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- Джордж Элиот
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- Стр. 147/572
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For
an
instant
he
felt
that
the
struggle
,
was
causing
a
queer
contortion
of
his
mobile
features
,
but
with
a
good
effort
he
resolved
it
into
nothing
more
offensive
than
a
merry
smile
.
Dorothea
wondered
;
but
the
smile
was
irresistible
,
and
shone
back
from
her
face
too
.
Will
Ladislaw
’
s
smile
was
delightful
,
unless
you
were
angry
with
him
beforehand
:
it
was
a
gush
of
inward
light
illuminating
the
transparent
skin
as
well
as
the
eyes
,
and
playing
about
every
curve
and
line
as
if
some
Ariel
were
touching
them
with
a
new
charm
,
and
banishing
forever
the
traces
of
moodiness
.
The
reflection
of
that
smile
could
not
but
have
a
little
merriment
in
it
too
,
even
under
dark
eyelashes
still
moist
,
as
Dorothea
said
inquiringly
,
"
Something
amuses
you
?
"
"
Yes
,
"
said
Will
,
quick
in
finding
resources
.
"
I
am
thinking
of
the
sort
of
figure
I
cut
the
first
time
I
saw
you
,
when
you
annihilated
my
poor
sketch
with
your
criticism
.
"
"
My
criticism
?
"
said
Dorothea
,
wondering
still
more
.
"
Surely
not
.
I
always
feel
particularly
ignorant
about
painting
.
"
"
I
suspected
you
of
knowing
so
much
,
that
you
knew
how
to
say
just
what
was
most
cutting
.
You
said
—
I
dare
say
you
don
’
t
remember
it
as
I
do
—
that
the
relation
of
my
sketch
to
nature
was
quite
hidden
from
you
.
At
least
,
you
implied
that
.
"
Will
could
laugh
now
as
well
as
smile
.
"
That
was
really
my
ignorance
,
"
said
Dorothea
,
admiring
Will
’
s
good
-
humor
.
"
I
must
have
said
so
only
because
I
never
could
see
any
beauty
in
the
pictures
which
my
uncle
told
me
all
judges
thought
very
fine
.
And
I
have
gone
about
with
just
the
same
ignorance
in
Rome
.
There
are
comparatively
few
paintings
that
I
can
really
enjoy
.
At
first
when
I
enter
a
room
where
the
walls
are
covered
with
frescos
,
or
with
rare
pictures
,
I
feel
a
kind
of
awe
—
like
a
child
present
at
great
ceremonies
where
there
are
grand
robes
and
processions
;
I
feel
myself
in
the
presence
of
some
higher
life
than
my
own
.
But
when
I
begin
to
examine
the
pictures
one
by
on
the
life
goes
out
of
them
,
or
else
is
something
violent
and
strange
to
me
.
It
must
be
my
own
dulness
.
I
am
seeing
so
much
all
at
once
,
and
not
understanding
half
of
it
.
That
always
makes
one
feel
stupid
.
It
is
painful
to
be
told
that
anything
is
very
fine
and
not
be
able
to
feel
that
it
is
fine
—
something
like
being
blind
,
while
people
talk
of
the
sky
.
"
"
Oh
,
there
is
a
great
deal
in
the
feeling
for
art
which
must
be
acquired
,
"
said
Will
.
(
It
was
impossible
now
to
doubt
the
directness
of
Dorothea
’
s
confession
.
)
"
Art
is
an
old
language
with
a
great
many
artificial
affected
styles
,
and
sometimes
the
chief
pleasure
one
gets
out
of
knowing
them
is
the
mere
sense
of
knowing
.
I
enjoy
the
art
of
all
sorts
here
immensely
;
but
I
suppose
if
I
could
pick
my
enjoyment
to
pieces
I
should
find
it
made
up
of
many
different
threads
.
There
is
something
in
daubing
a
little
one
’
s
self
,
and
having
an
idea
of
the
process
.
"
