leur couronne.”
“What I want is something to eat,” Miss Marguerite Wade1 confided2 in an undertone to Tony Cornish, a few minutes later in Lady Ferriby's drawing-room. She said this with a little glance of amusement, as Cornish stood before her with two plates of biscuits, which certainly did not promise much sustenance3.
“Then,” answered Cornish, “you have come to the wrong house.”
Marguerite kept him waiting while she arranged biscuits in her saucer. He set the plates aside, and returned to her in answer to her tacit order, conveyed by laying one hand on a vacant chair by her side. Marguerite was in the midst of that brief period of a woman's life wherein she dares to state quite clearly what she wants.
“Why don't you marry Joan?” she asked, eating a biscuit with a fine young optimism, which almost implied that things sometimes taste as nice as they look.
“Why don't you marry Major White?” retorted Tony; and Marguerite turned and looked at him gravely.
“For a man,” she said, “that wasn't so dusty. So few men have any eyes in their head, you know.” And she thoughtfully finished the biscuits. “I think I'll go back to the bread-and-butter,” she said. “It's the last time Lady Ferriby will ask me to stay to tea, so I may as well be hanged for—three pence as three farthings. And I think I will be more careful with you in the future. For a man, you are rather sharp.” And she looked at him doubtfully.
“When you attain4 my age,” replied Tony, “you will have arrived at the conclusion that the whole world is sharper than one took it to be. It does not do to think that the world is blind. It is better not to care whether it sees or not.”
“Women cannot afford to do that,” returned Marguerite, with the accumulated wisdom of nearly a score of years. “Oh, hang!” she added, a moment later, under her breath, as she perceived Joan and Major White coming towards them.
“I have a letter for you,” said Joan, “enclosed in one I received this morning from Mrs. Vansittart at The Hague. She is not coming to the Harberdashers' Assistants' Ball, and this is, I suppose, in answer to the card you sent her. She explains that she did not know your address.” And Joan looked at him with a doubting glance for a moment.
Cornish took the letter, but did not ask permission to open it. He held it in his hand, and asked Joan a question. “Did you see Saturday's Times?”
“Yes, of course I did,” she answered earnestly; “and of course, if it is true you will all wash your hands of the whole affair, I suppose. I was talking to Mr. Wade about it. He, however, placed both sides of the question before me in about ten words, and left me to take my choice—which I am incompetent5 to do.”
“Papa doesn't understand women,” put in Marguerite.
“Understands money, though,” retorted Major White, looking at her in somewhat severe astonishment6, as if he had hitherto been unaware7 that she could speak.
Marguerite took the rebuff with demurely8 closed lips, a probable indication that the only retort she could think of was hardly fit for enunciation9.
Then Cornish drifted out of the conversation, and presently moved away to the window, where he took the opportunity of opening Mrs. Vansittart's letter. Mr. Wade, near at hand, was explaining good-naturedly to Lady Ferriby that, with the best will in the world, five per cent, and perfect safety are not to be obtained nowadays.
“MON AMI” (wrote Mrs. Vansittart in French), “I take a daily promenade10 after coffee in the Oude Weg. I sit on the bench where you sat, and more often than not I see the sight that you saw. I am not a sentimental11 woman, but, after all, one has a heart, and this is a pitiful affair. Also, I have obtained from a reliable source the information that the new system of manufacture is more deadly than the old, which I have long suspected, and which, I believe, has passed through your mind as well. You and I went into this thing without le bon motif12; but Providence13 is dealing14 out fresh hands, and you, at all events, hold cards that call for careful and bold playing. My friend, throw your Haberdashers over the wall and act without delay.”
“E. V.”
She enclosed a formal refusal of the invitation to the Haberdashers' Assistants' Ball.
Major White was not a talkative man, and towards Joan in particular his attitude was one of silent wonder. In preference to talking to her, he preferred to stand a little way off and look at her. And if, at these moments, the keen observer could detect any glimmer15 of expression on his face, that glimmer seemed to express abject16 abasement17 before a creation that could produce anything so puzzling, so interesting, so absolutely beautiful—as Joan.
Cornish, seeing White engaged in his favourite pastime, took him by the arm and led him to the window.
“Read that,” he said, “and then burn it.”
“Of course,” Joan was saying to Marguerite, as he joined them, “there are, as your father says, two sides to the question. If papa and Tony and Major White withdraw their names and abandon the poor malgamiters now, there will be no help for the miserable18 wretches19. They will all drift back to the cheaper and more poisonous way of making malgamite. And such a thing would be a blot20 upon our civilization—wouldn't it, Tony?”
Marguerite nodded an airy acquiescence21. She was watching Major White—that great strategist—tear up Mrs. Vansittart's letter and throw it into the fire, with a deliberate non-concealment which was perhaps superior to any subterfuge22. The major joined the group.
“That is the view that I take of it,” answered Tony.
“And what do you say?” asked Joan, turning upon the major.
“I? Oh, nothing!” replied that soldier, with perfect truthfulness23.
“Then what are you going to do?” asked Joan, who was practical, and, like many practical people, rather given to hasty action.
“We are going to stick to the malgamiters,” replied Tony, quietly.
“Through thick and thin?” inquired Marguerite, buttoning her glove.
“Yes—through thick and thin.”
Both girls looked at Major White, who stolidly24 returned their gaze, and appeared as usual to have no remark to offer. He was saved, indeed, from all effort in that direction by the advent25 of Lord Ferriby, who entered the room with more than his usual importance. He carried an open letter in his hand, and seemed by his manner to demand the instant attention of the whole party. There are some men and a few women who live for the multitude, and are not content with the attention of one or two persons only. And surely these have their reward, for the attention of the multitude, however pleasant it may be while it lasts, is singularly short-lived, and there is nothing more pitiful to watch than the effort to catch it when it has wandered.
“Eh—er,” began his lordship, and everybody paused to listen. “I have here a letter from our clerk at the Malgamite office in Great George Street. It appears that there are a number of persons there—paper-makers, I understand—who insist upon seeing us, and refuse to leave the premises26 until they have done so.”
Lord Ferriby's manner indicated quite clearly his pity for these persons who had proved themselves capable of such a shocking breach27 of good manners.
“One hardly knows what to do,” he said, not meaning, of course, that his words should be taken au pied de la lettre. His hearers, he obviously felt assured, knew him better than to imagine that he was really at a loss. “It is difficult to deal with—er—persons of this description. What do you propose that we should do?” he inquired, turning, as if by instinct, to Cornish.
“Go and see them,” was the reply.
“But, my dear Anthony, such a crisis should be dealt with by Mr. Roden, whom one may regard as our—er—financial adviser28.”
“But as Roden is not here, we must do without his assistance. Perhaps Mr. Wade would consent to act as our financial adviser on this occasion,” suggested Cornish.
“I'll go with you,” replied the banker, “and hear what they have to say, if you like. But of course I can take no part in anything in the nature of a controversy29, and my name must not be mentioned.”
“Incognito,” suggested Lord Ferriby, with a forced laugh.
“Yes—incognito,” returned the banker, gravely.
The major attracted general attention to himself by murmuring something inaudible, which he was urged to repeat.
“Doocid decent of Mr. Wade,” he said, a second time.
And that seemed to settle the matter, for they all moved towards the door.
“Leave the carriage for me,” cried Marguerite over the banisters, as her father descended30 the stairs. “Seems to me,” she added to Joan in an undertone, “that the Malgamite scheme is up a gum-tree.”
At the little office of the Malgamite Fund the directors of that charity found four gentlemen seated upon the chairs usually grouped round the table where the ball committee or the bazaar31 sub-committees held their sittings. One, who appeared to be what Lord Ferriby afterwards described, more in sorrow than in anger, as the ringleader, was a red-haired, brown-bearded Scotchman, with square shoulders and his head set thereon in a manner indicative of advanced radical32 opinions. The second in authority was a mild-mannered man with a pale face and a drooping33 sparse34 moustache. He had a gentle eye, and lips for ever parting in a mildly argumentative manner. The other two paper-makers appeared to be foreigners. “Ah'm thinking——” began the mild man in a long drawl; but he was promptly35 overpowered by his fellow-countryman, who nodded curtly36 to Mr. Wade, and said—“Lord Ferriby?”
“No,” answered the banker, calmly.
“That is my name,” said the chairman of the Malgamite Fund, with his finger in his watch-chain.
The russet gentleman looked at him with a fierce blue eye.
“Then, sir,” he said, “we'll come to business. For it's on business that we've come. My friend Mr. MacHewlett, is, like myself, in charge of one of the biggest mills in the country; here's Mossier Delmont of the great mill at Clermont-Ferrand, and Mr. Meyer from Germany. My own name's a plain one—like myself—but an honest one; it's John Thompson.”
Lord Ferriby bowed, and Major White looked at John Thompson with a placid37 interest, as if he felt glad of this opportunity of meeting one of the Thompson family.
“And we've come to ask you to be so good as to explain your position as regards malgamite. What are ye, anyway?”
“My dear sir,” began Lord Ferriby, with one hand upraised in mild expostulation, “let us be a little more conciliatory in our manner. We are, I am sure (I speak for myself and my fellow-directors, whom you see before you), most desirous of avoiding any unpleasantness, and we are ready to give you all the information in our power, when”—he paused, and waved a graceful38 hand—“when you have proved your right to demand such information.”
“Our right is that of representatives of a great trade. We four men, that have been deputed to see you on the matter, have at our backs no less than eight thousand employees—honest, hard-workin' men, whose bread you are taking out of their mouths. We are not afraid of the ordinary vicissitudes39 of commerce. If ye had quietly worked this monopoly in fair competition, we should have known how to meet ye. But ye come before the world as philanthropists, and ye work a great monopoly under the guise40 of doin' a good work. It was a dirty thing to do.”
Lord Ferriby shrugged41 his shoulders. “My dear sir,” he said, “you fail to grasp the situation. We have given our time and attention to the grievances42 of these poor men, whose lot it has been our earnest endeavour to ameliorate. You are speaking, my dear sir, to men who represent, not eight thousand employes, but who represent something greater than they, namely, charity.”
“Ah'm thinking!” began Mr. MacHewlett, plaintively43, and the very richness of his accents secured a breathless attention. “Damn charity,” he concluded, abruptly45.
And Major White looked upon him in solid approval, as upon a plain-spoken man after his own heart.
“And we,” said Mr. Thompson, “represent commerce, which was in the world before charity, and will be there after it, if charity is going to be handled by such as you.”
There was, it appeared, no possibility of pacifying47 these irate48 paper-makers, whose plainness of speech was positively49 painful to ears so polite as those of Lord Ferriby. A Scotchman, hard hit in his tenderest spot, namely, the pocket, is not a person to mince50 words, and Lord Ferriby was for the moment silenced by the stormy attack of Mr. Thompson, and the sly, plaintive44 hits of his companion. But the chairman of the Malgamite Fund would not give way, and only repeated his assurances of a desire to conciliate, which desire took the form only of words, and must, therefore, have been doubly annoying to angry men. To him who wants war there is nothing more insulting than feeble offers of peace. Major White expressed his readiness to fight Messrs. Thompson and MacHewlett at one and the same time on the landing, but this suggestion was not well received.
Upon two of the listeners no word was lost, and Mr. Wade and Cornish knew that the paper-makers had right upon their side.
Quite suddenly Mr. Thompson's manner changed, and he glanced towards the door to see that it was closed.
“Then it's a matter of paying,” he said to his companions. Turning towards Lord Ferriby, he spoke46 in a voice that sounded more contemptuous than angry. “We're plain business men,” he said. “What's your price—you and these other gentlemen?”
“I have no price,” answered Cornish, meeting the angry blue eyes and speaking for the first time.
“And mine is too high—for plain business men,” added Major White, with a slow smile.
“Seeing that you're a lord,” said Thompson, addressing the chairman again, “I suppose it's a matter of thousands. Name your figure, and be done with it.”
Lord Ferriby took the insult in quite a different spirit to that displayed by his two co-directors. He was pale with anger, and spluttered rather incoherently. Then he took up his hat and stick and walked with much dignity to the door.
He was followed down the stairs by the paper-makers, Mr. Thompson making use of language that was decidedly bespattered with “winged words,” while Mr. MacHewlett detailed51 his own thoughts in a plaintive monotone. Lord Ferriby got rather hastily into a hansom and drove away.
“There is nothing for it,” said Mr. Wade to Cornish in the gay little office above the Ladies' Tea Association—“there is nothing for it but to run Roden's Corner yourself.”
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1
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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3
sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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5
incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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6
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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7
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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8
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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9
enunciation
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| n.清晰的发音；表明，宣言；口齿 | |
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10
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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12
motif
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| n.(图案的)基本花纹，(衣服的)花边；主题 | |
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13
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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15
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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16
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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abasement
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| n.滥用 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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19
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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21
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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22
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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23
truthfulness
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| n. 符合实际 | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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25
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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27
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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29
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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30
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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31
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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32
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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33
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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34
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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35
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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39
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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40
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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41
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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42
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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43
plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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44
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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45
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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46
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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47
pacifying
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的现在分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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48
irate
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| adj.发怒的，生气 | |
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49
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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50
mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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51
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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