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"You know, we English are so dreadfully ignorant. You must forgive me if it's necessary to explain." Then she turned to me. "Mr. Van Busche Taylor is the distinguished American critic. If you haven't read his book your education has been shamefully neglected, and you must repair the omission at once. He's writing something about dear Charlie, and he's come to ask me if I can help him."
“你知道，我们英国人见闻狭窄，简直太可怕了。如果我不得不做些解释，你一定得原谅我。”接着她转过来对我说：“凡·布施·泰勒先生就是那位美国最有名的评论家。如果你没有读过他的著作，你的教育可未免太欠缺了；你必须立刻着手弥补一下。泰勒先生现在正在写一点儿东西，关于亲爱的查理斯的。他特地来我这里看看我能不能帮他的忙。”
Mr. Van Busche Taylor was a very thin man with a large, bald head, bony and shining; and under the great dome of his skull his face, yellow, with deep lines in it, looked very small. He was quiet and exceedingly polite. He spoke with the accent of New England, and there was about his demeanour a bloodless frigidity which made me ask myself why on earth he was busying himself with Charles Strickland. I had been slightly tickled at the gentleness which Mrs. Strickland put into her mention of her husband's name, and while the pair conversed I took stock of the room in which we sat. Mrs. Strickland had moved with the times. Gone were the Morris papers and gone the severe cretonnes, gone were the Arundel prints that had adorned the walls of her drawing-room in Ashley Gardens; the room blazed with fantastic colour, and I wondered if she knew that those varied hues, which fashion had imposed upon her, were due to the dreams of a poor painter in a South Sea island. She gave me the answer herself.
凡·布施·泰勒先生身体非常削瘦，生着一个大秃脑袋，骨头支棱着，头皮闪闪发亮；大宽脑门下面一张脸面色焦黄，满是皱纹，显得枯干瘦小。他举止文静，彬彬有礼，说话时带着些新英格兰州口音。这个人给我的印象非常僵硬刻板，毫无热情；我真不知道他怎么会想到要研究查理斯·思特里克兰德来。思特里克兰德太太在提到她死去的丈夫时，语气非常温柔，我暗自觉得好笑。在这两人谈话的当儿，我把我们坐的这间客厅打量了一番。思特里克兰德太太是个紧跟时尚的人。她在阿施里花园旧居时那些室内装饰都不见了，墙上糊的不再是莫里斯墙纸，家具上套的不再是色彩朴素的印花布，旧日装饰着客厅四壁的阿伦德尔图片也都撤下去了。现在这间客厅是一片光怪陆离的颜色，我很怀疑，她知道不知道她把屋子装点得五颜六色的这种风尚都是因为南海岛屿上一个可怜的画家有过这种幻梦。对我的这个疑问她自己作出了回答。
