Nancy glanced up, as St. Jacques appeared in the doorway1 with Brock at his side. At the farther end of the room, Barth also glanced up. The action was wholly involuntary, however, and Barth sought to disguise with a yawn his ill-timed manifestation2 of interest.
“You look as if you had something of importance to announce,” Nancy replied, as she rose and crossed the room to the door.
“So we have. What are you going to do, this evening?”
“That isn’t an announcement; it is a question,” she suggested.
St. Jacques laughed. Nancy always enjoyed the sudden lighting3 of his face. At rest, it was almost heavy in its dark, intent earnestness; at a chance word, it could turn mirthful as the face of a child, gentle with the sympathetic gentleness of a strong man. Just now, the rollicking child was uppermost.
“How can I tell the difference? I am not English,” he answered.
Nancy cocked the white of one eye towards the far corner of the room.
Brock’s answer was enigmatic; but Nancy held the key.
“It is always possible to be grateful to Allah,” he said, low, but not so low as to keep the color from rising in Barth’s cheeks.
St. Jacques turned suddenly.
But Barth was as yet unable to make any distinctions in measuring out his displeasure.
“Thank you, Mr. St. Jacques,” he answered icily. “It is almost quite well.”
“O—oh. I am very glad,” St. Jacques responded, in such vague uncertainty6 as to how great a degree of gain might be represented by the almost quite that he entirely7 missed the note of hostility8 in Barth’s voice.
Again the white of Nancy’s eye moved towards the corner of the room, as Brock said,—
“But you haven’t answered St. Jacques’s question, Miss Howard.”
“I beg your pardon. I am not going to do anything, unless sitting in this room counts for something.”
“Then what makes you do it?” Brock inquired.
His intention had been altogether hostile, for he had been irritated by the discourtesy shown to his friend. Nevertheless, his irritation10 gave place to good-tempered pity, as the young Englishman answered quietly,—
“Because there’s not so very much left that I can do. One doesn’t get much variety in a radius11 of half a mile a day.”
This time, Nancy turned around.
“Doesn’t that ligament grow strong yet?” she asked, in a wave of sympathy which swept her off her guard.
Then she blushed scarlet12, for Barth was looking up at her in manifest astonishment13. How could this impetuous young woman have discovered the fact that he owned a ligament? He had not considered it a fit subject for conversation. Was there no limit to the unexpected workings of the American mind?
“I didn’t know—Oh, it is better,” he answered.
Then in a flash the situation dawned upon Brock. He recalled Barth’s unexplained illness; he remembered Nancy’s story of the Englishman and his golden guinea. Back in the depths of his sinful brain he stored the episode, ready to be brought out for use, whenever the time should be ripe. And Nancy, looking into those clear gray eyes, knew that he knew; knew, too, that it would be useless to beg for mercy for the unsuspecting Britisher. Moreover, she was not altogether sure that she wished to beg for mercy.
“But really, have you any plan for this evening?” St. Jacques was urging.
Dismissing the others from her mind, Nancy smiled into the dark face which was almost on a level with her own.
“Nothing at all.”
“That is good. There is a little opera at the Auditorium14, to-night; nothing great, but rather pretty. I saw it in Saint John, last year. Brock and I both thought—”
“What time is it now?” Nancy asked.
“About seven.”
Nancy reflected swiftly. Then she said,—
“Impromptu parties are always the best. Go and ask the Lady if she can come with us. If she will—”
But only Barth in his corner heard the ending of her sentence.
Half an hour later, Nancy came rustling15 softly down the stairway, her shining hair framed in the white fur ruff of her cloak. Two immaculate youths were pacing the hall; but Barth had disappeared. She found him sitting in the office beside the Lady. He rose, as Nancy appeared in the doorway.
“Don’t let me keep you,” he said regretfully. “You are going out?”
In his present mood of content, St. Jacques felt that he could afford to be gracious.
“Don’t we look it?” he asked boyishly.
Experience had taught Nancy what to expect when Barth fell to fumbling16 about the front of his waistcoat. Nevertheless, even she blushed at the prolonged stare which was too full of interest to be impertinent. Then, without a glance at the others, Barth let the glasses fall back again.
The Lady laughed.
“Is that the best you can say of us, Mr. Barth?” she inquired.
“Rather is Barth’s strongest superlative,” Brock commented. “Well, are we ready?”
The Lady rose with some reluctance18. During the few days of his imprisonment19, she had been brought into closer contact with Barth. She had watched him keenly, and she had come to the conclusion that, underneath20 all his haughty21 indifference22, the young Englishman was lonely, homesick and altogether likable.
“It is really too bad to turn you out, Mr. Barth,” she said kindly23. “Won’t you stay here and read? It is more cosy24 here, and you can be quite by yourself.”
The friendly words touched Barth and, for an instant, he lost his poise25. A sudden note of dejection crept into his voice, as he answered,—
“I seem to accomplish that end, wherever I go.”
Brock was already leading the way to the door, and Nancy was gathering26 up her long skirt. It was St. Jacques who lingered.
“Perhaps you would like to go with us,” he suggested.
“Oh, I—” Barth was beginning, when the Frenchman interrupted,—
“We shall be very glad to have you, and I can easily telephone for another seat. It is not a great opera; but it will be better than sitting alone in your room.”
The unexpected addition to their party was by no means to Nancy’s liking27. Nevertheless, her eyes rested upon St. Jacques with full approval. The deed had been a gracious one, and Nancy felt that, with Brock and St. Jacques to help her, she could easily man?uvre Barth to the outer seat beyond the Lady.
The event justified28 her belief. Barth demurred29, then yielded to a second invitation which was cordially echoed by the Lady; and it was at the Lady’s side that he limped down the aisle30. Nancy, in the rear with the others, told herself that he had no need for his profuse31 apologies regarding his dress. Even in morning clothes, Barth showed that both his figure and his tailor were irreproachable32. She also told herself that, until then, she had had no notion of the way the man must have suffered. It is not without reason that a man of the early twenties allows himself to hobble ungracefully into a strange theatre, or gets white at the lips, by the time he is finally seated.
As St. Jacques had said, the opera was by no means a great one. However, Nancy, sitting in that dull green interior, looking about her at the half-veiled lights and at the dainty gowns, was absolutely content. Barth, at the farther end of the row, was talking dutifully to the Lady, and Nancy had no idea that his position, bending forward with his hands clasped over his knee, was taken for the sole purpose of being able to watch herself. Brock was for the moment wholly absorbed in a scrutiny33 of the audience, and Nancy settled back at her ease and fell into idle talk with St. Jacques.
Already the young Frenchman was assuming a prominent place in her thoughts. He was serious without being dull, merry without being frivolous34; and Nancy rarely found it needful to explain to him the unexpected workings of her somewhat inconsequent mind. Even Brock was sometimes left gasping35 in the rear. St. Jacques, although by different and far less devious36 paths, was generally waiting to meet her, when she reached her new viewpoint.
Little by little, she had come to know much of his history. The strong habitant blood of two hundred years before had brought forth37 a line of sturdy, earnest professional men. True to their ancestry38, they had made no effort to shake off its customs or its tongue. Highly educated, first at Laval, then at Paris, they had gone back to the simple life of their own people, to give to them the fruits of what, generations before, had been taken from them. Because the primeval St. Jacques had wrested39 supremacy40 from his neighbors, there was no reason that his son’s sons should turn their backs upon their less fortunate brothers, and seek wealth and fame in the luxury-loving cities to the southward. St. Jacques was of the physical type of the old-time habitant; but developed far towards the level of all that is best in manhood. The defensive41 instincts of a young girl are not always unreliable. Nancy trusted Adolphe St. Jacques implicitly42. She was sure that he never stopped to question how to show himself loyal and courteous43; it came to him quite as a matter of course.
“But you speak English at home?” she asked him.
“No; only French.”
“Then you surely have been trained in an English school,” she persisted.
He shook his head.
“The school was like Laval, all French.”
“And yet, you speak as we do.”
His lower lip rolled out into his odd little smile.
“As you do, but more slowly. Of course, I understand; but I think in French, and it takes a little time to put it into English. But my English is not like Mr. Barth’s.”
“Nor mine,” she assured him merrily.
“Miss Howard, I do not see why I can’t like that fellow,” he said thoughtfully.
“I know. He is intelligent, and he means to be a gentleman,” St. Jacques answered, frowning gravely as he argued out the position. “I think I see his good points; but I have nothing that—that is in common with any of them. Our worlds are different, and we can never bring them into connection.”
“I think I understand you. I have felt it, myself. It is not anything he does consciously, yet he leaves me feeling that we have absolutely no common ground. By all rights, we Americans ought to feel kinship with the English; but—”
St. Jacques turned to face her.
“But?” he echoed.
However, Nancy’s eyes were fastened on her fan, and she answered, with the fearless honesty of a boy,—
And St. Jacques bowed in silence, as the curtain rose for the final act.
Just then, there came an unexpected scene and one not down upon the programme. The soprano was already in place and the tenor48, in the wings, was preparing to rush in to kneel at her feet, when the manager came out across the stage. In the midst of the gaudy49 costumes, his black-clothed figure made an instantaneous impression, an impression which was heightened by his level voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to be obliged to announce to you—”
Brock never knew from what corner of the upper gallery came that shrill50, insistent51 cry of fire. When he realized his surroundings, he was bracing52 himself against the seat in front of him, his whole tall figure tense in the effort to keep Nancy from being crushed by the mad rush for the doors. Then, with a bound, the young Frenchman vaulted53 over the seat towards the other end of the row.
“Look out for the Lady, Brock,” he ordered, as he dashed past. “Some one must help Barth. His foot is giving out, and he will drop, in a minute.”
Then, as swiftly as it had arisen, the panic died away. Again and again the orchestra pounded out God Save the King with an energetic rhythm which could not fail to be reassuring54. The tumult55 in the galleries subsided56; one by one, in shamefaced fashion, the people came straggling back to their seats. Brock was mockingly recounting the list of his bruises57, while the manager completed his ill-timed announcement of the sudden illness of one of the singers. Then the curtain was rung down and rung up again for a fresh start. Just as it shivered and began to rise, Barth bent58 forward.
“Oh, Mr. St. Jacques.”
“Yes?”
“I have to thank you for your help. I needed it, and it was given in a most friendly way.”
St. Jacques had no idea of what those few words cost the dignity of the taciturn young Englishman. Otherwise, he would have framed his answer in quite another fashion. As it was, he shook his head.
“You count it too highly,” he said, with dry courtesy. “In our language we call such things, not friendship, but just mere59 chivalry60.”
And Nancy, though unswerving in her loyalty to St. Jacques, felt a sudden pity for Mr. Cecil Barth, as he shut his lips and leaned back again in his chair.
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1
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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6
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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8
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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auditorium
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| n.观众席，听众席；会堂，礼堂 | |
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15
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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16
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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19
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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21
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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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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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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26
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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31
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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32
irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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33
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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34
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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35
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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wrested
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| （用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
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40
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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41
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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43
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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45
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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46
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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47
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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48
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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49
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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50
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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51
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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52
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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53
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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54
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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55
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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56
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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57
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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58
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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59
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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60
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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