Lord Chickney was only slightly older than Lord Moggeridge, but he had not worn nearly so well. His hearing was not good, though he would never admit it, and the loss of several teeth greatly affected1 his articulation2. One might generalize and say that neither physically3 nor mentally do soldiers wear so well as lawyers. The army ages men sooner than the law and philosophy; it exposes them more freely to germs, which undermine and destroy, and it shelters them more completely from thought, which stimulates4 and preserves. A lawyer must keep his law highly polished and up-to-date or he hears of it within a fortnight, a general never realizes he is out of training and behind the times until disaster is accomplished6. Since the magnificent retreat from Bondy-Satina in eighty-seven and his five weeks defence of Barrowgast (with the subsequent operations) the abilities of Lord Chickney had never been exercised seriously at all. But there was a certain simplicity7 of manner and a tall drooping8 grizzled old-veteran picturesqueness9 about him that kept him distinguished10; 264he was easy to recognize on public occasions on account of his long moustaches, and so he got pointed11 out when greater men were ignored. The autograph collectors adored him. Every morning he would spend half an hour writing autographs, and the habit was so strong in him that on Sundays, when there was no London post and autograph writing would have been wrong anyhow, he filled the time in copying out the epistle and gospel for the day. And he liked to be well in the foreground of public affairs—if possible wearing his decorations. After the autographs he would work, sometimes for hours, for various patriotic12 societies and more particularly for those which would impose compulsory13 training upon every man, woman and child in the country. He even belonged to a society for drilling the butchers’ ponies14 and training big dogs as scouts15. He did not understand how a country could be happy unless every city was fortified16 and every citizen wore side-arms, and the slightest error in his dietary led to the most hideous17 nightmares of the Channel Tunnel or reduced estimates and a land enslaved. He wrote and toiled18 for these societies, but he could not speak for them on account of his teeth. For he had one peculiar19 weakness; he had faced death in many forms but he had never faced a dentist. The thought of dentists gave him just the same sick horror as the thought of invasion.
He was a man of blameless private life, a widower20 and childless. In later years he had come to believe that he had once been very deeply 265in love with his cousin, Susan, who had married a rather careless husband named Douglas; both she and Douglas were dead now, but he maintained a touching21 affection for her two lively rather than satisfying sons. He called them his nephews, and by the continuous attrition of affection he had become their recognized uncle. He was glad when they came to him in their scrapes, and he liked to be seen about with them in public places. They regarded him with considerable confidence and respect and an affection that they sometimes blamed themselves for as not quite warm enough for his merits. But there is a kind of injustice22 about affection.
He was really gratified when he got a wire from the less discreditable of these two bright young relations, saying, “Sorely in need of your advice. Hope to bring difficulties to you to-day at twelve.”
He concluded very naturally that the boy had come to some crisis in his unfortunate entanglement23 with Madeleine Philips, and he was flattered by the trustfulness that brought the matter to him. He resolved to be delicate but wily, honourable24, strictly25 honourable, but steadily26, patiently separative. He paced his spacious27 study with his usual morning’s work neglected, and rehearsed little sentences in his mind that might be effective in the approaching interview. There would probably be emotion. He would pat the lad on his shoulder and be himself a little emotional. “I understand, my boy,” he would say, “I understand.
266“Don’t forget, my boy, that I’ve been a young man too.”
He would be emotional, he would be sympathetic, but also he must be a man of the world. “Sort of thing that won’t do, you know, my boy; sort of thing that people will not stand.... A soldier’s wife has to be a soldier’s wife and nothing else.... Your business is to serve the king, not—not some celebrity28. Lovely, no doubt. I don’t deny the charm of her—but on the hoardings, my boy.... Now don’t you think—don’t you think?—there’s some nice pure girl somewhere, sweet as violets, new as the dawn, and ready to be yours; a girl, I mean, a maiden29 fancy free, not—how shall I put it?—a woman of the world. Wonderful, I admit—but seasoned. Public. My dear, dear boy, I knew your mother when she was a girl, a sweet pure girl—a thing of dewy freshness. Ah! Well I remember her! All these years, my boy—Nothing. It’s difficult....”
Tears stood in his brave old blue eyes as he elaborated such phrases. He went up and down mumbling30 them through the defective31 teeth and the long moustache and waving an eloquent32 hand.
§ 2
When Lord Chickney’s thoughts had once started in any direction it was difficult to turn them aside. No doubt that concealed34 and repudiated35 deafness helped his natural perplexity of mind. Truth comes to some of us as a still 267small voice, but Lord Chickney needed shouting and prods36. And Douglas did not get to him until he was finishing lunch. Moreover, it was the weakness of Captain Douglas to talk in jerky fragments and undertones, rather than clearly and fully37 in the American fashion. “Tell me all about it, my boy,” said Lord Chickney. “Tell me all about it. Don’t apologize for your clothes. I understand. Motor bicycle and just come up. But have you had any lunch, Eric?”
“Alan, uncle,—not Eric. My brother is Eric.”
“Well, I called him Alan. Tell me all about it. Tell me what has happened. What are you thinking of doing? Just put the positions before me. To tell you the truth I’ve been worrying over this business for some time.”
“Didn’t know you’d heard of it, uncle. He can’t have talked about it already. Anyhow,—you see all the awkwardness of the situation. They say the old chap’s a thundering spiteful old devil when he’s roused—and there’s no doubt he was roused.... Tremendously....”
Lord Chickney was not listening very attentively38. Indeed he was also talking. “Not clear to me there was another man in it,” he was saying. “That makes it more complicated, my boy, makes the row acuter. Old fellow, eh? Who?”
They came to a pause at the same moment.
“You speak so indistinctly,” complained Lord Chickney. “Who did you say?”
“I thought you understood. Lord Moggeridge.”
268“Lord—! Lord Moggeridge! My dear Boy! But how?”
“I thought you understood, uncle.”
“He doesn’t want to marry her! Tut! Never! Why, the man must be sixty if he’s a day....”
Captain Douglas regarded his distinguished uncle for a moment with distressed39 eyes. Then he came nearer, raised his voice and spoke40 more deliberately41.
“I don’t know whether you quite understand, uncle. I am talking about this affair at Shonts last week-end.”
“My dear boy, there’s no need for you to shout. If only you don’t mumble42 and clip your words—and turn head over heels with your ideas. Just tell me about it plainly. Who is Shonts? One of those Liberal peers? I seem to have heard the name....”
“Shonts, uncle, is the house the Laxtons have; you know,—Lucy.”
“Little Lucy! I remember her. Curls all down her back. Married the milkman. But how does she come in, Alan? The story’s getting—complicated. But that’s the worst of these infernal affairs,—they always do get complicated. Tangled43 skeins—
“‘Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we venture to deceive.’
“And now, like a sensible man, you want to get out of it.”
Captain Douglas was bright pink with the effort to control himself and keep perfectly44 plain 269and straightforward45. His hair had become like tow and little beads46 of perspiration47 stood upon his forehead.
“I spent last week-end at Shonts,” he said. “Lord Moggeridge, also there, week-ending. Got it into his head that I was pulling his leg.”
“Naturally, my boy, if he goes philandering48. At his time of life. What else can he expect?”
“It wasn’t philandering.”
“Fine distinctions. Fine distinctions. Go on—anyhow.”
“He got it into his head that I was playing practical jokes upon him. Confused me with Eric. It led to a rather first-class row. I had to get out of the house. Nothing else to do. He brought all sorts of accusations—”
Captain Douglas stopped short. His uncle was no longer attending to him. They had drifted to the window of the study and the general was staring with an excitement and intelligence that grew visibly at the spectacle of Bealby and the trailer outside. For Bealby had been left in the trailer, and he was sitting as good as gold waiting for the next step in his vindication49 from the dark charge of burglary. He was very travel-worn and the trailer was time-worn as well as travel-worn, and both contrasted with the efficient neatness and newness of the motor bicycle in front. The contrast had attracted the attention of a tall policeman who was standing50 in a state of elucidatory51 meditation52 regarding Bealby. Bealby was not regarding the policeman. He had the utmost confidence in Captain Douglas, 270he felt sure that he would presently be purged53 of all the horror of that dead old man and of the brief unpremeditated plunge55 into crime, but still for the present at any rate he did not feel equal to staring a policeman out of countenance56....
From the window the policeman very largely obscured Bealby....
Whenever hearts are simple there lurks57 romance. Age cannot wither58 nor custom stale her infinite diversity. Suddenly out of your low kindly59 diplomacies, your sane60 man-of-the-world intentions, leaps the imagination like a rocket, flying from such safe securities bang into the sky. So it happened to the old general. He became deaf to everything but the appearances before him. The world was jewelled with dazzling and delightful61 possibilities. His face was lit by a glow of genuine romantic excitement. He grasped his nephew’s arm. He pointed. His grizzled cheeks flushed.
“That isn’t,” he asked with something verging62 upon admiration63 in his voice and manner, “a Certain Lady in disguise?”
§ 3
It became clear to Captain Douglas that if ever he was to get to Lord Moggeridge that day he must take his uncle firmly in hand. Without even attempting not to appear to shout he cried, “That is a little Boy. That is my Witness. It is Most Important that I should get him to Lord Moggeridge to tell his Story.”
271“What story?” cried the old commander, pulling at his moustache and still eyeing Bealby suspiciously....
It took exactly half an hour to get Lord Chickney from that enquiry to the telephone and even then he was still far from clear about the matter in hand. Captain Douglas got in most of the facts, but he could not eliminate an idea that it all had to do with Madeleine. Whenever he tried to say clearly that she was entirely64 outside the question, the general patted his shoulder and looked very wise and kind and said, “My dear Boy, I quite understand; I quite understand. Never mention a lady. No.”
So they started at last rather foggily—so far as things of the mind went, though the sun that day was brilliant—and because of engine trouble in Port Street the general’s hansom reached Tenby Little Street first and he got in a good five minutes preparing the Lord Chancellor65 tactfully and carefully before the bicycle and its trailer came upon the scene....
§ 4
Candler had been packing that morning with unusual solicitude66 for a week-end at Tulliver Abbey. His master had returned from the catastrophe67 of Shonts, fatigued68 and visibly aged69 and extraordinarily70 cross, and Candler looked to Tulliver Abbey to restore him to his former self. Nothing must be forgotten; there must be no little hitches71, everything from first to last must 272go on oiled wheels, or it was clear his Lordship might develop a desperate hostility72 to these excursions, excursions which Candler found singularly refreshing73 and entertaining during the stresses of the session. Tulliver Abbey was as good a house as Shonts was bad; Lady Checksammington ruled with the softness of velvet74 and the strength of steel over a household of admirably efficient domestics, and there would be the best of people there, Mr. Evesham perhaps, the Loopers, Lady Privet, Andreas Doria and Mr. Pernambuco, great silken mellow75 personages and diamond-like individualities, amidst whom Lord Moggeridge’s mind would be restfully active and his comfort quite secure. And as far as possible Candler wanted to get the books and papers his master needed into the trunk or the small valise. That habit of catching76 up everything at the last moment and putting it under his arm and the consequent need for alert picking up, meant friction77 and nervous wear and tear for both master and man.
Lord Moggeridge rose at half-past ten—he had been kept late overnight by a heated discussion at the Aristotelian—and breakfasted lightly upon a chop and coffee. Then something ruffled78 him; something that came with the letters. Candler could not quite make out what it was, but he suspected another pamphlet by Dr. Schiller. It could not be the chop, because Lord Moggeridge was always wonderfully successful with chops. Candler looked through the envelopes and letters afterwards and found nothing diagnostic, and 273then he observed a copy of Mind torn across and lying in the waste-paper basket.
“When I went out of the room,” said Candler, discreetly79 examining this. “Very likely it’s that there Schiller after all.”
But in this Candler was mistaken. What had disturbed the Lord Chancellor was a coarsely disrespectful article on the Absolute by a Cambridge Rhodes scholar, written in that flighty facetious80 strain that spreads now like a pestilence81 over modern philosophical82 discussion. “Does the Absolute, on Lord Moggeridge’s own showing, mean anything more than an eloquent oiliness uniformly distributed through space?” and so on.
Pretty bad!
Lord Moggeridge early in life had deliberately acquired a quite exceptional power of mental self-control. He took his perturbed83 mind now and threw it forcibly into the consideration of a case upon which he had reserved judgment84. He was to catch the 3.35 at Paddington, and at two he was smoking a cigar after a temperate85 lunch and reading over the notes of this judgment. It was then that the telephone bell became audible, and Candler came in to inform him that Lord Chickney was anxious to see him at once upon a matter of some slight importance.
“Slight importance?” asked Lord Moggeridge.
“Some slight importance, my lord.”
“Some? Slight?”
“’Is Lordship, my lord, mumbles86 rather now ’is back teeth ’ave gone,” said Candler, “but so I understand ’im.”
274“These apologetic assertive87 phrases annoy me, Candler,” said Lord Moggeridge over his shoulder. “You see,” he turned round and spoke very clearly, “either the matter is of importance or it is not of importance. A thing must either be or not be. I wish you would manage—when you get messages on the telephone—.... But I suppose that is asking too much.... Will you explain to him, Candler, when we start, and—ask him, Candler—ask him what sort of matter it is.”
Candler returned after some parleying.
“So far as I can make ’is Lordship out, my lord, ’e says ’e wants to set you right about something, my lord. He says something about a little misapprehension.”
“These diminutives88, Candler, kill sense. Does he say what sort—what sort—of little misapprehension?”
“He says something—I’m sorry, my lord, but it’s about Shonts, me lord.”
“Then I don’t want to hear about it,” said Lord Moggeridge.
There was a pause. The Lord Chancellor resumed his reading with a deliberate obviousness; the butler hovered89.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but I can’t think exactly what I ought to say to ’is lordship, my lord.”
“Tell him—tell him that I do not wish to hear anything more about Shonts for ever. Simply.”
Candler hesitated and went out, shutting the door carefully lest any fragment of his halting 275rendering of this message to Lord Chickney should reach his master’s ears.
Lord Moggeridge’s powers of mental control were, I say, very great—He could dismiss subjects from his mind absolutely. In a few instants he had completely forgotten Shonts and was making notes with a silver-cased pencil on the margins90 of his draft judgment.
§ 5
He became aware that Candler had returned.
“’Is lordship, Lord Chickney, my lord, is very persistent91, my lord. ’E’s rung up twice. ’E says now that ’e makes a personal matter of it. Come what may, ’e says, ’e wishes to speak for two minutes to your lordship. Over the telephone, my lord, ’e vouchsafes92 no further information.”
Lord Moggeridge meditated54 over the end of his third after lunch cigar. His man watched the end of his left eyebrow93 as an engineer might watch a steam gauge94. There were no signs of an explosion. “He must come, Candler,” his lordship said at last....
“Oh, Candler!”
“My lord?”
“Put the bags and things in a conspicuous95 position in the hall, Candler. Change yourself, and see that you look thoroughly96 like trains. And in fact have everything ready, prominently ready, Candler.”
Then once more Lord Moggeridge concentrated his mind.
276
§ 6
To him there presently entered Lord Chickney.
Lord Chickney had been twice round the world and he had seen many strange and dusky peoples and many remarkable97 customs and peculiar prejudices, which he had never failed to despise, but he had never completely shaken off the county family ideas in which he had been brought up. He believed that there was an incurable98 difference in spirit between quite good people like himself and men from down below like Moggeridge, who was the son of an Exeter chorister. He believed that these men from nowhere always cherished the profoundest respect for the real thing like himself, that they were greedy for association and gratified by notice, and so for the life of him he could not approach Lord Moggeridge without a faint sense of condescension99. He saluted100 him as “my dear Lord Moggeridge,” wrung101 his hand with effusion, and asked him kind, almost district-visiting, questions about his younger brother and the aspect of his house. “And you are just off, I see, for a week-end.”
These amenities102 the Lord Chancellor acknowledged by faint gruntings and an almost imperceptible movement of his eyebrows103. “There was a matter,” he said, “some little matter, on which you want to consult me?”
“Well,” said Lord Chickney, and rubbed his chin. “Yes. Yes, there was a little matter, a little trouble—”
277“Of an urgent nature.”
“Yes. Yes. Exactly. Just a little complicated, you know, not quite simple.” The dear old soldier’s manner became almost seductive. “One of these difficult little affairs, where one has to remember that one is a man of the world, you know. A little complication about a lady, known to you both. But one must make concessions104, one must understand. The boy has a witness. Things are not as you supposed them to be.”
Lord Moggeridge had a clean conscience about ladies; he drew out his watch and looked at it—aggressively. He kept it in his hand during his subsequent remarks.
“I must confess,” he declared, “I have not the remotest idea.... If you will be so good as to be—elementary. What is it all about?”
“You see, I knew the lad’s mother,” said Lord Chickney. “In fact—” He became insanely confidential—“Under happier circumstances—don’t misunderstand me, Moggeridge; I mean no evil—but he might have been my son. I feel for him like a son....”
§ 7
When presently Captain Douglas, a little heated from his engine trouble, came into the room—he had left Bealby with Candler in the hall—it was instantly manifest to him that the work of preparation had been inadequately105 performed.
278“One minute more, my dear Alan,” cried Lord Chickney.
Lord Moggeridge with eyebrows waving and watch in hand was of a different opinion. He addressed himself to Captain Douglas.
“There isn’t a minute more,” he said. “What is all this—this philoprogenitive rigmarole about? Why have you come to me? My cab is outside now. All this about ladies and witnesses;—what is it?”
“Perfectly simple, my lord! You imagine that I played practical jokes upon you at Shonts. I didn’t. I have a witness. The attack upon you downstairs, the noise in your room—”
“Have I any guarantee—?”
“It’s the steward’s boy from Shonts. Your man outside knows him. Saw him in the steward’s room. He made the trouble for you—and me, and then he ran away. Just caught him. Not exchanged thirty words with him. Half a dozen questions. Settle everything. Then you’ll know—nothing for you but the utmost respect.”
Lord Moggeridge pressed his lips together and resisted conviction.
“In consideration,” interpolated Lord Chickney, “feelings of an old fellow. Old soldier. Boy means no harm.”
With the rudeness of one sorely tried the Lord Chancellor thrust the old general aside. “Oh!” he said, “Oh!” and then to Captain Douglas. “One minute. Where’s your witness?...”
The Captain opened a door. Bealby found 279himself bundled into the presence of two celebrated106 men.
“Tell him,” said Captain Douglas. “And look sharp about it.”
“Tell me plainly,” cried the Lord Chancellor, “and be—quick.”
He put such a point on “quick” that it made Bealby jump.
“Tell him,” said the general more gently. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Well,” began Bealby after one accumulating pause, “it was ’im told me to do it. ’E said you go in there—”
The Captain would have interrupted but the Lord Chancellor restrained him by a magnificent gesture of the hand holding the watch.
“He told you to do it!” he said. “I knew he did. Now listen! He told you practically to go in and do anything you could.”
“But who told you?” cried the Captain. “Who told you?”
Lord Moggeridge annihilated108 him with arm and eyebrows. He held Bealby fascinated by a pointing finger.
“Don’t do more than answer the questions. I have thirty seconds more. He told you to go in. He made you go in. At the earliest possible opportunity you got away?”
“I jest nipped out—”
“Enough! And now, sir, how dare you come here without even a plausible109 lie? How dare 280you after your intolerable tomfoolery at Shonts confront me again with fresh tomfoolery? How dare you drag in your gallant110 and venerable uncle in this last preposterous—I suppose you would call it—lark! I suppose you had prepared that little wretch111 with some fine story. Little you know of False Witness! At the first question, he breaks down! He does not even begin his lie. He at least knows the difference between my standards and yours. Candler! Candler!”
Candler appeared.
“These—these gentlemen are going. Is everything ready?”
“The cab is at the door, m’lord. The usual cab.”
Captain Douglas made one last desperate effort. “Sir!” he said. “My lord—”
The Lord Chancellor turned upon him with a face that he sought to keep calm, though the eyebrows waved and streamed like black smoke in a gale112. “Captain Douglas,” he said, “you are probably not aware of the demands upon the time and patience of a public servant in such a position as mine. You see the world no doubt as a vastly entertaining fabric113 upon which you can embroider114 your—your facetious arrangements. Well, it is not so. It is real. It is earnest. You may sneer115 at the simplicity of an old man, but what I tell you of life is true. Comic effect is not, believe me, its goal. And you, sir, you, sir, you impress me as an intolerably foolish, flippant and unnecessary young man. Flippant. Unnecessary. Foolish.”
281As he said these words Candler approached him with a dust coat of a peculiar fineness and dignity, and he uttered the last words over his protruded116 chest while Candler assisted his arms into his sleeves.
“My lord,” said Captain Douglas again, but his resolution was deserting him.
“No,” said the Lord Chancellor, leaning forward in a minatory117 manner while Candler pulled down the tail of his jacket and adjusted the collar of his overcoat.
“Uncle,” said Captain Douglas.
“No,” said the general, with the curt118 decision of a soldier, and turned exactly ninety degrees away from him. “You little know how you have hurt me, Alan! You little know. I couldn’t have imagined it. The Douglas strain! False Witness—and insult. I am sorry, my dear Moggeridge, beyond measure.”
“I quite understand—you are as much a victim as myself. Quite. A more foolish attempt—I am sorry to be in this hurry—”
“Oh! You damned little fool,” said the Captain, and advanced a step towards the perplexed119 and shrinking Bealby. “You imbecile little trickster! What do you mean by it?”
“I didn’t mean anything—!”
Then suddenly the thought of Madeleine, sweet and overpowering, came into the head of this distraught young man. He had risked losing her, he had slighted and insulted her, and here he was—entangled. Here he was in a position of nearly inconceivable foolishness, about to 282assault a dirty and silly little boy in the presence of the Lord Chancellor and Uncle Chickney. The world, he felt, was lost, and not well lost. And she was lost too. Even now while he pursued these follies120 she might be consoling her wounded pride....
He perceived that love is the supreme121 thing in life. He perceived that he who divides his purposes scatters122 his life to the four winds of heaven. A vehement123 resolve to cut the whole of this Bealby business pounced124 upon him. In that moment he ceased to care for reputation, for appearances, for the resentment125 of Lord Moggeridge or the good intentions of Uncle Chickney.
He turned, he rushed out of the room. He escaped by unparalleled gymnastics the worst consequences of an encounter with the Lord Chancellor’s bag which the under-butler had placed rather tactlessly between the doors, crossed the wide and dignified126 hall, and in another moment had his engine going and was struggling to mount his machine in the street without. His face expressed an almost apoplectic127 concentration. He narrowly missed the noses of a pair of horses in the carriage of Lady Beach Mandarin128, made an extraordinary curve to spare a fishmonger’s tricycle, shaved the front and completely destroyed the gesture of that eminent129 actor manager, Mr. Pomegranate, who was crossing the road in his usual inadvertent fashion, and then he was popping and throbbing130 and banging round the corner and on his way back to the lovely and 283irresistible woman who was exerting so disastrous131 an influence upon his career....
§ 8
The Captain fled from London in the utmost fury and to the general danger of the public. His heart was full of wicked blasphemies132, shoutings and self-reproaches, but outwardly he seemed only pinkly intent. And as he crossed an open breezy common and passed by a milestone133 bearing this inscription134, “To London Thirteen Miles,” his hind5 tyre burst conclusively135 with a massive report....
§ 9
In every life there are crucial moments, turning points, and not infrequently it is just such a thing as this, a report, a sudden waking in the night, a flash upon the road to Damascus, that marks and precipitates136 the accumulating new. Vehemence137 is not concentration. The headlong violence of the Captain had been no expression of a single-minded purpose, of a soul all gathered together to an end. Far less a pursuit had it been than a flight, a flight from his own dissensions. And now—now he was held.
After he had attempted a few plausible repairs and found the tyre obdurate138, after he had addressed ill-chosen remonstrances139 to some unnamed hearer, after he had walked some way along the road and back in an indecision about repair shops in some neighbouring town, the last 284dregs of his resistance were spent. He perceived that he was in the presence of a Lesson. He sat down by the roadside, some twenty feet from the disabled motor bicycle and, impotent for further effort, frankly140 admitted himself overtaken. He had not reckoned with punctures141.
The pursuing questions came clambering upon him and would no longer be denied; who he was and what he was and how he was, and the meaning of this Rare Bate142 he had been in, and all those deep questions that are so systematically143 neglected in the haste and excitement of modern life.
In short, for the first time in many headlong days he asked himself simply and plainly what he thought he was up to?
Certain things became clear, and so minutely and exactly clear that it was incredible that they had ever for a moment been obscure. Of course Bealby had been a perfectly honest little boy, under some sort of misconception, and of course he ought to have been carefully coached and prepared and rehearsed before he was put before the Lord Chancellor. This was so manifest now that the Captain stared aghast at his own inconceivable negligence144. But the mischief145 was done. Nothing now would ever propitiate146 Moggeridge, nothing now would ever reconcile Uncle Chickney. That was—settled. But what was not settled was the amazing disorder147 of his own mind. Why had he been so negligent148, what had come over his mind in the last few weeks?
And this sudden strange illumination of the 285Captain’s mind went so far as perceiving that the really important concern for him was not the accidents of Shonts but this epilepsy of his own will. Why now was he rushing back to Madeleine? Why? He did not love her. He knew he did not love her. On the whole, more than anything else he resented her.
But he was excited about her, he was so excited that these other muddles149, fluctuations150, follies, came as a natural consequence from that. Out of this excitement came those wild floods of angry energy that made him career about—
“Like some damned Cracker,” said the Captain.
“For instance,” he asked himself, “now! what am I going for?
“If I go back she’ll probably behave like an offended Queen. Doesn’t seem to understand anything that does not focus on herself. Wants a sort of Limelight Lover....
“She relies upon exciting me!
“She relies upon exciting everyone!—she’s just a woman specialized151 for excitement.”
And after meditating152 through a profound minute upon this judgment, the Captain pronounced these two epoch-making words: “I won’t!”
§ 10
“This sex stuff,” he said; “first I kept it under too tight and now I’ve let it rip too loose.
“I’ve been just a distracted fool, with my head 286swimming with meetings and embraces and—frills.”
“Not a man’s work, this Lover business. Dancing about in a world of petticoats and powder puffs156 and attentions and jealousies157. Rotten game. Played off against some other man....
“I’ll be hanged if I am....
“Have to put women in their places....
“Make a hash of everything if we don’t....”
Then for a time the Captain meditated in silence and chewed his knuckle158. His face darkened to a scowl159. He swore as though some thought twisted and tormented160 him. “Let some other man get her! Think of her with some other man.”
“I don’t care,” he said, when obviously he did.
“There’s other women in the world.
“A man—a man mustn’t care for that....
“It’s this or that,” said the Captain, “anyhow....”
§ 11
Suddenly the Captain’s mind was made up and done.
He arose to his feet and his face was firm and tranquil161 and now nearer pallor than pink. He left his bicycle and trailer by the wayside even as Christian162 left his burden. He asked a passing nurse-girl the way to the nearest railway station, and thither163 he went. Incidentally, and because the opportunity offered, he called in upon a 287cyclist’s repair shop and committed his abandoned machinery164 to its keeping. He went straight to London, changed at his flat, dined at his club, and caught the night train for France—for France and whatever was left of the grand man?uvres.
He wrote a letter to Madeleine from the Est train next day, using their customary endearments165, avoiding any discussion of their relations and describing the scenery of the Seine valley and the characteristics of Rouen in a few vivid and masterly phrases.
“If she’s worth having, she’ll understand,” said the Captain, but he knew perfectly well she would not understand.
Mrs. Geedge noted166 this letter among the others, and afterwards she was much exercised by Madeleine’s behaviour. For suddenly that lady became extraordinarily gay and joyous167 in her bearing, singing snatches of song and bubbling over with suggestions for larks168 and picnics and wild excursions. She patted Mr. Geedge on the shoulder and ran her arm through the arm of Professor Bowles. Both gentlemen received these familiarities with a gawky coyness that Mrs. Geedge found contemptible169. And moreover Madeleine drew several shy strangers into their circle. She invited the management to a happy participation170.
Her great idea was a moonlight picnic. “We’ll have a great camp-fire and afterwards we’ll dance—this very night.”
“But wouldn’t it be better to-morrow?”
“To-night!”
288“To-morrow perhaps Captain Douglas may be back again. And he’s so good at all these things.”
Mrs. Geedge knew better because she had seen the French stamp on the letter, but she meant to get to the bottom of this business, and thus it was she said this.
§ 12
For some moments after the unceremonious departure of Captain Douglas from the presence of Lord Moggeridge, it did not occur to anyone, it did not occur even to Bealby, that the Captain had left his witness behind him. The general and the Lord Chancellor moved into the hall, and Bealby, under the sway of a swift compelling gesture from Candler, followed modestly. The same current swept them all out into the portico172, and while the under-butler whistled up a hansom for the General, the Lord Chancellor, with a dignity that was at once polite and rapid, and Candler gravely protective and little reproving, departed. Bealby, slowly apprehending173 their desertion, regarded the world of London with perplexity and dismay. Candler had gone. The last of the gentlemen was going. The under-butler, Bealby felt, was no friend. Under-butlers never are.
Lord Chickney in the very act of entering his cab had his coat-tail tugged174. He looked enquiringly.
289“Please, sir, there’s me,” said Bealby.
Lord Chickney reflected. “Well?” he said.
The spirit of Bealby was now greatly abased175. His face and voice betrayed him on the verge176 of tears. “I want to go ’ome to Shonts, sir.”
“Well, my boy, go ’ome—go home, I mean, to Shonts.”
“’E’s gone, sir,” said Bealby....
Lord Chickney was a good-hearted man, and he knew that a certain public kindliness177 and disregard of appearances looks far better and is infinitely178 more popular than a punctilious179 dignity. He took Bealby to Waterloo in his hansom, got him a third class ticket to Chelsome, tipped a porter to see him safely into his train and dismissed him in the most fatherly manner.
§ 13
It was well after tea-time, Bealby felt, as he came once more within the boundaries of the Shonts estate.
It was a wiser and a graver Bealby who returned from this week of miscellaneous adventure. He did not clearly understand all that had happened to him; in particular he was puzzled by the extreme annoyance180 and sudden departure of Captain Douglas from the presence of Lord Moggeridge; but his general impression was that he had been in great peril181 of dire33 punishment and that he had been rather hastily and ignominiously182 reprieved183. The nice old gentleman with the long grey moustaches had dismissed him to the train at last 290with a quality of benediction184. But Bealby understood now better than he had done before that adventures do not always turn out well for the boy hero, and that the social system has a number of dangerous and disagreeable holes at the bottom. He had reached the beginnings of wisdom. He was glad he had got away from the tramp and still gladder that he had got away from Crayminster; he was sorry that he would never see the beautiful lady again, and perplexed and perplexed. And also he was interested in the probability of his mother having toast for tea....
It must, he felt, be a long time after tea-time, quite late....
He had weighed the advisability of returning quietly to his windowless bedroom under the stairs, putting on his little green apron185 and emerging with a dutiful sang-froid as if nothing had happened, on the one hand, or of going to the gardens on the other. But tea—with eatables—seemed more probable at the gardens....
He was deflected186 from the direct route across the park by a long deep trench187, that someone had made and abandoned since the previous Sunday morning. He wondered what it was for. It was certainly very ugly. And as he came out by the trees and got the full effect of the fa?ade, he detected a strangely bandaged quality about Shonts. It was as if Shonts had recently been in a fight and got a black eye. Then he saw the reason for this; one tower was swathed in scaffolding. He wondered what could have happened 291to the tower. Then his own troubles resumed their sway.
He was so fortunate as not to meet his father in the gardens, and he entered the house so meekly188 that his mother did not look up from the cashmere she was sewing. She was sitting at the table sewing some newly dyed black cashmere.
He was astonished at her extreme pallor and the drooping resignation of her pose.
“Mother!” he said, and she looked up convulsively and stared, stared with bright round astonished eyes.
“I’m sorry, mother, I’aven’t been quite a good steward’s-room boy, mother. If I could ’ave another go, mother....”
He halted for a moment, astonished that she said nothing, but only sat with that strange expression and opened and shut her mouth.
“Reely—I’d try, mother....”
The End
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1
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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articulation
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| n.（清楚的）发音；清晰度，咬合 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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stimulates
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| v.刺激( stimulate的第三人称单数 )；激励；使兴奋；起兴奋作用，起刺激作用，起促进作用 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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picturesqueness
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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24
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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30
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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31
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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32
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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33
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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35
repudiated
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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36
prods
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| n.刺，戳( prod的名词复数 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳v.刺，戳( prod的第三人称单数 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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37
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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40
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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41
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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42
mumble
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| n./v.喃喃而语，咕哝 | |
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43
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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44
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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45
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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46
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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47
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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48
philandering
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| v.调戏，玩弄女性( philander的现在分词 ) | |
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49
vindication
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| n.洗冤，证实 | |
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50
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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51
elucidatory
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| adj.阐释的，阐明的 | |
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52
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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53
purged
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| 清除（政敌等）( purge的过去式和过去分词 )； 涤除（罪恶等）； 净化（心灵、风气等）； 消除（错事等）的不良影响 | |
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54
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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55
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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56
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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57
lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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58
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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59
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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60
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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61
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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62
verging
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| 接近，逼近（verge的现在分词形式） | |
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63
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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64
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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65
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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66
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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67
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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68
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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70
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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71
hitches
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| 暂时的困难或问题( hitch的名词复数 )； 意外障碍； 急拉； 绳套 | |
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72
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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73
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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75
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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76
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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78
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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79
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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80
facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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81
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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83
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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84
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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85
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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86
mumbles
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| 含糊的话或声音，咕哝( mumble的名词复数 ) | |
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87
assertive
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| adj.果断的，自信的，有冲劲的 | |
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88
diminutives
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| n.微小( diminutive的名词复数 )；昵称，爱称 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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margins
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| 边( margin的名词复数 )； 利润； 页边空白； 差数 | |
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91
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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92
vouchsafes
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的第三人称单数 )；允诺 | |
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eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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96
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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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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98
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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99
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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100
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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101
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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102
amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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103
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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104
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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105
inadequately
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| ad.不够地；不够好地 | |
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106
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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107
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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108
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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109
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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110
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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111
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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112
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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113
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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114
embroider
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| v.刺绣于(布)上；给…添枝加叶，润饰 | |
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115
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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116
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
minatory
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| adj.威胁的；恫吓的 | |
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118
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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119
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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120
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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121
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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122
scatters
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| v.（使）散开， （使）分散，驱散( scatter的第三人称单数 )；撒 | |
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123
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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124
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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125
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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126
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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127
apoplectic
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| adj.中风的；愤怒的；n.中风患者 | |
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128
Mandarin
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| n.中国官话，国语，满清官吏；adj.华丽辞藻的 | |
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129
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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130
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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131
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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132
blasphemies
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| n.对上帝的亵渎，亵渎的言词[行为]( blasphemy的名词复数 )；侮慢的言词（或行为） | |
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133
milestone
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| n.里程碑；划时代的事件 | |
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134
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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135
conclusively
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| adv.令人信服地，确凿地 | |
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136
precipitates
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的第三人称单数 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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137
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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138
obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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139
remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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140
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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141
punctures
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| n.（尖物刺成的）小孔( puncture的名词复数 )；（尤指）轮胎穿孔；（尤指皮肤上被刺破的）扎孔；刺伤v.在（某物）上穿孔( puncture的第三人称单数 )；刺穿（某物）；削弱（某人的傲气、信心等）；泄某人的气 | |
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142
bate
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| v.压制；减弱；n.（制革用的）软化剂 | |
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143
systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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144
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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145
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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146
propitiate
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| v.慰解，劝解 | |
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147
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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148
negligent
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| adj.疏忽的；玩忽的；粗心大意的 | |
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149
muddles
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| v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的第三人称单数 )；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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150
fluctuations
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| 波动，涨落，起伏( fluctuation的名词复数 ) | |
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151
specialized
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| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
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152
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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153
lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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154
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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155
generalizations
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| 一般化( generalization的名词复数 )； 普通化； 归纳； 概论 | |
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156
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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157
jealousies
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| n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 )；妒羡 | |
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158
knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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159
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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160
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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161
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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162
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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163
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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164
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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165
endearments
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| n.表示爱慕的话语，亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
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166
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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167
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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168
larks
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| n.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的名词复数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了v.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的第三人称单数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了 | |
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169
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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170
participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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171
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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172
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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173
apprehending
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的现在分词 )； 理解 | |
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174
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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175
abased
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| 使谦卑( abase的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到羞耻； 使降低（地位、身份等）； 降下 | |
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176
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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177
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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178
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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179
punctilious
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| adj.谨慎的，谨小慎微的 | |
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180
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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181
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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182
ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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183
reprieved
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| v.缓期执行（死刑）( reprieve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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184
benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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185
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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186
deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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187
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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188
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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