小说园

第55部分（第2页）

〃What　does　matter　then？〃　came　her　Uncle　Toms　intimate；

caressing；　half…jeering　voice。

She　turned　to　him。

〃It　matters　whether　people　have　courage　or　not；〃　she

said。

〃Courage　for　what？〃　asked　her　uncle。

〃For　everything。〃

Tom　Brangwen　gave　a　sharp　little　laugh。　The　mother　and　father

sat　silent；　with　listening　faces。　Skrebensky　waited。　She　was

speaking　for　him。

〃Everythings　nothing；〃　laughed　her　uncle。

She　disliked　him　at　that　moment。

〃She　doesnt　practice　what　she　preaches；〃　said　her　father；

stirring　in　his　chair　and　crossing　one　leg　over　the　other。　〃She

has　courage　for　mighty　little。〃

But　she　would　not　answer。　Skrebensky　sat　still；　waiting。　His

face　was　irregular；　almost　ugly；　flattish；　with　a　rather　thick

nose。　But　his　eyes　were　pellucid；　strangely　clear；　his　brown

hair　was　soft　and　thick　as　silk；　he　had　a　slight　moustache。　His

skin　was　fine；　his　figure　slight；　beautiful。　Beside　him；　her

Uncle　Tom　looked　full…blown；　her　father　seemed　uncouth。　Yet　he

reminded　her　of　her　father；　only　he　was　finer；　and　he　seemed　to

be　shining。　And　his　face　was　almost　ugly。

He　seemed　simply　acquiescent　in　the　fact　of　his　own　being；　as

if　he　were　beyond　any　change　or　question。　He　was　himself。　There

was　a　sense　of　fatality　about　him　that　fascinated　her。　He　made

no　effort　to　prove　himself　to　other　people。　Let　it　be　accepted

for　what　it　was；　his　own　being。　In　its　isolation　it　made　no

excuse　or　explanation　for　itself。

So　he　seemed　perfectly；　even　fatally　established；　he　did　not

asked　to　be　rendered　before　he　could　exist；　before　he　could　have

relationship　with　another　person。

This　attracted　Ursula　very　much。　She　was　so　used　to　unsure

people　who　took　on　a　new　being　with　every　new　influence。　Her

Uncle　Tom　was　always　more　or　less　what　the　other　person　would

have　him。　In　consequence；　one　never　knew　the　real　Uncle　Tom；

only　a　fluid；　unsatisfactory　flux　with　a　more　or　less　consistent

appearance。

But；　let　Skrebensky　do　what　he　would；　betray　himself