I may add that while I anticipated such broken-hearted farewells I was quite prepared to take them easily. Time, I imagined, had brought philosophy to me also, equally agreeable and equally unexpected.
It was a Bombay ship, full of returning Anglo-Indians. I looked up and down the long saloon tables with a sense of relief and of solace8; I was again among my own people. They belonged to Bengal and to Burma, to Madras and to the Punjab, but they were all my people. I could pick out a score that I knew in fact, and there were none that in imagination I didn’t know. The look of wider seas and skies, the casual experienced glance, the touch of irony9 and of tolerance10, how well I knew it and how well I liked it! Dear old England, sitting in our wake, seemed to hold by comparison a great many soft, unsophisticated people, immensely occupied about very particular trifles. How difficult it had been, all the summer, to be interested! These of my long acquaintance belonged to my country’s Executive, acute, alert, with the marks of travail11 on them. Gladly I went in and out of the women’s cabins and listened to the argot12 of the men; my own ruling, administering, soldiering little lot.
Cecily looked at them askance. To her the atmosphere was alien, and I perceived that gently and privately13 she registered objections. She cast a disapproving14 eye upon the wife of a Conservator of Forests, who scanned with interest a distant funnel15 and laid a small wager16 that it belonged to the Messageries Maritimes. She looked with a straightened lip at the crisply stepping women who walked the deck in short and rather shabby skirts with their hands in their jacket-pockets talking transfers and promotions17; and having got up at six to make a water-colour sketch18 of the sunrise, she came to me in profound indignation to say that she had met a man in his pyjamas19; no doubt; poor wretch20, on his way to be shaved. I was unable to convince her he was not expected to visit the barber in all his clothes.
At the end of the third day she told me that she wished these people wouldn’t talk to her; she didn’t like them. I had turned in the hour we left the Channel and had not left my berth21 since, so possibly I was not in the most amiable22 mood to receive a douche of cold water. ‘I must try to remember, dear,’ I said, ‘that you have been brought up altogether in the society of pussies23 and vicars and elderly ladies, and of course you miss them. But you must have a little patience. I shall be up tomorrow, if this beastly sea continues to go down; and then we will try to find somebody suitable to introduce to you.’
‘Thank you, mamma,’ said my daughter, without a ray of suspicion. Then she added consideringly, ‘Aunt Emma and Aunt Alice do seem quite elderly ladies beside you, and yet you are older than either of them aren’t you? I wonder how that is.’
It was so innocent, so admirable, that I laughed at my own expense; while Cecily, doing her hair, considered me gravely. ‘I wish you would tell me why you laugh, mamma,’ quoth she; ‘you laugh so often.’
We had not to wait after all for my good offices of the next morning. Cecily came down at ten o’clock that night quite happy and excited; she had been talking to a bishop24, such a dear bishop. The bishop had been showing her his collection of photographs, and she had promised to play the harmonium for him at the eleven-o’clock service in the morning. ‘Bless me!’ said I, ‘is it Sunday?’ It seemed she had got on very well indeed with the bishop, who knew the married sister, at Tunbridge, of her very greatest friend. Cecily herself did not know the married sister, but that didn’t matter — it was a link. The bishop was charming. ‘Well, my love,’ said I— I was teaching myself to use these forms of address for fear she would feel an unkind lack of them, but it was difficult —‘I am glad that somebody from my part of the world has impressed you favourably25 at last. I wish we had more bishops26.’
‘Oh, but my bishop doesn’t belong to your part of the world,’ responded my daughter sleepily. ‘He is travelling for his health.’
It was the most unexpected and delightful27 thing to be packed into one’s chair next morning by Dacres Tottenham. As I emerged from the music saloon after breakfast — Cecily had stayed below to look over her hymns28 and consider with her bishop the possibility of an anthem29 — Dacres’s face was the first I saw; it simply illuminated30, for me, that portion of the deck. I noticed with pleasure the quick toss of the cigar overboard as he recognized and bore down upon me. We were immense friends; John liked him too. He was one of those people who make a tremendous difference; in all our three hundred passengers there could be no one like him, certainly no one whom I could be more glad to see. We plunged31 at once into immediate32 personal affairs, we would get at the heart of them later. He gave his vivid word to everything he had seen and done; we laughed and exclaimed and were silent in a concert of admirable understanding. We were still unravelling33, still demanding and explaining when the ship’s bell began to ring for church, and almost simultaneously34 Cecily advanced towards us. She had a proper Sunday hat on, with flowers under the brim, and a church-going frock; she wore gloves and clasped a prayer-book. Most of the women who filed past to the summons of the bell were going down as they were, in cotton blouses and serge skirts, in tweed caps or anything, as to a kind of family prayers. I knew exactly how they would lean against the pillars of the saloon during the psalms35. This young lady would be little less than a rebuke36 to them. I surveyed her approach; she positively37 walked as if it were Sunday.
‘My dear,’ I said, ‘how endimanchee you look! The bishop will be very pleased with you. This gentleman is Mr. Tottenham, who administers Her Majesty’s pleasure in parts of India about Allahabad. My daughter, Dacres.’ She was certainly looking very fresh, and her calm grey eyes had the repose38 in them that has never known itself to be disturbed about anything. I wondered whether she bowed so distantly also because it was Sunday, and then I remembered that Dacres was a young man, and that the Farnham ladies had probably taught her that it was right to be very distant with young men.
‘It is almost eleven, mamma.’
‘Yes, dear. I see you are going to church.’
‘Are you not coming, mamma?’
I was well wrapped up in an extremely comfortable corner. I had ‘La Duchesse Bleue’ uncut in my lap, and an agreeable person to talk to. I fear that in any case I should not been inclined to attend the service, but there was something in my daughter’s intonation39 that made me distinctly hostile to the idea. I am putting things down as they were, extenuating40 nothing.
‘I think not, dear.’
‘I’ve turned up two such nice seats.’
‘Stay, Miss Farnham, and keep us in countenance,’ said Dacres, with his charming smile. The smile displaced a look of discreet41 and amused observation. Dacres had an eye always for a situation, and this one was even newer to him than to me.
‘No, no. She must run away and not bully42 her mamma,’ I said. ‘When she comes back we will see how much she remembers of the sermon;’ and as the flat tinkle43 from the companion began to show signs of diminishing, Cecily, with one grieved glance, hastened down.
‘You amazing lady!’ said Dacres. ‘A daughter — and such a tall daughter! I somehow never —’
‘You knew we had one?’
‘There was theory of that kind, I remember, about ten years ago. Since then — excuse me — I don’t think you’ve mentioned her.’
‘You talk as if she were a skeleton in the closet!’
‘You DIDN’T talk — as if she were.’
‘I think she was, in a way, poor child. But the resurrection day hasn’t confounded me as I deserved. She’s a very good girl.’
‘If you had asked me to pick out your daughter —’
‘She would have been the last you would indicate! Quite so,’ I said. ‘She is like her father’s people. I can’t help that.’
‘I shouldn’t think you would if you could,’ Dacres remarked absently; but the sea air, perhaps, enabled me to digest his thoughtlessness with a smile.
‘No,’ I said, ‘I am just as well pleased. I think a resemblance to me would confuse me, often.’
There was a trace of scrutiny44 in Dacres’s glance. ‘Don’t you find yourself in sympathy with her?’ he asked.
‘My dear boy, I have seen her just twice in twenty-one years! You see, I’ve always stuck to John.’
‘But between mother and daughter — I may be old-fashioned, but I had an idea that there was an instinct that might be depended on.’
‘I am depending on it,’ I said, and let my eyes follow the little blue waves that chased past the hand-rail. ‘We are making very good speed, aren’t we? Thirty-five knots since last night at ten. Are you in the sweep?’
‘I never bet on the way out — can’t afford it. Am I old-fashioned?’ he insisted.
‘Probably. Men are very slow in changing their philosophy about women. I fancy their idea of the maternal45 relation is firmest fixed46 of all.’
‘We see it a beatitude!’ he cried.
‘I know,’ I said wearily, ‘and you never modify the view.’
Dacres contemplated47 the portion of the deck that lay between us. His eyes were discreetly48 lowered, but I saw embarrassment and speculation49 and a hint of criticism in them.
‘Tell me more about it,’ said he.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake don’t be sympathetic!’ I exclaimed. ‘Lend me a little philosophy instead. There is nothing to tell. There she is and there I am, in the most intimate relation in the world, constituted when she is twenty-one and I am forty.’ Dacres started slightly at the ominous50 word; so little do men realize that the women they like can ever pass out of the constated years of attraction. ‘I find the young lady very tolerable, very creditable, very nice. I find the relation atrocious. There you have it. I would like to break the relation into pieces,’ I went on recklessly, ‘and throw it into the sea. Such things should be tempered to one. I should feel it much less if she occupied another cabin, and would consent to call me Elizabeth or Jane. It is not as if I had been her mother always. One grows fastidious at forty — new intimacies51 are only possible then on a basis of temperament52 —’
I paused; it seemed to me that I was making excuses, and I had not the least desire in the world to do that.
‘How awfully53 rough on the girl!’ said Dacres Tottenham.
‘That consideration has also occurred to me,’ I said candidly54, ‘though I have perhaps been even more struck by its converse55.’
‘You had no earthly business to be her mother,’ said my friend, with irritation56.
I shrugged57 my shoulders — what would you have done? — and opened ‘La Duchesse Bleue’.
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收听单词发音
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1
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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10
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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12
argot
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| n.隐语，黑话 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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14
disapproving
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| adj.不满的，反对的v.不赞成( disapprove的现在分词 ) | |
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funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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16
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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17
promotions
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| 促进( promotion的名词复数 )； 提升； 推广； 宣传 | |
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18
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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19
pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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20
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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21
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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22
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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23
pussies
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| n.（粗俚） 女阴( pussy的名词复数 )；（总称）（作为性对象的）女人；（主要北美使用，非正式）软弱的；小猫咪 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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28
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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29
anthem
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| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
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30
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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31
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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32
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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33
unravelling
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| 解开，拆散，散开( unravel的现在分词 )； 阐明； 澄清； 弄清楚 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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36
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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39
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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40
extenuating
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| adj.使减轻的，情有可原的v.（用偏袒的辩解或借口）减轻( extenuate的现在分词 )；低估，藐视 | |
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41
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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42
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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43
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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44
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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45
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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46
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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47
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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48
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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49
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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50
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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51
intimacies
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| 亲密( intimacy的名词复数 )； 密切； 亲昵的言行； 性行为 | |
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52
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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53
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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54
candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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55
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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56
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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57
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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