第47部分(第6/7 页)

rried　it　beneath　the　other　sheets。　Of　course；　I　lied：　it　was；　in　fact；　a　very　faithful　representation　of　Mr。　Rochester。　But　what　was　that　to　her；　or　to　any　one　but　myself？　Georgiana　also　advanced　to　look。　The　other　drawings　pleased　her　much；　but　she　called　that　“an　ugly　man。”　They　both　seemed　surprised　at　my　skill。　I　offered　to　sketch　their　portraits；　and　each；　in　turn；　sat　for　a　pencil　outline。　Then　Georgiana　produced　her　album。　I　promised　to　contribute　a　water…colour　drawing：　this　put　her　at　once　into　good　humour。　She　proposed　a　walk　in　the　grounds。　Before　we　had　been　out　two　hours；　we　were　deep　in　a　confidential　conversation：　she　had　favoured　me　with　a　description　of　the　brilliant　winter　she　had　spent　in　London　two　seasons　ago—of　the　admiration　she　had　there　excited—　the　attention　she　had　received；　and　I　even　got　hints　of　the　titled　conquest　she　had　made。　In　the　course　of　the　afternoon　and　evening　these　hints　were　enlarged　on：　various　soft　conversations　were　reported；　and　sentimental　scenes　represented；　and；　in　short；　a　volume　of　a　novel　of　fashionable　life　was　that　day　improvised　by　her　for　my　benefit。　The　munications　were　renewed　from　day　to　day：　they　always　ran　on　the　same　theme—herself；　her　loves；　and　woes。　It　was　strange　she　never　once　adverted　either　to　her　mother’s　illness；　or　her　brother’s　death；　or　the　present　gloomy　state　of　the　family　prospects。　Her　mind　seemed　wholly　taken　up　with　reminiscences　of　past　gaiety；　and　aspirations　after　dissipations　to　e。　She　passed　about　five　minutes　each　day　in　her　mother’s　sick…room；　and　no　more。

Eliza　still　spoke　little：　she　had　evidently　no　time　to　talk。　I　never　saw　a　busier　person　than　she　seemed　to　be；　yet　it　was　difficult　to　say　what　she　did：　or　rather；　to　discover　any　result　of　her　diligence。　She　had　an　alarm　t