And this, or something like it, was his way.
How it strikes a Contemporary.
Three days after the inquest Denis came up to town to interview a timber merchant as to a contract about which there had been a difference of opinion. He looked down on the man through his eyeglass, carried all his points, and departed, leaving exasperation1 in his wake. After this, finding he had some hours to spare before he need catch his train to Bredon, he went to pay a call on his cousin Lettice.
Denis was, like his friend Gardiner, the son of a clergyman; but not of a poor country parson. Denis's father was honorary canon of Rochester and rural dean; he held a family living, and had besides a comfortable income of his own. There was some excuse for the double name. The Merions were a penniless Irish family with a pedigree derived2 from the ancient kings (all Irish pedigrees derive3 from the ancient kings). The Smith and the money had come to them together, a couple of generations back, from an eccentric old bachelor who had loved and lost one of the daughters of the house. Marrying late, Canon Merion-Smith was over fifty when his only son was born and his wife died. Denis had only a nurse to mother him, but he did not suffer; he was a very happy small boy, who from his babyhood never thought of anything but engines. He was not at all like his father, an easy-going Irishman with a strong sense of humor, but they were inseparable friends, who explored the path of knowledge hand in hand. There was no question of parental4 authority. Denis did what was[Pg 35] required either because he considered it reasonable, or else to please his father, to whom the staid small boy was a perpetual fund of amusement.
Canon Merion-Smith taught his son at home till he was fourteen, and then, rather doubtfully, sent him to Rochester, whither his friend Harry5 Gardiner had preceded him. Doubtfully, because he was beginning to distrust his own training. He did not think Denis would be happy at school; but he had no desire to be the parent of a prig. Denis was not happy. He hated arbitrary rules; he could never get into his head that it was not his to reason why. Only Gardiner made his schooldays endurable. He stayed at Rochester till he was nearly seventeen, and then passed unexpectedly without extra coaching straight into Woolwich. He was very clever, and strikingly handsome in a thin, aristocratic way, but he thought no more of his abilities than of his good looks. Denis was proud, but he had not a trace of vanity. He was an example of the not uncommon6 blend of class arrogance7 and personal modesty8.
He passed out of Woolwich first in his batch9, went to Chatham, to Rangoon, saw active service in a frontier campaign—the most unhappy years of his life. He had gone into the army to please his father, but he hated discipline, and his heart was set on aeronautics10. When Canon Merion-Smith died, Denis resigned his commission and devoted11 himself to the problems of flight. The way of inventors is hard. He lost all his own money and some of Gardiner's, who came back into his life in time to do the beloved aeroplane a service which Denis, conservative in gratitude12, never forgot. He brought himself to the verge13 of bankruptcy14. At his last sixpence he fell in with Sydney Wandesforde, a well-known motor-racing amateur, who had transferred his interest to the new sport, and was as keen on the practical side of flying as Denis on the theoretical. He had what Denis had not—a bottomless purse and family influence to back it. They joined forces, and from that time Denis's future was assured.
His cousin Lettice—L?titia Jane Smith—had been in[Pg 36] his life for many years, since she, with her mother and sisters, came to settle in the village of which Canon Merion-Smith was incumbent15. Rosabel and Stella were charming, half Irish and half French; but Lettice, the eldest16, had always been Denis's ally. She was deliberate where they were quick, silent while they chattered17, methodical instead of happy-go-lucky. They were clever, but she was the born student, patient, accurate, thorough. The household was always short of money, so Lettice, who suffered in that atmosphere of elegant muddle18, left home as soon as she could and set up for herself. She was very fond of her relations, and they of her, but she found them trying to live with. Lettice had a temper; she said herself it was a dumb devil. Still, since it was very strictly19 dumb, you had to know her well, and watch her carefully, before you discovered its existence.
She now occupied an attic20 in Pimlico, and worked all day in the British Museum library. She might have been more comfortable in a boarding-house, but she preferred solitude21, or rather silence; she was perennially22 interested in her fellow-creatures, but she did not want to be talked to by them. She was always the spectator, never the actor, having eyes, and ears, a synthetic23 mind, and that delicate sense of humor, pity and irony24 in one, which is a lamp to the feet of its possessor.
But what marked Lettice off from other people was her passion for self-obliteration. Most of us in our hearts love to fill the center of the stage. Lettice was miserable25 there. She liked to be the fly on the wall. Yet she was unselfish as well as selfless, gentle, accommodating, all things to all men. She was like a penny-in-the-slot machine for doing good: you put in your need, out came her response: and she asked no more gratitude than the machine. To thank her was like touching26 the horns of a snail27. A harmless whim28 in many ways, yet with elements of danger; for tastes of this sort strengthen as they grow, and Lettice's friends were beginning to fear she would fade away altogether to an impersonal29 ghost, unless something happened to call her back.
[Pg 37]
She should have been Merion-Smith too; she owed the affix30 to the same Irish grandmother from whom Denis had inherited his profile, his accent, his superstitions31, and his family pride. He had been known to send back a letter addressed to the name of Smith. Lettice, on the other hand, had dropped the hyphen with all celerity. Denis might lecture her on her slackness; she concurred32 amiably33 so long as she was with him, and then went on her way exactly as before. Lettice on the surface was all sweet pliability34, but underneath35 lay solid rock. Denis faced the world as an obstinate36, pugnacious37 Irishman, whereas a skilful38 hand could guide him with a silken thread. Lettice read him like a book and made soft fun of him, but always with a reserve of peculiarly tender affection; she thought a great deal of her cousin. And Denis thought a great deal—a very great deal—of her. He was aware that in half her innocent speeches she was, to put it gracefully40, having him on; but what did that matter? Lettice was Lettice. He did not analyze41 his friends; he idealized them.
Denis was received at No. 33 Canning Street by the daughter of the house, a smart young person in silk stockings who invited him, with never a "Sir" to her sentence, to step up and find Miss Smith in the top back attic. The stairs were dark; Denis, gloomily reflecting on the decadence42 of the lower classes, fell over a pair of boots and trod in a dust-pan which flew up and hit him. He was not in the best of tempers when he knocked at his cousin's door.
"Come in!" called out an abstracted voice, wearily raised; and he obeyed. There stood Lettice in the middle of the floor, holding out with both arms before her nose a newspaper which enwrapped her, mind and body. Lettice had been known, when she came in from the Museum after her day's work, to read through the whole of a novel, standing43 under the gas, before she moved to take off her hat. It took some time for Denis's presence to penetrate44, and then she lowered her arms slowly and looked round.
"O-oh," she said. "I thought you were the milk. Sit down, sit down."
[Pg 38]
She folded up her paper and poked45 it under a book, took away his hat and stick, and fetched the milk from the passage, hurrying slowly, as her custom was. Denis sat down, and discovered that he was very glad to be with her again. A cooling fountain in life's dry, dreary46 sand, that was what Lettice represented. She was not a beauty; she had none of the attributes of a heroine. Her nose was nondescript, her complexion47 poor, her mouth large, though there was character in the full under lip; character also, and brains, in the big forehead which she hid beneath her soft brown hair. For the rest, she had drooping48 shoulders and a long slim neck; she chose and put on her clothes like a Frenchwoman; but her best points were the set and shape of her graceful39 little head, and the somewhat misleading sweetness of her hazel eyes.
Her room was a long white attic, one end curtained off. There was a window in the gable facing west, and in the window a table overflowing49 with manuscripts and books; sheets of foolscap covered with her graceful writing, an Old English text, a Latin grammar, a treatise50 on court hand. She was trying to make up for a haphazard51 education by teaching herself. As she passed on her way to the cupboard, she drew a sheet of paper out of the muddle and presented it to Denis.
"Now you can just look through that while I'm making the tea, and see if there are any mistakes," she enjoined52 him in the minute expressive53 voice which was one of her charms to those who found her charming. Denis found himself faced by a Latin exercise. When he had learned all his cousin could tell him about the wreaths and the roses that adorned54 the girls and the queens, he turned the page, and came on something more attractive. In her hours of ease Lettice was a poet. Looking up from her task with the bread knife, she saw what he was doing, turned a deep pink, and silently but swiftly removed the sheet from the fingers. Denis laughed.
"Haven't you anything to show?"
"No, I haven't," said Lettice, acerb and forbidding.
[Pg 39]
"'Sheep on a lonely road,
Gray in the gray—'"
Denis quoted maliciously55. The poet covered her ears with her hands.
"Oh, do-o-on't!"
"Well, let me see the rest of it!"
"Well, it isn't finished; it's no good looking at a thing till it's finished, is it?" retorted Lettice in a soft flurry of exasperation. Her poetry was dug out of her own soul, and she suffered the pains of vivisection in hearing it discussed. Denis knew this well, and Lettice knew he knew it. Looking like an affronted56 kitten, she retired57 into a silence that the brutal58 critic might have called sulky, and seemed disposed to stay there. But Denis knew how to make his peace. Just then the kettle boiled over. He was quick to lift it off—and to put it down again in a hurry, shaking his fingers. Before he could find his handkerchief, down swooped59 Lettice's arm; she seized the handle, bore it away, took her time over filling the teapot, ostentatiously stayed to settle the cozy60; then, having displayed beyond possibility of oversight61 the superior hardness of her palm, she replaced the kettle on the hob, and returned to her toasting fork, exuding62 vainglory.
This incident settled, they talked of the aeroplane. This was invariably Lettice's first question, and it brought down a shower of information, all water on a duck's back. Considering what excellent brains she had, it was surprising how dense63 she could be when she chose. When Denis's fluent Irish tongue ran dry, she was ready with her next question.
"And did you have a nice time at Grasmere with dear Harry?"
"Dear, dear! How was that?"
"Oh, things went wrong," said Denis vaguely65. He wanted to tell the whole story—Lettice seemed to purify and sweeten all she took into her knowledge, and this badly needed sweetening. He hated it; he hated his evasions66 at[Pg 40] the inquest, what Gardiner called his adroitness67; he hated soiling his fingers; he was vaguely dissatisfied with his friend. But since, for Gardiner's sake, he could not tell her all, he told her nothing. Half-truths were no good with Lettice. "By the by, why didn't you come?" he said. "I was expectin' you all the time. I couldn't think where you'd got to. You as good as promised to turn up!"
"Were you very disappointed?"
"No. No, I can't say I was—not altogether. I want you to meet Harry, but I didn't want you this time. Queer chap he is—you may think you know a man, but you never do."
"Oh, I don't know. He has all sorts of cranks. Last time he was at Bredon, that cold spell when all the pipes were burstin', nothing would do but he must sleep out in the garden all the time. And it was just the same at Grasmere, though it rained cats and dogs. You can't be even with his fads," Denis added with a sigh, extending himself in his chair, his long legs stretched half across the hearth70. "He's off almost at once to that place in the Ardennes I was tellin' you about. I've promised to run over there next summer. I wish you'd come too, Lettice, as you didn't bring it off this time."
"You said you didn't want me," murmured Lettice reproachfully.
"I didn't want you when things were all beastly. But I do want you to meet Harry. I want your opinion of him."
To this Lettice made no reply. She set a few slow, neat stitches in the cloth she was embroidering71.
"Whereabouts is it, this place in the Ardennes?"
"Near Bouillon. You can get there for next to nothing, if that's what you're thinkin' of, but I wish you'd let me take you. I did rather well over that deal this morning and I'm rollin'. After all, you're as good as my sister. You might just as well."
Lettice did not thank him; that was taken for granted.[Pg 41] They understood each other so well that words were often superfluous72.
"If it's not very expensive I might manage it myself," she said. "My old man in Harley Street says I've got to take a holiday, so I suppose I must go somewhere, just to satisfy him. And I should rather like to see the Ardennes."
"Have you been to the doctor again? Why didn't you tell me before, Lettice? What does he say?"
"He says," said Lettice with inimitable unction, "that I am in a state of thorough nervous exhaustion73, and ought to take six months' rest. So."
"Then I hope you're going to do it!"
Lettice smiled. She did not look particularly docile74. Denis was beguiled75 into lecturing her about her health, though he knew it was time wasted—nay, rather, time misspent. For Miss Smith was like a pig, and if you pulled her one way she was apt to go the other. In this case, however, it seemed that she had fairly made up her mind before he came to a holiday abroad, for presently she let slip that she had been studying a guide to the Ardennes, which she had borrowed from a neighbor below. Denis sent her down to borrow it again.
While she was away he wandered about, looking at her books. Under a fat dictionary he came upon the paper she had been reading when he entered, and he pulled it out to see if she still took what he called the Radical76 rag. Its name stared him in the face: The Westmorland Gazette. It was doubled back at page four: Fatality77 at Grasmere.
He wheeled as she came into the room. "Lettice, how on earth did you get hold of this thing?"
She stopped dead for a moment, then came on.
"I ordered it."
"What for?"
"Because I'd seen something about the accident, and I wanted to know more. So I went to Finch's at the corner and asked him to get me the local paper, and he did."
Lettice had a talent for explaining the obvious.
"Where did you see anything about the accident?"
[Pg 42]
"There was a paragraph in my halfpenny rag."
"Confound!" said Denis, black as a thunder-cloud.
Lettice smiled, recovering her equanimity78 as he lost his. "Well, you shouldn't go and make interesting things like aeroplanes and become a public character," she murmured pianissimo.
"Why didn't you tell me that you knew?"
"I couldn't tell you about it, it wasn't my affair," said Denis hotly and confusedly. "Gardiner doesn't want the story all over the place. How could I help it, Lettice? But when I was talkin' about Easedale, I think you might have let me know you knew!"
"My dear child, I couldn't begin on it if you didn't, could I?" said Lettice patiently. "I was simply longing81 to ask questions. It was nice, proper, lady-like feeling made me hold my tongue, what you always say you like. And now you're cross with me! Well, well."
Denis was cross; he stood crumpling82 the paper in his hands, visibly fuming83. Lettice took it away from him and smoothed it out.
"I shan't talk about it to Mr. Gardiner when I come to Rochehaut, if that's what you're afraid of."
"Are you really comin' to Rochehaut?"
"Don't you want me now you know I know?"
She looked at him with those impish eyes.
"You know too much, Lettice!" said her cousin, discomfited84, half laughing. She turned away with her small foreign shrug85.
"Dear, dear! there's no pleasing some people!"
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1
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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aeronautics
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| n.航空术，航空学 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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15
incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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16
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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17
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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18
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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19
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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perennially
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| adv.经常出现地；长期地；持久地；永久地 | |
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synthetic
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| adj.合成的，人工的；综合的；n.人工制品 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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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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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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snail
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| n.蜗牛 | |
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28
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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30
affix
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| n.附件，附录 vt.附贴，盖(章)，签署 | |
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superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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concurred
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| 同意（concur的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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pliability
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| n.柔韧性；可弯性 | |
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35
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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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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pugnacious
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| adj.好斗的 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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41
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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42
decadence
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| n.衰落，颓废 | |
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43
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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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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45
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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46
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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47
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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48
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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49
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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50
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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51
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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52
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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54
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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55
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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56
affronted
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| adj.被侮辱的，被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 )；相遇 | |
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57
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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58
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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59
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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61
oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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62
exuding
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| v.缓慢流出，渗出，分泌出( exude的现在分词 )；流露出对（某物）的神态或感情 | |
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63
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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65
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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66
evasions
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| 逃避( evasion的名词复数 )； 回避； 遁辞； 借口 | |
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67
adroitness
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68
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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69
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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70
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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71
embroidering
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| v.（在织物上）绣花( embroider的现在分词 )；刺绣；对…加以渲染（或修饰）；给…添枝加叶 | |
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72
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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73
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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76
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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77
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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80
retaliate
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| v.报复，反击 | |
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81
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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82
crumpling
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| 压皱，弄皱( crumple的现在分词 )； 变皱 | |
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83
fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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84
discomfited
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| v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词)；使狼狈；使挫折；挫败 | |
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85
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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