Alphonse Daudet.
The last Sunday in March was Show Sunday; and Frank, who was of a festive1 disposition2, had invited all the people he knew in London to inspect his pictures and Mr. Oakley's before they were sent in to the Royal Academy.
Mr. Oakley was a middle-aged3 Bohemian, who had made a small success in his youth and never got beyond it. It had been enough, however, to launch him into the artistic4 world, and it was probably only owing to the countenance5 of his brothers of[Pg 126] the brush that he was able to sell his pictures at all. Oakley was an accepted fact, if nothing more; the critics treated him with respect if without enthusiasm; the exhibition committees hung him, though not indeed on the line, and the public bought his pictures, which had the advantage of being moderate in price and signed with a name that everybody knew.
Of course this indifferent child of the earth had a wife and family; and he had been only too glad to share his studio expenses with young Jermyn, whose father, the Cornish clergyman, had been a friend of his own youth.
"I wonder," said Gertrude, as the Lorimers dressed for Frank's party, "if there will be a lot of gorgeous people this afternoon?" And she looked ruefully at the patch on her boot, with a humiliating reminiscence of Darrell's watchful6 eye.
"I don't expect so," answered Phyllis, whose pretty feet were appropriately shod. "You know what dowdy7 people one meets at the Oakleys. Oh, of course they know others, but they don't turn up, somehow."
"Then there will be Mr. Jermyn's people,"[Pg 127] said Lucy, inspecting her gloves with a frown.
"A lot of pretty, well-dressed girls, no doubt," answered Phyllis; "I expect that well-beloved youth has a wife in every port, or at least a young woman in every suburb."
"Apropos," said Gertrude, "I wonder if the Devonshires will be there. We never seem to see Conny in these days."
"Isn't it rather a strain on friendship," answered Phyllis, shrewdly, "when two sets of our friends become acquainted, and seem to prefer one another to us, the old and tried and trusty friend of each?"
"What horrid9 things you say sometimes, Phyllis," objected Lucy, as the three sisters trooped downstairs.
Fanny was not with them; she was spending the day with some relations of her mother's.
A curious, dreamlike sensation stole over Gertrude at finding herself once again in a roomful of people; and as an old war-horse is said to become excited at the sound of battle, so she felt the social instincts rise strongly within her as the familiar, forgotten pageant10 of nods and becks and wreathed smiles burst anew upon her.
[Pg 128]
Frank shot across the room, like an arrow from the bow, as the Lorimers entered.
"How late you are," he said; "I was beginning to have a horrible fear that you were not coming at all."
"How pretty it all is," said Lucy, sweetly. "Those great brass11 jars with the daffodils are charming; and what an overwhelming number of people."
Conny came up to them, splendid as ever, but with a restless light in her eyes, an unnatural12 flush on her cheek.
"How do you do, girls?" she said, abruptly13. "You look seedy, Gerty." Then, as Frank moved off to fetch them some tea: "I do so hate afternoon affairs, don't you?"
"How pretty Frank looks," whispered Phyllis to Lucy; "I like to see him flying in and out among the people, as though his life depended on it, don't you? And the daffodil in his coat just suits his complexion14."
"Phyllis, don't be so silly!"
Lucy refrained from smiling, but her eyes followed, with some amusement, the picturesque15 and active figure of her host, as he went about his duties with his usual air of earnestness and candour.
[Pg 129]
"Come and look at the pictures, Lucy. That's what you're here for, you know," remarked Fred, who had joined their group, and was looking the very embodiment of Philistine16 comeliness17. "I haven't seen you for an age," he added, as they made their way to one of the easels.
"That is your own fault, isn't it?" said Lucy, lightly.
"Conny has got it into her head that you don't care to see us."
"How can Conny be so silly?"
"Don't tell her I told you. She would be in no end of a wax," he added, as Phyllis and Constance pressed by them in the crush.
Gertrude was still standing18 near the doorway19, sipping20 her tea, and looking about her with a rather wistful interest. She had caught here and there glimpses of familiar faces, faces from her own old world—that world which, taken en masse, she had so fervently21 disliked; but no one had taken any notice of the young woman by the doorway, with her pale face and suit of rusty8 black.
"I feel like a ghost," she said to Frank, as she handed him her empty cup.
"You do look horribly white," he [Pg 130]answered, with genuine concern; "I wish you were looking as well as your sisters—Miss Phyllis for instance."
He glanced across as he spoke22 with undisguised admiration23 at the slim young figure, and blooming face of the girl, who stood smiling down with amiable24 indifference25 at one of his own canvasses26.
Phyllis Lorimer belonged to that rare order of women who are absolutely independent of their clothes.
By the side of her old black gown and well-worn hat, Constance Devonshire's elaborate spring costume looked vulgar and obtrusive27; and Constance herself, in the light of her friend's more delicate beauty, seemed bourgeoise and overblown.
The effect of this contrast was not lost on two men who, at this point of the proceedings28, strolled into the room, and whom the Oakleys came forward with some empressement to receive.
"I have brought you Lord Watergate," Gertrude heard one of them say, in a voice which she recognised at once, the sound of which filled her with a vague sense of discomfort29.
"Darrell, by all that's wonderful!"[Pg 131] said Frank, sotto voce, his eyes shining with enthusiasm; "there, with the light Vandyke beard—but you know him already."
"Hasn't he a Show Sunday of his own?" replied Gertrude, in a voice that implied that the wish was father to the thought.
"He has a gallery all to himself in Bond Street this season. I wonder if he will sing this afternoon."
"Mr. Darrell is a person of many accomplishments30 it seems."
"Oh, rather!" and Frank went off to offer a pleased and modest welcome to the illustrious guest.
Sidney Darrell, having succeeded in escaping from the Oakleys and their tea-table, made his way across the room, stopping here and there to exchange greetings with the people that he knew, and moving with that ostentatious air of lack of purpose which is so often assumed in society to mask a set and deliberate plan.
"How do you do, Miss Lorimer?" He stopped in front of Phyllis and held out his hand.
Phyllis's flower-face brightened at this recognition from the great man.
[Pg 132]
"Now, don't you think this is the most ridiculous institution on the face of the earth?" said Darrell, as he took his place beside her, for Conny had moved off discreetly31 at his approach.
"Which institution? Tea, pictures, people?"
"Their incongruous combination under the name of Show Sunday."
"Oh, I think it's fun. But then I have never seen the sort of thing before."
"You are greatly to be envied, Miss Lorimer."
"How lovely Phyllis is looking," cried Conny, who had joined Gertrude near the doorway; "she grows prettier every day."
"Do you think so?" answered Gertrude. "She looks to me more delicate than ever, with that flush on her cheek, and that shining in her eyes."
"Nonsense, Gerty; you are quite ridiculous about Phyllis. She appears to be amusing Mr. Darrell, at any rate. She says just the sort of things Mr. Lorimer used to. She is more like him than any of you."
"Yes." Gertrude winced32; then, looking up, saw Mr. Oakley and a tall man standing before her.
[Pg 133]
"Lord Watergate, Miss Lorimer."
The grey eyes looked straight into hers, and a deep voice said—
"We have met before. But I scarcely ventured to regard myself as introduced to you."
Lord Watergate smiled as he spoke, and, with a sense of relief, Gertrude felt that here, at least, was a friendly presence.
"I met you at The Sycamores on Wednesday."
"If it could be called a meeting. That's a wonderful picture of Darrell's."
"Yes."
"Oakley has been telling me about the great success in photography of you and your sisters."
"I don't know about success!" Gertrude laughed.
"You look so tired, Miss Lorimer; let me find you a seat."
"No, thank you; I prefer to stand. One sees the world so much better."
"Ah, you like to see the world?"
"Yes; it is always interesting."
"It is to be assumed that you are fond of society?"
"Does one follow from the other?"
[Pg 134]
"No; I merely hazarded the question."
"One demands so much more of a game in which one is taking part," said Gertrude; "and with social intercourse33, one is always thinking how much better managed it might be."
They both laughed.
"Now what is your ideal society, Miss Lorimer?"
"A society not of class, caste, or family—but of picked individuals."
"I think we tend more and more towards such a society, at least in London," said Lord Watergate; then added, "You are a democrat34, Miss Lorimer."
"And you are an optimist35, Lord Watergate."
"Oh, I'm quite unformulated. But let us leave off this mutual36 recrimination for the present; and perhaps you can tell me who is the lady talking to Sidney Darrell."
Lord Watergate's attention had been suddenly caught by Phyllis; Gertrude noted37 that he was looking at her with all his eyes.
"That is one of my sisters," she said.
He turned towards her with a start;[Pg 135] there was a note of constraint38 in his tones as he said—
"She is very beautiful."
What was there in his voice, in his face, that suddenly brought before Gertrude's vision the image of the dead woman, her golden hair, and haggard beauty?
Phyllis, on her part, had been aware of the brief but intense gaze which the grey eyes had cast upon her from the other side of the room.
"Who is that person talking to my sister?" she said.
Darrell looked across coldly, and answered: "Oh, that's Lord Watergate, the great physiologist39."
"I have never met a lord before."
"And, after all, this isn't much of a lord, because the peer is quite swallowed up in the man of science."
Oakley came up, entreating40 Darrell to sing.
"But isn't it quite irregular, to-day?"
"Oh, we don't pretend to be fashionable. This isn't 'Show Sunday,' pure and simple, but just a pretext41 for seeing one's friends."
"By the by," said the artist, as Oakley went off to open the little piano, "is it any[Pg 136] good my sending the sketches42 this week? though it's horribly bad form to talk shop."
"You must ask my sister about those things."
"Oh, your sister is far and away too clever for me."
"Gertrude is clever, but not in the way you mean."
"Nevertheless, I am horribly afraid of her."
Darrell went over to the piano and sang a little French song, with perfect art, in his rich baritone. Gertrude watched him, as he sat there playing his own accompaniment, and a vague terror stole over her of this irreproachable-looking person, who did everything so well; whose quiet presence was redolent of an immeasurable, because an unknown strength; and who, she felt (indignantly remembering the cold irony43 of his glance) could never, under any circumstances, be made to appear ridiculous.
At the end of the song, Phyllis came over to Gertrude.
"Aren't we going, Gerty?" she said; "It is quite unfashionable to 'make a night[Pg 137] of it' like this. One is just supposed to look round and sail off to half-a-dozen other studios."
Lord Watergate, who stood near, caught the half-whispered words, and smiled, as one smiles at the nonsense of a pretty child. Gertrude saw the expression of his face as she answered—
"Yes, it is time we went. Tell Lucy; there she is with Mr. Jermyn."
Darrell came over to them as they were going, and shook hands, first with Gertrude, and then with Phyllis.
"Thank you," he said to the latter, "for a very pleasant afternoon."
Both he and Lord Watergate lingered in York Place till the other guests had departed, when they fell upon Frank for further information respecting the photographic studio.
"It doesn't look as if it paid them," remarked Darrell, by way of administering a damper to loyal Frank's enthusiasm.
"I wonder," said Lord Watergate, "if they would think it worth while to prepare some slides for me?"
"For the Royal Institution lectures?" Darrell sat down to the piano as he spoke,[Pg 138] and ran his hands over the keys. "She is a charming creature—Phyllis."
"Charming!" cried Frank; "and so is Miss Lucy. And Gertrude is charming, too; she is the clever one."
"Oh, yes, Gertrude is the clever one; you can see that by her boots."
Meanwhile the Lorimers and the Devonshires were walking up Baker44 Street together, engaged, on their part also, in discussing the people from whom they had just parted.
"You are quite wrong, Gerty, about Mr. Darrell," cried Phyllis; "he is very nice, and great fun."
"What, the fellow with the goatee?" said Fred.
"Oh, Fred, his beautiful Vandyke beard!"
"I don't care, I don't like him."
"Nor do I, Fred," said Gertrude, with decision, as the whole party turned into Number 20B, and went up to the sitting-room45.
"I think really you are a little unreasonable," said Lucy, putting her arm round her sister's waist; "he seemed quite a nice person."
"He looks," put in Conny, speaking for[Pg 139] the first time, "as though he meant to have the best of everything. But so do a great many of us mean that."
"But not," cried Gertrude, "by trampling46 over the bodies of other people. Ah, you are all laughing at me. But can one be expected to think well of a person who makes one feel like a strong-minded clown?"
They laughed more than ever at the curious image summoned up by her words; then Phyllis remarked, critically—
"There is one thing I don't like about him, and that is his eye. I particularly detest47 that sort of eye; prominent, with heavy lids, and those little puffy bags underneath48."
"Phyllis, spare us these realistic descriptions," protested Lucy, "and let us dismiss Mr. Darrell, for the present at least. Perhaps our revered49 chaperon will tell us something of her experiences with a certain noble lord," she added, placing in her dress, with a smile of thanks, the gardenia50 of which Fred had divested51 himself in her favour.
"It was very nice of him," said Gertrude, gravely, "to get Mr. Oakley to introduce[Pg 140] him to me, if only to show me that the sight of me did not make him sick."
"I like his face," added Lucy; "there is something almost boyish about it. Do you remember what Daudet says of the old doctor in Jack52, 'La science l'avait gardé na?f.'"
"What a set of gossips we are," cried Conny, who had taken little part in the conversation. "Come along, Fred; you know we are dining at the Greys to-night."
"Botheration! They are certain to give me Nelly to take in," grumbled53 Fred, who, like many of his sex, was extremely modest where his feelings were concerned, but cherished a belief that the mass of womankind had designs upon him; "and we never know what on earth to say to one another."
"There goes Mr. Jermyn," observed Phyllis, as the door closed on the brother and sister; "he said something about coming in here to-night."
Lucy, who was seated at some distance from the window, allowed herself to look up, and smiled as she remarked—
"What ages ago it seems since we used[Pg 141] to wonder about him and call him 'Conny's man.'"
"'Conny's man,'" added Phyllis, with a curl of her pretty lips, "who does not care two straws for Conny."
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1
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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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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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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7
dowdy
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| adj.不整洁的；过旧的 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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9
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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13
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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14
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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15
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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philistine
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| n.庸俗的人；adj.市侩的，庸俗的 | |
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comeliness
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| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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18
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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19
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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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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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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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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canvasses
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| n.检票员，游说者，推销员( canvass的名词复数 )v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的第三人称单数 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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obtrusive
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| adj.显眼的；冒失的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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31
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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32
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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democrat
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士；民主党党员 | |
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optimist
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| n.乐观的人，乐观主义者 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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physiologist
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| n.生理学家 | |
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40
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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41
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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42
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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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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44
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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46
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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47
detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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48
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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49
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
gardenia
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| n.栀子花 | |
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51
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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52
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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53
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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