Chapter 35 Chapter Thirty-Five

[Philip wakes up early the next morning.Although he tossed and turned and didn't sleep well all night, he stretched his legs and let out a sigh of contentment as he watched the sunlight coming in through the venetian blinds weave golden patterns on the floor.He was rather smug.He began to think of Miss Wilkinson.She asked Philip to call her Emily, but somehow he couldn't.In his mind she was always Miss Wilkinson.Since calling her Miss Wilkinson meant she would scold her, Philip simply refused to call her by any name.As a child, he remembered hearing that Aunt Louisa had a sister, the widow of a naval officer, whom everyone called Aunt Emily.So it was awkward for him to call Miss Wilkinson by that name now, and he couldn't think of anything more appropriate.She had been Miss Wilkinson from the beginning, and in his mind the name seemed inseparable from herself.He frowned slightly.Somehow, he always sees her as the worst now.He couldn't forget the frustration he felt when he saw her wearing a shirt and petticoat last night and suddenly turned around, thinking of her slightly rough skin and the long and deep wrinkles on her neck.His joy of victory was instantly dissipated.He estimated her age again, wondering how she could be under forty.This made the affair seem absurd.She is old and pale, with no charm.The image of her immediately appeared in his mind: her appearance was haggard, her face was wrinkled even though she was wearing makeup and powder; her attire, considering her status, seemed too gorgeous, but for her age, it seemed It's too fancy.He shuddered.He suddenly felt that he never wanted to see her again.It was a bit unbearable to think that I should kiss her.He was horrified at what he had done.Is this love?

He dawdled as long as he could while dressing to meet her later, and when he was at last compelled to go into the dining room, his moods were at a fever pitch.The prayer ceremony is over, and everyone gathers around the dining table to have breakfast. "Lazybones!" exclaimed Miss Wilkinson cheerfully. The sight of her in person gave him a sense of relief.Sitting with her back to the window, she looked really pretty.He didn't understand why he was thinking of her bad.He immediately got up again complacently. Philip was really taken aback by how different she was yesterday and now.No sooner had she finished breakfast than she was eager to say that she loved him, her voice quivering with emotion.After a while they went to singing lessons in the living room, and he settled down on the piano bench.Only halfway through a line of scales, she raised her face and said:

"Embrasse-moi." As soon as Philip stooped, she threw her arms round his neck.It was not very pleasant, for she held Philip so tight and draggingly that she nearly suffocated him. "Ah! Je taime. Je taime. Je taime!" she said in a thick French accent. Philip wished she could speak English. "Hey, I don't know if it occurred to you, but the gardener may open the window and pass by at any time. "Ah! ie men nche dujardlnler. Je men retlche, et je men Cofltrehche." It seemed to Philip that all this was a scene from a French novel, and he felt an unaccountable fury for no reason.

Finally he said: "Well, I want to hang out at the beach and soak in the sea." "Oh, it's not likely you're going to leave me alone this morning?" Philip wondered why not today?However, she couldn't help herself if she said so. "You want me to stay home?" he said with a smile. "Oh dear! No, you go. Go. I'm going to imagine you swimming on the open sea against the salty waves." He picked up his hat and walked away leisurely. "That's a bitch's nonsense," he murmured to himself. But he was excited, happy, buoyant.She was evidently completely bewitched by herself.He limped along the high street in Blackstable, eyeing the passers-by with a sort of air of emptiness.He made acquaintances with quite a few people, and he nodded to them with a smile, thinking that it would be great if he let them know about his affair!He really wished someone would know.He thought he was going to write to Hayward, and worked it out in his head.In the letter, he would talk about the garden and the roses, as well as the petite French governess, who was like a wonderful flower in the rose bush, fragrant and charming.He's going to say she's French because—well, she's almost French after living in France for so many years.Besides, it would be kind of indecent to tell the whole thing exactly, wouldn't it?He would tell Hayward how they had first met: she wore a beautiful tulle dress and presented him with a flower.In order to describe this scene, he also made up an exquisite short poem: the sun and the sea endow love with fire and magic, the stars add poetic and picturesque flavor, and the antique parsonage garden is a place made by nature to talk about love.His mistress is rather like a character in Meredith's novels, not quite Lucy Fluffel, nor Clara Middleton, but her charming and coquettish attitude is beyond words. Can describe.Philip's heart was pounding.His daydreams made him ecstatic, so when he crawled back to the beach dripping with water, and got into the changing cart tremblingly, he fell into long-running thoughts again.He thought of his beloved lover.In his letter to Hayward, he would describe her like this: a small nose, big brown eyes like shooting stars, and a thick head of soft brown hair, and it is wonderful to bury your face in such piles. As for her skin, it was as white as ivory, smooth as sunlight, and her cheeks were like bright red roses.how old is she?Maybe eighteen.She called her Musette.Her laughter is clear and clear, like the gurgling of streams; when she speaks, her voice is soft and melodious, better than the sweetest and most melodious music in the world.

"What are you thinking about?" Philip stopped abruptly.He was walking slowly on his way home. "I started waving at you from a quarter of a mile away, just look at your insanity." Miss Wilkinson stood before him, teasing his astonishment. "I think I have to come get you." "You're so thoughtful," he said. "Scarets you, doesn't it?" "A little bit," he admitted. After all he wrote an eight-page letter to Hayward. Time flies, and the remaining two weeks passed in a blink of an eye.Philip's spirits were not lessened, though Miss Wilkinson, as was customary every evening when she went out for a walk in the garden after supper, lamented that another day had passed.Miss Wilkinson suggested one evening how flattering it would be if she could give up her job in Berlin and find another job in London.This way they can see each other more often.Philip said perfunctorily that it would be nice if it could be that way, but in fact the prospect excited no enthusiasm in him.He was counting on starting a wonderful new life in London, preferably without any complications.He spoke too casually of his plans for the future, and Miss Wilkinson could tell at a glance that he wished he could go away at once.

"If you loved me, you wouldn't talk like that," she cried. He was taken aback and fell silent. "How stupid I am," she muttered. He never expected her to cry.He is very soft-hearted, and he is usually afraid of seeing others cry. "Oh, I'm so sorry. How am I sorry? Don't cry." "Oh, Philip, don't lose me. You don't understand how much you mean to me, how unhappy my life is, and how happy it is that you make me feel happy." He kissed her silently.There was indeed great pain in her tone, and he was afraid.He never expected that what she said came from the heart, and it was not just a joke.

"I'm so sorry. You know I like you very much. I wish you could come to London." "You know I can't come. It's hard to get a job here, and I hate living in England." Philip was so moved by her misery that he hardly realized he was playing a part, and he held her tighter and tighter.Her tears pleased him faintly, and he kissed her passionately, this time with genuine affection. But a day or two later, she made a scene in public.There was a tennis party at the Vicarage, and among the guests were two young girls whose father was a retired major in the Indian Garrison, who had only recently been at Blackstable's house.The two sisters are very beautiful. The elder sister and Philip are the same age, and the younger sister is about one or two years younger.They were accustomed to the society of young men, and their stomachs were full of anecdotes about summer resorts in India (Rudyard Kipling's short stories were all the rage at the time, and everyone was reading them).They laughed and joked with Philip, and Philip found it a novelty--the young ladies of Blackstable treated the Vicar's nephew with a sort of seriousness--like a jolly thing.Some demon had possessed him, and he flirted with the two sisters in a wild way; and since he was the only young man here, they both flirted rather actively.It so happened that they were both very good players at the game, and Philip, having found it unpleasant to push and shoot with Miss Wilkinson (she had just started learning to play tennis when she came to Blackstable), set about arranging after he had finished his tea. In the line-up, it was suggested that Miss Wilkinson and the curate should first be paired against the curate's wife, and then he would be pitted against the newcomers.He sat down beside Miss O'Connor, and said to her in a low voice:

"Let's get those scumbags out first, and then we'll have a good game." Apparently, his whisper was overheard by Miss Wilkinson, who threw the racket on the ground, said it was a headache, and turned away.Everyone could see that she was angry.Philip was very annoyed to see her show her temper in public.They left her behind and rearranged the lineup, but Mrs. Carey called him after a while. "Philip, you've broken Emily's heart. She's back in the room and crying now." "Why are you crying?" "Oh, talk about a sleazy game. Come to her and say you didn't mean to break her heart, my boy, go!"

"Ok!" He knocked on Miss Wilkinson's door, saw no answer, and went in.She was lying on the bed together, sobbing.He patted her shoulder lightly. "Hey, what the hell is going on?" "Leave me alone, I don't want to talk to you anymore." "What's wrong with me? I'm sorry I didn't expect to break your heart. I didn't mean to. Listen to me and get up!" "Oh, how unfortunate I am. You can't bear to treat me like this. You know I hate that nonsense. I'm not interested in playing with you." She stood up, walked to the dressing table, glanced quickly in the mirror, and then slumped in the chair.She squeezed the handkerchief into a small ball and gently wiped the corners of her eyes.

"The most precious thing a woman can give a man, I've given you--oh, what a fool I am! And you, utterly ungrateful. You must be heartless. How could you be so cruel? Torturing me, flirting with those two vulgar wild girls in front of my face. We only have one Duo Xinglang left. Can't you even stay with me for this little time?" Philip stood looking sullenly at her.He felt that her behavior was so childish that Ye Xiao smiled.What was particularly annoying was that she had lost her temper in front of outsiders. "As you know, I'm not at all fond of those Miss O'Connors. What makes you think I like them?"

Miss Wilkinson put away her handkerchief.The powdered face was stained with tears, and the hair was a little messy.At this time, the white dress did not suit her very well.She gazed at Philip with hungry, fiery eyes. "Because you and she are only twenty years old," she said hoarsely, "and I am old." Philip flushed and looked away.Her mournful and miserable tone made him feel an indescribable taste.He regretted it, and wished he had never had anything to do with Miss Wilkinson. "I didn't mean to make you miserable," he said awkwardly. "You'd better go downstairs and look after your friends. They don't know what's happened to you." "Ok." He was glad to be free at last. They had an awkward fight, but soon made up.But during the few days that remained Philip sometimes felt very bored.All he wanted to talk about was the future, but Miss Wilkinson always cried when it came to the future.At first, her tears had some effect, and made him feel cruel, and he tried to profess that his love would never die.But now, it was in vain to arouse his disgust: if she was a young girl, it would be reasonable, but a middle-aged woman like her, who is always crying, is simply stupid.Miss Wilkinson kept reminding him that he owed her a debt of love that would never be repaid in his lifetime.Since she kept saying so, he was willing to admit it; but to be honest, he didn't understand why he should be grateful to her, and not she should be grateful to himself?She wanted Philip to repay her kindness, and she had to fulfill her lover's duties in many ways, which was really embarrassing.He has always been used to being alone, and sometimes it really becomes his immediate need.But in Miss Wilkinson's opinion, he must be by her side all day long, obedient to her, or else he would be ungrateful.The Miss O'Connors had invited them both to tea, and Philip was of course willing to go, but Miss Wilkinson said she was going away in five days and he must be hers alone.Although this statement sounds sweet, it is annoying to do.Miss Wilkinson whispered in his ear how delicate the French were, and how thoughtful they would be if they got on with pretty women, as Philip had been with her, Miss Wilkinson.She had nothing but praise for French men, who were suave, passionate, eager for self-sacrifice, and tactful.Miss Wilkinson's request seems really low. After listening to Miss Wilkinson's enumeration of all the qualities that a perfect lover must have, Philip could not help but secretly rejoice: it is a good thing that she lives in Berlin. "You will write to me, won't you? Write to me every day. I want to know how you are, and you must not hide anything from me." "I'll be pretty busy then," he replied, "and I'll just write to you as often as I can." She threw her arms wildly around Philip's neck.This display of her love sometimes confused Philip, and he preferred that she be on the defensive.He was a little shocked by the explicitness of her insinuations, which were at odds with his idea of ​​a woman's dignity. The day of Miss Wilkinson's scheduled departure arrived at last.She came down to breakfast, pale and despondent, in a durable black-and-white checked traveling suit, like a shrewd governess.Philip was also silent, because he didn't know what to say on such an occasion, and he was afraid that if he said something carelessly, he would make Miss Wilkinson cry in front of his uncle.They had said goodbye to each other in the garden the night before, and Philip felt relieved that there now seemed no chance of them being alone together.He remained in the dining room after breakfast in case Miss Wilkinson insisted on kissing him on the stairs.He did not want Mary Ann to encounter such a dubious scene.Mary Ann was middle-aged, sharp-tongued, and difficult to deal with.She didn't like Miss Wilkinson, and called her a greedy cat behind her back.Aunt Louisa was too ill to see her off at the station in person, so the vicar and Philip did it for her.Just as the train was about to move, she leaned forward and kissed Mr. Carey. "I must kiss you too, Philip," she said. "Okay," he said, blushing. He stood up on the platform, and Miss Wilkinson kissed him quickly.The train started, and Miss Wilkinson collapsed in a corner of the carriage, weeping sadly.Philip breathed a sigh of relief, indeed, on the way back to the vicarage. "Well, you sent her away safely?" asked Aunt Louisa, seeing them enter the house. "Sent off, she was almost in tears. She insisted on kissing me and Philip." "Oh, is it? At her age, there's no danger in a kiss." Then Mrs. Carey pointed to the sideboard. "Philip, there's a letter from you that came with the second post." The letter was from Hayward.The full text is as follows: dear brother: I will reply to you immediately.I take the liberty of telling a dear friend of mine what you believe.It was a charming woman, a woman with a real taste in literature and art.Her help and sympathy are very precious to me.We both agree that your letter is eloquent and touching.Your letter comes from the heart.You don't know how intoxicating the innocence permeates between the lines.Because you are in love, you write like a poet.Ah, my dear brother, truly, I feel your blazing youthful passion; every word is full of genuine emotion, and it's as exciting as music.You must be very happy!How I wish I could have been there, hidden in that enchanted garden, and watched you two walk shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm, among the flowers like Zaphnis and Helo.I can see you, my Zaphnis, tender and warm, intoxicated, with the light of first love in your eyes; and Helo in your arms, so young, gentle, and delicate, she swore she would never agree, never No - finally agreed.Roses, violets, honeysuckle!Oh my friend, I am so jealous of you.How delightful it is to think that your first love was like pure poetry.Cherish this precious moment, because the immortal gods have given you the most precious gift in the world. This kind of sweet and melancholy memory will accompany you until the last moment of your life.You will never experience this kind of unencumbered bliss and ecstasy again.First love is the most precious; she is beautiful, you are young, and the whole world belongs to both of you.When you told me with admirable simplicity that you buried your face in her long soft hair, I felt my pulse quicken.I dare say it must be a head of glossy chestnut hair that seems lightly blond.I want you two to sit side by side under a leafy tree and read a volume of "Romeo and Juliet" together.Then I want you to kneel down on my behalf to kiss the land where her footprints are left, and tell her that this is a poet's tribute to her brilliant youth and also to your loyal love. forever yours G Ethridge, Hayward "What a mess!" said Philip, when he had read the letter.Strange to say, Miss Wilkinson also suggested that they watch "Romeo and Juliet" together, but Philip firmly refused.Then, when he put the letter in his pocket, an inexplicable pain suddenly hit his heart, because the reality and the ideal are so different.