Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain.
“My dear—Madam—what you call heart does not come into the question at all.”
Sir John Meredith was sitting slightly behind Lady Cantourne, leaning towards her with a somewhat stiffened1 replica2 of his former grace. But he was not looking at her—and she knew it.
“Sir John Meredith on Heart,” said the old lady, with a depth of significance in her voice.
“And why not?”
“Yes, indeed. Why not?”
Sir John smiled with that well-bred cynicism which a new school has not yet succeeded in imitating. They were of the old school, these two; and their worldliness, their cynicism, their conversational4 attitude, belonged to a bygone period. It was a cleaner period in some ways—a period devoid5 of slums. Ours, on the contrary, is an age of slums wherein we all dabble6 to the detriment7 of our hands—mental, literary, and theological.
Sir John moved slightly in his chair, leaning one hand on one knee. His back was very flat, his clothes were perfect, his hair was not his own, nor yet his teeth. But his manners were entirely8 his own. His face was eighty years old, and yet he smiled his keen society smile with the best of them. There was not a young man in the room of whom he was afraid, conversationally9.
“No, Lady Cantourne,” he repeated. “Your charming niece is heartless. She will get on.”
“She will get on,” she admitted. “As to the other, it is early to give an opinion.”
“She has had the best of trainings—,” he murmured. And Lady Cantourne turned on him with a twinkle amidst the wrinkles.
“For which?” she asked.
“Choisissez!” he answered, with a bow.
One sees a veteran swordsman take up the foil with a tentative turn of the wrist, lunging at thin air. His zest11 for the game has gone; but the skill lingers, and at times he is tempted12 to show the younger blades a pass or two. These were veteran fencers with a skill of their own, which they loved to display at times. The zest was that of remembrance; the sword-play of words was above the head of a younger generation given to slang and music-hall airs; and so these two had little bouts13 for their own edification, and enjoyed the glitter of it vastly.
Sir John's face relaxed into the only repose14 he ever allowed it; for he had a habit of twitching15 and moving his lips such as some old men have. And occasionally, in an access of further senility, he fumbled16 with his fingers at his mouth. He was clean shaven, and even in his old age he was handsome beyond other men—standing an upright six feet two.
The object of his attention was the belle17 of that ball, Miss Millicent Chyne, who was hemmed18 into a corner by a group of eager dancers anxious to insert their names in some corner of her card. She was the fashion at that time. And she probably did not know that at least half of the men crowded round because the other half were there. Nothing succeeds like the success that knows how to draw a crowd.
She received the ovation19 self-possessedly enough, but without that hauteur20 affected21 by belles22 of balls—in books. She seemed to have a fresh smile for each new applicant—a smile which conveyed to each in turn the fact that she had been attempting all along to get her programme safely into his hands. A halting masculine pen will not be expected to explain how she compassed this, beyond a gentle intimation that masculine vanity had a good deal to do with her success.
“She is having an excellent time,” said Sir John, weighing on the modern phrase with a subtle sarcasm23. He was addicted24 to the use of modern phraseology, spiced with a cynicism of his own.
“Yes, I cannot help sympathising with her—a little,” answered the lady.
“Nor I. It will not last.”
“Wisely so, your ladyship. They at least LOOK as if they were going to last. The full-blown roses do not.”
Lady Cantourne gave a little sigh. This was the difference between them. She could not watch without an occasional thought for a time that was no more. The man seemed to be content that the past had been lived through and would never renew itself.
“After all,” she said, “she is my sister's child. The sympathy may only be a matter of blood. Perhaps I was like that myself once. Was I? You can tell me.”
She looked slowly round the room and his face hardened. He knew that she was reflecting that there was no one else who could tell her; and he did not like it.
“No,” he answered readily.
“And what was the difference?”
She looked straight in front of her with a strange old-fashioned demureness27.
“Their name is legion, for they are many.”
“Name a few. Was I as good-looking as that, for instance?”
He smiled—a wise, old, woman-searching smile.
“You were better-looking than that,” he said, with a glance beneath his lashless28 lids. “Moreover, there was more of the grand lady about you. You behaved better. There was less shaking hands with your partners, less nodding and becking, and none of that modern forwardness which is called, I believe, camaraderie29.”
“Thank you, Sir John,” she answered, looking at him frankly30 with a pleasant smile. “But it is probable that we had the faults of our age.”
“That is more than probable,” he answered, rather indistinctly.
“Then,” she said, tapping the back of his gloved hand with her fan, “we ought to be merciful to the faults of a succeeding generation. Tell me who is that young man with the long stride who is getting himself introduced now.”
“That,” answered Sir John, who prided himself upon knowing every one—knowing who they were and who they were not—“is young Oscard.”
“Son of the eccentric Oscard?”
“Son of the eccentric Oscard.”
“And where did he get that brown face?”
“He got that in Africa, where he has been shooting. He forms part of some one else's bag at the present moment.”
“What do you mean?”
“He has been apportioned32 a dance. Your fair niece has bagged him.”
If he had only known it, Guy Oscard won the privilege of a waltz by the same brown face which Lady Cantourne had so promptly33 noted34. Coupled with a sturdy uprightness of carriage, this raised him at a bound above the pallid35 habitues of ballroom and pavement. It was, perhaps, only natural that Millicent Chyne should have noted this man as soon as he crossed the threshold. He was as remarkable36 as some free and dignified37 denizen38 of the forest in the midst of domestic animals. She mentally put him down for a waltz, and before five minutes had elapsed he was bowing before her while a mutual39 friend murmured his name. One does not know how young ladies manage these little affairs, but the fact remains40 that they are managed. Moreover, it is a singular thing that the young persons who succeed in the ballroom rarely succeed on the larger and rougher floor of life. Your belle of the ball, like your Senior Wrangler41, never seems to do much afterwards—and Afterwards is Life.
The other young men rather fell back before Guy Oscard—scared, perhaps, by his long stride, and afraid that he might crush their puny42 toes. This enabled Miss Chyne to give him the very next dance, of which the music was commencing.
“I feel rather out of all this,” said Oscard, as they moved away together. “You must excuse uncouthness43.”
“I see no signs of it,” laughed Millicent. “You are behaving very nicely. You cannot help being larger and stronger than—the others. I should say it was an advantage and something to be proud of.”
“Oh, it is not that,” replied Oscard; “it is a feeling of unkemptness and want of smartness among these men who look so clean and correct. Shall we dance?”
He looked down at her, with an admiration44 which almost amounted to awe45, as if afraid of entering the throng46 with such a dainty and wonderful charge upon his powers of steering47. Millicent Chyne saw the glance and liked it. It was different from the others, quite devoid of criticism, rather simple and full of honest admiration. She was so beautiful that she could hardly be expected to be unaware48 of the fact. She had merely to make comparisons, to look in the mirror and see that her hair was fairer and softer, that her complexion49 was more delicately perfect, that her slight, rounded figure was more graceful50 than any around her. Added to this, she knew that she had more to say than other girls—a larger stock of those little frivolous51, advice-seeking, aid-demanding nothings than her compeers seemed to possess.
She knew that in saying them she could look brighter and prettier and more intelligent than her competitors.
“Yes,” she said, “let us dance by all means.”
Here also she knew her own proficiency52, and in a few seconds she found that her partner was worthy53 of her skill.
“Where have you been?” she asked presently. “I am sure you have been away somewhere, exploring or something.”
“I have only been in Africa, shooting.”
“Oh, how interesting! You must tell me all about it!”
“I am afraid,” replied Guy Oscard, with a somewhat shy laugh, “that that would NOT be interesting. Besides, I could not tell you now.”
“No, but some other time. I suppose you are not going back to Africa to-morrow, Mr. Oscard?”
“Not quite. And perhaps we may meet somewhere else.”
“I hope so,” replied Miss Chyne. “Besides, you know my aunt, Lady Cantourne. I live with her, you know.”
“I know her slightly.”
“Then take an opportunity of improving the acquaintanceship. She is sitting under the ragged54 banner over there.”
Millicent Chyne indicated the direction with a nod of the head, and while he looked she took the opportunity of glancing hastily round the room. She was seeking some one.
“Yes,” said Oscard, “I see her, talking to an old gentleman who looks like Voltaire. I shall give her a chance of recognising me before the evening is out. I don't mind being snubbed if—”
“If what?” she asked, when they were in swing again.
“If it means seeing you again,” he answered bluntly—more bluntly than she was accustomed to. But she liked it. It was a novelty after the smaller change of ballroom compliments.
She was watching the door all the while.
Presently the music ceased and they made their way back to the spot whence he had taken her. She led the way thither57 by an almost imperceptible pressure of her fingers on his arm. There were several men waiting there, and one or two more entering the room and looking languidly round.
“There comes the favoured one,” Lady Cantourne muttered, with a veiled glance towards her companion.
Sir John's grey eyes followed the direction of her glance.
“My bright boy?” he inquired, with a wealth of sarcasm on the adjective.
“Your bright boy,” she replied.
They were watching a tall fair man in the doorway59 who seemed to know everybody, so slow was his progress into the room. The most remarkable thing about this man was a certain grace of movement. He seemed to be specially60 constructed to live in narrow, hampered61 places. He was above six feet; but, being of slight build, he moved with a certain languidness which saved him from that unwieldiness usually associated with large men in a drawing-room.
Such was Jack62 Meredith, one of the best known figures in London society. He had hitherto succeeded in moving through the mazes63 of that coterie64, as he now moved through this room, without jarring against any one.
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1
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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replica
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| n.复制品 | |
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ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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dabble
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| v.涉足，浅赏 | |
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detriment
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| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
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8
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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conversationally
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| adv.会话地 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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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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bouts
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| n.拳击（或摔跤）比赛( bout的名词复数 )；一段（工作）；（尤指坏事的）一通；（疾病的）发作 | |
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14
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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ovation
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| n.欢呼，热烈欢迎，热烈鼓掌 | |
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hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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26
rosebuds
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| 蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女，初入社交界的少女( rosebud的名词复数 ) | |
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27
demureness
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| n.demure（拘谨的，端庄的）的变形 | |
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lashless
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| adj.无睫毛的 | |
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camaraderie
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| n.同志之爱，友情 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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apportioned
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| vt.分摊，分配（apportion的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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denizen
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| n.居民，外籍居民 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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wrangler
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| n.口角者，争论者；牧马者 | |
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puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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43
uncouthness
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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45
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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49
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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51
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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52
proficiency
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| n.精通，熟练，精练 | |
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53
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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54
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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55
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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56
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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57
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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58
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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59
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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60
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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61
hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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63
mazes
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| 迷宫( maze的名词复数 )； 纷繁复杂的规则； 复杂难懂的细节； 迷宫图 | |
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64
coterie
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| n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体，小圈子 | |
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