Lady Constance meanwhile, proceeding1 downstairs, had reached the big hall, when the door of the smoking-room opened and a head popped out. A round, grizzled head with a healthy pink face attached to it.
“Connie!” said the head.
Lady Constance halted.
“Yes, Joe?”
“Come in here a minute,” said the head. “Want to speak to you.”
Lady Constance went into the smoking-room. It was large and cosily2 book-lined, and its window looked out on to an Italian garden. A wide fire-place occupied nearly the whole of one side of it, and in front of this, his legs spread to an invisible blaze, Mr. Joseph Keeble had already taken his stand. His manner was bluff3, but an acute observer might have detected embarrassment4 in it.
“What is it, Joe?” asked Lady Constance, and smiled pleasantly at her husband. When, two years previously5, she had married this elderly widower6, of whom the world knew nothing beyond the fact that he had amassed7 a large fortune in South African diamond mines, there had not been wanting cynics to set the match down as one of convenience, a purely[p. 19] business arrangement by which Mr. Keeble exchanged his money for Lady Constance’s social position. Such was not the case. It had been a genuine marriage of affection on both sides. Mr. Keeble worshipped his wife, and she was devoted8 to him, though never foolishly indulgent. They were a happy and united couple.
Mr. Keeble cleared his throat. He seemed to find some difficulty in speaking. And when he spoke9 it was not on the subject which he had intended to open, but on one which had already been worn out in previous conversations.
“Connie, I’ve been thinking about that necklace again.”
Lady Constance laughed.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Joe. You haven’t called me into this stuffy10 room on a lovely morning like this to talk about that for the hundredth time.”
“Well, you know, there’s no sense in taking risks.”
“Don’t be absurd. What risks can there be?”
“There was a burglary over at Winstone Court, not ten miles from here, only a day or two ago.”
“That necklace cost nearly twenty thousand pounds,” said Mr. Keeble, in the reverent12 voice in which men of business traditions speak of large sums.
“I know.”
“It ought to be in the bank.”
“Once and for all, Joe,” said Lady Constance, losing her amiability13 and becoming suddenly imperious and Cleopatrine, “I will not keep that necklace in a bank. What on earth is the use of having a beautiful necklace if it is lying in the strong-room of a bank all the time? There is the County Ball coming on, and the Bachelors’ Ball after that, and . . . well, I need it. I will send the thing to the bank when we pass through London on our way to Scotland, but not till then.[p. 20] And I do wish you would stop worrying me about it.”
There was a silence. Mr. Keeble was regretting now that his unfortunate poltroonery14 had stopped him from tackling in a straightforward15 and manly16 fashion the really important matter which was weighing on his mind: for he perceived that his remarks about the necklace, eminently17 sensible though they were, had marred18 the genial19 mood in which his wife had begun this interview. It was going to be more difficult now than ever to approach the main issue. Still, ruffled20 though she might be, the thing had to be done: for it involved a matter of finance, and in matters of finance Mr. Keeble was no longer a free agent. He and Lady Constance had a mutual21 banking22 account, and it was she who supervised the spending of it. This was an arrangement, subsequently regretted by Mr. Keeble, which had been come to in the early days of the honeymoon23, when men are apt to do foolish things.
Mr. Keeble coughed. Not the sharp, efficient cough which we have heard Rupert Baxter uttering in the library, but a feeble, strangled thing like the bleat24 of a diffident sheep.
“Connie,” he said. “Er—Connie.”
And at the words a sort of cold film seemed to come over Lady Constance’s eyes: for some sixth sense told her what subject it was that was now about to be introduced.
“Connie, I—er—had a letter from Phyllis this morning.”
Lady Constance said nothing. Her eyes gleamed for an instant, then became frozen again. Her intuition had not deceived her.
Into the married life of this happy couple only one shadow had intruded25 itself up to the present. But[p. 21] unfortunately it was a shadow of considerable proportions, a kind of super-shadow; and its effect had been chilling. It was Phyllis, Mr. Keeble’s stepdaughter, who had caused it—by the simple process of jilting the rich and suitable young man whom Lady Constance had attached to her (rather in the manner of a conjurer forcing a card upon his victim) and running off and marrying a far from rich and quite unsuitable person of whom all that seemed to be known was that his name was Jackson. Mr. Keeble, whose simple creed26 was that Phyllis could do no wrong, had been prepared to accept the situation philosophically27; but his wife’s wrath28 had been deep and enduring. So much so that the mere29 mentioning of the girl’s name must be accounted to him for a brave deed, Lady Constance having specifically stated that she never wished to hear it again.
Keenly alive to this prejudice of hers, Mr. Keeble stopped after making his announcement, and had to rattle30 his keys in his pocket in order to acquire the necessary courage to continue. He was not looking at his wife, but he knew just how forbidding her expression must be. This task of his was no easy, congenial task for a pleasant summer morning.
“She says in her letter,” proceeded Mr. Keeble, his eyes on the carpet and his cheeks a deeper pink, “that young Jackson has got the chance of buying a big farm . . . in Lincolnshire, I think she said . . . if he can raise three thousand pounds.”
He paused, and stole a glance at his wife. It was as he had feared. She had congealed31. Like some spell, the name Jackson had apparently32 turned her to marble. It was like the Pygmalion and Galatea business working the wrong way round. She was presumably breathing, but there was no sign of it.
[p. 22]“So I was just thinking,” said Mr. Keeble, producing another obbligato on the keys, “it just crossed my mind . . . it isn’t as if the thing were a speculation33 . . . the place is apparently coining money . . . present owner only selling because he wants to go abroad . . . it occurred to me . . . and they would pay good interest on the loan . . .”
“What loan?” inquired the statue icily, coming to life.
“Well, what I was thinking . . . just a suggestion, you know . . . what struck me was that if you were willing we might . . . good investment, you know, and nowadays it’s deuced hard to find good investments . . . I was thinking that we might lend them the money.”
He stopped. But he had got the thing out and felt happier. He rattled34 his keys again, and rubbed the back of his head against the mantelpiece. The friction35 seemed to give him confidence.
“We had better settle this thing once and for all, Joe,” said Lady Constance. “As you know, when we were married, I was ready to do everything for Phyllis. I was prepared to be a mother to her. I gave her every chance, took her everywhere. And what happened?”
“Yes, I know. But . . .”
“She became engaged to a man with plenty of money . . .”
“Shocking young ass,” interjected Mr. Keeble, perking36 up for a moment at the recollection of the late lamented37, whom he had never liked. “And a rip, what’s more. I’ve heard stories.”
“Nonsense! If you are going to believe all the gossip you hear about people, nobody would be safe. He was a delightful38 young man and he would have made Phyllis perfectly39 happy. Instead of marrying him, she[p. 23] chose to go off with this—Jackson.” Lady Constance’s voice quivered. Greater scorn could hardly have been packed into two syllables40. “After what has happened, I certainly intend to have nothing more to do with her. I shall not lend them a penny, so please do not let us continue this discussion any longer. I hope I am not an unjust woman, but I must say that I consider, after the way Phyllis behaved . . .”
The sudden opening of the door caused her to break off. Lord Emsworth, mould-stained and wearing a deplorable old jacket, pottered into the room. He peered benevolently41 at his sister and his brother-in-law, but seemed unaware42 that he was interrupting a conversation.
“‘Gardening As A Fine Art,’” he murmured. “Connie, have you seen a book called ‘Gardening As A Fine Art’? I was reading it in here last night. ‘Gardening As A Fine Art.’ That is the title. Now, where can it have got to?” His dreamy eye flitted to and fro. “I want to show it to McAllister. There is a passage in it that directly refutes his anarchistic43 views on . . .”
“It is probably on one of the shelves,” said Lady Constance shortly.
“On one of the shelves?” said Lord Emsworth, obviously impressed by this bright suggestion. “Why, of course, to be sure.”
Mr. Keeble was rattling44 his keys moodily45. A mutinous46 expression was on his pink face. These moments of rebellion did not come to him very often, for he loved his wife with a dog-like affection and had grown accustomed to being ruled by her, but now resentment47 filled him. She was unreasonable48, he considered. She ought to have realised how strongly he felt about poor little Phyllis. It was too infernally[p. 24] cold-blooded to abandon the poor child like an old shoe simply because . . .
“Are you going?” he asked, observing his wife moving to the door.
“Yes. I am going into the garden,” said Lady Constance. “Why? Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”
“No,” said Mr. Keeble despondently49. “Oh, no.”
Lady Constance left the room, and a deep masculine silence fell. Mr. Keeble rubbed the back of his head meditatively50 against the mantelpiece, and Lord Emsworth scratched among the book-shelves.
“Clarence!” said Mr. Keeble suddenly. An idea—one might almost say an inspiration—had come to him.
“Eh?” responded his lordship absently. He had found his book and was turning its pages, absorbed.
“Clarence, can you . . .”
“Angus McAllister,” observed Lord Emsworth bitterly, “is an obstinate51, stiff-necked son of Belial. The writer of this book distinctly states in so many words . . .”
“Clarence, can you lend me three thousand pounds on good security and keep it dark from Connie?”
Lord Emsworth blinked.
“Keep something dark from Connie?” He raised his eyes from his book in order to peer at this visionary with a gentle pity. “My dear fellow, it can’t be done.”
“She would never know. I will tell you just why I want this money . . .”
“Money?” Lord Emsworth’s eye had become vacant again. He was reading once more. “Money? Money, my dear fellow? Money? Money? What money? If I have said once,” declared Lord Emsworth, “that Angus McAllister is all wrong on the subject of hollyhocks, I’ve said it a hundred times.”
“Let me explain. This three thousand pounds . . .”
[p. 25]“My dear fellow, no. No, no. It was like you,” said his lordship with a vague heartiness52, “it was like you—good and generous—to make this offer, but I have ample, thank you, ample. I don’t need three thousand pounds.”
“You don’t understand. I . . .”
“No, no. No, no. But I am very much obliged, all the same. It was kind of you, my dear fellow, to give me the opportunity. Very kind. Very, very, very kind,” proceeded his lordship, trailing to the door and reading as he went. “Oh, very, very, very . . .”
The door closed behind him.
“Oh, damn!” said Mr. Keeble.
He sank into a chair in a state of profound dejection. He thought of the letter he would have to write to Phyllis. Poor little Phyllis . . . he would have to tell her that what she asked could not be managed. And why, thought Mr. Keeble sourly, as he rose from his seat and went to the writing-table, could it not be managed? Simply because he was a weak-kneed, spineless creature who was afraid of a pair of grey eyes that had a tendency to freeze.
“My dear Phyllis,” he wrote.
Here he stopped. How on earth was he to put it? What a letter to have to write! Mr. Keeble placed his head between his hands and groaned53 aloud.
“Hallo, Uncle Joe!”
The letter-writer, turning sharply, was aware—without pleasure—of his nephew Frederick, standing54 beside his chair. He eyed him resentfully, for he was not only exasperated55 but startled. He had not heard the door open. It was as if the smooth-haired youth had popped up out of a trap.
“Came in through the window,” explained the Hon. Freddie. “I say, Uncle Joe.”
[p. 26]“Well, what is it?”
“I say, Uncle Joe,” said Freddie, “can you lend me a thousand quid?”
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1
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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cosily
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| adv.舒适地，惬意地 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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amassed
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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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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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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poltroonery
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| n.怯懦，胆小 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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marred
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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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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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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bleat
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| v.咩咩叫，(讲)废话，哭诉；n.咩咩叫，废话，哭诉 | |
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intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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congealed
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| v.使凝结，冻结( congeal的过去式和过去分词 )；（指血）凝结 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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perking
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| （使）活跃( perk的现在分词 )； （使）增值； 使更有趣 | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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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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syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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benevolently
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| adv.仁慈地，行善地 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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anarchistic
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| 无政府主义的 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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despondently
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| adv.沮丧地，意志消沉地 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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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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heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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53
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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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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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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