The Frenchman is differently constituted, and at however immature6 an hour likes to take up again, as near as possible to the point at which he left it, his mood of the evening before; but upon the English mind sleep seems to leave a sort of tarnish7 which must be scoured8 off in silence with fish and sausages before it becomes an agreeable and polished surface again. Then, after a round of golf or a game of tennis for those who require “exposure,” like a photograph, before their proper image reappears, or an hour or so in an armchair in a well-shaded light for those to whom, like a mushroom, darkness and warmth are necessary for their{95} morning development, the Saturday-till-Monday Englishman finds that the burden of life is light again.
But mere9 avoidance of her guests from notions of politeness did not form the entire reason of Lady Grote’s self-effacement on Sunday morning. A whole catechism of telephonic inquiries10 delivered here and at her house in London yesterday evening required her attention, and she was busy with her secretary for an hour over these and over a similar catechism which she sent forth11 on her own account.
One evening during the ensuing week she was giving a party at her London house, at which two Russian dancers would appear, and she must issue some more invitations for that; on another evening she had a dinner-party, at which the principal guest was one who was entitled to inspect the proposed list of those he would meet, and intimate if there was anyone else he would like to be present. (He had just instructed that he would like to see an extraordinarily12 dull couple, who must accordingly be invited.) That disposed of Tuesday and Thursday evening, on Wednesday and Friday she was dining out, and on Saturday again she came down here to entertain. That only left Monday evening, and on that she was going to the opera to hear Kuhlmann sing Tristan. It was necessary, she was afraid, to ask two or three people to her box, for she could scarcely occupy it alone. But that was what she longed to do: she wanted to be quite by herself, without the distraction13 of any other presence, and give herself up to the mood which that wonderful voice, and that soft-pawed savage14 personality produced in her....
The evenings then were simple enough, but the rest of the five days was more complicated, and the things she wanted to do, and the people she wished to see, had to be fitted into the hours like the closely-joining{96} fragments of a jig-saw puzzle. She had all the time there was: every moment of the next week belonged to her, but it was maddening to think that there were so many under vitalized and uninterested people in the world, on whose hands time hung heavy, who invented dreary15 employments to fill the undesired hours, who were glad (so far as they were capable of any positive emotion) when the day was over, who went to sleep in chairs, or read books that did not in the least amuse them merely in order that the hands of the clock should trace their circles unyawned-at.
It was a hideously16 stupid arrangement, that whereas you could buy or somehow or other obtain, if you were rich and clever, everything else that made life pleasant, all your cleverness and all the wealth of Midas could not purchase for you one single second of time, without which everything else was non-existent! And to think of all those people who had much more time than they wanted, and had no idea how to use it! Think also of the armies and battalions17 of the young who had no conception of the value of the golden treasure that ran through their fingers! Poor people, too, how many a poor man would gladly accept, say a thousand pounds in return for a year! That would come to twenty pounds a week: she would gladly have taken any amount of weeks at that rate. Fancy having the chance of living the last twenty-four hours over again for three pounds and a few shillings! Why the joy just of waking this morning was worth a hundred times that, but by no expenditure18 of millions could she ever get it back again. It had gone down plump into the dark well, where all dead days and moments lay faintly glimmering19, or black and forgotten.
Certainly it was a waste of that most precious and unpurchasable commodity to devote a single moment{97} to a regret so unavailing, but she did not at once pull herself up (while waiting for Miss Armitage to unravel20 the complication of engagements that caused the hours of Tuesday to overlap21 in so inconvenient22 a manner), or use the minutes in skating a little further on the very thin ice of the French short stories that had been recommended her, or even call in her manicure. Every now and then, and, so it seemed to her, with increasing frequency during this last year or two, some shadow fell across the brilliance23 of the sunshine that lay on her path. It did not come from any intervening object, any troublesome circumstance that interposed itself between her and the sun, it seemed rather as if the sun itself blazed less brightly, making a dusk even at noonday.
Nor was this failure to be laid to the door of that thief, Time, the inveterate24 flower-stealer, for she had still too many flowers in her garden, and even buds yet undeveloped, to miss the spoils of his maraudings. Nor again did she fear the approach of old age, for it was mere waste of energy to spend a thought over the inevitable25, or the final arrival of the grim doorkeeper, who equally certainly would open the portals that led into whatever lay beyond.
For herself, she had no doubt as to what lay beyond: she was so sure that when once that door closed behind you there would be nothing any more, fair or foul26, bright or dark, that no speculation27 on the subject could have the smallest interest. It would all be over and done with: out of the dark stream above which in the sunshine the fly danced and hovered28 would come a great sucking mouth, and gulp29 it down. There would be a ripple30 on the surface which would in a moment die away, and most assuredly there would be no fly there in the sunshine. Sometimes the great{98} fish rose at you, and missed you, and you had another dance, but sooner or later he swallowed you. Sometimes you were already floating, water-logged, on the stream, not dancing any more—that was what old age meant—and then, perhaps, the sooner the great ugly mouth caught you, the better.
But the shadow that sometimes, as now, lay across her garden was not of this nature: it was derivable31 from no fear of old age or death. It was rather due to a certain obstinate32, uninvited questioning as to what was the good of it all, this intense pursuit of distraction of any kind that frightened away tranquillity33 and leisure, this hot fever of living. But good or bad, the only alternative to amusing yourself was boring yourself, which was a more obvious idiocy34. Yet was there, possibly, a certain tedium35 arising out of the mere repetition of experience and excitements, however delightful36 in themselves, if there was nothing, in Mrs. Cyril Pounce37’s inimitable American phrase, “back of them?”
Well, her secretary had disentangled Tuesday for her, and read out in her calm, monotonous38 voice the hours of her engagements. One had to be omitted, but as that was only a bazaar39 in aid of something, it was quite as easy to send a suitable cheque without demanding an equivalent, as to visit the bazaar in person and carry away something she didn’t want. Certainly there was nothing “back of” the bazaar. She was sorry for the blind or for indigent40 spinsters, or for anybody who wasn’t enjoying himself, but she couldn’t make them any happier by buying an object, than by paying for it without getting it.... Mrs. Pounce! That wonderful woman was coming down in time for lunch to-day, and was to motor back to town after dinner. She would probably be dressed in diamonds,{99} with a petticoat of pearls. She was much richer than anybody else had ever been, and so was entitled to respect, but at the moment what Lady Grote envied her for was her simple rule of life, which was never to do anything “back of” which there was not something more.
At present her chief ambition seemed to be to know the whole of London. She had nearly accomplished42 that, but one of the few vacant spaces in her social stamp-book was the place where the Lord Thorley specimen43 should have been. She knew she would meet him here, and so, with great good nature, Helen Grote had invited her down for Sunday afternoon. That seemed about fair—Henry had a vague horror of her as a collector, so Lady Grote had not asked her down from Saturday till Monday. But Henry must just put up with her for a few hours, that was not too much to ask, especially since so many other people were coming down for this curtailed44 visit, people she had not room to saddle herself with for a whole week-end, but people who wanted so much to get to Grote somehow. Mrs. Pounce! And at the thought of Mrs. Pounce and the divine applicability of her name to her methods, Helen began to come out of the shadow again. There was Mrs. Pounce, who had travelled ten or fifteen years longer than she in this vale of tears, and yet had abated45 not one jot46 of her insatiable demands on life, or had ever begun to weep. But then, Mrs. Pounce had had the great luck to begin her explorations from the very bottom of the ladder, whereas poor Helen had started on the very topmost rung. If you started there, you had either to descend47, or, take wings and soar. But for soaring there had to be something “back of it” all.... Mrs. Pounce could never really arrive at the haven48 where she would be, and certainly{100} long before she ever thought she had got there, the great fish would have got her instead.... And even if she ever thought she had quite got there, her whole time would be taken up in maintaining her precarious49 balance, whereas Helen Grote would be obliged to do something quite outrageous50 ever to lose hers.
Society, success, position, all that vocabulary of ridiculous phrases, had only a meaning for such as had not got them. If you had all these things, not even round you but at your feet, you were unconscious of them: the words became gibberish. The only happiness was in getting: what you had got you took for granted. You didn’t want to possess anything of which the essence was yours, just as you never bought a book you had already read. And Lady Grote had read a very large number of such books.
But the shadow cleared off when Miss Armitage produced such a smooth Tuesday for her, and the thought of Mrs. Pounce proved such a tonic51. She was about a hundred times as clever as Mrs. Pounce, and it would be absurd to allow even a half-hour of shadow to darken her own existence, when Mrs. Pounce so gladly stepped ahead through thunderclouds and baffling storm to secure her ultimate serenity52.
So, dismissing Miss Armitage, she sent for the manicurist, who always paid a visit here on Sunday morning, coming down from London, quite at his own expense in the sure and certain hope of securing an admirable return on his speculation. There were always half a dozen woman in the house who would take advantage of his services and, since Mr. Boyton was here, at least one man. Mr. Pantitzi, for such was his florid name was also an expert on the hair, and brought down in his discreet53 wallet little bottles, whose contents, judiciously54 selected and mixed, produced colours that{101} defied detection. Lady Grote adored talking to Mr. Pantitzi about the wickedness of the world as he, with his sad, cynical55 face, made the requisite56 mixture. “And our tears,” as she once expressed it, “mingle with the poisonous dye.”
The passing of the shadow produced a reaction, and, looking at herself in the glass, after Miss Armitage had gone to the telephone, she determined57 to have a crowded hour of glorious Mr. Pantitzi, and to introduce a rather deeper shade of red into her hair. As a girl, she had owned a superb Titian hue58, but Mr. Pantitzi’s ministrations had only in part preserved it. But now was the time to start again: it had not yet “gone so far” as to render a rejuvenescence absurd, and she intensely wanted to encourage herself by presenting to the world the vivider hues59 of youth.
She was forty, and she owned, even with eagerness, to that exact number of years, conscious that she looked not within six years of that age which gives pause to every woman. Probably nobody believed her, for apart from the fact that she had a son of nineteen there was no record in the kindly60 page of Peerages which gave away what she quite freely admitted. But the right criterion of youth is the consciousness of youth, and this morning, after the passage of the shadow, she felt ten years younger than her age.... It was worth while looking the age you felt, and recalling the excitements of the early thirties, she knew that she could live back into those agitating61 days, if her hair would back her up. At the moment it had got a little cendré; there was a dullness as of ashes about it. But with an hour to spare she would rectify62 all that.
The room where she sat adjoined her bedroom, on the other side of it was her bathroom; beyond that again was her maid’s room. It was not quite an ideal{102} arrangement, since she had to pass through her sitting-room63 to reach her bathroom, but the little suite64 formed a corner of the house, and was pleasantly withdrawn65 by baize doors and a little passage of its own from the big corridor. Her maid, as a matter of fact, never slept in the room beyond the bathroom, but only used it as a sort of dress-wardrobe, and sewing-room by day. In fact, the little nest of rooms was really a sort of flat, an island of her own in the great hotel of a house. No one penetrated66 there uninvited: if anyone from the rest of the house, even Gracie or Grote, wanted to see her, inquiry68 must first be made over the silver and white enamel69 telephone that stood on her table as to whether she was disengaged.... Silver and white were indeed the only two colours used in the furnishing and decoration of the room. The floor was painted white, and on it were strewn white skins: the walls were of white boiseries with silver panels: there were silver brocade chairs and chairs of white embroidery70: silver fire-dogs stood on the white-tiled hearth71, and Gracie the consistent used to tell her that she should have the logs of wood white-washed. Without accurately72 knowing why, she, with all her vivid colour-scheme of life, felt an intense satisfaction in this uncoloured nest that somehow represented her, and, as all rooms should be, was a projection73 of herself.
People were apt to smile at the mention of the famous little white room: those unkindly disposed called it the most finished cynicism, while even her friends were inclined to think it an affectation, though they would have been puzzled to be obliged to mention any other instance of pose in her works and days. But, as a matter of fact, both friends and foes74 were wrong in their judgments75; the room was the sincerest possible translation of something that she truly and intimately felt.{103} Those who knew her superficially, and, even more, those who knew her with a certain thoroughness, would have beggared the rainbow of its hues before they hit on white as the colour that matched her, and there was only one person in the world, and that Robin76, to whom this white room seemed the real setting for his mother.
Naturally enough, the boy was utterly77 ignorant concerning the sum of what the world gabbled or whispered about her, and had he been told it, or any portion of it, he would have believed not a single syllable78. But on the other hand he had that instinctive79 knowledge, not of what she did but of what she actually was, which no man but a son can have, and that only when it concerns just one woman in the world. For if the love of a boy for a girl is the blindest of passions, that of a son for a mother, when it has any real existence at all, is the most clear-sighted, piercing through mind and husk unimpeded, like some magical ray, and recording80 only the bone, the structure itself, on which the skin and tissues are hung.
Robin alone, then, in his right of entry into a certain secret place in his mother’s heart, was alone also in his right of entry into this room without inquiry, and presently he came whistling in.
“Morning, mother,” he said. “When are you and I going on the river? Oh, I say, I was sorry for you last night, being left with that fellow. Or do you like him?”
“Mr. Kuhlmann? Yes, don’t you?”
Robin picked up a cigarette.
“Well, speaking quite candidly81, isn’t he rather a bounder?”
She laughed. Nobody but Robin could possibly have said that to her: there was the unique refreshment82 of it.{104}
“I rather think he is,” she said. “But, then, you and I settled long ago, darling, that I liked bounders.”
“I know. Frightfully catholic of you. Sings, doesn’t he?”
“So much so that nobody else can be considered to sing.”
Robin considered this.
“Well, that’s something,” he said. “He wanted to tip me, too, which was quite kind in intention. He thought I was at school.”
“You do look about sixteen,” said his mother. “How much was it? Did you take it?”
“Very likely, isn’t it? Especially when I won eleven pounds last night.”
The mournful Mr. Pantitzi, who had been sent for, entered at this moment with his restorative little wallet. He looked as if he had come to announce a death, and Lady Grote felt a slight tremor83 of suppressed laughter run through Robin’s side as he leaned against her, perched on the arm of her chair.... So Mr. Pantitzi was sent to be sad in the bathroom.
Robin waited, heroically self-contained, until he had vanished.
“My!” he said. “Who sent for the undertaker? What is it?”
“My Italian stainer and polisher, dear. He’s going to stain and polish me. Mind you don’t scream when you see me at lunch, because I shall have red hair by then!”
“Whaffor?” asked Robin.
“Just a change, darling. Besides, it used to be red. Not too red, you know; coppery, like a new penny.”
“Why shouldn’t I have mine dyed, too?” asked Robin. “I’ll have it dyed emerald green, I think. We should be a pretty pair.{105}”
“Do, darling, and we might give an acrobatic performance as the Polychromatic Linnets. Don’t talk such nonsense, but tell me exactly all about yourself. Are you playing cricket for Cambridge?”
“Rather not. There came a day after which I didn’t make a run.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Robin. I know you wanted to,” said she. “And to think that I spent a whole hour at Lord’s the other day, in order to try to understand what it was all about.”
“Any success?”
“No, dear, not a particle. It seemed to me the most confused thing I ever saw. Everyone kept walking about every minute or two. Why did they do that? And if I made the rules, the man who hit the ball away would have to go and fetch it.”
Robin pondered over this remarkable84 innovation.
“Certainly it sounds fairer,” he admitted, “but, then it wouldn’t be the same game.”
“I thought that would be such an advantage. But I was determined to understand something about it, if you were going to play for Cambridge. I was going to Lord’s again this week.”
“Well, you needn’t now. That’s a silver lining85 to the black cloud.”
“What cloud?” she asked. “Oh, I see, the fact of your not getting into the—the—eleven, aren’t there?”
“Yes. You used to know that well enough when I was at school.”
“I know I did. But I’ve forgotten. You see, cricket doesn’t enter really very essentially86 into my life, except when it concerns your precious self. Go on, Robin; tell me heaps more about yourself. My appetite for cricket is rather bird-like. I peck and go away. Birds, isn’t that what they call you?{106}”
“If you happen to be a Robin and a Linnet there’s not much else to say,” remarked Robin.
“No, it sounds natural. But go on—I didn’t mean to interrupt. Have you fallen in love with anybody lately?”
“Yes, last night, with Mrs. Lockwater. O-oh!”
Lady Grote burst into a peal87 of laughter.
“My dear, she’s a little old for you, isn’t she?” she said. “And she’s got a husband already, which is a pity.”
“But you don’t want to marry everyone you fall in love with, do you?” asked he. “You want—you just want. I don’t mind about her husband a bit.”
“You would if you saw him. But perhaps she would divorce him. He’s got whiskers.”
“Lor! Why did she ever marry him, then? Or perhaps he grew them afterwards!”
“No, he’s the sort of person who always had whiskers. Do promise me that you will never grow whiskers, darling. They seem to damn the soul, don’t they! I should turn in my grave if I thought you were growing whiskers. So if by chance, when I am quite dead, you want to grow whiskers, mind you dig me up with an order from the Secretary for Cemeteries88, whoever it is, and you’ll find me lying on my face, and—and a trace of mineral poison in my lungs.”
“Why that?” asked Robin.
“Just to make it more exciting. I was only adding detail to a bald narrative89. Isn’t there anybody else besides Mrs. Lockwater? Surely there was somebody last Easter.”
Robin laughed.
“Yes, there was,” he said. “There was a girl in Tiddlewinks.”
“What are they? How do you get there?{107}”
“It’s a revue, mother. I had forgotten all about it till you suggested it. She sang ‘Oysters90 on the Pier41.’ You never saw anybody so fetching.”
“Oh, but she mustn’t fetch you. I don’t think I should like her as a daughter-in-law. Or are oysters ‘off’ now, since it is June?”
“Fairly off. But they might come on again. I wish you’d go and see her. You might tell me what you thought.”
“That is a very odd thing to ask of an aged5 and respectable mother,” said Lady Grote, looking about twenty-five.
“No, it isn’t. I could ask you to do anything, because you would understand. Of course it’s all chaff——”
She laid her hand on his, interrupting.
“My dear, you’ve said something that isn’t all chaff,” she said. “You told me you could ask me to do anything because I would understand. Oh, Robin, don’t ever forget that you felt that. It’s an enchanting91 thing for a mother to have said to her by her son. Oh, you bone of my bone! I almost wish you would do something quite out of the pale, in order to see whether I didn’t stick to you. Do be had up for some really awful charge, like taking a penny from a blind beggar.... There’s that damned telephone ringing. Just see what it wants, or tell it quite straight that it can’t have it.”
Robin listened, and as he listened, stiffened92 slightly.
“Oh, yes,” he said, with so icy a politeness that his mother instantly guessed to whom he was speaking.
“Yes, I’m afraid that she’s particularly engaged just now.”
Lady Grote got up.{108}
“Hold on a minute, Robin,” she said. “I want to say one word to Mr. Kuhlmann.”
Robin very rudely made what is called “a face” at his mother, and replaced the receiver with so great a peremptoriness93 that he chipped a piece of enamel off it.
“Darling, you’ve got no manners,” she said.
“I know. Badly brought up. But, then, you see I’ve got you for the present. And then it’s the turn of the undertaker. But I wish you would come on the river instead.”
“But, darling, Mr. Pantitzi with—with his plumes94 and his coffin95. Don’t insist.”
“Will you come if I insist?” asked the boy.
“I suppose so. What a bully96 you are! No one else in the wide world treats me like that. Go away, while I finish dressing97 and explaining to Mr. Pantitzi. We won’t take anyone else, shall we?”
“Not even Mr. Kuhlmann,” said Robin confidently.
Some twenty more guests came down from London that morning in time for lunch, to spend the afternoon, dine and scurry99 back to town again by train or motor that evening, since the sleeping accommodation of the house was already taxed to its limit. Mrs. Pounce, very nearly covered with pearls, glided100 about from group to group as they sat in the loggia, or beneath the big awning101 that covered in one end of the terrace, as if moving on castors, and steadily102 and relentlessly103 worked her way into introduction to and conversation with anyone whom she did not know who was worth knowing. There was an excursion in the steam launch five miles up the river to where another hostess was keeping open Sunday, and a party of her guests came down the river to have tea at Grote. Some played{109} lawn tennis, and since the man who had just won the open championship at Wimbledon was among the Sunday arrivals, there was a sort of queue of incompetent104 but eager ladies to be his partner, and the poor young man, who would far more contentedly105 have sat in the shade, and flirted107 desperately108 with each of his partners for the period of a set, was obliged to play for some four hours on end.
Others were taken to a golf links some twenty miles distant and indulged in mixed foursomes, and the more sedentary, having exhausted109 the current scandalous topics, made up bridge-tables in the loggia. A troop of servants hovered about all afternoon with trays of cigarettes and iced drinks in long glasses, to give support and stimulant110 to the hours that intervened between lunch and tea, between tea and dinner.
A fever of mere living, a determination to make the most out of the present moment, whether bridge or scandal or games were the tincture in which the present moment was administered, pervaded111 the huge, extravagant112 restaurant, in which were collected the prettiest women and the most notable men who at the moment were the cream on that great saturated113 tipsy-cake called “the great world,” as opposed to the world generally.
From all nations, peoples and languages were they gathered together; France, Germany and Russia all sent representatives to this court of Mayfair, which was as exclusive in one sense as it was democratic in another. For into other courts any successful grocer and his wife can penetrate67 and make their obeisance114, provided they have wealth, benevolence115 and respectability to be their sponsors, but mere benevolence and respectability were as powerless as unweaned babes to secure an entry on to Lady Grote’s lawn. So, too, was mere birth;{110} the door was shut courteously116 but perfectly117 firmly in the face of anyone whose sole claim to coming in was something to do with William the Conqueror118 or Plantagenets generally; Lady Grote, in fact, was very exclusive in her hospitalities towards her own class, which, as a rule, consider it to be its right not so much to be excluded but to exclude.
On the other hand, as opposed to the usual procedure of less notable courts, the complete absence of anything approaching respectability was by no means a bar to entrance, though dullness, just ordinary, uncriminal, respectable dullness, quite unaccustomed in other places to be turned away, was here ejected with remarkable swiftness. But wealth, given that it was of Pounce-like proportions, here as elsewhere could show a ticket of admittance, even when totally unaccompanied by benevolence and respectability, for wealth in sufficient quantities had, in Lady Grote’s mind, a certain distinction: it implied power....
Wealth, indeed, to-day was considerably119 represented, and notable blends from America, Germany and (originally) Palestine could, by forming a small Semitic syndicate, have bought up the rest of the crowd, had it been for sale. Not to mention Mrs. Pounce, Sir Isaac Levison was there, playing bridge for extremely small points and almost squealing120 with dismay when his partner, greatly daring, incurred121 penalties. Lady Gurtner was there, too; she had two valid122 claims for admittance, the first of which was the really colossal123 wealth of her husband, Sir Hermann Gurtner, a German Jew, like in appearance to a small London fog, all black and yellow; the second her own almost lascivious124 enjoyment125 of the circles into which she had so firmly and industriously126 climbed. Like all her sisterhood,{111} she had a speciality to attract people to her house beyond mere food and magnificent tapestries127, for with a good deal of acumen128, on her entry into London life but a few years ago, she had foreseen a “boom” in poetry, and made her house an absolute Parnassus. There all the bards129, French, English and German, congregated130, and read aloud their latest productions. Nobody, or very few at the most, really cared about poetry, bad, good, or indifferent, but in a certain prominent set in London it was the fashion to simulate a passion for verse, and on the “viewless wings of poesy,” with this set as pilots, she soared with prodigious131 rapidity. In bright blue stockings, assumed for the purpose of flight, she mounted into the blue, and now being able to pick and choose her friends, instead of having eagerly to welcome anybody who would come, she was beginning to throw both the poetical132 set and the poets overboard like ballast, for she found there were others whom poetry, especially the recitation of it after dinner, when they preferred poker133, positively134 kept away.
She was a very good linguist135, being German on her mother’s side, and having lived much as a girl in France, and before Sir Hermann married her had been a governess in a family, where, as is the custom with governesses, she did not come down to dinner. Now, by the revolution of the wheel of fate, she was able to ask her late employers to dinner, and send them in towards the tail of her more resplendent guests. She was a snob136 of purest ray serene137, and dressed her tall and beautiful figure in the most amazing gowns.
Sir Hermann had lately built an enormous house in Curzon Street, and had furnished it with anything in the way of tapestry138, lacquer, Louis XV., and old oak that was expensive enough. There was no taste of any sort exercised over his purchases; the only point was{112} that they should be extremely costly139, and in consequence the whole house resembled a museum. He spoke140 German with an English accent, French with a German accent and English with a Yiddish accent. But he spoke all three sparingly, for he had nothing much to say in any of them.
To-day Lady Gurtner had brought down a young Neapolitan poet on Lady Grote’s invitation, who recited some amorous141 outpourings of his own to an enraptured142 audience, who understood not a word he was saying, for he shouted and whispered and bellowed143 and hissed144 in the dialect of the Neapolitan Camorra, of which society he was a prominent and active member. But it was wildly exciting to see anybody get so excited, especially since it was a sort of Apollo who raved145, and he was further notable for having killed his wife, whom he passionately146 adored, for the very best of motives147. These stanzas148 were addressed to her, and when he came to the last line in which he told her that her last hour was come, he gave a wild scream (which so startled the tennis-champion that he served a double fault) and burst into a torrent149 of tears. This was immensely thrilling, and he was a great success until, on his being sufficiently150 comforted by Lady Gurtner and a friend or two of the poetical fanatics151, whose hands he grasped so hard that they were covered with bruises152 next day, he proceeded to console himself further by getting drunk, and was in consequence unable to appear at dinner. But he had done his “stunt,” he had contributed his quota153 of excitement, and it did not particularly matter what happened to him afterwards, for nobody really wanted to hear “Giustizia” again.
It was Lady Grote’s amiable154 custom to devote some portion of the hours to each of her guests after the morning, which she claimed as her own, and since she{113} had not yet had a word with Mr. Boyton she took him for a short stroll in the woods above the river in the half hour before dinner. Sunset flamed between the powdered trunks of the beech155-trees, but the river in the valley below, from which the light had been withdrawn, lay like a broad riband of pale green, reflecting the sky above the flaming west.
His admiration156 for her was perfectly sincere, his expression of it verged157 on the dithyrambic, because that was his habit of speech when he paid his florid tributes to the aristocracy, and because he also wished, if possible, to get an invitation for next Sunday, when, so he had ascertained158, some very august people were expected.
“I want to applaud you, my dear lady,” he said, “every moment of the exquisite159 day that I pass here. If I followed my inclination160, my hands would be mere ribands of raw flesh before evening. Like some celestial161 and magical amalgam162 you weld into a complete whole the amazingly different units that come here to pay you homage163. Why is it that no one else has the smallest idea of how to do it, or, to put it differently, how is it that you have so complete a recipe for making us all homogeneous?”
Lady Grote, for all her splendour, was the most modest of mankind, but she rather liked other people being immodest, so to speak, about her.
“Oh, Mr. Boyton,” she said, “do you think they are really enjoying themselves? If they are, it has nothing to do with me——”
He interrupted.
“Let us instantly find a horse-marine,” he said, “to whom to confide98 that astounding164 information. Where is a horse-marine; I insist on a horse-marine being produced without delay. You are like that industrious{114} conjurer whom I remember seeing in ancient days at the Egyptian Hall, who kept with a touch of his deft165 hand half a dozen plates and a washing basin all miraculously166 dancing together on a small table without pause or collision. You have the touch—nature is it, or art? I suspect the consummate167 art that counterfeits168 nature—the touch that makes the whole world grin. We, cross-grained people, are just a collection of smiles when we are here. And what a supreme169 collection! I, the commonest of your specimens170, cannot help swelling171 with scarcely decent exultation172 at the fact that for the moment I belong to it. Think of them! Lord Thorley moving about in worlds not realized. I always feel inclined to address him, ‘Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height.’ There is something virginal about that beautiful, aloof173 mind.”
She laughed.
“I saw him revoke174 just now at bridge,” she said. “That was human of him.”
“No, I take it the other way round. He was soaring somewhere on eagle’s wings; his revoke was but a moulted feather, an eagle’s feather that fluttered down from the empyrean. But I insist on going on with the survey of your spinning plates. There is our dear Duchess, whom I take to be no other than an incarnation of La Grande Bretagne out on a bank holiday. There is Monsieur Pelleton, who no less surely stands for France, and there is Sir Hermann Gurtner, who, although he plays bridge by the Thames, is no less surely the spirit of the ‘Watch by the Rhine,’ for the moment, it is true, asleep. There is Mrs. Pounce, in whom we are right to behold175 the States of America united in one small and imperfectly constructed human frame, for the shortness of her legs is as remarkable as the length of her tongue. There is Geoffrey Belling{115}ham, in whose eyes abide176 the visions of Velasquez, and in whose mouth a confused noise welters; there is Kuhlmann, in whose mouth Song itself makes its home, and in whose eyes, as far as I can judge, a wild cat. And each of these great personages requires, in the ordinary way, a whole stage to himself, with a mute and enthralled177 audience. But here they are merely harmonious178 and humble179 spectators, who but rise from their seats to applaud.”
Mr. Boyton outlined this brilliant little sketch180 in the manner of a lightning artist at a music-hall. It seemed dashed in with all the effervescent charm of an improvisation181, but behind the improvisation, just as in the case of the music-hall artist, there had been much quiet study in the composition of its neat phrasing. But it came out fresh as the milky-green of the beech foliage182 above him.
“Ah, but you have left out Robin and Mrs. Lockwater,” said Lady Grote. “Do say something delicious about Robin.”
“Just now they appeared to be enacting183 the fable184 of Endymion and the Moon in reversed r?les,” said Mr. Boyton. “Robin as Endymion was attempting to wake up the Moon. The Moon appeared gratified but drowsy185.”
“That will do; that is charming. Robin is the most awful flirt106. He has always got a moon on hand, which changes with remarkable rapidity. But we must get back, I am afraid; it is nearly dinner-time. Don’t dress, Mr. Boyton, unless you feel inclined. There are lots of people going back to town after dinner who won’t.”
“I am not among them. I shall certainly dress to show that I am staying here. And you go to town to-morrow?{116}”
“Yes, till Saturday, when some other people are kind enough to come down here.”
“How kind of them; how remarkably186 kind!” he said. “It is most self-sacrificing of them. I shall picture them this time next week, those unfortunate guests of yours, boring themselves down here, while I stew187 in town.”
There was more than a hint conveyed here, and with the utmost good nature she took it.
“Ah, do come and bore yourself, too,” she said. “Come down on Sunday. I wish I could ask you to stay, but we are quite full.”
“My dear lady, it is too kind of you. I have warned you before that I am utterly incapable188 of refusing any invitation from you.”
“That is charming, then; I shall expect you. Look, we are going to have a little illumination to-night on the terrace. I think it will look rather pretty. Or will it be too like a railway station with green lights and red lights, and a large crowd having dinner in the refreshment-room, which is the loggia, and then rushing away in different directions? Basle railway station, you know, where everybody eats in a great hurry and then disperses189 to Germany and Switzerland and France. I rather adore railway stations; there is a sense of movement.”
“There is that very often on the Channel,” said he. “But your illuminations are charming. They altogether extinguish the rather sad light which comes at the beginning and end of every day.”
“I know. I dislike the twilight190 in the evening. It reminds one that there’s a day gone. It’s like the curtain coming down at the end of a play. But the morning twilight I love; that is the curtain going up on the first act. Something is going to happen, and you{117} don’t know what. In the evening something has happened, and you do know what.”
“In this instance a perfectly charming day has happened,” said he.
“That is nice of you. But nothing quite comes up to what you expect of it. The evening is the sadder light.”
“I have heard—I do not know with what truth—” said he, “that there are people so fortunate as to experience very agreeable sensations after sunset.”
This was thoroughly191 Boytonian, the sort of thing that made people laugh at their own thoughts. But on this occasion her own thoughts did not amuse her. They were too serious.
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1
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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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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erecting
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| v.使直立，竖起( erect的现在分词 )；建立 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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immature
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| adj.未成熟的，发育未全的，未充分发展的 | |
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tarnish
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| n.晦暗，污点；vt.使失去光泽；玷污 | |
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8
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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17
battalions
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| n.（陆军的）一营（大约有一千兵士）( battalion的名词复数 )；协同作战的部队；军队；（组织在一起工作的）队伍 | |
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18
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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19
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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20
unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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21
overlap
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| v.重叠，与…交叠；n.重叠 | |
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22
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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23
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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25
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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26
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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27
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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28
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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29
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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30
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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31
derivable
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| adj.可引出的，可推论的，可诱导的 | |
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32
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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33
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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34
idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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35
tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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36
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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37
pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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38
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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39
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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40
indigent
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的 | |
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41
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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42
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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43
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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44
curtailed
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| v.截断，缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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46
jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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47
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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48
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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49
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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50
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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51
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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52
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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53
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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54
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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55
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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56
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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57
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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58
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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59
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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60
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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61
agitating
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| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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62
rectify
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| v.订正，矫正，改正 | |
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63
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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64
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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65
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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66
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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67
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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68
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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69
enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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70
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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71
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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72
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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73
projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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74
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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75
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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76
robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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77
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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78
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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79
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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80
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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81
candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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82
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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83
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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84
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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85
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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86
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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87
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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88
cemeteries
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| n.（非教堂的）墓地，公墓( cemetery的名词复数 ) | |
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89
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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90
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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91
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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92
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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93
peremptoriness
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| n.专横，强制，武断 | |
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94
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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95
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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96
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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97
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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98
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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99
scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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100
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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101
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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102
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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103
relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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104
incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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105
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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106
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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107
flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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109
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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110
stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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111
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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113
saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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114
obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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115
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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116
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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117
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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118
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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119
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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120
squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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121
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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122
valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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123
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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124
lascivious
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| adj.淫荡的，好色的 | |
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125
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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126
industriously
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127
tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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128
acumen
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| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
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129
bards
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| n.诗人( bard的名词复数 ) | |
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130
congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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131
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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132
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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133
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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134
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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135
linguist
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| n.语言学家；精通数种外国语言者 | |
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136
snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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137
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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138
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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139
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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140
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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141
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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142
enraptured
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| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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143
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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144
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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145
raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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146
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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147
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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148
stanzas
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| 节，段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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149
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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150
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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151
fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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152
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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153
quota
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| n.（生产、进出口等的）配额，（移民的）限额 | |
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154
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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155
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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156
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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157
verged
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| 接近，逼近（verge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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158
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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160
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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161
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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162
amalgam
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| n.混合物；汞合金 | |
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163
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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164
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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165
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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166
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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167
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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168
counterfeits
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| v.仿制，造假( counterfeit的第三人称单数 ) | |
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169
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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170
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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171
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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172
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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173
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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174
revoke
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| v.废除，取消，撤回 | |
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175
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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176
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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177
enthralled
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| 迷住，吸引住( enthrall的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到非常愉快 | |
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178
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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179
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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180
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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181
improvisation
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| n.即席演奏(或演唱)；即兴创作 | |
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182
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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183
enacting
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的现在分词 ) | |
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184
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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185
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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186
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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187
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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188
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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189
disperses
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| v.（使）分散( disperse的第三人称单数 )；疏散；驱散；散布 | |
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190
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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191
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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