第55部分(第2/7 頁)

　to　him。　It　interested　her。　Whether　he　had　brains　or　not；

he　was　interesting。　His　directness　attracted　her；　his

independent　motion。　She　was　aware　of　the　movement　of　his　life

over　against　hers。

〃I　don't　think　brains　matter；〃　she　said。

〃What　does　matter　then？〃　came　her　Uncle　Tom's　intimate；

caressing；　half…jeering　voice。

She　turned　to　him。

〃It　matters　whether　people　have　courage　or　not；〃　she

said。

〃Courage　for　what？〃　asked　her　uncle。

〃For　everything。〃

Tom　Brangwen　gave　a　sharp　little　laugh。　The　mother　and　father

sat　silent；　with　listening　faces。　Skrebensky　waited。　She　was

speaking　for　him。

〃Everything's　nothing；〃　laughed　her　uncle。

She　disliked　him　at　that　moment。

〃She　doesn't　practice　what　she　preaches；〃　said　her　father；

stirring　in　his　chair　and　crossing　one　leg　over　the　other。　〃She

has　courage　for　mighty　little。〃

But　she　would　not　answer。　Skrebensky　sat　still；　waiting。　His

face　was　irregular；　almost　ugly；　flattish；　with　a　rather　thick

nose。　But　his　eyes　were　pellucid；　strangely　clear；　his　brown

hair　was　soft　and　thick　as　silk；　he　had　a　slight　moustache。　His

skin　was　fine；　his　figure　slight；　beautiful。　Beside　him；　her

Uncle　Tom　looked　full…blown；　her　father　seemed　uncouth。　Yet　he

reminded　her　of　her　father；　only　he　was　finer；　and　he　seemed　to

be　shining。　And　his　face　was　almost　ugly。

He　seemed　simply　acquiescent　in　the　fact　of　his　own　being；　as

if　he　were　beyond　any　change　or　question。　He　was　himself。　There

was　a　sense　of　fatality　about　him　that　fascinated　her。　He　made

no　effort　to　prove　himself　to　other　people。　Let　it　be　accepted

for　what　it　was；　hi