It concerns Gerald Gunner, “Laura Gunner’s second boy,” a famous gentleman-jockey, and, though his years were few, remarkably3 a rip. “Charming manners, like all that family, but most high-spirited, wild, they say. Bad influences were at work, no doubt. His friends were loyalty4 itself; everything was hushed up, and more than once. But—” and Mrs. James used to lower her voice—“there was a fracas5 at Sandown. Lord Windlesham's horse—they say, my dear, that he ‘pulled’ it. You will know what that means, I dare say. I believe there was no room for doubt. Lord Gunner—” that was, of course, the old lord, father of our recent acquaintance—“allowed him fifty pounds a year, so long as he remained in Canada, cutting logs or building railways—or whatever they do in the wilds; and the poor boy went out—in the steerage. The Heskeths, during their tour, went to see him some years ago, and, my dear, it was deplorable! Miles and miles into desert-swamps. No neighbours, and, of course, no church privileges. A hovel, literally6 a hovel, built by his own hands; barely weather-proof—not quite that, I am told, in one corner. They arrived in the evening, rather late, and found him shelling peas into an old biscuit-tin. His Eton birch and a portrait of the Queen were absolutely the only ornaments7; but this, to my mind, is deeply pathetic. Would you believe it? That poor young man dressed for dinner every night, directly he had cooked it. It got cold, and his jacket was in holes—but he never omitted it. Mrs. Hesketh assured me that she wept. And fifty pounds a year! Think of it. Of course, he made nothing. What could he make, with his training?”
It is a sad story. Mrs. John Germain’s polite education had begun later than Gerald Gunner’s; but to find a house in Hill-street stuffy is symptomatic of broadening views.
On the other hand, she showed the bourgeoise undismayed when she permitted herself to be excited. She was all agog8 for town delights. Lady Carhawk, a Berkshire dame9, was to present her, and photographs of her little person, stiff, feathered and bejewelled, making her look, as some wit said, like a Spanish Madonna strayed into a fair, went down to Blackheath with promises of a speedy visit in full dress. Cards fluttered daily upon the hall-table. Mr. Germain engaged a second secretary: Mrs. Germain began to think of one, too.
She attacked her pleasures, as once her task-work, with zest10 and spirit; she made scores of acquaintances. Lady Carhawk must have liked her—herself a likable, florid lady; the Duchess of Lanark showed that she did; Lady Barbara Rewish and others of the sort found their old hearts touched by the grateful, graceful11 girl, who never took a favour without showing that she was much obliged, never refused one (and that’s a rare abnegation), and if she asked you to do anything for her, coaxed12 for it with bright eyes and wooing lips. The Duchess called her a nice little thing, a pretty soul, a good girl; and the Duchess’s third son, Lord Vernon, did his best to prove how good she was—and succeeded. She got nothing but good out of that, for his weaknesses were well known.
Much of this little success she owed to her Southover drilling, which had taught her how little she had to fear, how little was expected of her in a world where chatter13 is the staple14, and high spirits a matter of good taste. Practically, she only had to listen and to smile. Now she looked her best when she smiled—her teeth were really perfect. As for listening, excitement gave her colour and glitter, her gowns were as good as they could be—and what more do you want but the wish to please? That she had. She courted your good opinion, was anxious to be approved. Besides, she could be patronized, and liked it.
There had never been any question of her success with the men, so little, indeed, that it was curious to see how well she stood with the women. Her early years, it has been hinted, did not want of experience: she proved her femininity before she was sixteen. And betwixt the cubs15 of the village and the young lions of politics is no difference in kind. You vary the allure16; but brown eyes are still brown, and ginger17 is always hot in the mouth. Of these splendid youths Palmer Lovell must perhaps be reckoned with first, he who, for her sake (or so it is said), forsook18 a young and handsome Viscountess. After a stormy sowing in one field he was now complacently19 reaping in another. Mr. Germain’s party owned him an acquisition, and the same feeling was to be expected of Mr. Germain’s wife. Lovell constituted himself her Mentor20, waited about great stairways for her, attached himself to her side, and sat out all and sundry21. He explained himself unaffectedly as a Hope of the Party, and she was very willing to believe him. But somehow the information did not thrill her as it had when she received it from Tristram Duplessis; with the rising of whose light above the firmament22 sank the orb23 of Mr. Lovell.
Horace Wing—romantic to the waist, thence downwards24 dancing master, approved himself in her eyes. He was handsome, affable, an artist in his way. She had an instinct for style; and he had that. He knew where to depart from the tailor’s ideal, which is tightness; he knew where to be loose. He could unbutton a coat to better purpose than any man living—or a phrase, when he saw his way. He always coloured his phrases. You were thought to hear birds in the brake, to see cowslips adrift in a pasture—happy country things—when he discoursed25. Some considered his flowers forced, things of the hot-bed. But he was discreet26, because really he was timid. The Byron of the Boudoir, Lovell called him, scorning Mr. Wing. But Mrs. Germain, who knew little to Byron’s discredit27, and understood boudoirs to be made for two, was much taken with this fine gentleman. On his part, he found her attractive because his world did. He was acutely sensitive to opinion, with the feelers of a woman for it. I don’t mean that he knew what was in fashion—of course he did; but that he could detect what was going to be. There he was almost infallible.
There were others about her—it was quite a little triumph in its way,—whom to name would be tedious. But one was a very great man indeed. Robert John Bernard, Marquis and Earl of Kesteven, a Knight28 of the Garter, and an Ambassador. Lord Kesteven was no less than sixty-odd years old, had a Marchioness somewhere and three mature children, and a reputation for incisive29 gallantry second to no man’s. He managed his affairs of the kind deliberately30; he had method. When he died it was said that not one single note in a woman’s hand was to be found among his papers. That was not for want of hunting for them: and yet—well, if old Kesteven looked at you twice you were worth looking at. That was said. Now, he looked at Mrs. Germain more than twice.
With these tributes at her feet, with such heady incense31 in her nostrils32, it isn’t wonderful if she attended the coming of Duplessis with assurance of amusement, wondering what offerings he would bring. Real goddesses, we may suppose, take their worship as of right, but a make-believe goddess discovers an appetite for it the more she gets. She felt perfectly33 ready for Tristram, and more than ready by the time she had him. It seems that he had thought her out—she might have inferred it had she not been piqued34 by delay—and decided35 that he must give himself value. At any rate, he did not present himself at Hill-street until the card for her first evening party made it a matter of duty. Then he came, and was received with airy smiles—as if he had been an old crony! He found her to be extremely at ease in his company, was disconcerted, and showed it. He had come as one prepared to be fatigued36; he departed with frowns as one who fears that he has been fatiguing37. “Good God!” he said to himself, “she’ll be calling me Tristram in a day or two.” He reflected that, if she did that, he was done for; that would show that he had ceased to strike her imagination, had become so much furniture, a sort of house-dog. Deeply mortified38, brooding over it, he began to need her. His self-esteem sickened; she only could restore its tone. He became really alarmed about himself, couldn’t work, failed of audacity39, missed his spring. He saw her again—he was in a black mood. She rallied him upon it, and sent him away to entertain Lady Barbara, whose rights no man dared dispute.
Lady Barbara accepted him as a target for some of her archery. “I saw that young lady married to our friend”—and she nodded towards their hostess. “You, I fancy, did not. A most hopeless business I thought. I remember a sister with fluffy41 hair. Hopeless it would have been if she had been clever—but, thank goodness, she’s not. She has just sense enough to be herself; no airs, no smirks42 nothing to hide. She told old Kesteven all about herself, I hear, at a dinner-party; father, mother, sister Jinny. Kesteven was charmed. That’s a sensible girl, you know, not a clever one, who’d spend herself in scheming how to let bygones be bygones. On the contrary, this girl hoards43 them, for a relish44.”
Tristram looked very glum45. Was she hoarding46 him? For a relish? The old archer40 went on with her practice.
“Look at her now with Horace Wing. Horace is weaving his gossamers; he thinks she’s enmeshed. She’s not, you know; she’s only pleased. I tell you, she’s exactly what she always was. Once upon a time Tom Styles ‘took notice’ of her, as she would say, hung about the church-door, Sundays. That was a triumph in its way. Now it’s Lovell, or Jocelyn Gunner, or old Kesteven. I don’t suppose she has ever been in love in her life—but I fancy that you can correct me if I am wrong.”
Duplessis faced about. “I? I’m afraid I can’t help you. She knew my people in the country. We were rather friendly; we liked her. I’m glad to think that you do, too.”
“She amuses me,” said Lady Barbara, “and I certainly admire her honesty. Horace Wing won’t, I think. She’ll puzzle him with her gratitude47. Horace wants dearer tributes. All you young men do.”
Mr. Germain came up to bow over his friend’s hand. “I’m talking of your speech, Germain,” she told him.
“Kindly, I know,” said he.
“You were rather magisterial48, I thought; but at least you knew what you were talking about. Tristram here says that’s not necessary.”
Mr. Germain blinked. He never looked at Tristram, and did not know. “Fortunate, if true,” he said coldly; “but I cannot myself afford to believe it.”
“Ah, Germain, you’re too rich, you see,” Tristram said, as lightly as he could, and withdrew to a doorway49, whence he could see Mary. Lady Barbara inquired, with eyes and eyebrows50, to no purpose. Mr. Germain was blandly51 obtuse52.
“She’s charming,” said the old gentlewoman, and caught him unawares. He started, coloured.
“Yes, yes, I find her so—hourly.”
“Who dresses her?” Mr. Germain raised his head.
“Really—. I believe there are consultations—. She looks well to-night. A happy nature, my friend.”
“Charming, charming,” Lady Barbara murmured; and then—with a look from the door to her friend. “What is he doing now?” Mr. Germain grew alert.
“Tristram? He goes his way, I believe. He was bickering53 with poor Jess the other day. Jess is the soul of good-nature; but there are limits.”
“Plenty!” cried the lady. “There should be more. He’ll be in the House by-and-by—a thorn in all your flesh.”
Mr. Germain repressed himself. “If he could get a seat. Want of means would restrict his chances. I fear he is arrogant54.”
“He’s able.”
“He believes it. That is his only capital sum, I fancy. But I am not in his confidence.”
“He has the run of your house?”
Mr. Germain again lifted his head. “He is Constantia’s first cousin. My wife is interested in him. She has known him for some years; but she shares my anxieties.”
Lady Barbara was touched by his gallantry, but not put off. “An old friend?” she persisted.
“She is willing to believe him so.”
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1
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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fracas
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| n.打架；吵闹 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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7
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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12
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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cubs
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| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
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allure
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| n.诱惑力，魅力；vt.诱惑，引诱，吸引 | |
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ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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18
forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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orb
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| n.太阳；星球；v.弄圆；成球形 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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discoursed
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| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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32
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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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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piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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40
archer
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| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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42
smirks
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| n.傻笑，得意的笑( smirk的名词复数 )v.傻笑( smirk的第三人称单数 ) | |
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43
hoards
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| n.（钱财、食物或其他珍贵物品的）储藏，积存( hoard的名词复数 )v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的第三人称单数 ) | |
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44
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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45
glum
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| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
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46
hoarding
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| n.贮藏；积蓄；临时围墙；囤积v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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47
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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48
magisterial
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| adj.威风的，有权威的；adv.威严地 | |
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49
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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50
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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51
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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52
obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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53
bickering
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| v.争吵( bicker的现在分词 )；口角；（水等）作潺潺声；闪烁 | |
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54
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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55
stoic
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| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
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