierce ambition, brilliant brains, and talents, would predictably make a most exacting husband.He will demand that his wife focus on his goals, and when she does not please him, he will judge her harshly.There is no future with such a man.

But Matthew Swift has at least one plus: He helped the goose. Her friends and sister are gathered in the morning room enjoying tea and toast when Daisy sneaks into the main house to freshen up and put on a bright day outfit.They sat around a round table by the window and looked up at Daisy as she entered the room. Annabelle hugged Isabel, let her lean on her shoulders, and stroked the baby's small back with her hands soothingly.Other tables in the morning room were already occupied, mostly women, with only about half a dozen men present, including Lord St. Vincent. "Good morning," said Daisy briskly, going up to her sister, "how have you slept, dear?"

"Fantastic," said Lillian, looking lovely, with clear eyes and jet-black hair pulled back to the nape of her neck and held in a pink silk hairnet. "I slept with the window open last night and the breeze from the lake was cool. Did you go fishing this morning?" "No," said Daisy, trying to sound casual, "just a walk." Evie leaned towards Annabelle and took the baby, "Let me hold her," she said.The baby was biting his little fist frantically and drooling.Holding the restless baby, Evie explained to Daisy: "She's teething, poor little one."

"She's been restless all morning," said Annabelle.Daisy noticed that her bright blue eyes looked tired, the way young mothers often do.But fatigue made Annabelle look even better, softening her goddess-like perfection. "Isn't it too early for the baby to be teething now?" asked Daisy. "She's from the Hunter family," Annabelle said dryly, "and the Hunter family is a group of rare 'tough guys', as you can see from my husband, almost everyone in their family was born with teeth. Looking at the child with concern, she said, "I think I should take her out of here."

Some disapproving eyes have been cast on their side.It is in bad manners to bring small children, especially infants, into an adult setting.Unless it's to show them off, dress the little ones in white with ruffles and ribbons, briefly show off and earn the usual compliments, and be quickly wheeled back in the pram to the nursery. "Nonsense," Lillian said immediately, without trying to lower her voice. "Isabelle seldom cries, and when she cries she never lasts. She's just a little agitated, and I think everyone can forgive her." "Let's try the spoon again." Annabelle muttered, her elegant voice tinged with anxiety.Picking up a small silver spoon in a small bowl of crushed ice, she told Daisy, "My mother suggested this to Isabel, and she said it worked well for my brother Jeremy."

Daisy sat next to Evie, watching the baby bite the spoon.Isabel's round little face was flushed and stained with tears, and when she whimpered and whispered, she could see her tender, red and swollen little gums, which made Daisy wince with sympathy. "She needs to sleep," Annabelle said, "but the pain is too much to sleep." "Poor little dear." As Evie tried to soothe the baby, there was a small commotion at the other end of the room, as if someone's presence had caught everyone's attention.Turning around in her chair, Daisy saw the tall, striking figure of Matthew Swift.

Apparently he didn't go back to the river.He must have waited until Daisy was far enough away to walk back to the main house alone without her company. Like her father, Swift did not see her as having any value that would interest him.Daisy told herself she shouldn't care, but the sting was nonetheless. He had already changed into freshly pressed clothes, an iron-gray suit with a gray-purple vest, and a black tie tied neatly.While long beards and slightly longer, wavy hair have become popular among European men, the trend doesn't appear to have spread to the United States.Matthew Swift is completely beardless, clean-shaven, and his shiny brown hair reaches only around his neck, giving him a boyish look.

Daisy quietly watched the mutual introductions over there, seeing the cheerful expressions of the older gentlemen when they talked to Swift, the envious looks of the younger gentlemen, and the sheer interest of the women. "Christ," Annabelle muttered, "who's that guy?" Lillian replied grumpily, "That's Mr. Swift." Both Annabelle and Evie opened their eyes wide. "That Mr. Swift you said was like a bag of…bones?" Evie asked. "The one you said was as exciting as a plate of wilted spinach?" Annabelle added. Frowning and scowling, Lillian withdraws her attention from Swift, adding a sugar cube to her tea. "I guess he might not be as ugly as I describe," she admitted, "but don't His appearance deceives you, and once you know what he is, you will get a completely different impression from his appearance."

"I think . . . think quite a few ladies would love to know any part of him." Evie concluded, watching, making Annabelle snigger behind her teacup. Daisy stole a quick glance over her shoulder and saw it was true, and the ladies quivered and giggled, offering their snow-white hands to hold when they were introduced to him. "They're making such a fuss just because he's an American," grumbled Lillian. "If any of my brothers were there, they'd have left Mr. Swift alone." Although Daisy would have liked to agree, it was still fair to conclude that their brother would not have achieved the same effect as Mr. Swift.Although they are heirs to huge fortunes, none of them have Swift's well-trained social skills.

"He's looking this way," Annabelle reported, with a slightly anxious gesture. "He's frowning, as are the others. The baby is a little too noisy, I'm going to take her outside before—" "Don't take her anywhere," Lillian ordered. "This is my home, and you are my friend. Anyone who doesn't like the baby's voice can leave immediately." "He's going this way," whispered Evie, "shh-" Daisy stared straight at her teacup, tense. Swift came to the table and bowed gracefully. "Countess," he said to Lillian, "it is a pleasure to see you again, and I offer my condolences to you for marrying the Earl of Westcliff." Belated congratulations, and..." He hesitated, because although Lillian was clearly pregnant, it would be rude to mention it, "...you look wonderful," he finished. "I'm fat as a barn," Lillian said bluntly, cutting through his social rhetoric. Swift pursed his lips as if trying to hold back a smile. "Not at all," he said mildly, looking past Annabelle and Evie.They were all waiting for Lillian to make an introduction. Lillian complied reluctantly. "This is Mr. Swift," she muttered, waving her hand in his direction. "Lady Simon Hunt and Viscountess St. Vincent." Swift bent deftly toward Annabelle's hand, and would have kissed Evie the same way he would have kissed her if she hadn't been holding the baby.Isabelle's whimpering was gradually rising, and it looked like it would turn into a constant cry if she didn't do something. "This is my daughter Isabel," Annabelle said apologetically. "She's teething." That should get him off pretty quickly, Daisy thought.Men have always been terrified of crying babies. "Ah." Swift put his hand into his jacket and rummaged through the pockets with a rattling noise.What was in his pocket?She watched him produce his pocketknife, a bit of fishing line and a clean, white handkerchief. "Mr. Swift, what are you doing?" Evie asked with an inquiring smile. "Make something impromptu." He scooped up some crushed ice with a spoon, put it in the center of the handkerchief and wrapped it tightly, and then tied it with fishing line.Putting back the knife, he stretched out his hand to hug the child without any embarrassment. Eyes wide open, Evie delivered the baby.The four women watched in astonishment as Swift held Isabel on her shoulders with ease and skill, and brought the ice-wrapped handkerchief close to her, and the baby cried and bit on it frantically. As if oblivious to the rapt stares of everyone in the room, Swift strolled to the window and spoke softly to the baby, as if telling her a story or something.After a minute or two the child is quiet. By the time Swift returned to the table, Isabelle had dozed off with a sigh, her makeshift ice pack still clenched. "Oh, Mr. Swift," said Annabelle appreciatively, "you are so clever! Thank you." "What did you say to the child?" Lillian asked eagerly. He glanced at her and replied gently: "I thought I could divert her attention before her gums were numb with ice, so I explained to her the 'Sycamore Agreement' of 1792 in detail." ( Annotation: In 1792, 24 major brokers in New York signed the "Buttonwood Agreement" (Buttonwood Agreement) under a plane tree on Wall Street, which enabled more standardized stock trading to start. The creation of the New York Stock Exchange can be traced back to the historical that day.) "What's that?" Daisy spoke to him for the first time since he entered the morning room. Swift only glanced at her now, with a calm and polite expression, which made Daisy suspect for a moment that what happened in the morning was a dream of her own.But her nerves still retain a strong impression of his body, and the feeling of him remains on her skin. "The 'Sycamore Agreement' led to the creation of the New York Stock Exchange," Swift said. "I thought I was pretty well-informed, but when I started explaining the commission agreement, Miss Isabel seemed to lose interest." "I see," said Daisy, "you bored the poor child to sleep." "You should listen to my account of 37 years of economic collapse caused by imbalances in market power," Swift said. "People say it works better than laudanum." The eighth economic crisis in the world, the United Kingdom fell into it first, and then it also had a serious impact on the United States, France, and Germany. The depression in the United States lasted for six years. From 1837 to 1842, there were more than 30,000 bankruptcies in the United States.) Gazing into his twinkling blue eyes, Daisy reluctantly "giggled" and he gave her another brief, dazzling smile.Her cheeks felt unexplainably hot. Swift's attention lingers on her a little too long, as if fascinated by something she sees in her eyes.Abruptly withdrawing his gaze, he bowed to them again, "I'm leaving to let you continue your tea, it's an honor, ladies." Glancing at Annabelle, he added sternly, "You have a lovely Daughter, ma'am, I don't mind her lack of appreciation for my commercial commentary." "You are very kind, sir," replied Annabelle, her eyes dancing. All four young women are trying to keep themselves busy as Swift walks across the room, adding spoonfuls of sugar to tea unnecessarily or smoothing napkins from their laps. Evie spoke up first. "You're right," she said to Lillian, "he's absolutely annoying." "That's right," Annabelle emphatically agreed, "When you see him, your first impression is 'wilted spinach'." "Shut up, you two." Lillian responded to their sarcasm, biting into a bite of toast. In the afternoon, Lillian insisted on dragging Daisy to the East Lawn, where most of the young men were bowling.Normally, Daisy would not have minded this, but at this moment she was reading the most fascinating passage in a new novel.The heroine of the novel is a governess named Honoria who has just encountered a ghost in the attic. "Who are you?" Honoria trembled, gazing at the ghost that resembled her former lover, Lord Claywoods.But when the ghost was about to answer, Lillian snatched the book from Daisy and dragged her out of the library. "Damn," Daisy complained, "hate, hate . . . Lillian, I'm reading the best part." "There's at least half a dozen qualified men out there playing lawn bowling as we speak," her sister said dryly, "and it's more constructive to play with them than to read a book by yourself." "I don't know how to bowl at all." "Great, ask them to teach you. If there's one thing every man loves to do, it's tell a woman what to do." They came to the lawn, where tables and chairs had been set up for onlookers.Some were busy rolling a large, round wooden ball across a grassy fairway, laughing loudly when one of them landed in a narrow ditch on the side of the fairway. "Well," Lillian observed the crowd, "we have competitors." Daisy recognized the three women her sister was referring to: Miss Cassandra Ritan, Miss Miranda Dalton, and Ayers Miss Pa Higginson. "I didn't mean to invite bachelorettes to Hampshire," said Lillian, "but Westcliff said that would be too obvious. It's a good thing you're prettier than them all, though you're a little short." "I'm not short." Daisy protested. "Okay, 'petite.'" "I don't like that word either, it sounds like it makes me seem less important." "It's better than 'little brat,'" Lillian said, "that's the only other way I can think of to describe your height deficiency." She grinned at Daisy's scowling face, "Don't make faces at me, Honey, I took you to the bachelor arena for your pick... oh hell." "What? What's wrong?" "He's coming to play, too." There's no need to ask who he is... Lillian's annoyed tone clearly indicated his identity. Glancing at the crowd, Daisy saw Matthew Swift standing at the end of the fairway with several other young men, watching the ball-to-ball measurements being made in the distance.Like the others, he was wearing light-colored trousers, a white shirt and a vest.His center of gravity is slightly tilted to one side, and he stands firmly, with a relaxed posture that shows his confidence in his physique. No detail was overlooked as far as his eye could see, showing how serious he was about participating in the game.Matthew Swift is a man who will never lower his ego, even if it's just the occasional game of lawn bowling. Daisy was pretty sure he was in a state of competition every day of his life, which didn't fit her usual perception of young men from privileged backgrounds in Boston or New York.The overfed descendants of rich families always knew that they didn't have to work if they didn't want to.She doubts Swift ever does anything just for the pleasure of it. "They're trying to figure out who wins," Lillian said, "that is, who's tossed closest to the white ball." "How do you know?" Daisy asked. Lillian smiled wryly. "Westcliff taught me. He's so good at bowling that he usually just sits and watches, because once he's in it's impossible for anyone else to win." They made their way to the gallery, where Westcliff was already sitting with Evie and St. Vincent, and Mr. and Mrs. Cradock, a retired general, and his wife.Daisy made a beeline for an empty chair, but Lillian pushed her toward the bowling green. "Go," Lillian ordered in the tone of a person asking a dog to fetch the stick. Sighing, Daisy thought about the novel she hadn't finished, and walked forward shuffling.She had seen at least three of the gentlemen before.It's actually not that bad.Mr. Horiberry, a pleasant-looking man in his thirties, with a round face, slightly stocky, but still attractive; Mr. Madeleine, with an athletic build, thick curly blond hair and a pair of green eye. Two of them, whom she had never seen before at The Stones, were Mr Alan Richter, who looked like a scholar in spectacles and a slightly wrinkled coat; and Viscount Rankington, a man of medium height, Handsome gentleman with dark hair. Rankinton immediately went to Daisy and volunteered to explain the rules of the game to her.Daisy tried not to look over Rankinton's shoulder at Swift, surrounded by other women.The ladies were giggling and flirting with him, asking for his advice on how to handle the ball properly, and how many steps to take before throwing the ball. Swift didn't seem to see Daisy at all.But when she turned to pick up a ball from the pile on the floor, she felt a slight prick in the back of her neck and knew he was watching her. Daisy regretted asking his help to free the goose so badly that it seemed to explode something that was under her control, and it seemed impossible to undo it.Stop being ridiculous, Daisy told herself.The game was on, and she forced herself to listen to Lord Rankington's advice on bowling strategy. Observing the situation on the field, Westcliff commented in a low voice: "It seems that she and Rankinton get along very well. And Rankinton is also the most likely to succeed. He is about the same age and well-educated. Education, temperament is also good." Lillian looked thoughtfully at the distant figure of Rankinton.He was even the right height, not too tall for Daisy, who hated having someone towering over her. "His name is a bit weird," Lillian blurted out the thought, "Where is he from?" "Thurso," replied the Viscount St. Vincent, who was sitting on the other side of Evie. After a series of previous conflicts, an uneasy truce has now been reached between Lillian and St. Vincent.Although she would never really like him, since St. Vincent had been Westcliff's best friend for many years, Lillian resignedly decided she must put up with him. Lillian knew that if she asked her husband to end the friendship, Max would do it for her.But she loved him too much to make such a request.And St. Vincent is good for Max, with his intelligence and keen perception, he brings quite a bit of balance to Max's stressful life.As one of the most powerful men in England, Max desperately needed someone to take him less seriously. Another plus point about St. Vincent was that he seemed like a good husband to Evie.In fact, he seemed to adore her.No one would have thought of pairing them together: shy Evie, a wallflower, and St. Vincent, a ruthless libertine.However, they became the only one for each other. St. Vincent is confident and worldly, breathtakingly handsome and dazzling, but Evie only needs to say a word to make him go through fire and water for her.Although on the surface their relationship appears more low-key and reserved than that of the Hunts or the Westcliffs, there is actually an uncanny, intense bond between them. And as long as Evie feels happy, Lillian will be friendly to St. Vincent. "Thurso," Lillian repeated uncertainly, looking at St. Vincent and her husband, "I don't think that sounds like England." The two men exchanged a look, and then Max replied evenly, "In Scotland, actually." Lillian narrowed her eyes, "Rankington is Scottish? But he doesn't have an accent." "He spent most of his teenage years at boarding schools in England and then Oxford," St Vincent said. "Well," Lillian was not familiar with Scottish geography, and had never even heard of Thurso, "but where is Thurso? Is it near the border?" Westcliff's gaze did not meet her, "It's a little further north, closer to the Orkney Islands." "At the northernmost tip of the continent?" Lillian couldn't believe her ears, and it took her a lot of effort to keep herself whispering furiously, "Why don't we save some time and just exile Daisy to Siberia? Warmer! God, why do you two think Rankinton is a candidate?" "I must add him," protested St. Vincent, "with three estates and a long pure blood line. And every time he comes to the club I add at least five thousand pounds to my profit for the evening." "Then he's a spendthrift," said Lillian darkly. "It makes him a better fit for Daisy," said St. Vincent, "and someday he'll need your family's money." "I don't care how suitable he is, my purpose is to keep my sister in this country. If Daisy is far away in bloody Scotland, how often do I have to see her?" "Still closer than North America," Westcliff said in a matter-of-fact tone. Lillian turned to Evie, hoping for her support, "Evie, say something!" "It doesn't matter where Lord Rankington is from." Evie stretched out her hand and gently untied Lillian's strand of black hair hanging from the earring. "Daisy doesn't want to marry him." "Why do you think so?" Lillian asked warily. Evie smiled at her and said, "Oh...just a hunch." Because she wanted to end the game and go back to reading novels as soon as possible, Daisy quickly mastered the knack of lawn bowling.The rule is that the first person throws a white ball called "this ball" on the fairway and cannot cross the bottom line. Each participant then throws three wooden balls in turn, that is, "bowling", and uses as much as possible. They stop closest to the ball. The hardest part is that the wooden balls seem to spin slower on one side on purpose, never rolling in a straight line.Daisy quickly learned to toss the ball slightly to the left or right as needed to compensate for the asymmetry of the wooden ball.The turf is short and the ground is solid, so the ball is fast.This works in Daisy's favor, as she wants to hurry back from the game to reunite with Honoria and the Ghost. Due to the presence of equal numbers of men and women, the contestants are divided into teams of two.Daisy and Rankington, who is proficient in this way, are in a group. "You play quite well, Miss Bowman," cried Lord Rankington. "Are you sure you've never played before?" "Never," replied Daisy cheerfully, picking up a bowler and turning the flat side to the right, "it must be because of your excellent guidance, sir." Taking two quick steps toward the throw-line, she Swing your arms back and throw the ball.The ball spun deftly and quickly, deftly knocking an opponent's ball away and stopping exactly 2 inches from the ball.They won the game. "Good shot," said Mr. Richter, who stopped to wipe his glasses, put them back on, and continued to Daisy with a smile: "Your movements are so graceful, Miss Bowman, what a skill it is to watch you." pleasure." "It has nothing to do with skill," Daisy said modestly, "I'm afraid it's just the luck of the novice." Miss Miranda, a fine-looking, slender blond girl, was studying her slender hands with concern. "I believe I broke a nail," she announced. "Let me take you over to the chair to rest," Richter said immediately with concern, as if she'd just broken an arm instead of a nail.The pair left the venue. Daisy reflected with dismay that she should have lost the round on purpose so she wouldn't have to fight another round.But it would be unfair to her team-mates to lose on purpose, especially with Lord Rankinton looking absolutely delighted with their result. "Now," said Rankington, "we'll see who we'll face in the final round." They looked at the two remaining teams of contestants, Mr. Swift and Miss Litan versus Mr. Madeleine and Miss Higginson.Mr. Madelin's technique was inconsistent and his game was intermittent, and Miss Higginson was even worse.Cassandra Ritan played terrible, and was utterly amused by the fact, giggling uncontrollably throughout the match.The near-constant laughter was annoying, but it didn't seem to bother Matthew Swift. Swift is a strong and skilled player, carefully considering each shot and throwing the ball with simple, smooth movements.Daisy noticed that he unapologetically knocked someone else's ball away, or moved his own ball to his opponent's disadvantage. "A formidable opponent," Lord Rankington murmured, winking at Daisy. "Do you think we can beat him?" Suddenly Daisy is completely oblivious to the novels that await her at the main house, full of anticipation of her confrontation with Matthew Swift. "It's hard to say, but we're going to try and try, shall we?" Rankington laughed appreciatively and said, "That's right." Swift and Miss Litan won the round, while the other pair left the venue with a friendly sigh. The four contestants retrieved the ball and bowled and gathered around the throw line.Four balls per team, two strikes per person. When Daisy turned to face Swift, he looked directly at her for the first time since her arrival.His naked challenging gaze made her heart beat faster and her blood rush.A few strands of messy hair covered his forehead, and his dark skin glistened with sweat. "Let's toss a coin to see who comes first," suggested Lord Rankington. Swift nodded, looking away from Daisy. Cassandra Ritan squealed with delight when Swift's side won the coin toss.Swift deftly rolled the ball into a perfect spot at the end of the fairway. Miss Ritan picked up a Bowl and held it close to her chest. Daisy suspected that she was deliberately trying to draw attention to her great "talent". "You've got to give me some advice, Mr. Swift," she said, throwing him a helpless look from under her curled lashes. "Should I throw the ball with the flat side facing left or right?" Swift approached her and rearranged the ball in her hands.Miss Li Tan seemed very happy to get his attention.As Swift murmured some advice and pointed out the best line to throw the ball, Miss Retan leaned closer to him until their heads almost touched.Anger swirled in Daisy's heart, locking her throat like a casserole. Finally, Swift backed away.Miss Li Tan moved forward a few steps gracefully, and then let the ball fly out, but the force was too small, Bowling only rolled half the length of the fairway and stopped in the middle.The rest of the game will be much more difficult because of the ball in the way, unless someone wastes a blow to knock it away. "Damn it," Daisy muttered breathlessly. Miss Lytan nearly gave up with a high-pitched giggle, "My God, I totally screwed up, didn't I?" "Not at all," Swift said lightly, "it wouldn't be fun if it wasn't challenging." Daisy was eager to know why he was so nice to Miss Ritan.She never thought of him as the kind of man who would be attracted to stupid women. "It's your turn," urged Lord Rankington, handing Daisy a Bowling. She curled her fingers across the scarred surface of the wooden ball, turning it until it felt right in her hand and gripping.Staring at the white outline of the ball in the distance, she imagined the rolling route of her bowling, taking three steps forward, swinging her arms back, and then quickly forward.The ball landed on the side of the fairway, rounded Miss Ritan's ball cleanly, curved at the last minute and came to a stop just in front of Ben. "Brilliant!" Rankinton yelled, as the audience clapped and cheered. Daisy stole a quick glance at Matthew Swift.He was smiling at her with a probing look that almost penetrated her.Time seemed to have stopped, no man had ever stared at Daisy like this. "Did you design it on purpose?" Swift asked softly, "or was it pure luck?" "Designed." Daisy replied. "I suspect." Daisy got angry, "Why?" "Because no novice can plan and execute a blow like that." "Are you questioning my honesty, Mr. Swift?" Before he could answer, Daisy turned and called her, who was sitting in the gallery watching their sister, "Lillian, as you know I've played Bowling?" "Of course not." Lillian replied forcefully. Turning back to face Swift, Daisy looked at him defiantly. "To make a shot like that," Swift said, "you have to calculate the speed of the ball on the grass, the angle of the toss necessary to compensate for the ball's center of gravity deviation, and the deceleration point when the ball's path bends, and you also need to consider the possible wind speed. And you have to be experienced to do that.” "Is that how you play?" Daisy asked flatly, "I just imagine the course of the ball, and then throw it as I think." "Luck and intuition?" He gave her a condescending look. "You can't win a game like that." In reply, Daisy stepped back and folded her arms. "It's your turn," she said. Swift bent over to pick up a ball with one hand, adjusted it in his hand, and walked to the throw line to stare thoughtfully at the fairway.Even in her exasperation, Daisy felt a pleasurable tightening in her belly as she looked at him.Reflecting on the feeling, she wondered how he could have such a profound physical effect on her.The way he looked, the way he moved, made her shiver in embarrassment. Swift threw the ball powerfully.The ball fell into the fairway quickly and smoothly, perfectly replicating Daisy's stroke, but with a more calculated element, simply and cleanly knocking Daisy's ball out of the fairway and replacing her in front of the ball. Location. "He knocked my bowling into a ditch," protested Daisy. "Is that legal?" "Oh, yes," said Lord Rankington, "a bit cruel, but absolutely in accordance with the rules. Now this is called 'dead ball.'" "Is my ball 'dead'?" Daisy asked angrily. Swift glanced at her scowling unapologetically, "Never just lightly wound your enemy." "Only you would quote Machiavelli while bowling lawn," said Daisy through gritted teeth. (Annotation: Machiavelli (1469-1527), Italian emerging bourgeois ideological statesman and historian, his book "The Prince" (1513) expounds how a determined ruler can achieve and maintain its power.) "Excuse me," said Lord Rankington politely, "but I believe it's my turn." Seeing that neither of them seemed to hear, he shrugged and walked to the throw-line.His bowling sloped into the fairway and stopped behind the ball. "I always play to win," Swift told Daisy. "My God," said Daisy exasperatedly, "you sound just like my father. Did it ever occur to you that anyone would play just for fun? As a way to pass the time? Treat it as a life-and-death struggle?" "The game is meaningless if it's not about winning." Seeing herself completely sidelined, Cassandra Litan tried to intervene. "I think it's my turn, Mr. Swift. Would you be kind enough to hold a ball for me?" Swift did so without looking at her, her eyes fixed on Daisy's tense little face. "Here." He said roughly, and put Bowling into Miss Li Tan's hands. "Perhaps you can suggest..." Miss Litan began, but her voice was drowned out by Swift and Daisy's continuing argument. "Well, Mr. Swift," said Daisy calmly, "you're going to get a war if you don't just enjoy the game rather than turn it into a war. We'll score the next game ’” She wasn’t quite sure if it was herself or him moving forward, but suddenly they were standing very close and he was looking down at her. "You can't beat me," Swift whispered. "You're a rookie, and you're a woman. It wouldn't be fair not to put me in the way." "Your teammate is Miss Li Tan," she whispered sharply. "In my opinion, that's enough of a hindrance. Also, are you implying that women can't bowl as well as men?" "No, I'm not hinting, I'm saying it." Daisy felt overwhelmed with rage and a strong urge to knock him to the ground. “战争。”她重复道，退回到她那一边的场地。 许多年以后这仍会被称为石字园有史以来最“血腥”的草地保龄球赛。比赛分数记到了30分，然后是50分，后来黛西也算不清了。他们为每一英寸距离和每一条规则而争论。他们深思熟虑着每一击，就好像国家和民族的命运全赖于此。而最主要的是，他们全力以赴于把对方的球撞进沟里。 “死球！”在完成了把斯威夫特的保龄撞出球道的漂亮一击后，黛西欢呼着。 “也许应该提醒你一下，鲍曼小姐，”斯威夫特说，“游戏的目标并不是使我的球远离球道，而是设法让你的球尽量接近本球。” “当你不断把我的球撞出球道时，可该死的一点也不像想要接近本球！”黛西听到黎坦小姐因为她的语言而猛地抽气。这实在不像她——她从不咒骂——只是当前的情况不可能让她保持冷静。 “我会停止撞你的球，”斯威夫特提议道，“如果你也停止撞我的。” 黛西对这个提议只考虑了半秒。令人遗憾的事实是，把他的球撞进沟里实在让她非常，非常的享受。“不，斯威夫特先生，即使给我所有的中国大麻。” “非常好。”捡起一只饱受摧残的保龄，斯威夫特非常用力地抛出，球如此猛烈地撞击上她的，以至传来一声刺耳的爆裂声。 当看到自己球的碎片在沟里颤动时，黛西张大了嘴巴。“你撞碎了它！”她捏着拳头围着他绕圈，“而且你犯规了！这个球本该轮到黎坦小姐，你这残忍的怪物！” “哦，不，”黎坦小姐不安地说道，“我很愿意让斯威夫特先生替我一球……他的技术比我好太多了……”当意识到没有人在听时，她的声音低了下去。 “该你了。”斯威夫特对兰金顿爵爷说道，兰金顿看上去对游戏暴虐程度的升级有点畏缩。 “哦，不该他！”黛西把球从兰金顿手里一把挖过来，“他太绅士而不会去撞你的球，但我会！” “没错，”斯威夫特同意道，“你绝对不是个绅士。” 大步走到抛球线，黛西尽全力抛出一球。球迅速通过草地并把斯威夫特的保龄撞到了球道边缘。它摇摇欲坠了一会儿，还是掉进了沟里。她抛给斯威夫特报复性的一瞥，他则满带嘲弄的报以祝贺的点头。 “我要说，”兰金顿评论道，“你保龄球的表现真是太出色了，鲍曼小姐，我从未见过新手能玩得这么好，你是怎么让每一击都如此完美的？” “当动机足够强烈，困难就会消亡。”她回答，看到当斯威夫特听出这又是一句马基雅弗利的名言时，脸部线条绷紧并突然咧嘴一笑。 比赛继续着，再继续着。下午的时光消逝，已接近傍晚。黛西逐渐发觉兰金顿爵爷、黎坦小姐和大多数观众都已失去了踪影。显然，韦斯特克里夫伯爵也很想回到屋里去，但因为他的意见是唯一能让黛西和斯威夫特两人都信服的，所以被不断地要求为他们做测量和裁断。 一小时又一小时过去了，两人都太过沉迷于比赛而根本没感觉到饥饿、口渴或疲累。不知从何时起，黛西也不太能确定，他们之间竞争的态势转变为对彼此球技不情愿的赞赏。当斯威夫特因为她特别巧妙的一击而称赞她时，或者当她发现自己在欣赏他沉思地眯起眸子，头微微侧向一边的样子时……她迷惑了。黛西的现实生活中只有为数不多的几个瞬间比她的幻想世界来得有趣，而此时就是其中之一。 “孩子们，”韦斯特克里夫讽刺的声音使他们俩都茫然地看向他。他正从椅子里站起来，活动着僵硬的臂膀。“恐怕这项娱乐对我来说时间已经够长了。你们当然可以继续，但我要请求离开。” “那谁来做裁判呢？”黛西抗议道。 “由于至少半小时前就已经没有人记分了，”伯爵干巴巴地说道，“我的裁断也就毫无必要了。” “我们记着呢，”黛西争辩着，转向斯威夫特，“比分是多少？” "I have no idea." 当他们的目光相遇，黛西几乎抑制不住因突然的困窘而引发的窃笑。 斯威夫特眼中闪动着愉快的光芒，“我想是你赢了。”他说。 “哦，别故作谦虚了，”黛西说道，“是你领先。我能接受失败，这是游戏的一部分。” “我没有故作谦虚。比分一直紧紧咬住，都至少……”斯威夫特从马甲口袋里摸出一块怀表，“……两个小时了。” “也就是说，最有可能是你保住了先前的优势。” “但从第三局开始就不是我领先了。” “哦，真见鬼！”莉莲的声音从场地边传来，她听起来极为恼火。莉莲已经回主宅睡了一小觉，出来后发现他们还在保龄场上。“你们已经像一对鼬鼠一样吵了整整一下午的架，现在你们又在为谁赢了而争吵。如果没有人制止，你们会在外面一直吵到半夜的。黛西，你现在灰头土脸而且头发乱得像个鸟窝，进来把自己整理好，快点。” “那也用不着喊叫呀。”黛西温吞吞地回答着，跟在她姐姐身后往回走。她用一种以前从未给过他的友善眼神从肩头瞥了一眼马修·斯威夫特，然后转过头去加快了脚步。 斯威夫特开始捡地上的保龄球。 “别管了，”韦斯特克里夫说，“仆人会来收拾的。你的时间最好花在为参加晚宴做准备上，只有大约一个小时了。” 马修轻轻把球扔下，和韦斯特克里夫一起走向主宅。他看着黛西娇小、窈窕的背影，直到她走出他的视线。 韦斯特克里夫并未遗漏马修对黛西着迷的凝视，“你的追求方式很特别，”他评论道，“我本来不认为在保龄球场上打败黛西会引起她对你的注意，但看来这倒是诀窍。” 马修凝视着脚下的地面，尽力使语气显得沉着而漫不经心，“我并没有在追求鲍曼小姐。” “那看来我是曲解了你对保龄球毫不掩饰的热情。” 马修防备地看了他一眼。“我承认，我发现她很有趣，但那并不意味着我想娶她。” “鲍曼姐妹在那方面可相当危险。当她们中的一个起初引起了你的注意，你只觉得她是你所见过的人当中最能激怒你的一个。然而接着你发现她越是气得你发狂，你越是迫不及待想要再次见到她。就像是一种绝症的逐渐加剧，从一个器官蔓延到另一个。你开始渴望她。所有别的女人相形之下都显得黯然失色、呆板无趣。你想要她的程度强烈到你觉得自己快要发疯了。你停止不了——” “我不明白你的意思。”马修打断他，脸色发白。他才不要屈从于这种“绝症”。男人在生命中永远有选择权。而不管韦斯特克里夫怎样认为，他对黛西的感觉仅仅是一种生理的欲望，再没有更多了。一种极其可怕的、撕心裂肺的、引人疯狂的生理欲望……但绝对可以被坚强的意志力所克制。 “随便你怎么说吧。”韦斯特克里夫说道，听起来并不信服。