Julia, happy in her own unsullied eager youth, made the acquaintance of London when that seasoned old dame14 was taking her yearly elixir15 of life, and thought herself come to Paradise. She had hardly a word for her aunt, Mrs. Winstone, who had met her at the railway station, but twisted her neck to look at the shop windows, the hoary16 old palaces and churches, the passing troops of cavalry17, gorgeous as exotics, the monuments to heroes, the bare-kneed Scot in his kilt, and the Oriental in his turban. It was Mrs. Winstone’s hour for driving, and as her young guest’s frock had not been made for Hyde Park, and Julia had laughed when asked if she were tired, the constitutional was taken through the streets and in or about the smaller parks. The coachman was far too haughty18 himself to venture beyond the West End, or even to skirt those purlieus which lie at its back doors.
Julia’s eyes, wide and star-like as they were, missed not a detail, and she felt as happy as on the night of her first party. The journey had been monotonous19, the passengers, when not ill, rather dull. Therefore was her plastic mind shaped to drink down in great draughts20 the pleasures promised by the city of her dreams. Moreover, never in her life had she felt so well. The eighteen days at sea, the wholesome21 food, the constant exercise in which a good sailor always indulges, if only to get away with the time, long days in cold salt air, had crimsoned22 her blood, vitalized every organ. France and the reason of her translation to London she had almost forgotten. There had been a hurried marriage at Great House; then, almost before the wine had been tasted, the indignant bridegroom had been summoned to his ship, which, with the rest of the squadron, had sailed two hours later. There had been a succession of infuriated letters, mailed at the different islands, and Julia knew that France intended to leave the service as soon as he set foot in England; but as that could not be for weeks to come, she had dismissed him from her mind.
“Shall I live here?” she asked at length, as they drove down the wide Mall, one of the finest avenues in Christendom, and half rising to look at Buckingham Palace.
“You should know.” Mrs. Winstone had received only a cablegram from her sister. “France has a house, a bit of a place in Hertfordshire, but only rooms in town, so far as I know. The duke, however, may ask you to stop with him in St. James’s Square—for a bit. He seems enchanted24 to get France married, but it is rather fortunate that I have known him for years and can vouch25 for you. France, returning with a bride from the antipodes—well?—”
“Of course the duke would expect some one much older, Mr. France is so old himself. But I’m glad he doesn’t mind, for I want to live in castles. It’s too bad Mr. France hasn’t one.”
“Is that what you married France for? I have wondered.”
Julia shrugged26 her restless young shoulders, and looked at the carriages full of finery rolling between the columns of Hyde Park.
“Mother told me to marry him and I did, of course. I have known, ever since I was about eight, that I was to marry at this time and start upon some wonderful career, for there’s no getting the best of the planets. I had to take the man who came along at the right moment.”
Mrs. Winstone was one of those extremely smart English women who put on an expression of youthful vacuity27 with their public toilettes, but at this point she so far forgot herself as to sit up and gasp28.
“Not that old nonsense! You don’t mean to tell me that Jane still believes—why, I had forgotten the thing. Hinson! Home!”
As the carriage turned and rolled toward Tilney Street Mrs. Winstone, really interested for the first time, stared hard at the face beside her. Had she a child on her hands? It had been rather a bore, the prospect29 of fitting out and putting through her preliminary paces a young West Indian bride, mooning the while for an absent groom23. But she had never seen any one look less like a bride, more heart-whole.
“Do you love France?” she asked abruptly30.
“Of course not. He’s a horrid31 funny old thing, and his eyes look like glass when they don’t look like Fawcett’s when he’s been drinking, poor darling. And some of his hair is gray. But of course he’ll die soon and then I’ll have a handsome young husband.”
Mrs. Winstone regarded the tip of her boot. She was worldly, selfish, vain, envied this young relative who would one day be a duchess, but she had an abundant store of that good nature which is the brass32 but pleasant counterfeit33 of a kind heart. She would not put herself out for any one, unless there were amusement or profit in it for her pampered34 self, but she would do so much if there were, that she had the reputation of being one of the “nicest women in London.” It was a long time—she was a widow of thirty-four, and enjoyed a comfortable income—since she had felt a spasm35 of natural sympathy, but she put this sensation to her credit as she turned again to the child beside her.
“I wish I had gone down to Nevis last year, as I half intended,” she remarked. “It would have been good for my nerves, too. But there is such a vast difference between the ages of your mother and myself—we are at the opposite ends of a good old West Indian family—and we don’t get on very well. If I had—tell me about the wedding. I suppose it was a great affair. Where did you go for the honeymoon36?”
“No, I didn’t have a fine wedding. One day Mr. France was just calling, when the minister of Fig37 Tree Church was also there, and mother told us to stand up and be married. A few minutes after a sailor came running up with an order from the Captain to Mr. France to go to the ship at once. Before he had a chance to return the squadron sailed. For some reason the Captain didn’t want us to marry, and mother was delighted at getting the best of him. I never knew her to be in such a good humor as she was all the rest of that day and the next. But the Captain must have been as cross as Mr. France when he found out he was too late. Mother and the planets are too much for anybody.”
Mrs. Winstone had learned all she wished to know. Mrs. Edis would have been wholly—no doubt satirically—content with the resolution born instantly in her sister’s agile38 mind. France would not arrive for a month or six weeks. There was nothing for it but to make his bride so worldly and frivolous39 that some of this appalling40 innocence41 would disappear in the process. Mrs. Winstone did not take kindly42 to the task, being fastidious and tolerably decent, but having read the book of life by artificial light for many years, could arrive at no other solution of her problem.
“France has been cabling frantically43 to be relieved, has even sent his resignation, but either there is no one to take his place on such short notice, or some one is exerting a counter-influence—possibly your good friend, the Captain—and he must wait until the squadron returns. Meanwhile, we shall not let you miss him. The duke has sent me a check for your trousseau, and this is the very height of the season—here we are. It is a box, but I hope you will not be uncomfortable.”
Among other considerations, Mrs. Winstone did not permit herself to forget that now was her opportunity to ingratiate herself with a future peeress of Britain. “Although anything less like a duchess,” she thought grimly as she laid her arm lightly about Julia’s waist while ascending44 the stair, “I never saw out of America or on the stage. But the duke, good soul, will be delighted.”
The house, small, like so many in Mayfair, was all drawing-room on the first floor, a right angle of a room, so shaped and furnished as to give it an air of spaciousness45. The front window was open to the flower boxes; there was a narrow conservatory46 across the back, which added to its depth. Above were one large bedroom and two small ones; and those of the servants, a flight higher, were a disgrace to civilization.
But all that was intended for polite eyes presented a picture of ease, luxury, taste, smartness; moreover, had the unattainable air of having been occupied for several generations. Americans and other outsiders, settling for a season or two in London, spend thousands of pounds to look as if living in a packing-case of expensive goods, but Englishwomen of moderate income, combined with traditions and certain inheritances, often give the impression of aristocratic wealth and luxury.
Captain Winstone (recruited also from the generous navy) had inherited the house in Tilney Street from his mother, an old dame of taste and fashion, who, besides careful weeding in the possessions of her ancestors, had travelled much and bought with a fine discrimination that was a part of her hardy47 contempt for Victorian fashions. The house, with three thousand pounds a year, was Mrs. Winstone’s for so long as she should grace this planet, and enabled her to exist, even to pay her dressmakers on account, when they made nuisances of themselves. But although she would have liked a great income, she had never been tempted48 to marry again, holding that a widow who sacrificed her liberties for anything less than a peerage was a fool; and no peer had crossed her path wealthy enough to be disinterested49, or poor enough to share her humble50 dowry with gratitude51. She always carried on a mild flirtation52 with a tame cat a few years younger than herself, who would fetch and carry, and, if wealthy, make her nice presents. If not, she fed him and took him to drive in her Victoria. Her heart and passions never troubled her, but her vanity required constant sustenance53. She did not in the least mind the implication when the infant-in-waiting was invited to the country houses she visited; not only was her vanity flattered, but the generous tolerance54 of her world always amused her. She lived on the surface of life, and altogether was an enviable woman.
Julia was delighted with her little room, done up in fresh chintz, too absorbed and happy to notice that it overlooked a mews. A four-wheeler had already brought her box, and a maid had unpacked55 her modest wardrobe. Mrs. Winstone, glancing over it with a suppressed sigh, told her to put on something white, as people would drop in for tea, then retired56 to the large front bedroom to be arrayed in a tea-gown of pink chiffon and much French lace.
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1
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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ostrich
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| n.鸵鸟 | |
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depletion
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| n.耗尽，枯竭 | |
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10
compensated
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| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
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luscious
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| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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14
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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16
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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17
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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18
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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21
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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crimsoned
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| 变为深红色（crimson的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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23
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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24
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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25
vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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26
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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vacuity
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| n.(想象力等)贫乏，无聊，空白 | |
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28
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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31
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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32
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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33
counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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34
pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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36
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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40
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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41
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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42
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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43
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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44
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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45
spaciousness
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| n.宽敞 | |
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46
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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47
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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48
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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49
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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50
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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51
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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52
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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53
sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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54
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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55
unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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56
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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