Chapter 9 third chapter

Halfway through the park, Iris said: "Do you mind if I don't come back with you, George? I want to go for a walk, up in the woods. I've had a bad headache all day." "My poor boy, you go. I won't go with you—I have a man to wait for this afternoon, and I don't know when he will arrive." "Okay, see you at tea then." She turned around quickly and walked towards the foot of the mountain. When she reached the top of the mountain, she couldn't help but take a deep breath.This is the usual humid weather in October. The leaves are covered with a layer of damp moisture, and the low gray clouds above the head mean that a heavy rain will soon come.The air on the top of the mountain is not necessarily better than that at the bottom of the mountain, but Iris feels that she can breathe a few breaths of air more freely when she reaches the top of the mountain.

She sat on a fallen tree trunk, looking down at the "Little Official" lying quietly in the woods under the valley.Not far to the left of the "Little Official's Mansion", the red brick wall of the "Haven" is glowing with a rose-like red brilliance. Iris rested her chin on both hands, gloomyly browsing the surrounding scenery. At this time, there was a rustling sound behind her, the sound was not louder than the sound of falling leaves, but she still noticed it, and turned her head just in time to see Anthony Browne pushing aside the branches and leaves and walking out of the woods.

She cried out half-angrily, "Tony! Why do you keep showing up like—like the devil in a pantomime?" Anthony jumped beside her, took out the cigarette case, and handed her a cigarette, she shook her head, and he lit one himself.After taking the first puff, he replied: "Because I'm what the papers call a 'mystery man' who likes to come and go without a trace." "How do you know I'm here?" "Superhuman eyesight. I heard that you had lunch with the Farreddys and followed you down the hill after you left." "Why don't you come to the house to find me like most people do?"

"I'm not ordinary," Anthony said in a shocked tone, "I'm special." "I think you are special." He glanced at her quickly, then said: "What's the matter?" "Nothing, nothing. At least—" She stopped.Anthony said in a questioning tone: "At least?" She took a deep breath. "I hate it here. I hate it here. I want to go back to London." "Aren't you going back soon?" "next week." "So today's dinner at the Farley's is a farewell lunch?" "It's not a banquet either. Just the couple and an old cousin."

"Do you like the Farrellys, Iris?" "I don't know. I guess I don't like it very much - though I shouldn't say that because they've really been nice to us." "Do you think they like you?" "No, I don't think so. I think they hate us." "very funny." "yes?" "Oh, I didn't mean hate—if that's the case. I meant your use of the word 'we.' My question was just for you and for yourself." "Oh, I get it... I guess they like me quite a bit, in a negative way. I guess they care that our family lives close to them. We're not any special friends of theirs - they're Rosemary's friend."

"Yes," said Anthony. "They were friends of Rosemary, as you say—but I don't think Cinderella Farreddy and Rosemary are more intimate friends, do I?" "No." Wen Ruisi said.She seemed a little disturbed, but Anthony was smoking quietly.Soon he said: "You know what surprises me the most about the Farreldays?" "what?" "That's--they're the Farleys. I always think of them as the Farleys--not Steven and Cinderella, two individuals bound together by marriage--but a two-for-one Beings of One - the Farrellys. This is rarer than you might think. They are two people with a common goal, a common way of life, common hopes, beliefs and fears. The strange thing is that they actually have very different Personality. Stephen Farreday, I should say he is a man with a wide range of knowledge, great sensitivity to outside views, very little confidence in himself and a little lack of moral courage. On the contrary, Cinderella has a strong A narrow medieval mind, capable of fanatical devotion and sacrifice, yet with the courage to recklessly disregard the consequences."

"He always seemed to me," Iris said, "a little cocky and stupid." "He's not stupid at all. He's just a generic, unhappy achiever." "unhappy?" "Most successful people are unhappy. That's why they are successful—they have to affirm themselves by achieving something that the world will notice." "Your opinion is very unusual, Anthony." "If you check it out, you'll find it's true. Happy people are losers because they're self-sufficient and uncomplaining, like me. They're usually easy going too—like me."

"You have a good opinion of yourself." "I'm just drawing your attention to my good qualities, in case you haven't noticed." Iris laughed.Her mood improved and all her depression and fears were gone. ’ She looked at her watch. "Come home and have a cup of tea, and at the same time let others share your extraordinary way of treating people." Anthony shook his head. "Not today. I have to go back." Iris suddenly turned her head to face him. "Why don't you go to my house? There must be a reason." Anthony shrugged. "Let's take it as my peculiar opinion of hospitality. Your brother-in-law doesn't like me—he's made it clear enough."

"Oh, never mind George. If Aunt Lucilla and I want you—she's a nice fellow—you'll like her." "I'm sure I'd like it—but I say no." "You used to go when Rosemary was around." "That," Anthony said, "that's a little bit different." Iris felt as if a cold hand were touching her heart.She said, "Why are you here today? Are you here for business?" "Very important—about you. I've come to ask you a question, Iris." The cold hand disappeared.In its place was a faint flattery, a thrill of excitement that women have known from time immemorial.With this palpitation, Iris's face took on a questioning, waiting look, just like her great-grandmother said when she was proposed, "Ah, Mr. X, this is so sudden!" They look the same.

"What's the question?" Her most innocent face turned to Anthony. He gazed at her with firm, heavy eyes. "Answer me honestly, Iris. This is my question, do you trust me?" She stepped back.It wasn't the question she was expecting.He noticed. "You don't think this is what I'm going to ask you, do you? Yet it's a very important question, Iris. To me, it's the most important question. I'll ask again, do you trust me?" She hesitated for a second, then lowered her eyes and replied, "Yes." "Then I ask you again, will you come to London and marry me without telling anyone?"

Her eyes widened. "But I can't! I just can't." "You can't marry me?" "It can't be like that." "But you love me. You love me. Don't you?" She couldn't help saying: "Yes, I love you, Anthony." "But you don't want to go to the parish where I've lived for a few weeks, and I can marry legally anytime, and marry me at St. Alfreda's Church?" "How could I do something like that? It would hurt George badly, and Aunt Lucilla would never forgive me. Besides, I'm under my age, I'm only eighteen." "You can falsely report your age. I don't know what the punishment is for marrying a minor without the consent of the guardian. By the way, who is your guardian?" "George. He's also my trustee." "As I said, no matter what punishment I get, they can't tear us apart, and that's the only thing I really care about." Iris shook her head. "I can't do this. I can't be ruthless. And anyway, why? Why?" Anthony said, "That's why I asked you first whether you believe me or not. You have to believe me. Well, it's the easiest way. But don't worry about it." Iris said timidly: "If only George knew you better. Come back with me now. It's just him and Aunt Lurahi." "Are you sure? I thought—" He paused. "While I was going up the hill, I saw a man walking towards your house—the funny thing is I'm sure he was a—" He hesitated—"someone I've seen." "By the way, I forgot—George said he was expecting someone." "The man I think I met was called Race—Colonel Race." "Probably," said Eileen Lane, "George knew a Colonel Race. He was going to be at the party too, and Rosemary that night was—" She stopped, her voice trembling.Anthony held her hand tightly. "Don't think about it any more, dear. It's hard, I know." She shook her head. "I can't help it. Anthony—" "Ok?" "Have you—have you ever thought—" She found it difficult to put into words. "Has it ever occurred to you—that Rosemary might not have killed herself? She might—could have been murdered?" "My God, Iris, why do you have such an idea?" She didn't answer—just went on: "You never thought of that?" "Of course not. Of course Rosemary killed herself." Iris said nothing. "Who gave you that hint?" She wanted to tell him about George's strange behavior, but she refrained herself, and said slowly: "That was just an idea." "Forget it, dear fool." He pulled her to her feet and kissed her softly on the cheek. "Dear sick fool. Forget Rosemary and think of me."