狄更斯双语小说:《董贝父子》第26章Part 3

'But I wish,' said Mr Dombey, without heeding the interruption, 'he had never gone on board that ship. I wish he had never been sent out.
'It is a pity you didn't say so, in good time, is it not?' retorted Carker, coolly. 'However, I think it's all for the best. I really, think it's all for the best. Did I mention that there was something like a little confidence between Miss Dombey and myself?'
'No,' said Mr Dombey, sternly.
'I have no doubt,' returned Mr Carker, after an impressive pause, 'that wherever Gay is, he is much better where he is, than at home here. If I were, or could be, in your place, I should be satisfied of that. I am quite satisfied of it myself. Miss Dombey is confiding and young - perhaps hardly proud enough, for your daughter - if she have a fault. Not that that is much though, I am sure. Will you check these balances with me?'
Mr Dombey leaned back in his chair, instead of bending over the papers that were laid before him, and looked the Manager steadily in the face. The Manager, with his eyelids slightly raised, affected to be glancing at his figures, and to await the leisure of his principal. He showed that he affected this, as if from great delicacy, and with a design to spare Mr Dombey's feelings; and the latter, as he looked at him, was cognizant of his intended consideration, and felt that but for it, this confidential Carker would have said a great deal more, which he, Mr Dombey, was too proud to ask for. It was his way in business, often. Little by little, Mr Dombey's gaze relaxed, and his attention became diverted to the papers before him; but while busy with the occupation they afforded him, he frequently stopped, and looked at Mr Carker again. Whenever he did so, Mr Carker was demonstrative, as before, in his delicacy, and impressed it on his great chief more and more.
While they were thus engaged; and under the skilful culture of the Manager, angry thoughts in reference to poor Florence brooded and bred in Mr Dombey's breast, usurping the place of the cold dislike that generally reigned there; Major Bagstock, much admired by the old ladies of Leamington, and followed by the Native, carrying the usual amount of light baggage, straddled along the shady side of the way, to make a morning call on Mrs Skewton. It being midday when the Major reached the bower of Cleopatra, he had the good fortune to find his Princess on her usual sofa, languishing over a cup of coffee, with the room so darkened and shaded for her more luxurious repose, that Withers, who was in attendance on her, loomed like a phantom page.
'What insupportable creature is this, coming in?' said Mrs Skewton, 'I cannot hear it. Go away, whoever you are!'
'You have not the heart to banish J. B., Ma'am!' said the Major halting midway, to remonstrate, with his cane over his shoulder.
'Oh it's you, is it? On second thoughts, you may enter,' observed Cleopatra.
The Major entered accordingly, and advancing to the sofa pressed her charming hand to his lips.
'Sit down,' said Cleopatra, listlessly waving her fan, 'a long way off. Don't come too near me, for I am frightfully faint and sensitive this morning, and you smell of the Sun. You are absolutely tropical.'
'By George, Ma'am,' said the Major, 'the time has been when Joseph Bagstock has been grilled and blistered by the Sun; then time was, when he was forced, Ma'am, into such full blow, by high hothouse heat in the West Indies, that he was known as the Flower. A man never heard of Bagstock, Ma'am, in those days; he heard of the Flower - the Flower of Ours. The Flower may have faded, more or less, Ma'am,' observed the Major, dropping into a much nearer chair than had been indicated by his cruel Divinity, 'but it is a tough plant yet, and constant as the evergreen.'
Here the Major, under cover of the dark room, shut up one eye, rolled his head like a Harlequin, and, in his great self-satisfaction, perhaps went nearer to the confines of apoplexy than he had ever gone before.
'Where is Mrs Granger?' inquired Cleopatra of her page.
Withers believed she was in her own room.

“可是，”董贝先生没有注意到他的插话，继续说道，“我真愿他当初没有乘这条船，当初没有派他去就好了。”
“真可惜，您当初没早讲，是吧？”卡克冷冷地回答道，“不过，我想，到头来这倒会是件好事。我确实认为，到头来这倒会是件好事。我跟您说过没有，董贝小姐与我本人相互间还有着一点类似信任的关系呢？”
“没有，”董贝先生严厉地说道。
“我毫不怀疑，”卡克在一段令人难忘的沉默之后继续说道，“不论盖伊现在在什么地方，他待在那个地方总比在这里待在家中要好得多。如果我处在，或者能处在您的地位的话，我将对这种情况感到满意。我本人是很满意的。董贝小姐年轻，轻信，如果她有什么缺点的话，那就是，作为您的女儿，也许还不够高傲。当然，这算不了什么。您跟我核对一下这些帐目好吗？”
董贝先生没有弯下身子去看那些摊在面前的帐单，而是往后仰靠在椅子中，目不转睛地看着这位经理的脸。经理眼皮稍稍抬起一点，假装看着数字，而不去催促他的老板。他毫不掩饰他是出于对董贝先生体帖入微和有意不伤害他的感情才假装成这样子的；董贝先生坐在那里看着他的时候，明白他是有意关照他；他觉得，如果不是为了这一点，这位深受他信任的卡克本会说出更多更多的话的，但是董贝先生太高傲了，他不会请求他说。他在业务上也经常这样。董贝先生的眼光逐渐松弛下来，他的注意力开始转移到面前的票据上面；但是他在埋头研究的过程中经常停下来，重新看着卡克先生；每当他这样做的时候；卡克先生就像先前一样，表露出他的殷勤，给他的老板留下了愈来愈深刻的印象。
他们就这样忙着业务；在经理的巧妙的引导下，董贝先生心中对可怜的弗洛伦斯产生和滋长着愤怒的思想，它正取代着往常对她冷酷的厌恶；就正在这些时候，被莱明顿老太太们所称颂的白格斯托克少校，正沿着街道有荫影的一边迈着步子，去向斯丘顿夫人进行一次上午的拜访；本地人手里拿着那些通常的随身用品，跟随在他后面；当少校到达克利奥佩特拉的闺房时，正是中午，所以他幸运地看到他的女王像平时一样坐在沙发上，有气无力地面对着一杯咖啡；为了使她能得到舒适的休息，房间被窗帘遮蔽得十分阴暗，在她身旁侍候的威瑟斯就像一个侍童的幽灵一样，朦胧不明地浮现出身形。
“什么讨厌的东西进来了？”斯丘顿夫人说道，“我不能容忍它。不管你是谁，快滚开！”
“夫人，您不会忍心把乔·白撵走的！”少校在中途停下，抗议道，手杖挂在他的肩膀上。
“啊，是你呀，是吗？好吧，我改变主意，可以让你进来。”克利奥佩特拉说道。
于是，少校就走进来，到了沙发旁边，把她可爱的手压到他的嘴唇上。
“坐吧，”克利奥佩特拉没精打采地摇着扇子，说道，“坐得远些，不要太挨近我，因为今天下午我虚弱得要命，感觉非常灵敏。你身上有一股太阳气。你简直就跟从热带跑来的人一样。”
“确实，夫人，”少校说道，“过去有一段时候，约瑟夫·白格斯托克曾经被太阳炙烤过，烫出过水泡；那时候，夫人，在西印度群岛温室般炎热的气温下，他不由得不茁壮成长；当时大家都以花这个外号来称呼他。在那些日子里，夫人，谁也不知道白格斯托克，但大家都知道花——我们的花。花现在多少有些枯萎了，夫人，”少校说道，一边坐到一张椅子里，他比他残酷的神所指定的那张椅子要近好多，“可是它仍然是一株顽强的植物，就像常绿树一样四季长青。”
这时少校在房间黑暗光线的掩护下，闭上一只眼睛，像哑剧中的丑角一样摇晃着脑袋，他在扬扬得意之中也许比过去任何时候都更接近于中风的边缘。
“格兰杰夫人在哪里？”克利奥佩特拉问她的童仆。
威瑟斯说，他猜想她在她自己的房间里。