第17部分(第2/7 頁)

way　of

life。　He　was　a　clod…hopper　and　a　boor；　dull；　stuck　in　the　mud。

More　than　ever　he　wanted　to　clamber　out；　to　this　visionary

polite　world。

He　was　well　off。　He　was　as　well　off　as　Alfred；　who　could　not

have　above　six　hundred　a　year；　all　told。　He　himself　made　about

four　hundred；　and　could　make　more。　His　investments　got　better

every　day。　Why　did　he　not　do　something？　His　wife　was　a　lady

also。

But　when　he　got　to　the　Marsh；　he　realized　how　fixed

everything　was；　how　the　other　form　of　life　was　beyond　him；　and

he　regretted　for　the　first　time　that　he　had　succeeded　to　the

farm。　He　felt　a　prisoner；　sitting　safe　and　easy　and

unadventurous。　He　might；　with　risk；　have　done　more　with　himself。

He　could　neither　read　Browning　nor　Herbert　Spencer；　nor　have

access　to　such　a　room　as　Mrs。　Forbes's。　All　that　form　of　life

was　outside　him。

But　then；　he　said　he　did　not　want　it。　The　excitement　of　the

visit　began　to　pass　off。　The　next　day　he　was　himself；　and　if　he

thought　of　the　other　woman；　there　was　something　about　her　and

her　place　that　he　did　not　like；　something　cold　something　alien；

as　if　she　were　not　a　woman；　but　an　inhuman　being　who　used　up

human　life　for　cold；　unliving　purposes。

The　evening　came　on；　he　played　with　Anna；　and　then　sat　alone

with　his　own　wife。　She　was　sewing。　He　sat　very　still；　smoking；

perturbed。　He　was　aware　of　his　wife's　quiet　figure；　and　quiet

dark　head　bent　over　her　needle。　It　。　It　was

too　peaceful。　He　wanted　to　smash　the　walls　down；　and　let　the

night　in；　so　that　his　wife　should　not　be　so　secure　and　quiet；

sitting　there。　He　wished　the　air　were　not　so　close　and　narrow。