On readingover what I have written of the Stricklands, I am conscious that they must seemshadowy. I have been able to invest them with none of those characteristicswhich make the persons of a book exist with a real life of their own; and,wondering if the fault is mine, I rack my brains to remember idiosyncrasieswhich might lend them vividness. I feel that by dwelling on some trick ofspeech or some queer habit I should be able to give them a significancepeculiar to themselves. As they stand they are like the figures in an oldtapestry; they do not separate themselves from the background, and at adistance seem to lose their pattern, so that you have little but a pleasingpiece of colour. My only excuse is that the impression they made on me was noother. There was just that shadowiness about them which you may find in peoplewhose lives are part of the social organism, so that they exist in it and by itonly. They are like cells in the body, essential, but, so long as they remainhealthy, engulfed in the momentous whole. The Stricklands were an average familyin the middle class. A pleasant, hospitable woman, with a harmless craze forthe small lions of literary society; a rather dull man, doing his duty in thatstate of life in which a merciful Providence had placed him; two nice-looking,healthy children. Nothing could be more ordinary. I do not know that there wasanything about them to excite the attention of the curious.

Miss Waterford certainlyfelt that she could not do her subject justice on the curb of Jermyn Street,and so, like an artist, flung the bare fact at me and declared that she knew nodetails. I could not do her the injustice of supposing that so trifling acircumstance would have prevented her from giving them, but she was obstinate.

"I tell you I knownothing, " she said, in reply to my agitated questions, and then, with anairy shrug of the shoulders: "I believe that a young person in a citytea-shop has left her situation. "

She flashed a smile at me,and, protesting an engagement with her dentist, jauntily walked on. I was moreinterested than distressed. In those days my experience of life at first handwas small, and it excited me to come upon an incident among people I knew ofthe same sort as /ai/ had read in books. I confess that time has now accustomed meto incidents of this character among my acquaintance. But I was a littleshocked. Strickland was certainly forty, and I thought it disgusting that a manof his age should concern himself with affairs of the heart. With thesuperciliousness of extreme youth, I put thirty-five as the utmost limit atwhich a man might fall in love without making a fool of himself.

And this news was slightlydisconcerting to me personally, because I had written from the country to Mrs.Strickland, announcing my return, and had added that unless I heard from her tothe contrary, I would come on a certain day to drink a dish of tea with her.This was the very day, and I had received no word from Mrs. Strickland. Did shewant to see me or did she not? It was likely enough that in the agitation ofthe moment my note had escaped her memory. Perhaps I should be wiser not to go.On the other hand, she might wish to keep the affair quiet, and it might behighly indiscreet on my part to give any sign that this strange news hadreached me. I was torn between the fear of hurting a nice woman's feelings andthe fear of being in the way. I felt she must be suffering, and I did not wantto see a pain which I could not help; but in my heart was a desire, that I felta little ashamed of, to see how she was taking it. I did not know what to do.

Finally it occurred to methat I would call as though nothing had happened, and send a message in by themaid asking Mrs. Strickland if it was convenient for her to see me. This wouldgive her the opportunity to send me away. But I was overwhelmed withembarrassment when I said to the maid the phrase I had prepared, and while Iwaited for the answer in a dark passage I had to call up all my strength ofmind not to bolt. The maid came back. Her manner suggested to my excited fancya complete knowledge of the domestic calamity.

"Will you come thisway, sir?" she said.

I followed her into thedrawing-room. The blinds were partly drawn to darken the room, and Mrs.Strickland was sitting with her back to the light. Her brother-in-law, ColonelMacAndrew, stood in front of the fireplace, warming his back at an unlit fire.To myself my entrance seemed excessively awkward. I imagined that my arrivalhad taken them by surprise, and Mrs. Strickland had let me come in only becauseshe had forgotten to put me off. I fancied that the Colonel resented theinterruption.

"I wasn't quite sure ifyou expected me, " I said, trying to seem unconcerned.

"Of course I did. Annewill bring the tea in a minute. "

Even in the darkened room, Icould not help seeing that Mrs. Strickland's face was all swollen with tears.Her skin, never very good, was earthy.

"You remember mybrother-in-law, don't you? You met at dinner, just before the holidays. "

We shook hands. I felt soshy that I could think of nothing to say, but Mrs. Strickland came to myrescue. She asked me what I had been doing with myself during the summer, andwith this help I managed to make some conversation till tea was brought in. TheColonel asked for a whisky-and-soda.

"You'd better have onetoo, Amy, " he said.

"No; I prefer tea."

回过头来读了读我写的思特里克兰德夫妇的故事，我感到这两个人被我写得太没有血肉了。要使书中人物真实动人，需要把他们的性格特征写出来，而我却没有赋予他们任何特色。我想知道这是不是我的过错，我苦思苦想，希望回忆起一些能使他们性格鲜明的特征。我觉得如果我能够详细写出他们说话的某些习惯或者他们的一些离奇的举止，或许就能够突出他们的特点了。象我现在这样写，这两个人好象是一幅古旧挂毯上的两个人形，同背景很难分辨出来；如果从远处看，那就连轮廓也辨别不出，只剩下一团花花绿绿的颜色了。我只有一种辩解：他们给我的就是这样一个印象。有些人的生活只是社会有机体的一部分，他们只能生活在这个有机体内，也只能依靠它而生活，这种人总是给人以虚幻的感觉；思特里克兰德夫妇正是这样的人。他们有如体内的细胞，是身体所决不能缺少的，但是只要他们健康存在一天，就被吞没在一个重大的整体里。思特里克兰德这家人是普普通通的一个中产阶级家庭。一个和蔼可亲、殷勤好客的妻子，有着喜欢结交文学界小名人的无害的癖好；一个并不很聪明的丈夫，在慈悲的上帝安排给他的那种生活中兢兢业业、恪尽职责：两个漂亮、健康的孩子。没有什么比这一家人更为平凡的了。我不知道这一家人有什么能够引起好奇的人注意的。

当我想到后来发生的种种事情时，不禁自问：是不是当初我过于迟钝，没有看出查理斯·思特里克兰德身上与常人不同的地方啊？也许是这样的。从那个时候起到现在已经过了这么多年，在此期间我对人情世故知道了不少东西，但是即使当初我认识他们夫妇时就已经有了今天的阅历，我也不认为我对他们的判断就有所不同。只不过有一点会和当年不一样：在我了解到人是多么玄妙莫测之后，我今天决不会象那年初秋我刚刚回到伦敦时那样，在听到那个消息以后会那样大吃一惊了。

回到伦敦还不到二十四小时，我就在杰尔敏大街上遇见了柔斯·瓦特尔芙德。

“看你今天这么喜气洋洋的样子，”我说，“有什么开心的事啊？”

她笑了起来，眼睛流露出一道我早已熟悉的幸灾乐祸的闪光。这意味着她又听到她的某个朋友的一件丑闻，这位女作家的直觉已经处于极度警觉状态。

“你看见过查理斯·思特里克兰德，是不是？”

不仅她的面孔，就连她的全身都变得非常紧张。我点了点头。我怀疑这个倒霉鬼是不是在证券交易所蚀了老本儿，要不就是让公共汽车轧伤了。

“你说，是不是太可怕了？他把他老婆扔了，跑掉了。”

瓦特尔芙德小姐肯定觉得，在杰尔敏大街马路边上讲这个故事太辱没这样一个好题目，所以她只是象个艺术家似地把主题抛出来，宣称她并不知道细节。而我却不能埋没她的口才，认为根本无需介意的环境竟会妨碍她给我讲述故事。但是她还是执拗地不肯讲。

“我告诉你我什么也不知道，”她回答我激动的问题说，接着，很俏皮地耸了耸肩膀，又加了一句：“我相信伦敦哪家茶点店准有一位年轻姑娘把活儿辞了。”

她朝我笑了一下，道歉说同牙医生约定了时间，便神气十足地扬长而去。这个消息与其说叫我难过，不如说使我很感兴趣。在那些日子里我的见闻还很少是亲身经历的第一手材料，因此在我碰到这样一件我在书本里阅读到的故事时，觉得非常兴奋。我承认，现在时间和阅历已经使我习惯于在我相识的人中遇到这类事情了。但是我当时还有一种惊骇的感觉。思特里克兰德那一年一定已经有四十岁了，我认为象他这样年纪的人再牵扯到这种爱情瓜葛中未免令人作呕。在我当时年幼无知，睥睨一切的目光中，一个人陷入爱情而又不使自己成为笑柄，三十五岁是最大的年限。

除此以外，这个新闻也给我个人添了点儿小麻烦。原来我在乡下就给思特里克兰德太太写了信，通知她我回伦敦的日期，并且在信中说好如果她不回信另作安排的话，我将在某月某日到她家去吃茶。我遇见瓦特尔芙德小姐正是在这一天，可是思特里克兰德太太并没有给我捎什么信来。她到底想不想见我呢？非常可能，她在心绪烦乱中把我信里订的约会忘到脑后了。也许我应该有自知之明，不去打扰她。可是另一方面，她也可能想把这件事瞒着我，如果我叫她猜出来自己已经听到这件奇怪的消息，那就太不慎重了。我既怕伤害这位夫人的感情，又怕去她家作客惹她心烦，心里非常矛盾。我知道她这时一定痛苦不堪，我不愿意看到别人受苦，自己无力替她分忧；但另一方面我又很想看一看思特里克兰德太太对这件事有何反应，尽管我对这个想法自己也觉得不好意思。我真不知道该怎么办好了。

最后我想了个主意：我应该象什么事也没发生那样到她家去，先叫使女进去问一声，思特里克兰德太太方便不方便会客。如果她不想见我，就可以把我打发走了。尽管如此，在我对使女讲起我事前准备的一套话时，我还是窘得要命。当我在幽暗的过道里等着回话的当儿，我不得不鼓起全部勇气才没有中途溜掉。使女从里面走出来。也可能是我过于激动，胡乱猜想，我觉得从那使女的神情看，好象她已经完全知道这家人遭遇的不幸了。

“请您跟我来，先生，”她说。

我跟在她后面走进客厅。为了使室内光线暗淡，窗帘没有完全拉开。思特里克兰德太太的姐夫麦克安德鲁上校正站在壁炉前面，在没有燃旺的火炉前边烤自己的脊背。我觉得我闯进来是一件极其尴尬的事。我猜想我到这里来一定很出他们意料之外，思特里克兰德太太只是忘记同我另外约会日子才不得不让我进来。我还想，上校一定为我打扰了他们非常生气。

“我不太清楚，你是不是等着我来，”我说，故意装作一副若无其事的样子。

“当然我在等着你。安妮马上就把茶拿来。”

尽管屋子里光线很暗，我也看出来思特里克兰德太太的眼睛已经哭肿了。她的面色本来就不太好，现在更是变成土灰色了。

“你还记得我的姐夫吧？度假以前，你在这里吃饭的那天和他见过面。”

我们握了握手。我感到忐忑不安，想不出一句好说的话来。但是思特里克兰德太太解救了我；她问起我怎样消夏的事。有她提了这个头，我多少也找到些话说，直捱到使女端上茶点来。上校要了一杯苏打威士忌。

“你最好也喝一杯，阿美，”他说。

“不，我还是喝茶吧。”