The other guests included Serena Golackly and Lady Veula, the latter having been asked on the inspiration of the moment at the theatrical6 first-night. In the height of the Season it was not easy to get together a goodly selection of guests at short notice, and Francesca had gladly fallen in with Serena’s suggestion of bringing with her Stephen Thorle, who was alleged7, in loose feminine phrasing, to “know all about” tropical Africa. His travels and experiences in those regions probably did not cover much ground or stretch over any great length of time, but he was one of those individuals who can describe a continent on the strength of a few days’ stay in a coast town as intimately and dogmatically as a paleontologist will reconstruct an extinct mammal from the evidence of a stray shin bone. He had the loud penetrating8 voice and the prominent penetrating eyes of a man who can do no listening in the ordinary way and whose eyes have to perform the function of listening for him. His vanity did not necessarily make him unbearable9, unless one had to spend much time in his society, and his need for a wide field of audience and admiration10 was mercifully calculated to spread his operations over a considerable human area. Moreover, his craving11 for attentive12 listeners forced him to interest himself in a wonderful variety of subjects on which he was able to discourse13 fluently and with a certain semblance14 of special knowledge. Politics he avoided; the ground was too well known, and there was a definite no to every definite yes that could be put forward. Moreover, argument was not congenial to his disposition15, which preferred an unchallenged flow of dissertation16 modified by occasional helpful questions which formed the starting point for new offshoots of word-spinning. The promotion17 of cottage industries, the prevention of juvenile18 street trading, the extension of the Borstal prison system, the furtherance of vague talkative religious movements the fostering of inter-racial ententes19, all found in him a tireless exponent20, a fluent and entertaining, though perhaps not very convincing, advocate. With the real motive21 power behind these various causes he was not very closely identified; to the spade-workers who carried on the actual labours of each particular movement he bore the relation of a trowel-worker, delving22 superficially at the surface, but able to devote a proportionately far greater amount of time to the advertisement of his progress and achievements. Such was Stephen Thorle, a governess in the nursery of Chelsea-bred religions, a skilled window-dresser in the emporium of his own personality, and needless to say, evanescently popular amid a wide but shifting circle of acquaintances. He improved on the record of a socially much-travelled individual whose experience has become classical, and went to most of the best houses — twice.
His inclusion as a guest at this particular dinner-party was not a very happy inspiration. He was inclined to patronise Comus, as well as the African continent, and on even slighter acquaintance. With the exception of Henry Greech, whose feelings towards his nephew had been soured by many years of overt23 antagonism24, there was an uncomfortable feeling among those present that the topic of the black-sheep export trade, as Comus would have himself expressed it, was being given undue25 prominence26 in what should have been a festive27 farewell banquet. And Comus, in whose honour the feast was given, did not contribute much towards its success; though his spirits seemed strung up to a high pitch his merriment was more the merriment of a cynical28 and amused onlooker29 than of one who responds to the gaiety of his companions. Sometimes he laughed quietly to himself at some chance remark of a scarcely mirth-provoking nature, and Lady Veula, watching him narrowly, came to the conclusion that an element of fear was blended with his seemingly buoyant spirits. Once or twice he caught her eye across the table, and a certain sympathy seemed to grow up between them, as though they were both consciously watching some lugubrious30 comedy that was being played out before them.
An untoward31 little incident had marked the commencement of the meal. A small still-life picture that hung over the sideboard had snapped its cord and slid down with an alarming clatter32 on to the crowded board beneath it. The picture itself was scarcely damaged, but its fall had been accompanied by a tinkle33 of broken glass, and it was found that a liqueur glass, one out of a set of seven that would be impossible to match, had been shivered into fragments. Francesca’s almost motherly love for her possessions made her peculiarly sensible to a feeling of annoyance34 and depression at the accident, but she turned politely to listen to Mrs. Greech’s account of a misfortune in which four soup-plates were involved. Mrs. Henry was not a brilliant conversationalist, and her flank was speedily turned by Stephen Thorle, who recounted a slum experience in which two entire families did all their feeding out of one damaged soup-plate.
“The gratitude35 of those poor creatures when I presented them with a set of table crockery apiece, the tears in their eyes and in their voices when they thanked me, would be impossible to describe.”
“Thank you all the same for describing it,” said Comus.
The listening eyes went swiftly round the table to gather evidence as to how this rather disconcerting remark had been received, but Thorle’s voice continued uninterruptedly to retail36 stories of East-end gratitude, never failing to mention the particular deeds of disinterested37 charity on his part which had evoked38 and justified39 the gratitude. Mrs. Greech had to suppress the interesting sequel to her broken-crockery narrative40, to wit, how she subsequently matched the shattered soup-plates at Harrod’s. Like an imported plant species that sometimes flourishes exceedingly, and makes itself at home to the dwarfing41 and overshadowing of all native species, Thorle dominated the dinner-party and thrust its original purport42 somewhat into the background. Serena began to look helplessly apologetic. It was altogether rather a relief when the filling of champagne43 glasses gave Francesca an excuse for bringing matters back to their intended footing.
“We must all drink a health,” she said; “Comus, my own dear boy, a safe and happy voyage to you, much prosperity in the life you are going out to, and in due time a safe and happy return —”
Her hand gave an involuntary jerk in the act of raising the glass, and the wine went streaming across the tablecloth44 in a froth of yellow bubbles. It certainly was not turning out a comfortable or auspicious45 dinner party.
“My dear mother,” cried Comus, “you must have been drinking healths all the afternoon to make your hand so unsteady.”
He laughed gaily46 and with apparent carelessness, but again Lady Veula caught the frightened note in his laughter. Mrs. Henry, with practical sympathy, was telling Francesca two good ways for getting wine stains out of tablecloths47. The smaller economies of life were an unnecessary branch of learning for Mrs. Greech, but she studied them as carefully and conscientiously48 as a stay-at-home plain-dwelling English child commits to memory the measurements and altitudes of the world’s principal mountain peaks. Some women of her temperament49 and mentality50 know by heart the favourite colours, flowers and hymn-tunes of all the members of the Royal Family; Mrs. Greech would possibly have failed in an examination of that nature, but she knew what to do with carrots that have been over-long in storage.
Francesca did not renew her speech-making; a chill seemed to have fallen over all efforts at festivity, and she contented51 herself with refilling her glass and simply drinking to her boy’s good health. The others followed her example, and Comus drained his glass with a brief “thank you all very much.” The sense of constraint52 which hung over the company was not, however, marked by any uncomfortable pause in the conversation. Henry Greech was a fluent thinker, of the kind that prefer to do their thinking aloud; the silence that descended53 on him as a mantle54 in the House of Commons was an official livery of which he divested55 himself as thoroughly56 as possible in private life. He did not propose to sit through dinner as a mere57 listener to Mr. Thorle’s personal narrative of philanthropic movements and experiences, and took the first opportunity of launching himself into a flow of satirical observations on current political affairs. Lady Veula was inured58 to this sort of thing in her own home circle, and sat listening with the stoical indifference59 with which an Esquimau might accept the occurrence of one snowstorm the more, in the course of an Arctic winter. Serena Golackly felt a certain relief at the fact that her imported guest was not, after all, monopolising the conversation. But the latter was too determined60 a personality to allow himself to be thrust aside for many minutes by the talkative M.P. Henry Greech paused for an instant to chuckle61 at one of his own shafts62 of satire63, and immediately Thorle’s penetrating voice swept across the table.
“Oh, you politicians!” he exclaimed, with pleasant superiority; “you are always fighting about how things should be done, and the consequence is you are never able to do anything. Would you like me to tell you what a Unitarian horsedealer said to me at Brindisi about politicians?”
A Unitarian horsedealer at Brindisi had all the allurement64 of the unexpected. Henry Greech’s witticisms65 at the expense of the Front Opposition66 bench were destined67 to remain as unfinished as his wife’s history of the broken soup-plates. Thorle was primed with an ample succession of stories and themes, chiefly concerning poverty, thriftlessness, reclamation68, reformed characters, and so forth69, which carried him in an almost uninterrupted sequence through the remainder of the dinner.
“What I want to do is to make people think,” he said, turning his prominent eyes on to his hostess; “it’s so hard to make people think.”
“At any rate you give them the opportunity,” said Comus, cryptically70.
As the ladies rose to leave the table Comus crossed over to pick up one of Lady Veula’s gloves that had fallen to the floor.
“I did not know you kept a dog,” said Lady Veula.
“We don’t,” said Comus, “there isn’t one in the house.”
“I could have sworn I saw one follow you across the hall this evening,” she said.
“A small black dog, something like a schipperke?” asked Comus in a low voice.
“Yes, that was it.”
“I saw it myself to-night; it ran from behind my chair just as I was sitting down. Don’t say anything to the others about it; it would frighten my mother.”
“Have you ever seen it before?” Lady Veula asked quickly.
“Once, when I was six years old. It followed my father downstairs.”
Lady Veula said nothing. She knew that Comus had lost his father at the age of six.
In the drawing-room Serena made nervous excuses for her talkative friend.
“Really, rather an interesting man, you know, and up to the eyes in all sorts of movements. Just the sort of person to turn loose at a drawing-room meeting, or to send down to a mission-hall in some unheard-of neighbourhood. Given a sounding-board and a harmonium, and a titled woman of some sort in the chair, and he’ll be perfectly71 happy; I must say I hadn’t realised how overpowering he might be at a small dinner-party.”
“I should say he was a very good man,” said Mrs. Greech; she had forgiven the mutilation of her soup-plate story.
The party broke up early as most of the guests had other engagements to keep. With a belated recognition of the farewell nature of the occasion they made pleasant little good-bye remarks to Comus, with the usual predictions of prosperity and anticipations72 of an ultimate auspicious return. Even Henry Greech sank his personal dislike of the boy for the moment, and made hearty73 jocular allusions74 to a home-coming, which, in the elder man’s eyes, seemed possibly pleasantly remote. Lady Veula alone made no reference to the future; she simply said, “Good-bye, Comus,” but her voice was the kindest of all and he responded with a look of gratitude. The weariness in her eyes was more marked than ever as she lay back against the cushions of her carriage.
“What a tragedy life is,” she said, aloud to herself.
Serena and Stephen Thorle were the last to leave, and Francesca stood alone for a moment at the head of the stairway watching Comus laughing and chatting as he escorted the departing guests to the door. The ice-wall was melting under the influence of coming separation, and never had he looked more adorably handsome in her eyes, never had his merry laugh and mischief-loving gaiety seemed more infectious than on this night of his farewell banquet. She was glad enough that he was going away from a life of idleness and extravagance and temptation, but she began to suspect that she would miss, for a little while at any rate, the high-spirited boy who could be so attractive in his better moods. Her impulse, after the guests had gone, was to call him to her and hold him once more in her arms, and repeat her wishes for his happiness and good-luck in the land he was going to, and her promise of his welcome back, some not too distant day, to the land he was leaving. She wanted to forget, and to make him forget, the months of irritable75 jangling and sharp discussions, the months of cold aloofness76 and indifference and to remember only that he was her own dear Comus as in the days of yore, before he had grown from an unmanageable pickle77 into a weariful problem. But she feared lest she should break down, and she did not wish to cloud his light-hearted gaiety on the very eve of his departure. She watched him for a moment as he stood in the hall, settling his tie before a mirror, and then went quietly back to her drawing-room. It had not been a very successful dinner party, and the general effect it had left on her was one of depression.
Comus, with a lively musical-comedy air on his lips, and a look of wretchedness in his eyes, went out to visit the haunts that he was leaving so soon.
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1
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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obtuseness
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| 感觉迟钝 | |
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boisterously
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| adv.喧闹地，吵闹地 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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dissertation
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| n.（博士学位）论文，学术演讲，专题论文 | |
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17
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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18
juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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ententes
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| n.协定，协约，有协定关系的各国（党派）( entente的名词复数 ) | |
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exponent
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| n.倡导者，拥护者；代表人物；指数，幂 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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delving
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的现在分词 ) | |
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overt
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| adj.公开的，明显的，公然的 | |
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antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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onlooker
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| n.旁观者，观众 | |
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lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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untoward
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| adj.不利的，不幸的，困难重重的 | |
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32
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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33
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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dwarfing
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| n.矮化病 | |
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42
purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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43
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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44
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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45
auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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tablecloths
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| n.桌布，台布( tablecloth的名词复数 ) | |
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48
conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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49
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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50
mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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51
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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52
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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53
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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54
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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55
divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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56
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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57
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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58
inured
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| adj.坚强的，习惯的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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60
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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61
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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62
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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63
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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64
allurement
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| n.诱惑物 | |
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witticisms
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| n.妙语，俏皮话( witticism的名词复数 ) | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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68
reclamation
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| n.开垦；改造；（废料等的）回收 | |
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69
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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70
cryptically
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71
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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72
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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73
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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74
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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75
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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76
aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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77
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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