North looked across the beautifully appointed lunch-table at the ill-chosen partner of his joys and sorrows, while the silence, which usually followed one of her direct attacks on him, fell upon the party surrounding it.
“I see you brought Larry back with you, and conclude you found him at Thorpe,” continued Mrs. North, “and I suppose you saw Miss Seer. As it is a moot2 point whether we call on her or not, you might rouse yourself so far as to tell us what you thought of her. I am sure Arthur would like to hear too.”
“Very much! Very much!” said the fair, cherubic-looking little man sitting on her right hand. “Thorpe was such a pleasant house in poor dear Carey’s time. It would be a serious 46loss if the new owner were impossible. I look upon the changes in the neighbourhood very seriously, very seriously indeed. I was only thinking yesterday that of our old circle only poor old Mentmore, the Condors3, and ourselves are left. The Court and Whitemead both bought by newly rich people, whom I really dread4 inspecting.”
“The St. Ubes may be all right,” interpolated Mrs. North. “I hear they made their money doing something with shipping5, and St. Ubes does not sound a bad name.”
“No,” allowed Mr. Fothersley. “No. Yet I do not remember to have heard it before. It has a Cornish sound. We must inquire. They have not arrived yet, I gather, as the new servants’ wing is not ready. But the people at the Grange, I fear, are not only Jews, but German Jews! What a milieu6! And we were such a happy little set before the war, very happy—yes.”
“At any rate,” said the fourth member of the lunch party, a very beautiful young woman, the only child and married daughter of the house, “they have all an amazing amount of money, which I have no doubt they are prepared to spend, and the German Jews I conclude you will not take up. As for Thorpe, it is disgusting 47that anyone should have it. What is the woman like, father?”
“Oh, all right,” said North. “She is looking after the place well, and hasn’t been seized with the present mania7 for building billiard-rooms and winter gardens and lordly garages.”
“But what is she like?” asked Mrs. North.
“Is she a lady, or isn’t she? You can’t call on a woman because she hasn’t built a winter garden.”
“Why not?” returned her husband, in his most irritating fashion.
“By the way,” interposed Mr. Fothersley adroitly8, “I hear Miss Seer intends building cottages. A thing I do not consider at all desirable.”
“Why not?” asked his host again.
“We want nothing of that sort in Mentmore,” said Fothersley decisively. “It is, in its way, the most perfect specimen9 of an English village in the country—I might say in England. Building new cottages is only the thin end of the wedge.”
“They appear to be wanted,” said North, pushing the cigars towards his guest.
“That is the Government’s business,” answered Mr. Fothersley, making a careful selection. “And we may at least hope they will 48put them up in suitable places. Thank Heaven the price of land here is prohibitive. There, however, is the danger of these newly rich people. They must spend their money somehow. However, it may not be true. I only heard it this morning.”
“Did she say anything about it, Roger?” asked Mrs. North.
Mrs. North made an exaggerated gesture of despair as she struggled with a cigarette. She had never succeeded in mastering the art of smoking.
“Are you going to tell us what we want to know or not?” she asked, with ominous11 calmness. “Do you advise calling on the woman, or don’t you?”
Here Violet Riversley broke in.
“When will you learn to put things quite plainly to father?” she asked. “You know he can’t understand our euphuisms. I suppose it’s one of the defects of a scientific brain.”
She helped herself to a cigarette and held it out to North for a light.
“What we want to know, father, is just this. Do you think Miss Seer is likely to subscribe12 to the Hunt and various other things we are interested in? If to this she adds the desire 49to entertain us, so much the better, but the subscriptions13 are the primary things.”
“No, no, my dear!” exclaimed Mr. Fothersley, deeply pained. “That is just what I complain about in you young people of the present day. You have not the social sense—you——”
“Dear Arthur,” Violet cut him short ruthlessly, “don’t be a humbug14 with me. Your Violet has known you since she was two years old. Let us in our family circle be honest. Lord Mentmore and the Condors called on the Pithey people because Mr. Pithey has subscribed15 liberally to the Hunt, and you and mother have called because they did. Incidentally they will probably give us excellent dinners. All I can say is, I hope you will draw the line at the German Jews, however much money they have.”
“Well, Roger,” said Mrs. North, who had kept her eyes fixed16 on her husband during her daughter’s diversion, “shall I call or not? Surely you are the proper person to advise me, as you have met Miss Seer.”
“No, I certainly should not call,” he said, rising from the table. “She is a lady, but you would have nothing in common, and I should not think she has enough money to make it worth while from the point of view Vi has put 50so delicately before us. That all right, Vi?”
His daughter rose too, and slipped her arm through his.
“Quite good for you!” she said. “And now come and smoke your cigar with me in the garden. Arthur will excuse you.”
“Certainly! Certainly!” said Mr. Fothersley, who sincerely liked both husband and wife apart, and inwardly deplored18 the necessity that they should ever be together. He recognized the lack of fine feeling in the wife which so constantly irritated the husband, but which did not alienate19 Fothersley himself because his own mind moved really on the same plane, in that he cherished no finer ideals. He recognized, too, the corresponding irritation20 North’s total lack of the social instinct was to a woman of his wife’s particular type. Pretty, vivacious21, with a passionate22 love of dress, show, and amusement, Mrs. North would have liked to go to a party of some sort, or give one, every day in the year. She was an admirable and successful hostess, and Mr. Fothersley was wont23 to declare that Mentmore would be lost without Mrs. North.
They were great friends. Mr. Fothersley had never seen his way to embark24 on matrimony. At the same time he enjoyed the society of women. As a matter of fact he was on terms 51of platonic25, genuinely platonic, friendship, with every attractive woman within reasonable reach of Mentmore. Undoubtedly26, however, Mrs. North held the first place. For one thing the Norths were his tenants27, occupying the Dower House on his estate. It was always easy to run across to Westwood, hot foot with any little bit of exciting gossip. They both took a lively interest in their neighbours’ private affairs. Violet Riversley had once said that if there was nothing scandalous to talk about, they evolved something, after the fashion of the newspapers in the silly season. They both loved, not money, but the things which money means. To give a perfect little dinner, rich with all the delicacies28 of the season, was to them both a keen delight. He was nearly as fond of pretty clothes as she was, and liked to escort her to the parties, where she was always the centre of the liveliest group and from which North shrank in utter boredom29. They agreed on all points on matters of the day, both social and political; he gathered his opinions from The Times and she from the Daily Mail. He looked upon her as an extremely clever and intelligent woman. Also he was in entire sympathy with her intense and permanent resentment30 against her husband because he had persisted in devoting to further chemical research 52the very large sums of money which his scientific discoveries had brought him in from time to time. The fact that, in addition to these sums, he derived31 a considerable income from a flourishing margarine factory started by his late father’s energy and enterprise, of which income she certainly spent by far the larger portion, consoled her not at all. She spent much, but she could very easily have spent more. She too could have done with four or five cars, she too could have enlarged and expanded in various expensive directions, even as these new nouveaux riches. Fothersley, who devoutly32 held the doctrine33 that not only whatsoever34 a man earned, but whatsoever he inherited, was for his own and his family’s benefit and spending, with a reasonable contribution to local charities, or any exceptional collection in time of stress authorized35 by the Mayor, felt that Mrs. North’s resentment was wholly natural. A yearly contribution of, say, twenty-five guineas, to research would have amply covered any possible claim on even a scientist’s philanthropy in this direction, and he had even told North so.
Therefore it was only natural for Mrs. North to turn to him, even more than to her other friends, for sympathy and understanding.
“There now!” she exclaimed as her husband 53left the room. “Can you imagine any man being so disagreeable and surly? Just because he was asked a perfectly36 natural question. And I shall certainly call on the woman.”
“I believe she is quite possible from all I have heard,” said Mr. Fothersley, adroitly lighting37 Mrs. North’s cigarette, which had gone out. “As you know, I mean to call myself, if you would prefer to wait for my report.”
“Thank you. But may as well come with you. I shall probably be a help, and you see Roger says she is a lady, and, funnily enough, he really knows. I expect she is as dull as ditchwater; I hear she was something in the nature of a companion before she came into some money. But anything must be better than the Pitheys.”
“They appear from all accounts to be very bad,” sighed Mr. Fothersley.
“I could bear their commonness,” said Mrs. North, “one has got used to it these days, when one meets everyone everywhere, but it is the man’s self-satisfaction that is so overpowering. However, I am depending on you to look after him this afternoon. Roger won’t, and Violet is nearly as bad. I don’t know if you have noticed 54it, but Violet is getting Roger’s nasty sarcastic40 way of saying things, and she always seems to back him up now against me.”
Her pretty eyes were tearful, and Mr. Fothersley looked distressed41.
“Dear Violet has never been the same since poor Carey’s death,” he said.
Mrs. North agreed. “And yet, as you know,” she added, “I never really approved of the engagement. Poor Dick was a dear—no one could help liking42 him; but, after all, there was no getting away from the fact that he was old enough to be her father, and besides he was not very well off, and owing to Roger’s folly43, wasting his money as he has, we could not have made Violet a big allowance. Really, you know, Fred is a much better match for her in every way.”
“Quite, quite,” assented44 Mr. Fothersley. “But there is no doubt she felt Carey’s death very much at the time. I certainly have noticed a difference in her since, which her marriage has not dispelled45. But indeed all the young people seem altered since this terrible war—there is—how shall I put it?—a want of reticence—of respect for the conventions.” Mr. Fothersley shook his head. “I regret it very much—very much.”
In the meantime North and his daughter had 55wandered out into the shade of the great beech-tree which was the crowning glory of an exquisite46 lawn. The garden was in full perfection this wonderful May, and the gardeners were busy putting the finishing touches before the afternoon’s party. Not a weed or stray leaf was to be seen. Every edge was clipped to perfection. The three tennis courts were newly marked out, their nets strung to the exact height, while six new balls were neatly47 arranged on each service line. Presently Mrs. North would come out and say exactly where each chair and table should go.
Violet Riversley looked at the pretty friendly scene with her beautiful gold brown eyes, and the misery48 in them was like a devouring49 fire. She was one of the tragedies of the war. She could neither endure nor forget. With her mother’s good looks, pleasure-loving temperament50, and quick temper, she had much of her father’s ability. Spoilt from her cradle, she had gone her own way and taken greedily of the good things of this world with both hands, until Dick Carey’s death had smitten51 her life into ruins.
She was twenty-four, and she had never before known pain, sorrow or trouble. Always she had had everything she wanted. Other people’s griefs passed her by. She simply had 56no understanding of them. She was not generous, because she never realized what it was to go without. And yet everyone liked and many loved her. She was so gay and glad and beautiful a thing.
When she said good-bye to Dick Carey, she was simply unable to grasp that he could be taken from her, and when the news of his death came she had passionately52 and vehemently53 fought against the agony and pain and desolation that came with it. She had genuinely and really loved him, and nothing, absolutely nothing, seemed left. There was no pleasure any more in anything. That was what she could not understand, could not cope with. Her conventional faith fell from her, and she let it go without a struggle. But her happiness she refused to let go. She clung to it, or to the mirage55 of it, savagely56, desperately57. Dick was dead, yes, and she wanted him with a devouring hunger. But all the other things were left. Things she had loved. Things that had made her happy. She would not let them go.
After a brief space, in which the devils of bitterness and resentment and impotent wrath58 rent her in pieces, she took up her old life again, with apparently59 added zest60. Her friends said “Violet was very plucky,” and no one was astonished when after a year she accepted and 57married Fred Riversley. It was altogether a more suitable match than one with poor Dick Carey. Riversley was of more suitable age, rich, devoted61, and a good fellow, and as North said to her best friends, “Violet was never suited for the wife of a poor man.” Only Roger North watched her anxiously at times. She had been her mother’s child before, but since Dick’s death she had turned more and more to her father. Something of his dogged patient strength of mind seemed to become clear to her. Something of the courage with which he faced life.
She remembered a saying of his one day when her mother had been flagrantly unjust and bitter to him on some matter of expenditure62, so that even she had felt ashamed. Whatever her father’s faults, his generosity63 was past question. She had gone into the study and striven to make amends64, and he had looked at her with those tired humorous eyes of his and said:
“My dear, nothing can hurt you if you don’t let it.”
She seized on that as some sort of creed65 amid the welter of all she had ever thought she believed.
She would not let things hurt her, She plunged66 more eagerly than ever into the amusements of her world. After her marriage she 58started and ran a smart officers’ hospital in London. Mrs. Riversley’s name was on many committees. She was a noted67 giver of the then fashionable boy and girl dances. A celebrated68 personage said she reminded him of a human fire. There seemed a fever in her body, a restlessness which never left her. Since the cessation of hostilities69 this restlessness had increased, or possibly now that others were ceasing their activities it was more noticeable.
While North sat smoking his cigar she fetched a racquet and began to practice her service on the court nearest him. She served over-hand a swift hard service, and North watched the long slim line of her figure, her exquisite poise70, as she swung her racquet above her head and drove the ball home. It was typical somehow of the driving force that seemed behind her restlessness.
Presently she stopped, and came and sat down close beside him, and when he looked at her he saw that her mask was down and the tormented71 soul of her for a moment bare.
“It all looks just the same as ever, doesn’t it!” she said. “And we’ve got to get through it somehow to the very end.
“My dear,” began her father, and stopped. A blank hideous72 horror of emptiness possessed73 him. He shivered in the hot sunshine. There 59was nothing to say. He had no comfort to give her.
“Heaven knows I’ve done my best,” she said. “I swore I wouldn’t let Dick’s death spoil my life. I married Fred because he could give me everything else—everything but what was impossible, and he’s a good fellow.” She paused, then went on again, her voice very low and thin. “There’s only one thing would do me any good—if I could hurt those who’ve hurt me. That God, who let all this happen. I’m not the only one. That God they teach us is almighty74, and this is the best he can do for us. You don’t believe He’s there at all, father—oh no, you don’t—I’m not a fool! But I do, and I see Him watching it all happening, letting it all happen, according to plan, as those damned Germans used to say. If only I could hurt them—hurt them myself. If they had only one neck that I could wring—with my own two hands—slowly—very slowly—I think that would do me good.”
North pulled himself together.
“How long have you been feeling like this, Vi?” he asked.
“Ever since they killed Dick,” she said dully, as if the fire had smouldered down, after a sudden sheet of flame. “I think I am made up of hate, father. It’s the strongest thing in 60me. It’s so strong that I can’t love any more. I don’t think I love Dick now. And Fred, sometimes I hate Fred, and he’s a good fellow, you know.”
The words filled North with a vague uncanny horror. He struggled after normal, everyday words, but for a moment none came. He knew the girl was overwrought, suffering from strain, but what was it that had looked at him out of those vehement54, passionate eyes?
“Look here, Vi,” he said at length, striving to speak naturally, “you are just imagining things. Can’t you take a pull on yourself and go easy for a bit? You’re overdoing75 it, you know, and these sort of ideas are the result.”
“I’m sorry, father.”
She bent76 sideways, letting her head rest against his shoulder, and seeking his hand, held it close. Such a demonstration77 was foreign to her with him. When she was small, some queer form of jealousy78 on her mother’s part had come between them. He felt shy and awkward.
“I don’t know what made me break out like that,” she went on. “I think it must have been coming back here and seeing everything just the same as it used to be before the war came. Until to-day, when I’ve been down it’s been so quiet and different, with no parties, and nothing 61going on. Now it’s gone back like everything else is going back—only I cannot.”
“Nothing goes back, dear,” answered North. “It’s not the same for anyone really. Not even for the quiet young people who’ll come and play here without a trouble as you used to. But there’s always the interest of going forward. If we’ve suffered, at least we’ve gained experience from it, which is knowledge. And there’s always some work to be done for every season that could not be done sooner or later. That helps, I think.”
“Dear old father,” she said softly. “We used not to be really great friends in the old days. But now somehow you’re the only person I find any comfort in. I think perhaps it is because we are both putting up a hard fight.”
“Don’t forget the spice of life is battle, Vi, as Stevenson has it. I’m inclined to think, though”—he spoke79 slowly as one envolving a thought new to him—“I’m inclined to think we sometimes confuse bitterness and rebellion with it. That’s not clean fighting. My dear, put that hate you speak of away from you, if you can—and have nothing to do with bitterness—they are forces which can only make for evil.”
There was a little pause.
“I don’t think I can, father. It’s part of me. 62Sometimes I think it’s all me, and sometimes I’m frightened.”
“Look here, Vi,” said North, struggling with a disinclination to make the proposition that was in his mind, a disinclination that he felt was ridiculous, “I wish you would go over to Thorpe and get to know Miss Seer.”
Violet sat up and looked at him with wide-open eyes.
“But why? I should hate it!” she exclaimed. “It would remind me—oh, of so many things! It would make me feel even worse——”
“Well, so I thought,” said North. “I can tell you I dreaded80 going. But the old place is full of a—a strange sort of rest. I didn’t realize how full of bitterness and resentment I had been until sitting there it all dropped away from me. It was as if a stone had been rolled away. I hadn’t realized how it was hurting until it left off.”
He spoke disjointedly, and as if almost against his will. He was glad when the sound of his wife’s and Mr. Fothersley’s approaching voices made Violet release his hand and stand up.
“You think Thorpe would lay my devils too?” she asked, looking down at him.
“I think,” he said gravely, “it is worth trying.”
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1
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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moot
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| v.提出；adj.未决议的；n.大会；辩论会 | |
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condors
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| n.神鹰( condor的名词复数 ) | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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milieu
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| n.环境；出身背景；(个人所处的)社会环境 | |
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mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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irritably
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deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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alienate
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| vt.使疏远，离间；转让(财产等) | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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wont
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embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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platonic
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| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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devoutly
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doctrine
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whatsoever
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authorized
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| a.委任的，许可的 | |
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perfectly
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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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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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replenished
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| 补充( replenish的过去式和过去分词 )； 重新装满 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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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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mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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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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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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hostilities
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| n.战争；敌意(hostility的复数)；敌对状态；战事 | |
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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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71
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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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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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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overdoing
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| v.做得过分( overdo的现在分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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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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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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