The gathering5 there for the week-end was, though small, a rather crucial one. It was to introduce to each other the families which would be brought into alliance over her wedding. Henry Wardour, Silvia’s uncle on her father’s side, was to be ponderously7 there, and his wife elegantly so. Then there was to be Aunt Joanna Darley, Mrs. Wardour’s sister, and her husband. He, Sir Abel Darley, was a round pink profiteer, who in recognition of the considerable fortune he had made for himself by overcharging the Government for millions of yards of khaki, had been made a baronet, presumably in order to stop his mouth if he felt inclined to brag8 over the gullible9 Government. Then there was Mr. Mainwaring to represent Peter’s side of the connection, but he was to sustain his part alone, since Mrs. Mainwaring, with an im{151}pregnable quietness of negation10, had absolutely refused to take part in this reunion of families.
“You’ll be eight without me, Silvia,” she had said, “and eight’s a very good number. I shall stop quietly in London and think of you all enjoying yourselves.”
Silvia’s sense of humour prevented her from forming any tragic11 anticipations12 about this party, though, as she would have been perfectly willing to confess, she did not suppose that the meeting of the clans13 would lead to any instinctive14 blood-brotherhood. But Peter would be there, and she would be there, and however outrageous15 and incompatible16 the rest of them proved themselves, they would be like the heathen “furiously raging together,” but unable to disturb seriously the foundation fact of that. She trusted to her own sense of humour and to Peter’s, to enable them both to be indifferent to what happened outside their own charmed corner. Uncle Henry and Uncle Abe, and Mr. Mainwaring and Peter would form a very curious company after dinner that night, when she and her mother and Aunt Joanna and Aunt Eleanor had left them to “punish”—as Uncle Henry would undoubtedly17 say—the 1870 port of which he was so inordinately18 fond, while the ladies would form an equally inconceivable committee upstairs. But since these things were to be, there was no use in imagining impossible situations. Somehow she conjectured20 that Mr. Mainwaring would impress himself more strongly on the circle downstairs than either of the uncles; he had more exuberance21.
If Silvia had been set down to construct an incongruous party of eight, she could not by any fantastic selection have bettered this gathering. Aunt Joanna, for instance, nourished an ineradicable{152} hatred22 towards her sister for having married Silvia’s father, and for being so much richer than Sir Abe, and even Sir Abe’s rank and her own were powerless to compensate24 her for this. Rich, immensely rich, Sir Abe certainly was, but she could not bear that her sister should be so much richer. Aunt Eleanor, on the other hand, Mrs. Wardour’s sister-in-law, had only reverence25 for Mrs. Wardour’s wealth, but what she thoroughly26 despised her for was her truckling (so Aunt Eleanor put it) to the smart world. Aunt Eleanor had been present at the great party, where the Russian ballet entertained the guests, and the presence of so many distinguished27 people made her feel perfectly sick. The true diagnosis28 of her indisposition, however, was that since she had tried to do for years without a particle of success what Mrs. Wardour had so brilliantly accomplished29 in a few weeks, it was only reasonable that she should have a violent reaction against that sort of thing. If, instead of marrying Peter, Silvia had been about to wed6 a peer, or somebody of that kind, Aunt Eleanor would certainly have felt it her duty never to speak to either her or her mother again. Indeed, she would never have accepted Mrs. Wardour’s invitation at all, so she had made quite plain, unless she had felt it her duty to take an interest in her husband’s relations.
Silvia was conscious of a vein30 of caricature in this flitting survey, but ridiculous people made caricatures of themselves without the collusion of the observer. Mr. Mainwaring was a caricature too: she could not think of him quite seriously. Probably most people, if you regarded them from a strictly31 individual standpoint, had a touch of caricature about them, for if you rated yourself as a normal person, everybody else must be a little out of drawing. But she looked at the{153} caricatures with the friendliest amusement; she loved them (and here in particular was her mother included) for being so entirely32 different from her—for being, in fact, precisely33 what they were. Humorous observation was, with her, less a critical than an appreciative34 process, and now, as she waited for Peter, she wanted definitely to include Mrs. Mainwaring in her fascinating gallery. But for this last fortnight, since her engagement to Peter, she had found herself increasingly unable to give her this genial35 amused observation. More and more did Mrs. Mainwaring baffle and elude36 her. There was, so far as Silvia could notice, nothing humanly ridiculous about her, and, what was even more disconcerting, the girl found herself ever more incapable37 of attaching herself to her. To attempt to do that resembled, in some uncomfortable manner, the notion of attaching yourself in the dark to a hard smooth surface; you could nowhere get hold of her or find projection38 or crevice39 in which to crook40 or to insert a finger tip. The more closely Silvia looked at her, the more strenuously41 she attempted to get into any sort of psychical42 contact with Mrs. Mainwaring, the more directly was she baffled. She could not, for herself, give up as insoluble the mystery of that lady’s mental and spiritual processes; there must be, if you could only lay your hands on it in the dark, some key to her future mother-in-law, something that explained, for instance, her unwearied study of the advertisements of hotels. No one could be as completely tranquil43 and emotionless all through as Mrs. Mainwaring appeared to be. Twice only had her mind slipped for a definite instant into the open, like a lizard44 emerging into the sunlight and flicking45 back again; once when, on the first visit that Silvia and her{154} mother had paid to the house, Mrs. Mainwaring unveiled a glance of malicious46 hostility47 in the direction of the great cartoon. Less definite, but like in kind, was the habitual48, though veiled, hostility with which Silvia felt that Mrs. Mainwaring regarded herself. It did not flame, but she knew that she was right in conjecturing49 that it incessantly50 smouldered. And that enmity, to Silvia’s sense, was of the same quality, though smouldering, as that which had leaped in that swift little tongue of flame towards the cartoon: what puzzled her was the kinship between the two. From the context of that moment in the studio, it seemed to be Mr. Mainwaring’s work which kept him in London (and her therefore with him) that had kindled51 that odd swift spark. Or was the origin of it a little deeper down than that? Did some shut furnace of impatience at her husband, so floridly symbolized52 there, some deep-seated core of incompatibility53 suddenly flame out then? If so, what was the kindred nature of her hostility to the girl? Was it that she was taking Peter away from the home which his presence there just rendered tolerable? But apart from those two “escapes,” so to speak, of genuine feeling, the origin of which, after all, was only a matter of conjecture19, Silvia had no clue to Mrs. Mainwaring at all; she was practically featureless and even without outline. She could not sketch54 her at all, or delineate from her as model, one of those genial caricatures, such as her friends so freely supplied her with material for. Such features and such outline as she could perceive were tinged55 with bitter suggestions....
Silvia did not find the waiting for Peter in any way tedious; there was plenty in the studio to furnish a larder56 for thought, though what most occupied her was her alert attention for the sound of his light{155} footstep coming down the passage. But apart from that food for reflection was abundant. To-day the end of the studio where the cartoon had hung was empty, so that if Mrs. Mainwaring’s resentment57 was inspired purely58 by that work of art, she might now regain59 her tranquillity60 again. Silvia would see it this evening, for her mother, following up the idea with which it had first fired her in connection with the empty walls of the picture gallery at Howes, had a few days ago made a purchase of it.
Mr. Mainwaring had been very glorious on this occasion; at first he had hysterically61 refused to part with it. It was his chef-d’?uvre, and while he had a couple of pennies in his pocket, he was, though poor, too proud to think of selling it. Then, lest that refusal should be taken too seriously, he almost immediately declared that it should be his wedding present to Silvia. He let himself be hunted out of so untenable a magnificence, and finally he so far humiliated63 himself as to accept a fancy price for it. As Mrs. Wardour knew (he reminded her, to make certain) that it was the first of a series of six, upon which he was contented64 to stand or fall in the verdict of posterity65, it seemed probable that, at some future time, the walls of the picture gallery at Howes would be far less empty than they were to-day.
On an easel near where Silvia sat was the portrait of herself now approaching completion. To her there was something uncanny and arresting about it, for, by accident or design, the artist had caught some aspect of her which secretly she recognized as a piece of intimate revelation. She herself inclined to an accidental derivation, for certainly in all but one point it was a flamboyant66 and uninspired performance, a chronicle of a green “jumper” and a scarlet67 skirt, a{156} haystack of dyed hair, and a rouged68, simpering mouth. Her head was turned full to the spectator, looking over the shoulder, in precisely the same pose (a favourite trick of the artist’s) as that in which the German Emperor listened to Satanic counsels. But in the eyes, in the badly drawn70 outstretched hand, clumsily posed, Silvia saw some unconscious rendering71 of the “boy’s key.” She acquitted72 Mr. Mainwaring of all intention and of all inspiration; he had certainly not meant that. He had, through faulty drawing, given a certain brisk violence to her hand, a certain domination to her eyes.
And then she heard the click of the street door, and the quick light footstep for which she had been waiting. She wondered if she could ever get used to the mere73 fact of Peter’s return from however short an absence.
He kissed her, holding her hand for a moment.
“It’s too bad of me to have kept you waiting,” he said. “I couldn’t help myself. There was a messenger starting for Rome. Haven’t they brought you tea?”
“No; I thought I would wait and have it with you.”
Peter rang the bell.
“And my father’s gone?” he asked.
“Yes; mother called for him and drove him down. I’ve brought my little Cording car for us.”
“Just you and me? That’ll be lovely,” said Peter. “Do I quite trust your driving, though?”
“You may drive yourself, if you like,” said she.
“No, thanks; I trust that far less. I must see if my bag is packed. Tell Burrows74 we want tea at once.”
“Can’t I help you to pack it, if it isn’t done?{157}” asked Silvia.... Somehow she would have liked to do that, to fold his clothes, to squeeze out his sponge.
“No; it’s so sordid,” said Peter. “Besides, it’s probably done already.”
“If it isn’t, call me,” said she. “No man has any idea of how to pack.”
“And you want to teach me?” asked Peter, lingering on the stairs.
Silvia hesitated only for a moment.
“No, you darling,” she said. “I don’t want to teach you anything. I just want to do it.”
“Why?” asked he.
She came closer, raising her face towards him, as he leaned over the banisters.
“Your things,” she said. “Your sponge, your coat....”
That pleasure was denied her, for Burrows had already bestowed75 Peter’s requirements in his bag, and he came downstairs again. Silvia had given his father a sitting for the portrait this morning, and he stood frowning in front of it.
“Trash! Rubbish!” he said at length. “And the worst of it is that he has got into it some infernal resemblance to you. It’s a caricature.”
“Oh, we’re all caricatures to each other,” said she, “with just a few exceptions.”
“What a heathenish doctrine76. Why am I a caricature, for instance?”
“You aren’t. You’re one of the exceptions. But tell me what your father has caricatured of me in that?”
Peter looked from her to the portrait and back again.
“All of you,” he said. “The reality of you: the rest is quite unlike. You haven’t got mouth and{158} nose and forehead and hair and chin the least like that. But the person inside is horribly like you.”
Silvia put her arm through his.
“Horribly?” she said. “Thanks so much.”
“I didn’t say—just then—that you were horrible,” said he. “I said horribly like you, your parody77, your caricature. I wonder how I dared ask such a masterful young woman to marry me.”
“You knew it would be good for you,” said Silvia. “It was far more daring of me to accept you.”
“There’s just time for you to remedy your mistake,” said he. “Positively the last chance.”
This frank kind of chaffing talk, as between friends rather than lovers, had grown to be characteristic of their privacy. Silvia delighted in it: it had the charm of some cipher78 about it; the blunt commonplace words held for her a secret meaning known to the two utterers of them, which was only to be expressed by these symbols. When she feigned79 to misunderstand Peter, and thanked him for calling her horrible, there lay below her foolish words a treasure which words were quite powerless to express. Or when he just now wondered that he had dared to ask her to marry him, she felt that he conveyed something which no amount of impassioned speech could have indicated so well. From the hilltops there flashed the signal that no voice could convey. Then sometimes, as now, she had to use another symbol, which again was only a symbol, and with her hands tremblingly, eagerly, shyly clasping him round the neck, she drew his head down towards her, not kissing him, but simply looking close into his eyes.
“Positively the last chance!” she said. “Oh, Peter, what a fool I am about you. Doesn’t it bore you frightfully?{159}”
“Frightfully,” said Peter, keeping to the first code of symbols.
“You bear it beautifully, darling,” she said. “Oh, shall I ever get used to you? I hope so: I mustn’t go on being such a donkey all my days. No; I don’t think I do hope so. Being a donkey is good enough for me. Hee haw! Oh, let go: here’s Burrows coming with the tea. She’ll think it so undignified.”
It was, as a matter of fact, she who had to “let go,” as Burrows entered, followed by Mrs. Mainwaring. Silvia had before now tried to call her “mother,” but the experiment somehow had not succeeded. Mrs. Mainwaring answered to it quite readily, but she received it, so the girl thought, much as she might have received an unsolicited nickname.
“Why, Mrs. Mainwaring!” she said. “I didn’t know you were in.”
Mrs. Mainwaring paused just long enough to let it be inferred that if Silvia had made any inquiries81 as to that, she would have obtained the information she sought.
“Yes, dear, I have been reading upstairs since lunch time,” she said. “I came to have a cup of tea with you before you started. I hope you will have a pleasant drive.”
Silvia tried to approach.
“Ah, do come too,” she said. “Change your mind, and come with me. Heaps of room.”
“Thank you, dear, I think I will keep to my original plan,” said she. “I like a quiet Sunday sometimes. I shall go to church, and perhaps in the afternoon hear a concert at the Queen’s Hall. The time will pass very pleasantly.{160}”
There was an aura of correct armed neutrality about this, accompanied as it was by that cold sheathed82 glance, furtive83 and hostile, that caused some half-comic, half-impatient despair in the girl at her aloofness84. Mrs. Mainwaring, so it seemed to her, wanted nobody except herself; she wanted just to be let alone.
“Father went off all right?” asked Peter.
“Yes; Mrs. Wardour kindly85 called for him after lunch. A beautiful car; so roomy. There was another lady and gentleman there: I think Mrs. Wardour said it was her sister and her husband. Your father insisted on going in the box seat with the driver. He made a great noise with the motor horn, which sounded like a bugle86. He was in very high spirits.”
The neutrality exhibited in this speech was almost too correct to be credible87. Nobody could have been so neutral. Even Mrs. Mainwaring could not quite keep it up, and something very far from neutral lay, ever so little below the surface, in her announcement of her husband’s high spirits. Her neutrality towards Silvia was not so deadly as that towards her husband....
Peter laughed. There was neutrality there too, but it was more contemptuous than deadly, and quite good humoured in its contempt.
“Oh, they’ll have a noisy drive,” he said. “And if Mrs. Wardour drives him back on Monday, you’ll be aware of their approach, mother, while they’re still a mile or two away.”
Mrs. Mainwaring had one of those fine-lipped mouths (very neat and finished at the outer corners), about which it is impossible to say whether they are smiling or not without consulting the conditions pre{161}vailing round the eyes. But as Peter spoke88 she very definitely ceased to smile.
“Monday?” she said. “I thought Mrs. Wardour was so kind as to ask him to stop till Tuesday.”
Peter got up: he noticed nothing about his mother, having long ago given up any attempt to comprehend her.
“Tuesday, is it?” he said. “I’m back on Monday, anyhow: otherwise what would happen to our foreign relations? Shall we start, Silvia? I’m ready when you are.”
Mrs. Mainwaring rose too.
“Yes, indeed, you had better be off,” she said. “You won’t have too much time. Then I shall expect you on Monday, Peter. Tell your father——”
She stopped.
“That you don’t expect him till Tuesday?” asked he, without the slightest indication of any mental comment.
“Yes, I think Mrs. Wardour quite took for granted that he was stopping till then.”
Silvia made one further attempt to evoke89 a touch of cordiality.
“Mother will be delighted,” she said. “But it’s horrid90 for you being all alone.”
“No, dear, I shall be very happy,” said Mrs. Mainwaring with quiet decision.
Howes stood, of course, in a park of considerable acreage, surrounded by a massive brick wall, and reflected its colossal91 self in the lake that lay below its terraced garden. This lake had been artificially made by the damming up of the stream that had previously92 wasted itself unornamentally, and the road that had dipped into the shallow valley now ran along the{162} causeway that formed the farther margin93 of the lake, and gave the visitor his first complete and stupendous view of the house. The wings and galleries that had been built out rendered the original Norman core comparatively insignificant94, and the whole resembled an apotheosis95 of a station hotel combined with a fortress96, for the character of the older part was borne out in the battlemented walls that spread so amply to right and left of it. An avenue of monkey-puzzlers led up to the long fa?ade, and the gardens overlooking the lake were like some glorified97 arboretum98, where you might expect tin labels, asking visitors to keep off the grass and not touch the flowers. At intervals99 along the edge of its immense lawns were aloes in square green tubs, and below the house was a riband border of geraniums, calceolarias and lobelias. Inside, the expectations aroused by this sumptuous100 exterior101 were fully80 justified102, for the high panelled hall was peopled with suits of armour103, each with its numbered label, so that a glance at the catalogue would put you into possession of interesting information about it. Armour had long been a hobby of the late Mr. Wardour, and he had, very quaintly104, installed electric light in the gauntleted hands. There was a passenger lift in one corner, a groined roof, and the famous malachite table. Heads and antlers of stags hung in the panels.
Silvia had rather dreaded105 this moment. The whole place with its monkey-puzzlers and malachite, its aloes and its awfulness, had been left by her father to her absolutely, and Peter knew (and she knew he knew) that he was making his first acquaintance with what would be “home” to him. She had not seen it herself since the day of her father’s funeral, two years ago, and it seemed to her—and how would it{163} strike Peter?—that, though it had the traditional quality of home, in that there was no place, as far as she was aware, in the least like it, its unique fulfilment of that definition was its only merit.
With a sideways glance now and again she had observed Peter’s growing awe106, from the time they had crossed the causeway (the pride of it!) to their approach through the monkey-puzzlers, and to the final revelation of the malachite table. And there was much more to follow—ever so much more; the Gothic staircase, the blue drawing-room, the pink drawing-room, the picture-gallery, the swimming bath. And it was not inanimate magnificence alone that was to assail107 him, for there was Uncle Henry and Uncle Abe and Aunts Joanna and Eleanor. She ought to have brought him down quietly and alone for his first sight of Howes....
Peter had been gazing in a fascinated manner at the malachite table, and even while Silvia was wondering how to convey to him her sympathy and encouragement, he, with one of the flashes of intuition which she adored in him, showed that he had comprehended with unerring accuracy what she was feeling about him.
“But you’re going to be here,” he said, just as if she had spoken out all that she was puzzling over.
She took his arm.
“Oh, my dear, I promise you that,” she said. “And I’ve got to get used to it, too. But then you’ll be here! Shall we butter each other’s paws, Peter, until we feel at home? Let’s have some more tea, in fact, and find where the rest of them are.”
The picture-gallery seemed a likely kind of place,{164} and there, indeed, the six representatives of the families proved to be, and when kissing ceremonies were over for herself and the rite69 of introduction for Peter, Silvia found herself thinking that it was really all for the best that they should have burst on Peter in one comprehensive revelation rather than that he should have been subjected to a series of shocks and surprises. Already staggered by Uncle Henry, Peter might have been quite thrown off his balance—so flashed the alternative comedy through her head—by Uncle Abe; or what if, reeling from Aunt Eleanor, he ran into Aunt Joanna just round the corner? Silvia had not the smallest inclination108 or intention to be ashamed of her relations, but it would have shown the joylessness of a Puritan not to be amused at the blandness109 and the blankness on so many faces (Peter’s included) as he was taken to each in turn; it would have shown too an almost dangerous rigidity110 that her voice should not betray a tremor111 of suppressed hilariousness.
Aunt Eleanor came first: she looked like a handsome seal with adenoidal breathing. She bowed to Peter with freezing propriety112, but when he was moved on to Aunt Joanna her curiosity got the better of her, and she instantly put up her glasses to get a better look at him. Aunt Joanna, large and marvellously bedizened, with flowers in her hat and her bosom113 and her hand, irresistibly114 suggested a van going to Covent Garden in the early morning: she, too, had her notions of propriety, and these expressed themselves in a cordiality as warm as Aunt Eleanor’s was cold. Then came Uncle Abe, who was so like a fish that it really seemed dangerous for him to be sitting so near Aunt Eleanor. He held out a hand, and took a cigar out of his mouth, which remained open in the{165} precise shape of the cigar: and finally came Uncle Henry, who was busy with “a drop of brandy,” because tea, as he instantly proceeded to inform Peter, gave him heartburn. Then all four of them stared at Peter to see how he was going to comport115 himself.
Peter was never more grateful to his father than when at this embarrassing moment Mr. Mainwaring, who had been mysteriously employed at the far end of the picture-gallery with a cord and a sheet and a step-ladder and three bewildered footmen, gave a loud yodel, set to some words like mio figlio, to announce his perception of his son’s arrival, and the accomplishment116 of that on which he had been so busily engaged. “Ben arrivato” was the concluding stave of his melody, and he came running up the gallery (there was quite enough space to enable him to get a good speed up), and after holding Peter for a moment in a joint118 embrace with Silvia, he cast himself down for a moment on a white bear skin at Mrs. Wardour’s feet.
“Ecco!” he said. “Ladies and gentlemen, when you will distinguish me with the gift of a moment of your leisure, I shall have the honour to show you the first of my completed labours. The picture, the poor suppliant’s picture, is on the wall: masked by a fair linen119 sheet, which, so I fondly hope, is in control of a cord, just a cord, which, when you are ready, I will, in fact, pull. Unless the mechanism120 which I have been contriving121 is sadly at fault, there will then be revealed to you that which the sheet, at the moment, is so discreetly122 veiling. Valour, perhaps, my valour, is but the worse part of discretion”—Peter had heard this before—“but for the moment I am less discreet123 than valorous. I will{166} show you, complete and materialized, the vision that since August, 1914, has obsessed124 and dominated my life. I pray you, gentle sirs and madams, to indulge your humble125 servant, and to take your places, exactly where I shall have the honour to indicate, opposite the discretionary linen which, when removed, will unbare my valour.”
He rose from his reclining posture126, and after a superb obeisance127, placed himself at the head of the procession. Already, as Silvia had foreseen, he was in a position of dominance: Uncle Abe and Uncle Henry obeyed his orders; Aunt Joanna and Aunt Eleanor clearly “perked up” at this ingratiating suppliance. For himself he took Mrs. Wardour’s hand, holding it high, as in a minuet, and led the way. He grouped them; he requested them all, with humble apologies, to have the goodness to move a step backwards128; he set chairs for them; he put his finger on his lips, and on tiptoe advanced to the dangling129 end of the cord and pulled it. Up flew the sheet, waving wildly, but eventually festooning itself clear of the cartoon. Then, swiftly retreating, he magnificently posed himself, and gazed at the picture.
For the moment there was dead silence: then vague clickings and murmurs130 began to grow articulate. The uncles and aunts vied with each other in perception.
“The Emperor,” said Uncle Henry. “Good likeness131, eh?”
“August, 1914,” exclaimed Lady Darley. “Terrible! Wonderful!” And she drew in her breath with a hissing132 sound. The perception of the date was not so clever, as it was largely inscribed133 on the frame, and Aunt Eleanor smiled indulgently.{167}
“Yes, dear Joanna,” she said, “we all see that. But look at Satan whispering to the Emperor!”
“And the hosts of hell,” said Joanna swiftly.
Uncle Abe turned to Uncle Henry.
“A marvellous thing,” he said. “Tells its own story. I call that a picture.”
Mrs. Wardour merely wore the pleased air of proprietorship134. She had seen it all before, and she could see it again as many times as she chose. Mr. Mainwaring, chin in hand, just contemplated136 while these appreciations137 were in progress, but now he seemed to wake out of a swoon, and passed his hands over his eyes.
“Was it I who painted that?” he muttered. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know till this moment, when at last I see my work properly displayed, with no discordant138 note to mar23 it, what I had done. Does it terrify you, dear ladies and gentlemen? Does it put you in possession of August, 1914? Does it—ah, Dio mio!” He covered his face with his hands and shuddered139. Then advancing to the picture again, he violently shook the cord, and the two linen sheets (double bed) rolled back into their original places.
“Enough, enough!” he cried. “We will contemplate135 it more calmly when we have recovered from the first shock of our bleeding hearts. Let us converse140, let us smile and laugh again. Let us remember that the war is over. But it is laid on me by destiny to execute five more such pictures, not less terrible. If I live, they shall be done. Yes, yes; I do not falter141! But, for a while, let me forget, let me forget.”
Mrs. Wardour spaced out the wall with a pleased eye.{168}
“They will just fill the length of the gallery,” she said, “if we do not crowd them. Silvia, my dear, you must persuade Mr. Mainwaring.... Well, I’m sure, if that isn’t the dressing142 bell.”
A vindictive143 purpose was weaving itself below the embowering flowers of Lady Darley’s hat, and accelerating the heart-beat below the nosegay on her bosom, so that the gardenias144 were all of a tremble. Lucy might be rich (indeed, it was quite certain that she was horribly rich), but comparative paupers145 such as herself were not to be altogether trampled146 upon, and other people beside Lucy had picture-galleries. Apparently147 the series of these tremendous allegories was not yet painted, was not yet either definitely “bespoken” by her sister, and Joanna, as she waded148 through the thick Kidderminster rugs that carpeted the Gothic staircase on the way to her room, felt that the only thing in life that was worth living for at this moment was to order a replica149 of the first, and secure (with an embargo150 on replicas) the remainder of this series.
Never in her life had she been so artistically151 overwhelmed as by that prodigious152 canvas, and if all the rest were going to be “up to sample” she could, as their possessor, scoff153 at the art treasures of the world. Sir Abe had dabbled154 in pictures already: he had a Turner sunset which hung in the dining-room, at which he often pointed155 over his shoulder as a “pooty little thing”; he had a Rembrandt of a very puckered-looking old woman which had aroused the envy of those who were permitted to see it and to be told that it came out of the Marquis of Brentford’s collection. These were desirable possessions, but they were jejune156 compared to Mr. Mainwaring’s masterpiece{169} and the masterpieces that were to follow. The war! That was something to paint pictures about....
Her envy of her sister rose to the austerity of a passion when she contemplated the equipment of her bedroom, and that of her husband next door. There was a bathroom attached to each, both fitted with the most amazing taps and squirts, and a little sitting-room157 attached to each, and a lift of which Mrs. Wardour (showing her her room, and hoping she would be comfortable) explained the working. You pressed a button and were wafted158.... The same lift served Aunt Eleanor’s rooms, but Lucy and Peter and Silvia used another one.... The lift clinched159 her resolution, and she conjugally160 conferred with Sir Abe. He, to her delight, was as much impressed with the passion for “scoring off” Lucy as with the merits of the cartoon, but his business habits had to make hesitations161 and conditions, not “do a deal” blindly.
“Well, my lady,” he said, “you shall have the pictures if they’re to be obtained reasonably. What shall I offer, now? Most striking that one was, and that and similar are worth paying a pretty penny for. What did your sister give for that one? Then, if reasonable, I don’t mind if I add twenty-five per cent. more, and secure the lot. They’ll be something to point at. Get along and let me have my bath. You try to find out what your sister paid, and then we’ll know where we are, my lady.”
She noted162 with pleasure that he relapsed into a cockney accent and a slight uncertainty163 about aspirates as he spoke. That was a good sign: it showed he was in earnest and interested, for in dalliance of light conversation Sir Abe was “as good at his h’s” as anybody.{170}
It was not to be expected that the cartoon and the magnificence of its introduction should have no effect on Aunt Eleanor, or that (her general animosity towards Mrs. Wardour being of the same fine order as Aunt Joanna’s) she should not have been kindled with ambition to bring off some similar vindictive stroke. But for her the acquisition of these immense decorations was out of the question, for her husband would certainly not pay such a price as she felt sure would be necessary to secure them, and even if he did his house did not contain sufficient uninterrupted wall space, so that to hang them at all she would have to cut them up into sections and paper several different rooms with them. But Mr. Mainwaring had said something about the original sketches164 for them, which had suggested an idea that took her fancy at once. The sketches were, after all, the “originals,” the significant buds from which these over-blown blossoms had developed, and the sketches would be far more manageable, both from point of view of hanging, and from that of purchase. There was a subtlety165, a refinement166 in possessing “originals” that these acreages of paint could not compete with. Her powerful imagination pictured herself exhibiting them to envious167 friends.
“Yes, my sister-in-law, I believe, has copies, on a large scale,” she would say, “of my series. These, of course, are the originals. Such freshness, such power, all quite lost in the later and larger version.” And she held her seal-like head very high, and snorted through her nostrils168 as she sailed into the pink drawing-room just before the dinner bell rang. She was the first to come down, and had time to examine with pain and disgust the photograph of a royal personage, with a crown on its frame, that stood very con{171}spicuously alone on the table by the sofa where she seated herself.
Mr. Mainwaring’s star continued to be violently ascendant all evening. His harangues169, his humour, his habit of pausing in the middle of one of his interminable stories, until complete silence had been established round the table, dominated dinner, and when the ladies rose to leave the gentlemen to their cigars and wine, Mrs. Wardour addressed him directly and laid upon him not to permit them too long a sitting. This gave him the rank of host, and developed his social horse-power to so high an efficiency that on rejoining the ladies he sang the Toreador’s song out of Carmen. Then after that had been repeated he permitted the uncles and aunts to indulge themselves with bridge, and since wives partnered their own husbands, this gave scope for some pleasant family revilings, in which the ladies came off far the best. Having thus arranged for their pleasure, Mr. Mainwaring grouped himself with his hostess, Silvia and Peter, and grew patriarchal and full of sentiment over the charming family party of parents and children. On Mrs. Wardour’s going to bed, leaving the bridge-party jealously over-calling their hands, he conducted her once more to pay homage170 to the cartoon, and remained there in meditation171.
Silvia and Peter had wandered out on to the dusky terrace. A twilight172 of stars lit the still night, and she drew long breaths of restoration from the exhaustion173 of these stupendous hours. Once clear of the house, and leaning over the balustrade above the lake, she gave way to hopeless laughter.
“Peter, darling, are my relations more than you{172} ought to be asked to stand?” she said. “Did you know there were such people as Uncle Abe?”
“Did you know there were such people as my father?” said Peter.
“Oh, but he’s your father,” said Silvia quickly. “You mustn’t bring him in.”
“Why not? After all, it’s he who brings himself in. There’s only one word for him. Bounder. Uncle Abe isn’t a bounder exactly. Uncle Henry isn’t a bounder.”
“No, he’s just a cad,” said Silvia enthusiastically. “I love people being themselves, whatever they happen to be. I should enjoy them much more, though, if you weren’t here.”
“I can go to-morrow morning,” said Peter.
For one moment she thought that he spoke seriously: the next she laughed at herself for having been hoaxed174 by his assumed sincerity175 of voice: “assumed” it just had to be.
“Ah, you said that beautifully,” she announced; “and all the evening, do you know, you’ve been saying things beautifully, with your mask on, too, your best and smartest mask. I’ve been listening to you, and never for a moment could I catch a word or a silence on your part to show that you weren’t thoroughly amused and interested by the aunts. You behaved as if they were just the sort of people you were accustomed to meet, but rather more charming. You have been convincing, and you were convincing just now when you suggested going away to-morrow.”
Peter had not, of course, meant to convey that he really could go away to-morrow, but it had been quite easy for him to render his seriousness plausible176, since, though impossible, this was a most agreeable project.{173} But what rendered that project so attractive was the escape not from the aunts and uncles, with whom he was quite as willing to be diverted as their niece, but from his father. His father, in this milieu177, with his bounce and his bounding, his general “make-up” of the large-souled, childlike artist, now humbly178 bespeaking179 the indulgence of his patrons, and immediately afterwards behaving as if he was Michael Angelo, was intolerable. His gaiety, his singing, his family grouping, with himself as aged117 and contemplative parent, while the moment before he had been twirling his moustaches and bellowing180 out the song of the toreador, were indecencies for a son’s eye. If only he had been slightly fuzzy and intoxicated181 with many liqueur brandies like Uncle Henry, that would have been a palliative: as it was he was only intoxicated with himself....
Peter recalled himself from these impious meditations182 to the needs of or (if not the needs) the appropriateness for the immediate62 occasion. Silvia and he had contrived183 a lovers’ interlude under the stars.
“Will you always be as charitable to me as you are to my father?” he asked. “When I am absurd and annoying, will you just be amused?”
The question seemed to him well framed: it led him and her away from all these nonsensicalities into the region where the simple things abided. He expected some pressure on his arm, some little deprecation of his silliness, some whisper to inform him that he was a goose or an idiot. Instead, Silvia’s hand slackened in the crook of his arm and withdrew itself.
“Oh, Peter, what a thing to ask!” she said. “As if I could be ‘charitable’ to you as long as you loved me, or as if I could find you annoying so long as I{174} loved you. You’re pretending not to understand. Don’t pretend like that any more.”
Peter’s quick brain was alert on the scent184. He had meant his words to be construed185 into a lover-like speech, and had completely thought that they could be interpreted thus. But her answer convinced him that to her they were not construable186 at all, but only gibberish. Before he could emend himself, or even quite follow her, she flashed out her full meaning.
“Anybody else in the world except you can be annoying,” she said, “and I hope I can be charitable to anybody else in the world except you. But how can I be charitable to you? Or how can you be trying to me? Don’t you know that I am you? For a month I’ve ceased to be myself at all. There isn’t any ‘me.’ It isn’t ‘me’ you think you are in love with; it’s—it’s just the completion of your own wonderfulness. And as for their being any ‘you,’ why, you’ve ceased long ago. I’ve absorbed you. I’ve—I’ve drowned you in myself and in my adoration187. I’m round you. I crush you and I worship you——”
Silvia broke off suddenly as there appeared at the drawing-room window a black tall silhouette188 yodelling and crying, “Coo-ee. Children!”
“Oh, damn that man,” said she. “Sorry, Peter, but, well, there it is.{175}”
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1
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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2
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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fabulously
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| 难以置信地，惊人地 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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ponderously
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brag
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| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
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9
gullible
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| adj.易受骗的；轻信的 | |
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10
negation
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| n.否定；否认 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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12
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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clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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14
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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15
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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16
incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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17
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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18
inordinately
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| adv.无度地，非常地 | |
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19
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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20
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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22
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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23
mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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24
compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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25
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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26
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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27
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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29
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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30
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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31
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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32
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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34
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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37
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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38
projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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39
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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40
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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41
strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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42
psychical
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| adj.有关特异功能现象的；有关特异功能官能的；灵魂的；心灵的 | |
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43
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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44
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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45
flicking
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的现在分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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46
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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47
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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48
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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49
conjecturing
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| v. & n. 推测，臆测 | |
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50
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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51
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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52
symbolized
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| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
incompatibility
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| n.不兼容 | |
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54
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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55
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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57
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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58
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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59
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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60
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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61
hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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62
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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63
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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64
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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65
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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66
flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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67
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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68
rouged
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| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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70
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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71
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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72
acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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73
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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74
burrows
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| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
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75
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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77
parody
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| n.打油诗文，诙谐的改编诗文，拙劣的模仿；v.拙劣模仿，作模仿诗文 | |
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78
cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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79
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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80
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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81
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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82
sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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83
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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84
aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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85
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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86
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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87
credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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88
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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89
evoke
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| vt.唤起，引起，使人想起 | |
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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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91
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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92
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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93
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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94
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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95
apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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96
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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97
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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98
arboretum
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| n.植物园 | |
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99
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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100
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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101
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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102
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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103
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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104
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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105
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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106
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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107
assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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108
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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109
blandness
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| n.温柔，爽快 | |
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110
rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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111
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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112
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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113
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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114
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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115
comport
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| vi.相称，适合 | |
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116
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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117
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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118
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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119
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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120
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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121
contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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122
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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123
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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124
obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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125
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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126
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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127
obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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128
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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129
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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130
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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131
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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132
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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133
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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134
proprietorship
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| n.所有（权）；所有权 | |
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135
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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136
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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137
appreciations
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| n.欣赏( appreciation的名词复数 )；感激；评定；（尤指土地或财产的）增值 | |
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138
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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139
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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140
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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141
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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142
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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143
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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144
gardenias
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| n.栀子属植物，栀子花( gardenia的名词复数 ) | |
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145
paupers
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| n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 )；贫民；贫穷 | |
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146
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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147
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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148
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149
replica
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| n.复制品 | |
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150
embargo
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| n.禁运（令）；vt.对...实行禁运，禁止（通商） | |
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151
artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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152
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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153
scoff
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| n.嘲笑，笑柄，愚弄；v.嘲笑，嘲弄，愚弄，狼吞虎咽 | |
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154
dabbled
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| v.涉猎( dabble的过去式和过去分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
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155
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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156
jejune
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| adj.枯燥无味的，贫瘠的 | |
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157
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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158
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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160
conjugally
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161
hesitations
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| n.犹豫( hesitation的名词复数 )；踌躇；犹豫（之事或行为）；口吃 | |
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162
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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163
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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164
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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165
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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166
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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167
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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168
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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169
harangues
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| n.高谈阔论的长篇演讲( harangue的名词复数 )v.高谈阔论( harangue的第三人称单数 ) | |
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170
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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171
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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172
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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173
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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174
hoaxed
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| v.开玩笑骗某人，戏弄某人( hoax的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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175
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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176
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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177
milieu
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| n.环境；出身背景；(个人所处的)社会环境 | |
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178
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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179
bespeaking
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| v.预定( bespeak的现在分词 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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180
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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181
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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182
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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183
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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184
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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185
construed
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| v.解释（陈述、行为等）( construe的过去式和过去分词 )；翻译，作句法分析 | |
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186
construable
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| adj.（句子等）可做语法分析的，可做…解释的 | |
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187
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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188
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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