He looked at mewith an astonishment that was certainly not feigned. The smile abandoned hislips, and he spoke quite seriously.

"But, mydear fellow, I don't care. It doesn't matter a twopenny damn to me one way orthe other. "

I laughed.

"Oh, comenow; you mustn't think us such fools as all that. We happen to know that youcame away with a woman. "

He gave alittle start, and then suddenly burst into a shout of laughter. He laughed souproariously that people sitting near us looked round, and some of them beganto laugh too.

"I don'tsee anything very amusing in that. "

"Poor Amy," he grinned.

Then his facegrew bitterly scornful.

"What poorminds women have got! Love. It's always love. They think a man leaves onlybecause he wants others. Do you think I should be such a fool as to do whatI've done for a woman?"

"Do youmean to say you didn't leave your wife for another woman?"

"Of coursenot. "

"On yourword of honour?"

I don't knowwhy I asked for that. It was very ingenuous of me.

"On myword of honour. "

"Then,what in God's name have you left her for?"

"I want topaint. "

I looked at himfor quite a long time. I did not understand. I thought he was mad. It must beremembered that I was very young, and I looked upon him as a middle-aged man. Iforgot everything but my own amazement.

"Butyou're forty. "

"That'swhat made me think it was high time to begin. "

"Have youever painted?"

"I ratherwanted to be a painter when I was a boy, but my father made me go into businessbecause he said there was no money in art. I began to paint a bit a year ago.For the last year I've been going to some classes at night. "

"Was thatwhere you went when Mrs. Strickland thought you were playing bridge at yourclub?"

"That'sit. "

"Whydidn't you tell her?"

"Ipreferred to keep it to myself. "

"Can youpaint?"

"Not yet.But I shall. That's why I've come over here. I couldn't get what I wanted inLondon. Perhaps I can here. "

"Do youthink it's likely that a man will do any good when he starts at your age? Mostmen begin painting at eighteen. "

"I canlearn quicker than I could when I was eighteen. "

"Whatmakes you think you have any talent?"

He did notanswer for a minute. His gaze rested on the passing throng, but I do not thinkhe saw it. His answer was no answer.

"I've gotto paint. "

"Aren'tyou taking an awful chance?"

He looked atme. His eyes had something strange in them, so that I felt ratheruncomfortable.

"How oldare you? Twenty-three?"

It seemed to methat the question was beside the point. It was natural that I should takechances; but he was a man whose youth was past, a stockbroker with a positionof respectability, a wife and two children. A course that would have beennatural for me was absurd for him. I wished to be quite fair.

"Of coursea miracle may happen, and you may be a great painter, but you must confess thechances are a million to one against it. It'll be an awful sell if at the endyou have to acknowledge you've made a hash of it. "

"I've gotto paint, " he repeated.

"Supposingyou're never anything more than third-rate, do you think it will have beenworth while to give up everything? After all, in any other walk in life itdoesn't matter if you're not very good; you can get along quite comfortably ifyou're just adequate; but it's different with an artist. "

"Youblasted fool, " he said.

"I don'tsee why, unless it's folly to say the obvious. "

"I tellyou I've got to paint. I can't help myself. When a man falls into the water itdoesn't matter how he swims, well or badly: he's got to get out or else he'lldrown. "

There was realpassion in his voice, and in spite of myself I was impressed. I seemed to feelin him some vehement power that was struggling within him; it gave me thesensation of something very strong, overmastering, that held him, as it were,against his will. I could not understand. He seemed really to be possessed of adevil, and I felt that it might suddenly turn and rend him. Yet he lookedordinary enough. My eyes, resting on him curiously, caused him noembarrassment. 

 Iwondered what a stranger would have taken him to be, sitting there in his oldNorfolk jacket and his unbrushed bowler; his trousers were baggy, his handswere not clean; and his face, with the red stubble of the unshaved chin, thelittle eyes, and the large, aggressive nose, was uncouth and coarse. His mouthwas large, his lips were heavy and sensual. No; I could not have placed him.

"You won'tgo back to your wife?" I said at last.

"Never."

"She'swilling to forget everything that's happened and start afresh. She'll nevermake you a single reproach. "

"She cango to hell. "

"You don'tcare if people think you an utter blackguard? You don't care if she and yourchildren have to beg their bread?"

"Not adamn. "

I was silentfor a moment in order to give greater force to my next remark. I spoke asdeliberately as I could.

"You are amost unmitigated cad. "

"Now that you'vegot that off your chest, let's go and have dinner. "

他非常惊讶地紧紧盯着我，显然不是在装假。笑容从他嘴角上消失了，他一本正经地说：

“但是，亲爱的朋友，我才不管她怎么做呢。她同我离婚也好，不离婚也好，我都无所谓。”

我笑了起来。

“噢，算了吧！你别把我们当成那样的傻瓜了。我们凑巧知道你是同一个女人一起走的。”

他愣了一下，但是马上就哈哈大笑起来。他笑得声音那么响，连坐在我们旁边的人都好奇地转过头来，甚至还有几个人也跟着笑起来。

“我看不出这有什么可笑的。”

“可怜的阿美，”他笑容未消地说。

接着，他的面容一变而为鄙夷不屑的样子。

“女人的脑子太可怜了！爱情。她们就知道爱情。她们认为如果男人离开了她们就是因为又有了新宠。你是不是认为我是这么一个傻瓜，还要再做一遍我已经为一个女人做过了的那些事？”

“你是说你不是因为另外一个女人才离开你妻子？”

“当然不是。”

“你敢发誓？”

我不知道为什么我这样要求他。我问这句话完全没有动脑子。

“我发誓。”

“那么你到底是为什么离开她的？”

“我要画画儿。”

我半天半天目不转睛地盯着他。我一点儿也不理解。我想这个人准是疯了。读者应该记住，我那时还很年轻，我把他看做是一个中年人。我除了感到自己的惊诧外什么都不记得了。

“可是你已经四十了。”

“正是因为这个我才想，如果现在再不开始就太晚了。”

“你过去画过画儿吗？”

“我小的时候很想作个画家，可是我父亲叫我去作生意，因为他认为学艺术赚不了钱。一年以前我开始画了点儿画。去年我一直在夜校上课。”

“思特里克兰德太太以为你在俱乐部玩桥牌的时间你都是去上课吗？”

“对了。”

“你为什么不告诉她？”

“我觉得还是别让她知道好。”

“你能够画了吗？”

“还不成。但是我将来能够学会的。正是为了这个我才到巴黎来。在伦敦我得不到我要求的东西。也许在这里我会得到的。”

“你认为象你这样年纪的人开始学画还能够学得好吗？大多数人都是十八岁开始学。”

“如果我十八岁学，会比现在学得快一些。”

“你怎么会认为自己还有一些绘画的才能？”

他并没有马上回答我的问题。他的目光停在过往的人群上，但是我认为他什么也没有看见。最后他回答我的话根本算不上是回答。

“我必须画画儿。”

“你这样做是不是完全在碰运气？”

这时他把目光转到我身上。他的眼睛里有一种奇怪的神情，叫我觉得不太舒服。

“你多大年纪？二十三岁？”

我觉得他提这个问题与我们谈的事毫不相干。如果我想碰碰运气做一件什么事的话，这是极其自然的事；但是他的青年时代早已过去了，他是一个有身份有地位的证券经纪人，家里有一个老婆、两个孩子。对我说来是自然的道路在他那里就成为荒谬悻理的了。但是我还是想尽量对他公道一些。

“当然了，也许会发生奇迹，你也许会成为一个大画家。但你必须承认，这种可能性是微乎其微的。假如到头来你不得不承认把事情搞得一塌糊涂，你就后悔莫及了。”

“我必须画画儿，”他又重复了一句。

“假如你最多只能成为一个三流画家，你是不是还认为值得把一切都抛弃掉呢？不管怎么说，其他各行各业，假如你才不出众，并没有多大关系；只要还能过得去，你就能够舒舒服服地过日子；但是当一个艺术家完全是另一码事。”

“你他妈的真是个傻瓜。”他说。

“我不知道你为什么这么说，除非我这样把最明显的道理说出来是在干傻事。”

“我告诉你我必须画画儿。我由不了我自己。一个人要是跌进水里，他游泳游得好不好是无关紧要的，反正他得挣扎出去，不然就得淹死。”

他的语音里流露着一片热诚，我不由自主地被他感动了。我好象感觉到一种猛烈的力量正在他身体里面奋力挣扎；我觉得这种力量非常强大，压倒一切，仿佛违拗着他自己的意志，并把他紧紧抓在手中。我理解不了。他似乎真的让魔鬼附体了，我觉得他可能一下子被那东西撕得粉碎。但是从表面上看，他却平平常常。我的眼睛好奇地盯着他，他却一点也不感到难为情。

他坐在那里，穿着一件破旧的诺弗克上衣，戴着顶早就该拂拭的圆顶帽，我真不知道一个陌生人会把他当做什么人。他的裤腿象两只口袋，手并不很干净，下巴上全是红胡子茬，一对小眼睛，撅起的大鼻头，脸相又笨拙又粗野。他的嘴很大，厚厚的嘴唇给人以耽于色欲的感觉。不成，我无法判定他是怎样一类人。

“你不准备回到你妻子那里去了？”最后我开口说。

“永远不回去了。”

“她可是愿意把发生的这些事全都忘掉，一切从头开始。她一句话也不责备你。”

“让她见鬼去吧！”

“你不在乎别人把你当做个彻头彻尾的坏蛋吗？你不在乎你的妻子儿女去讨饭吗？”

“一点也不在乎。”

我沉默了一会儿，为了使我底下这句话有更大的力量。我故意把一个个的字吐得真真切切。

“你是个不折不扣的混蛋。”

“成了，你现在把压在心上的话已经说出来了，咱们可以去吃饭了。”