Then he went on to Maud’s. “Mrs Sartoris at home?”
“Yes, sir; but she’s just this minute gone up to dress for dinner.”
“Tell her I must see her at once,” Will exclaimed with decision,?—?“on important business. Let her come down just as she is. If she’s not presentable, ask her to throw a dressing2-gown round her, or anything, to save time, and run down without delay, as I must speak with her immediately on a most pressing matter.”
The maid, smiling incredulity, ran upstairs with his message. Will, with heart on fire, much perturbed4 on Linnet’s account, walked alone into the drawing-room, to await his sister’s coming. He was too anxious to sit still; he paced up and down the room, with hands behind his back, and eyes fixed5 on the carpet. A minute . . . two minutes . . . four, five, ten passed, and yet no Maud. It seemed almost as if she meant to keep him waiting on purpose. He chafed6 at it inwardly; at so critical a juncture7, surely she might hurry herself after such an urgent message.
At last, Maud descended8?—?ostentatiously half-dressed. She wore an evening skirt?—?very rich and handsome; but, in place of a bodice, she had thrown loosely around her a becoming blue bedroom jacket, trimmed with dainty brown facings. Arthur Sartoris, in full clerical evening costume and spotless white tie, followed close behind her. Maud burst into the room with a stately sweep of implied remonstrance9. “This is very inconvenient10, Will,” she said in her chilliest11 tone, holding up one cheek as she spoke12 in a frigid13 way for a fraternal salute14, and pulling her jacket together symbolically15?—?“very, very inconvenient. We’ve the Dean and his wife coming to dine, as you know, in a quarter of an hour?—?and the Jenkinses, and the Macgregors, and those people from St Christopher’s. Fortunately, I happened to go up early to dress, and had got pretty well through with my hair when your name was announced, or I’m sure I don’t know how I could ever have come down to you. Oh, Arthur?—?you’re ready?—?run and get me the maiden-hair and the geranium from my room; I can be sticking them in before the glass, while Will’s talking to me about this sudden and mysterious business of his. They’re in the tumbler on the wash-hand-stand, behind the little red pot; and?—?wait a moment?—?of course I shall want some hairpins16?—?the thin twisted American ones. You know where I keep them?—?in the silver-topped box. Go quick, there’s a dear. Well, Will, what do you want me for?”
This was a discouraging reception, to be sure, and boded17 small good for his important errand. Will knew well on a dinner night the single emotion of a British matron! Church, crown, and constitution might fall apart piecemeal18 before Maud Sartoris’s eyes, and she would take no notice of them. Still at least he must try, for Linnet’s sake he must try; and he began accordingly. In as brief words as he could find, he explained hastily to Maud the nature and gravity of the existing situation. Signora Casalmonte, that beautiful, graceful19 singer who had made the success of Cophetua’s Adventure?—?Signora Casalmonte (he never spoke of her as “Linnet” to Maud, of course,) had long suffered terribly at the hands of her husband, whose physical cruelty, not to mention other things, had driven her to-day to leave his house hurriedly, without hope of return again. Flying in haste from his violence, and not knowing where to look for aid in her trouble, she had taken refuge for the moment?—?Will eyed his sister close?—?it was an error of judgment21?—?no more?—?at his rooms in St James’s. “You recollect,” he said apologetically, “we were very old friends; I had known her in the Tyrol, and had so much to do with her while she was singing in my opera.”
Maud nodded assent22, and went on unconcerned, with a quiet smile on her calm face, arranging the geranium and maiden-hair in a neat little spray at one side of her much frizzed locks, with the profoundest attention.
“Well?” she said inquiringly at last, as Will, floundering on, paused for a moment and glanced at her. “So the lady with many names?—?Casalmonte, Hausberger, Linnet, Carlotta, and so forth23?—?is this moment at your rooms, and I suppose is going to sup there. A queer proceeding24, isn’t it? It’s no business of mine, of course, but I certainly must say I should have thought your own sister was the last person in the world even you would dream of coming to tell about this nice little escapade of yours.”
“Maud,” Will said, very seriously, “let’s be grave; this is no laughing matter.” Then, in brief words once more, he went on to explain the difficulty he felt as to Linnet’s arrangements for the immediate3 future. He said nothing about the divorce, of course; nothing about his love and devotion towards Linnet. Those chords could have struck no answering string in the British matron’s severely25 proper nature. He merely pointed26 out that Linnet was a friend in distress27, whose good name he wished to save against unjust aspersions. Having left her husband she ought to go somewhere to a responsible married woman?—?“And I’ve come to ask you, Maud,” he concluded, “as an act of Christian28 charity to a sister in distress, will you take her in, for to-night at least, till I can see with greater clearness what to do with her in future?”
Maud stared at him in blank horror. “My dear boy,” she cried, “are you mad? What a proposal to make to me! How on earth can you ever think I could possibly do it?”
“And it would be such a splendid chance, too,” Will cried, carried away by his enthusiasm?—?“the Dean coming to dinner and all! in a clergyman’s house, with such people to vouch29 for her! Why, with backers like that, scandal itself couldn’t venture to wag its vile30 tongue at her!”
Maud looked at him with a faint quiver in her clear-cut nostrils31. “That’s just it!” she answered promptly32. “But there, Will, you’re a heathen! You’ll never understand! You have quite a congenital incapacity for appreciating and entering into the clerical situation. Isn’t that so, dear Arthur? You belong to another world?—?the theatrical33 world?—?where morals and religion are all topsy-turvy, anyhow! How could you suppose for a moment a clergyman’s wife could receive into her house, on such a night as this, an opera-singing woman with three aliases34 to her name, who’s just run away in a fit of pique35 from her lawful36 husband! Whether she’s right or wrong, she’s not a person one could associate with! To mix oneself up like that with a playhouse scandal! and the Dean coming to dine, whose influence for a canonry’s so important to us all! The dear, good Dean! Now Arthur, isn’t Will just too ridiculous for anything?”
“It certainly would seem extremely inconsistent,” Arthur Sartoris replied, fingering that clerical face dubiously37; “extremely inconsistent.” But he added after a pause, with a professional afterthought, “Though, of course, Maud, if she’s leaving him on sufficient grounds?—?compelled to it, in fact, not through any fault of her own, but through the man’s misconduct?—?and if she thinks it would be wrong to put up with him any longer, yet feels anxious to avoid all appearance of evil, why, naturally, as Christians38, we sympathise with her most deeply. But as to taking her into our house?—?now really, Will, you must see?—?I put it to you personally?—?would you do it yourself if you were in our position?”
Maud for her part, being a woman, was more frankly39 worldly. “And it’d get into the papers, too!” she cried. “Labby’d put it in the papers. . . . Just imagine it in Truth, Arthur!?—?‘I’m also told, on very good authority, that the erring40 soul, having drifted from her anchorage, went straight from her husband’s house to Mrs Arthur Sartoris’s. Now, Mrs Arthur Sartoris, it may be necessary to inform the innocent reader, is Mr Deverill’s sister; and Mr Deverill is the well-known author and composer of Cophetua’s Adventure,?—?in which capacity he must doubtless have enjoyed, for many months, abundant opportunities for making the best of the Signora’s society. Verbum sap.?—?but I would advise the Reverend Arthur to remember in future the Apostle’s injunctions on the duty of ruling his own house well, and having his children in subjection with all gravity.’ That’s just about what Labby would say of it!”
Will’s face burned bright red. If his own sister spoke thus, what things could he expect the outer world to say of his stainless41 Linnet. “You forget,” he said, a little angrily, “the Apostle advises, too, in the self-same passage, that a bishop42 should be given to hospitality; and that his wife should be grave; not a slanderer43; sober and faithful in all things. I came to you to-night hoping you would extend that hospitality to an injured wife who desires to take refuge blamelessly from an unworthy husband. If you refuse her such aid, you are helping44 in so far to drive her into evil courses. I asked you as my sister; I’m sorry you’ve refused me.”
“But, my dear boy,” Maud began, “you must see for yourself that for a clergyman’s wife to have her name mixed up?—?oh, good gracious, there’s the bell! They’re coming, Will, I’m sure. I must rush up this very moment, and put on my bodice at once. Thank goodness, Arthur, you’re dressed, or what ever should I do? Stop down here and receive them.”
“Then you absolutely refuse?” Will cried, as she fled, scuffling, woman-wise, to the door.
“I absolutely refuse!” Maud answered from the landing. “I’m surprised that you should even dream of asking your sister to take into her house, under circumstances like these, a runaway45 actress-woman!” And, with a glance towards the hall, she scurried46 hastily upstairs, with the shuffling47 gait of a woman surprised, to her own bedroom.
Mechanically, Will shook hands with that irreproachable48 Arthur Sartoris, passed the Dean, all wrinkled smiles, in the vestibule below, and returned again with a hot heart to his waiting hansom. “Hans Place, Chelsea!” he cried through the flap: and the cabman drove him straight to Rue20’s miniature palace.
Mrs Palmer was at home; yes, sir; but she was dressing for dinner. “Say I must see her at once!” Will cried with a burst. And in less than half-a-minute Rue descended, looking sweet, to him.
She had thrown a light tea-gown rapidly around her to come down; her hair was just knotted in a natural coil on top; she was hardly presentable, she said, with an apologetic smile, and a quick glance at the glass; but Will thought he had never seen her look prettier or more charming in all his life than she looked that moment.
“I wouldn’t keep you waiting, Will,” she cried, seizing both his hands in hers. “I knew if you called at this unusual hour, you must want to see me about something serious.”
“It is serious,” Will answered, with a very grave face. “Rue, I’ve something to tell you that may surprise you much. That wretch49 Hausberger has been very, very cruel to Linnet. He’s offered her bodily violence to-day. And that’s not all;?—?she has proof, written proof of his intimacy50 with Philippina. He’s thrown her on the floor, and struck her and bruised51 her. So she’s left him at once?—?and she’s now at my chambers52.”
A sudden shade came over Rue’s face. The shock was a terrible one. This news was different, very different indeed from what she expected to hear. Could Will have found out, she asked herself with a flutter, as she put on her tea-gown, that he loved her at last, better even than Linnet? Linnet had been away one whole long winter; and when he dined here last week, he was so kind and attentive53! So she came down with a throbbing54 heart, all expectant of results. That was why Will had never seen her look so pretty before. And now, to find out it was all for Linnet he had come! All for Linnet, not for her! Ah me, the pity of it!
Yet she bore up bravely, all the same, though her lips quivered quick, and her eyelids55 blinked hard to suppress the rising moisture. “At your chambers!” she cried, with a jump of her heart. “O Will, she mustn’t stop there!”
She sank into a chair, and looked across at him piteously. Will, dimly perceptive56, seized her hands once more, and held them in his own with a gentle pressure. Then he went on to explain, in very different words from those he had used to Maud, all that had happened that day to himself and to Linnet. He didn’t even hide from Rue the question of divorce, or the story of Linnet’s complete self-surrender. He knew Rue would understand; he knew Linnet herself would not be afraid of Rue’s violating her confidence. He said everything out, exactly as he felt it. Last of all, he explained how he had been round to Maud’s, what he had asked of Maud, and what answer Maud had made to him.
He had got so far when Rue rose and faced him. Her cheeks were very white, and she trembled violently. But she spoke out like a woman, with a true woman’s heart. “She must come here at once, Will,” she cried. “There’s not a moment to lose. She must come here at once. Go quick home and fetch her.”
“You’re quite sure you can take her in, Rue?” Will asked, with a very guilty feeling, seizing her hands once more. “I can’t bear to ask you; but since you offer it of your own accord?——”
Rue held his hands tremulously in her own for awhile, and gazed at him hard with a wistful countenance57. “Dear Will,” she faltered58 out in a half-articulate voice, “I invite her here myself; I beg of you to bring her. Though it breaks my own heart?—?it breaks my heart. Yet I ask you all the same?—?bring her here, oh, bring her!”
Heart-broken she looked, indeed. Will leant forward automatically. “Dear Rue,” he cried, “you’re too good?—?too good and kind for anything; I never knew till this moment how very good and kind you were. And I love you so much!” He held forward his face. “Only once!” he murmured, drawing her towards him with one arm. “Just this once! It’s so good of you!”
Rue held up her face in return, and answered him back in a choking voice, “Yes, yes; just this once, O Will, my Will?—?before I feel you’re Linnet’s for ever!”
He clasped her tight in his arms. Rue let him embrace her unresistingly. She kissed him long and hard, and nestled there tenderly. For fifty whole seconds she was in heaven indeed. At last, with a little start, she broke away and left him. “Now go,” she said, standing59 a yard or two off, and gazing at him, tearfully. “Go at once and fetch her. Every moment she stops in your rooms is compromising. . . . Go, go; goodbye! . . . You’re mine no longer. But, Will, don’t be afraid I shall be sad when she comes! I’ll have my good cry out in my own room first; and, by the time she arrives, I’ll be smiling to receive her!”
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1
despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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6
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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chilliest
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| adj.寒冷的，冷得难受的( chilly的最高级 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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13
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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14
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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symbolically
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| ad.象征地，象征性地 | |
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16
hairpins
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| n.发夹( hairpin的名词复数 ) | |
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17
boded
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| v.预示，预告，预言( bode的过去式和过去分词 )；等待，停留( bide的过去分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待 | |
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18
piecemeal
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| adj.零碎的；n.片，块；adv.逐渐地；v.弄成碎块 | |
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19
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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21
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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31
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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aliases
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| n.别名，化名( alias的名词复数 ) | |
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pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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40
erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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stainless
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| adj.无瑕疵的，不锈的 | |
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42
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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43
slanderer
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| 造谣中伤者 | |
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44
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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45
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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46
scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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48
irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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49
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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50
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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51
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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52
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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53
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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54
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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55
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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56
perceptive
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| adj.知觉的，有洞察力的，感知的 | |
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57
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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58
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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