Windover, or to give him his full name, the Hon. Anthony Charles (afterwards Lord) Windover, apart from possessing a charming personality, has a delightfully1 epigrammatic turn of speech. It was he who said that a man begins life with ideals about his mother; but ends it with convictions about his wife. On that occasion Bindle had left his seat and, solemnly walking over to Windover, had shaken him warmly by the hand, returning to his chair again without a word.
It was Windover, too, who had once striven to justify3 celibacy4 for men by saying that a benedict lived in a fool's paradise; a bachelor in some other fool's paradise.
Windover's meeting with Bindle was most dramatic. Immediately on entering the room with Carruthers, Windover's eye caught sight of Bindle seated at his small table, the customary large tankard of ale before him, blowing clouds of smoke from his short pipe. Windover had stopped dead and, screwing his glass into the corner of his left eye, a habit of his, gazed fixedly5 at him who later became our chairman. We were all feeling a little embarrassed, all save Bindle, who returned the gaze with a grin of unconcern. It was he who broke the tension by remarking to Windover.
"You don't 'appen to 'ave a nut about yer, do you sir?"
Windover had laughed and the two shook hands heartily6, Windover perhaps a little ashamed of having shown such obvious surprise. As a rule his face is a mask.
"I'm awfully7 sorry, I was trying to remember where we had met," he said rather lamely8.
"'Ush, sir, 'ush!" said Bindle looking round him apprehensively9, then in a loud whisper, "It was in Brixton, sir. You was pinched 'alf an 'our after me."
From that time Bindle and Windover became the best of friends.
When, on the death of his elder brother, killed in a bombing-raid, Windover had succeeded to the title, we were all at a loss how to express our sympathy. He is not a man with whom it is easy to condole10. He and his brother had been almost inseparables, and both had joined the army immediately on the outbreak of war.
On the Sunday following the tragedy, Windover turned up as usual. He greeted us in his customary manner, and no one liked to say anything about his loss. Bindle, however, seems to possess a genius for solving difficult problems. As he shook hands with Windover he said, "I won't call yer m'lord jest yet, sir, it'll only sort o' remind yer."
I saw Bindle wince11 at the grip Windover gave him. Later in the evening Windover remarked to Carruthers, "J.B. always makes me feel exotic," and we knew he was referring to Bindle's way of expressing sympathy at his bereavement12.
Curiously13 enough, to the end of the chapter Bindle continued to address Windover as "sir", possibly as a protest against Angell Herald14's inveterate15 "my lordliness."
Windover's story was just Windover and nobody else, and it is printed just as he narrated16 it, with injunctions "not to add or omit, lengthen17 or shorten a single garment." I have not done so.
How long I had been dead I could not conjecture18. I remembered buying a newspaper of the old man who stands at the corner of Piccadilly Place. I recollected19 that it was my intention to justify, to the smallest possible extent compatible with my instinctive20 sense of delicacy21, the letter of patient optimism that I had received that morning from my tailor. That was all. There had been no death-bed scene, with its pathos22 of farewells, no Rogers moaning piteously about his future, as he invariably did when my health showed the least deviation23 from the normal. Yet here was I dead—dead as Free Silver.
In a dingy24 apartment of four garishly25 papered walls, upon a straight-backed, black oak settle, I sat gazing into my top hat. That I was dressed for calling did not seem to cause me any very great surprise, nor was I conscious of any tremor26, or feeling of diffidence as to my fate. It seemed much as if I were waiting to see my solicitor27 upon some unimportant matter of business. I knew that I was there to be interrogated28 as to my past life. I was vaguely29 conscious that awkward questions would be asked, and that the utmost tact30 and diplomacy31 would be required to answer or evade32 them.
I was speculating as to the probable cause of my death, weighing the claims of a taxi, the end of the world and a bomb, when the door opposite to me opened and a tall angular woman appeared. Given a dusty crape bonnet33, she would have passed admirably for a Bayswater caretaker. I was taken aback: in my mind post-mortem interrogation had always been associated with the male sex.
Marvelling34 that this unattractive Vestal should be an attribute to Eternity35, I rose and bowed. My imagination had always pictured the women of the Hereafter as draped in long, white, clinging garments, and possessed36 of beautiful fluffy37 wings and a gaze of ineffable38 love and wonder. The thought of the surprise in store for the sentimental39 ballad-writers induced a chuckle40!
With a gesture of her lean hand, the Vestal motioned me from the room. At the extreme end of a gloomy corridor along which we passed, there appeared a grained door bearing in letters of white the words:—
MRS. GRUNDY
PRIVATE
My interest immediately became stimulated41. Here was an entirely42 unlooked-for development.
"Shall we go in?" I enquired43, rather out of a spirit of bravado44 than anything else.
The Vestal rebuked45 me with an expressionless stare. Presently the door opened with a startling suddenness and later closed behind us of its own accord.
The second room seemed strangely familiar. On the mantel-piece was a large gilt46 clock in a glass case, flanked on either side by an enormous pink lustre47 with its abominable48 crystal drops. The furniture was either ponderous49 or "what-notty", and every possible thing was covered, as if to be undraped were indelicate. On the chairs were antimacassars, table-cloths hid the shameless polish of the wood, the pattern of the Brussels carpet was modified in its flamboyancy50 by innumerable mats. The walls were a mass of pictures, and in front of the only window were lace curtains of a tint51 known technically52 as "ecru." There were two collections of impossible wax fruits covered by oval glasses, a square case of incredibly active-looking stuffed birds, and a bewildering mass of photographs in frames. Here and there on tables were a few select volumes, ostentatiously laid open with silk hand-painted bookmarks threading through their virgin53 pages. I identified "The Lady of the Lake," Smiles, "Self Help," "Holy Living and Holy Dying," the works of Martin Tupper, and the inevitable54 family bible.
At a large round-table opposite to the door sat a presence—a woman in form, in clothing, in everything but sex. It was quizzing Disapproval55 in black silk, with a gold chain round its neck from which hung a large cameo locket. Its grey hair, very thin on top, was stowed away in a net with appalling56 precision. It had three chins, and grey eyes, behind which lurked57 neither soul nor emotion. It was the personification of the triumph of virtue58 untempted.
I bowed. The eyes regarded me impassively, then turned to the massive volume before them. It was bound in embossed black leather with gilt edges and a heavy gilt clasp. I was incredulous that the Sins of Society could be all contained in one book; but decided59 that it was made possible by the use of the word "ditto." Society is never original in anything, least of all its sinning.
In the hope of attracting to myself the attention hitherto considered my due, I began to fidget. Presently, and without looking up, Mrs. Grundy, as I judged her to be, demanded in a smooth, colourless voice:—
"Your name?"
"Anthony Charles Windover," I responded glibly60.
"Age?"
I coughed deprecatingly.
"Age?" It was as if I heard the uninflected accents of Destiny.
"Is it absolutely necessary?" I queried61.
"Absolutely!"
"Forty-three. Of course in confidence," I added hastily.
"There is no confidence in Eternity."
"Then you, too, are a sceptic?" I ventured. She merely stared at me fixedly, then proceeded to turn over the leaves of the tome in front of her. Soon she found what appeared to be the correct page. After fully2 a minute's deliberate contemplation of the entry, she looked up suddenly and regarded me with a solemn gravity that struck me as grotesque63.
"Not a very bad case, let's hope," I put in cheerfully. "There have been——"
"Silence!"
I started as if shot, and looking round discovered beside me the impassive visage of the ill-favoured Vestal of the ante-room.
"I wish you wouldn't bawl64 in my ear like that," I snapped. "It's most unpleasant."
"Anthony Charles Windover," it was Mrs. Grundy who spoke65 in a voice that was deep-throated and disapproving66, "age forty-three." She looked up again with her cold and malevolent67 stare; "yours is a grave record; we will deal with it in detail."
"Surely, Madam," I protested, "it is not necessary to go over everything. I am so hopeless at accounts."
"First there was the case of Cecily Somers," she proceeded unmoved.
"A mere62 boy and girl affair. Cecily was young, and—well, it didn't last long."
"Then there was the case of Laura Merton," continued the arch-inquisitor.
"Poor Laura," I murmured. "I never could resist red hair, and hers was——poor Laura!"
"There were circumstances of a very grave nature."
"You mean the curate? He was a bloodless creature; besides it all ended happily."
"You intervened between an affianced man and wife," continued Mrs. Grundy.
"I am very sorry to appear rude, Madam," I protested hotly, irritated by the even, colourless tones of her voice, "but it was Laura's hair that intervened! Am I to blame because she preferred the ripeness of my maturity68 to the callowness of his inexperience?"
"You caused her mother—an estimable lady—indescribable anguish69 of soul."
"She hadn't one," I replied, triumphantly70, "She was a scheming old——"
"Silence!" fulminated the Vestal again.
"Really, madam," I protested with asperity71, "unless you request this person not to shout in my ear, I shall refuse to remain here another minute."
"There was Rosie de Lisle——"
"Ah, what ankles! what legs! what——" I was interrupted by a gurgle from the Vestal in whose eyes there was something more than horror. I turned and found Mrs. Grundy obviously striving to regain72 the power of speech.
Conscious that my ecstasy73 upon Rosie's legs had caused the trouble, I hastened to explain that I had seen them in common with the rest of the play-going world.
"Rosie was the belle74 of the Frivolity," I proceeded, "Bishops75 have been known to hasten ordinations76, or delay confirmations77 because of Rosie's legs. She danced divinely!"
Rosie's legs seemed to have a remarkable78 effect upon Mrs. Grundy. She hurriedly turned over the pages of her book and then turned them back again.
"There was Evelyn Relton——"
"A minx, madam, to adopt the idiom of your sex, whilst my kisses were still warm upon her lips——" Another gurgle from the Vestal and a "look" from Mrs. Grundy,—"she married a wealthy brewer79, and is now the mother of eight embryo80 brewers, or is it nine?"
"You—you are aggravating81 your case, stammered82 Mrs. Grundy, with some asperity.
"I am very sorry, but your attitude annoys me; it always did. I'm a social free-trader, a bohemian——"
"STOP!" thundered Mrs. Grundy. "That word is never permitted here."
"I think you're extremely suburban," I replied. "You might be Tooting, or even Brixton from your attitude."
Ignoring this, Mrs. Grundy proceeded to read the names of a number of women who had long ceased to be to me anything but names. I could not even remember if they were dark or fair, tall or short. At last she reached Mary Vincent, relict of Josiah Vincent, pork-packer of Chicago.
"Why, she was a most shameless person," I cried. "I am surprised, madam, that you should support such a woman. She actually proposed to me."
"Ahem!" coughed Mrs. Grundy, apparently83 somewhat taken aback.
"A fact! She asked me if I did not think a middle-aged84 man—she was always impertinent—would have a better chance of happiness with a woman of ripe experience, a widow for instance, than with some mere inexperienced girl. Really a most offensive suggestion."
"It's very curious," muttered Mrs. Grundy, as she turned over the leaves in obvious embarrassment85. "It's very curious, but I see no record here of any such conversation."
"Ha! I thought your books were defective," I exclaimed, now feeling thoroughly86 at my ease. "Why, I have letters, shameless letters, from Mrs. Vincent, which would make your hair stand on end." I did not appreciate until too late how thin and sparse87 her hair really was.
"We will proceed," was her response. I was secretly glad that she had dropped that even tone of inevitability88 and remembered Tully's axiom "make a woman angry and she is half won over."
"There was the case of Sir John Plumtree, 26th baronet. You committed a most brutal89 assault upon that most distinguished90 man."
"Plumtree was a bounder, more at home in his own country house than among gentlemen. I certainly did punch his head in the club smoking-room; but do you know why, madam?"
"There is no mention of the cause," said Mrs. Grundy, a little ill at ease.
"We were discussing a very charming member of your sex"—(Mrs. Grundy started and coughed, the word "sex" evidently distressed91 her)—"when Plum, as we called him, growled92 out that all women were—I really cannot repeat it, but he quoted a saying of a well-known Eastern potentate93 whose matrimonial affairs were somewhat—"
"We will pass on," said Mrs. Grundy, huskily. I thought I detected a slight reddening of the sallow cheeks, whilst the Vestal coughed loudly.
"I should really prefer not to pass over this little affair so lightly," I remarked sweetly, seeing my advantage. "There were several circumstances which—"
"We will pass on," was the firm reply, "I will not proceed with that specific charge." The smile with which I greeted this concession94 did not conduce to put my interlocutor at her ease. "There are certain unconventions recorded against you. We will take a few of the most glaring."
"Why this reticence95? Can we not take them all and in chronological96 order?" I enquired, settling myself in the most comfortless of chairs. Disregarding my request, Mrs. Grundy proceeded:
"On the night of June 7th, 1914, you dined with Mrs. Walker Trevor at ——," she paused and bent97 over the register.
"This is very strange," she muttered, sotto voce. "I don't quite see the reason of this entry. There seems to have been a mistake."
"Can I assist you?" I ventured, becoming interested.
She paid no heed98 to my offer, and after a few minutes' silence proceeded in the same half-muttering voice.
"Dined with Mrs. Walker Trevor, wife of Captain Walker Trevor, absent on military duty, at Princes, P.R. It does not say what prince, but rank is——" She paused, then continued: "There is no breach99 of the conventions in dining at a prince's, even with a married lady whose husband is away. I cannot understand the meaning of P.R. either. It is very strange, very strange indeed."
Here I broke in. "Permit me, madam, to explain. I think you are labouring under a mistake. Princes is a famous Piccadilly Restaurant, which has lost some of its one-time glory through the opening of the Carlton and the Ritz. 'P.R.' of course means Private Room. It was Millicent's idea."
At this juncture100 there was a loud knocking, evidently at the end of the corridor, followed by expostulations in an angry voice and interjections of "Silence!" in what appeared to be a replica101 of the Vestal's tones. Mrs. Grundy looked up, scandalised enquiry imprinted102 on her visage.
"I'm goin' in, I tell you," the angry voice was now just outside. "Get out of the way, you old Jezebel! Silence? I'm damned if I'll be silent. Why I've sneezed three times already. Draughty hole! Get out of the way I say."
The door burst open and there entered a little man in a very great passion. I recognised him instantly as the Duke of Shires, a notorious viveur and director of wild-cat companies. I leant forward and whispered to Mrs. Grundy the name of her illustrious visitor.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, Duke," I remarked smilingly. He regarded me for a few minutes coldly.
"Who the devil are you, and who's that old —— sitting there?"—indicating Mrs. Grundy. Then without waiting for a reply, he continued: "I know you now: you're the feller that said that dashed impertinent thing about my being the Duke of Shares."
"I had the honour, Duke, of immortalising Your Grace in epigram. Wherever the English language is——"
"Then be damned to you, sir," was the angry response.
"We were not expecting Your Grace yet," interposed Mrs. Grundy; I was astonished at the unctuous103 tones she adopted in speaking to the Duke.
"No, nor I, confound it! I've just been knocked down by a taxicab, light green, driver had red hair, couldn't see his number."
"I am extremely sorry," croaked104 Mrs. Grundy in what she evidently intended to be ingratiating tones. "Will not Your Grace take a seat."
"No, I won't!" the Duke tossed his head indignantly. "Draughty hole—damn it, sir, what are you grinning at?"
The remark was directed at me. The little man made a dive in my direction, and in stepping back to avoid him I knocked my head violently against what appeared to be the mantel-piece, although I had been sitting several yards from it.
* * * * *
"What is it?" I looked about dazed. Two policemen were bending over me, and behind them was a sea of interested faces that looked very pale, I was out of doors, apparently sitting on the pavement, with my head propped105 up upon a policeman's knee.
"It was a banana skin, sir," responded one of the policemen, holding up something before my eyes—(how the police love an "exhibit")—"you 'urt your 'ead, sir, but you're all right now."
"And Mrs. Grundy and the Duke?" I queried.
"'Ere's the stretcher!" said a voice.
"It's a bad business, I'm afraid 'e'll——"
Then my mind trailed off into darkness and my body was trundled off to St. George's Hospital, from which the almost tearful Rogers later fetched me in a taxi, bemoaning106 the narrowness, not of my escape from death, but his own from destitution107.
"I wonder wot 'Earty 'ud think o' that little yarn," Bindle remarked meditatively108 as he tapped the table before him with his mallet109 in token of applause. As chairman Bindle modelled himself upon him who lords it over the public-house "smoker110." "'E wouldn't like to 'ave to give up 'is 'arp with angels flapping about."
"But it's only a—a—sort of dream, like mine," interjected Angell Herald, with a touch of superior knowledge in his voice.
Bindle turned and regarded Angell Herald as if he were an object of great interest. Then when he had apparently satisfied himself in every particular about his identity, he remarked quietly with a grin:
"O' course it was. Silly o' me to forget. Poor ole 'Earty. I wouldn't 'ave 'im disappointed. 'E's nuts on 'arps."
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1
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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celibacy
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| n.独身(主义) | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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condole
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| v.同情；慰问 | |
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wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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bereavement
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| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lengthen
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| vt.使伸长，延长 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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deviation
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| n.背离，偏离；偏差，偏向；离题 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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garishly
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| adv.鲜艳夺目地，俗不可耐地；华丽地 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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interrogated
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| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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tact
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diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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marvelling
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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flamboyancy
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| n.火焰状，浮华 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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technically
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| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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bawl
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| v.大喊大叫，大声地喊，咆哮 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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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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malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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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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ordinations
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| n.授予神职( ordination的名词复数 )；授圣职 | |
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confirmations
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| 证实( confirmation的名词复数 )； 证据； 确认； （基督教中的）坚信礼 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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embryo
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| n.胚胎，萌芽的事物 | |
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aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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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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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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inevitability
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| n.必然性 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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potentate
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| n.统治者；君主 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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chronological
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| adj.按年月顺序排列的，年代学的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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replica
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| n.复制品 | |
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imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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103
unctuous
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| adj.油腔滑调的，大胆的 | |
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104
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bemoaning
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| v.为（某人或某事）抱怨( bemoan的现在分词 )；悲悼；为…恸哭；哀叹 | |
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107
destitution
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| n.穷困，缺乏，贫穷 | |
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108
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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109
mallet
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| n.槌棒 | |
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110
smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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