Here, though the warmth was great, the stillness was perfect. The rest of the world had retired3 to their rooms to change for the tennis party in the afternoon. North felt he could depend on at least an hour of quiet. Across the rosebeds and smooth lawns he could see his cattle lying in the tall grass under the trees. He watched others moving slowly from shade to shade—Daisy and Bettina, and Fancy—and presently Patricia, the big white mother of many pigs, hove in sight on her way to the woods. For North was a farmer too, and loved 170his beasts better, it must be owned, than he loved his own kind.
He cut a hole in the orange he had brought from the lunch-table and commenced to suck in great content. Like the ladies of Cranford he considered there was no other way to eat an orange. He also agreed with them that it was a pleasure that should be enjoyed in private.
He gave himself up to the soothing4 peace and rest of his cool shaded room. The friendly faces of his beloved books looked down on him, the fragrance5 of his roses came in, hot and sweet, a very quintessence of summer. Patricia had reached the wood now; he watched her dignified6 waddle7 disappear in its green depths. What a pleasant and beautiful world it all was, except for the humans.
He dropped the jangling remains8 of the irritating lunch interval9 out of his consciousness, and his mind drifted back to his morning’s work, the conclusion of a week of observation, of measurements, of estimating quantities, of balancing relations. A week of the scientist’s all-absorbing pursuit of knowledge, which had, as his wife complained, made him deaf and dumb and blind to all else. A disturbing fact in his work was beginning to force itself upon him. He was becoming more and more conscious 171that, in spite of the exquisite10 delicacy11 of scientific apparatus12, observation was becoming increasingly difficult. He could no longer make the atom a subject of observation; it escaped him. He was beginning to base his arguments on mathematical formula. Even with the chemical atom, four degrees below the ultimate physical atom, he was beginning to reason, without basing his reasons on observation, because he could not observe; it was too minute, too fine, too delicate—it escaped him. He had no instrument delicate enough to observe. He had come to a deadlock13. The fact forced itself upon him with ever-increasing insistence14; he could no longer deny it. He could carry some of his investigations15 no farther without the aid of finer, subtler instruments. His methods failed him. Nor could his particular order of mind accept the new psychology16. He could not investigate by means of hypnotism, or autoscopy, or accept the strange new psychological facts which were revolutionizing all the old ideas of human consciousness, because he could not get away from the fundamental fact that science had no theory with which these strange new things would fit, no explanation, as he had said to Ruth Seer, which could arrange them in a rational order. And, dreaming in the warmth of the afternoon, with the 172fragrance and beauty of the wonderful universe filtering into his consciousness, the idea penetrated17 with ever-growing insistence: Had the gods, by some wonderful chance, by some amazing good fortune, placed in his hands, his, Roger North’s, an instrument, finer, subtler, more delicate, than any of which he had ever dreamed, the consciousness that was materializing as Ruth Seer? He seemed struggling with himself, or rather with another self—a self that was striving to draw him into misty18 unreal things, and he shrank back into his world of what seemed to him solid, tangible19 things, things that he could touch and handle and prove by measure and calculation and observation. And then again the larger vision gripped him. Was there indeed a finer, subtler, more wonderful matter, waiting to be explored by different, finer, subtler methods? What was it Dick Carey and Ruth Seer cognized, contracted with outside his ken20? Could he be certain it did not exist? “God! it would give you an horizon beyond eternity21,” he had said to Ruth Seer; that was true enough—if the vision was true. Always till now he had thought of any vision beyond as a fable22, invented by wise men to help lesser23 men through what was after all but a sorry business. And now, for the first time, it really gripped him—what it would mean if it were 173not a fable, not a useful deception24 for weaker men who could not face life as it really was. God! it would give you an horizon beyond eternity! The vision was as yet only a dim muddle25 of infinite possibilities and Roger North’s mind hated muddle. He was like the blind man of Bethsaida who, when Christ touched his eyes, looked up, and saw men, as trees, walking.
Suddenly he got up and moved a photograph of Dick Carey that stood upon his writing-table, moved it to an inconspicuous place on the mantelshelf amongst other photographs. Then he hesitated for a moment before he took one of the others and put it on the writing-table.
And this simple action meant that Roger North had put on one side his shrinking from the intangible and invisible and had started on new investigations with new instruments for observation.
Then he went back to his chair and began a second orange. Mansfield had just carried out the croquet mallets and balls, and was arranging for the afternoon games in his usual admirable manner. North watched him lazily as he sucked the orange, pleasantly conscious that a new interest had gripped his life, his mind already busy, tabulating27, arranging the different 174subtler matter he proposed to work with.
It was here the door opened, and with the little clatter28 and bustle29 which always heralded30 her approach, his wife entered, curled, powdered and adorned31, very pretty and very smart, for her afternoon party.
A visit from her at this moment was altogether unexpected. It was also unfortunate.
It is doubtful if much had depended on it, whether Mrs. North could have helped some expression of her objection to orange-sucking when indulged in by her husband. She came to an abrupt32 halt in the doorway33 and looked much as if there was a bad smell under her nose.
There was an unpleasant pause. North, inwardly fumed34, continued to suck his orange. He had, it is to be feared, the most complete contempt for his wife’s opinion on all subjects, and it irritated him to feel that she had nevertheless, at times, a power which, it must be confessed, she had used unmercifully in the early days of their married life, to make him feel uncomfortable.
Finally he flung the orange at the wastepaper basket, missed his aim, and it landed, the gaping35 hole uppermost, in the centre of the hearth36.
“If you want to speak to me,” he said irritably37, “you had better come and sit down. On the other hand, if you do not like my sucking 175an orange, you might have gone away till I had finished.”
“I didn’t say anything,” said Mrs. North.
She skirted the offending orange skin carefully and arranged the fluffy38 curls at the back of her neck in front of the glass. Then she sat down and arranged the lace in front of her frock.
“I can’t think why you are always so disagreeable now,” she complained at length. “You used to be so fond of me once.”
By this time the atmosphere was electric with irritation39. A more inopportune moment for such an appeal could hardly have been chosen.
“I don’t suppose you have dressed early to come down and tell me that,” said North. It was not nice of him, and he knew it was not nice, but for the life of him he could not help it. Indeed it was only by a superhuman effort that his answer had not verged40 on the brutal41.
“I came to talk to you about Violet, but it’s so impossible to talk to you about anything.”
“Why try?” interposed North.
“I suppose you take some interest in your own child?” retorted Mrs. North. “I daresay you have not noticed it, but she is looking wretchedly ill.”
North relapsed into silence and continued to 176watch Mansfield’s preparation on the lawn.
“Yes,” said North.
“Very well then, why can’t you take some interest? Why can’t you ever talk things over with me like other husbands do with their wives? And it isn’t only that she looks ill; she’s altered—she isn’t the same girl she was even a year ago. And people remark on it. She isn’t popular like she used to be. People seem afraid of her.”
She had secured North’s attention now. The drawn44 lines on his face deepened. There was anxiety as well as irritation in his glances.
“Have you spoken to her? Tried to find out what is wrong?”
“No,” said Mrs. North. “At least I have tried, but it’s impossible to get anything out of her. It’s like talking to a stranger. Really, sometimes I’m frightened of her. It sounds ridiculous, of course, but there it is. And we used to be such good friends and tell each other everything.”
“I am afraid she has never really got over Dick’s death,” said North, his manner appreciably47 gentler. “And possibly her marriage so soon after was not the wisest thing.”
177“You approved of it quite as much as I did.”
“Certainly. I am not in any sense blaming you. Besides, Violet did not ask either our advice or our approval. My meaning rather is, that possibly she is paying now for what I own seemed to me at the time a quite amazing courage.”
“She confided48 in you all that dreadful time far more than she did in me,” said Mrs. North fretfully, and with her pitiful inability to meet her husband when his natural kindness of heart or sense of duty moved him to try to discuss things of mutual49 interest with her in a friendly spirit. “If you had not taken her away from me then, it might have been different.”
North shrugged50 his shoulders, and returned to his contemplation of the croquet lawn and Mansfield’s preparations. Violet had never from her babyhood been anything but a bone of contention51, unless he had been content never to interfere52 or express opinions contrary to his wife’s.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Only show some natural interest in your own child,” she retorted. “But you never can talk anything over without being irritable53. And as to her marriage with Fred, we were 178all agreed it was an excellent thing. Of course if you haven’t noticed how altered she is, it’s no good my telling you.”
“I have noticed it,” said North shortly.
“Well, what do you think we had better do?”
“You really want my opinion?”
North had said this before over other matters. He wrestled55 with the futility56 of saying it over this. But he knew that his wife was a devoted57, if sometimes an unwise, mother, and he had on the whole been very generous to her with regard to their only child. He sympathized with her now in her anxiety.
“Of course I do,” she responded. “Isn’t it what I’ve been saying all this time?”
“Then honestly I don’t see what either you or I can do but stand by. She knows we’re there right enough, both of us. She can depend on Fred too, she knows that. But it seems to me that until she comes to us we’ve got to leave her alone to fight out whatever the trouble is in her own way. I think you are right—there is trouble. But we can’t force her confidence and we should do no good if we did. I’m afraid you won’t think that much help.” He looked at her with some kindness. “But I believe it is quite sound advice.”
“It’s dreadful to feel like a stranger with one’s own child,” complained Mrs. North. “It 179makes me perfectly58 miserable59. Of course I don’t think a father feels the same as a mother.”
A shadow fell across the strip of sunlight coming in from the window. A gay voice broke the sequence of her complaint.
“Oh, here you are!” it said.
Both of them looked up hastily, almost guiltily. Violet Riversley stood on the gravel61 pathway outside. A gay and gallant62 figure, slim and straight in her favourite white. The sun shone on the smooth coiled satin of her dark hair, on the whiteness of her wonderful skin. Her golden eyes danced as she crossed the step of the French window.
“I felt in my bones you would be having a party this afternoon,” she said. “So I put Fred and myself into the car, and here we are!”
She looked from one to the other and they looked at her, momentarily bereft63 of speech. For here was the old Violet, gay with over-brimming life and mirth, the beautiful irresistible64 hoyden65 of the days before the war, before Dick Carey had died, suddenly back again as it were. And now, and now only, did either of them realize to the full the difference between her and the Violet they had just been discussing.
“What is the matter with you both?” she 180cried. “You look as if you were plotting dark and desperate deeds! And Mansfield is nearly in tears under the beech-tree because he can’t arrange the chairs to his satisfaction without you.” She looked at her mother. “He says”—she looked at her father and bubbled with mirth—“the trenches66 have spoilt his sense of the artistic67! And he says he is a champion at croquet now himself. He won all the competitions at V.A.D. hospital. Do you think we ought to ask him to play this afternoon?”
“Look here, Vi,” said North. On a sudden impulse he put his long legs down from his deck-chair, sat erect69, and swept her gay badinage70 aside. “We were talking about you.”
“Me!”
She bent71 her straight black brows at him, a shadow swept over her brilliance72, she shivered a little.
“I suppose I have been pretty poisonous to you lately.” She meditated73 for a moment. Then her old irresistible mischievous74 smile shone out. “But it’s nothing to what I’ve been to poor Fred.”
181“Dad and Mums, darlings, I don’t know what’s been the matter with me—but I’ve been in hell. I woke up this morning and felt like Shuna-something’s daughter when the devil was driven out of her. And I got up and danced round the room in my nighty, because the old world was beautiful again and I didn’t hate everything and everybody. And don’t talk to me about what I’ve been like, darlings—I don’t want to think of it. All I know is, it’s gone, and if it ever comes back——”
She stopped and repeated slowly:
“If it ever comes back——”
Her slim erect figure shivered, as a rod of steel shivers driven by electric force.
Then she flung up a defiant76 hand and laughed. The gay light laughter of the old Violet. “But I won’t let it! Never again! Never, never, never! Mums, come out and wrestle54 with Mansfield’s lost artistic sense.”
“My dear Violet! Don’t! Oh, my hat!” she cried, and retreated, like a ruffled78 bird, to the looking-glass over the mantelshelf to rearrange her plumage.
Violet seized her father by both hands and pulled him too out of his chair.
182“Come and play a game of croquet with me before the guests come, Herr Professor,” she said.
It was her old name for him in the days when Karl von Sch?de had brought many German expressions and titles into their midst. It struck North with a curious little unpleasant shock.
“Why have you put poor Dick’s photo up here?” asked his wife.
“Oh, do leave my things alone!” exclaimed North.
His wife’s capacity for discovering and inquiring into any little thing he did not want to explain was phenomenal. It irritated him to see her pick up the frame. It irritated him that she would always speak of his dead friend as “poor Dick.”
The atmosphere disturbed by Violet’s sudden radiant entrance became once more charged with electric irritation.
Mrs. North put down the frame with a little click.
“I thought it was some mistake of the servant’s,” she said stiffly.
Violet pulled her father out of the French window. “Come, we have only time for half a game now,” she said.
Mrs. North followed.
183“Your Miss Seer is coming this afternoon, Roger,” she said. “I do hope you won’t talk to no one else, if you intend to appear at all. It looks so bad, and only makes everyone talk!”
With which parting shot she retreated towards Mansfield and the chairs.
Violet slipped her arm through her father’s as they crossed the lawn. “She can’t help it, daddy,” she said soothingly79.
North laughed, a short mirthless laugh.
“I suppose not. Go ahead, Vi. I’ll take blue.”
They buried themselves in the game after the complete and concentrated manner of the real croquet player. Both were above the average, and it was an infinite relief to North to find Violet taking her old absorbing interest in his defeat.
Presently Fred Riversley wandered out and stood watching them, stolid80 and heavy as usual, but his nod to North held meaning, and a great content. North was beginning to like this rather dull young man in a way he would once have thought impossible. He had been the plainest, the least attractive, and the least interesting of the group of brilliant children who had grown up in such a bewilderingly sudden way, almost, it seemed, on the declaration of war, and of whom so few were left. North’s 184mind drifted back to those days which seemed so long ago, another lifetime, to those gay glad children who had centred round his friend and so been part of his own life. And then a sudden nostalgia81 seized him, a sick sense of the purposeless horror of life. And you cared—really cared—if you made a bad shot at croquet, or if your wife objected to your sucking oranges. Mansfield, who had faced death by torture minute after minute out there, was worried because he could not arrange the chairs at a tennis party. And those boys and the girl, little Sybil Rawson, were all broken up, smashed out of existence, finished. They had not even left any other boys and girls of their own behind; they were some of nature’s waste.
He missed his shot, and Violet gave a cry of triumph. It gave the game into her hands. She went out with a few pretty finish shots.
“Not up to your usual mark that, sir!” said Riversley.
“No,” said North. “It was a rotten shot!” And he did care. He was annoyed with himself. “Rotten!” he said, and played the stroke over again.
“Absolutely unworthy!” laughed his daughter.
She put out first one and then the other of 185her balls with deft82 precision and waved her mallet26 to an approaching car.
“Here are the Condors,” she said. “And Condie himself! I haven’t seen him for ages, the old dear!”
She skimmed the lawn like a bird towards the front door.
“Excellent, bombardier!” said the stout gentleman. “Excellent. You have let me down without a single twinge. Now they put my man into the motor transport. Most unfortunate for me. The knowledge of how to handle a live bomb would have been invaluable86.”
He heaved slowly round in time to receive Violet Riversley’s enthusiastic welcome. His face was very round and full, the features, in themselves good, partially87 buried in many rolls of flesh, the whole aspect one of benign88 good nature. Only an occasional penetrating89 flash from under his heavy eyelids90 revealed the keen intelligence which had given him no small reputation in the political world.
“Ah, little Vi! It’s pleasant to see you again,” he said. “How are you, North?” His voice was soft and thick, but had the beauty of perfect pronunciation.
186It was the only sound ever known to check his wife’s amazing flow of conversation. She owned herself that it had been difficult, but she had recognized the necessity early in their married life.
“You see, no one wanted to hear me talk if they could hear him,” she explained. “Now it has become a habit. Condor83 has only to say ‘Ah!’ and I stop like an automaton91.”
At this moment she was following him from the car amid the usual shower of various belongings92. Violet and her husband assisted her while North and Mansfield gathered up the débris.
“Yes, my dears, we have been to a meeting as usual. Natural—I mean National Economy. Condor made a really admirable speech, recommending impossible things; excellent, of course—only impossible! My glasses? Thank you, Roger. Yes, isn’t the car shabby? I am so thankful. A new Rolls-Royce has such a painfully rich appearance, hasn’t it? And the old ones go just as well, if not better. That scarf? Um—yes—perhaps I will want it. Let us put it into Condor’s pocket. A little more padding makes no difference to him.”
“When I was younger it used to be my privilege and pleasure to pick up these little odds93 and ends for my wife,” said Lord Condor, 187smiling good-naturedly, while his wife stuffed the scarf into his pocket. “But alas94! my figure no longer permits.”
“I remember my engagement was a most trying time,” said Lady Condor. “My dear mother impressed on me that if Condor once realized the irritation my untidiness and habit of dropping my things about would cause him in our married life, he would break it off. What, Vi? Oh, damn the thing!”
Violet Riversley, holding a gold bag which had mysteriously dropped from somewhere, went off into a helpless fit of laughter.
“Don’t laugh, my dear. It is nothing to laugh at. I do hope Mansfield did not hear! One catches these bad habits, but I have not taken to swearing. I do not approve of it for women—or of smoking—do I, Condor? But that wretched bag has spoilt my whole afternoon; that is the fifth time it has been handed to me. I could not really enjoy Condor’s speech. Quite admirable—only no one could possibly do the things he recommended. But where was I? Oh yes—the bag—you see, I bought it at Asprey’s! You know, in Bond Street—yes. There was a whole window full of them. How should it strike one that they were luxuries, and that the scarcity95 of gold was so great? One has got quite used to the 188paper money by now. And somehow it never seems so valuable as real sovereigns. I am sure our extravagance is due to this. It’s nearly as bad as paying by cheque. But where was I? Oh, my bag! You see, we all went to this meeting to patronize National Economy. Most necessary, Condor says, and we must all do our best. But it really would have been better, I think, if we had not all gone in our cars and taken our gold bags. Everyone seemed to have a gold bag—and aigrettes on their heads. I never wear them myself. The poor birds—I couldn’t. But I know they cost pounds and pounds, and no one could call them necessities. Or the gold bags of course, if gold is so very scarce. Ought we to send them to be melted down? I will gladly send mine into the lower regions. Just as we were entering it plopped down on the step, and you can imagine the noise it made, and a quite poor-looking man picked it up and gave it back to me. He had on one of the dreadful-looking suits, you know, that they gave our poor dear men when they were demobilized. He was most pleasant, but what must he have thought? And I could not explain to him about the shop window-full because Condor was waiting for me. And then, on the platform, just as Condor was making one of his most telling 189points, it clanged down off my lap, and of course it fell just where there was no carpet. I tried to kick it under the chair, but little Mr. Peckham—you know him, dear—would jump up and make quite a show of it, handing it back to me. No, don’t give it me again. Put it into Condor’s pocket. But he has gone! To see the pigs with Roger? Isn’t it wonderful the attraction pigs have for men of a certain age! My dear father was just the same, and he called his pigs after us—or was it us after the pigs?—I don’t quite remember which. And where is your mother? Oh, I see—playing croquet with Mrs. Ingram. My dear, did you ever see such a hat! Like a plate of petrified96 porridge, isn’t it? No, tell your mother not to come. I will just wave my hand. Go and tell her not to stop her game, dear Violet. And here is Arthur! He has something important to tell me—I know by his walk. Now let us get comfortable first, and where we shall not be disturbed. Yes. Those two chairs over there.”
“I do want a little chat if possible, Marion,” said Mr. Fothersley. He retrieved97 a scarf which had floated suddenly across his path, with the skill born of long practice. “Yes, I will keep it in case you feel cold.”
He folded it in a neat square so that it could 190go into his pocket without damage to either scarf or pocket, and held the back of her chair while she fitted herself into it.
“A footstool? Thank you, Arthur. I will say for Nita, she understands the art of making her guests comfortable. Now at the Howles’ yesterday I had a chair nearly impossible to get into and quite impossible to get out of! But where were we? Oh yes—you have got something you want to tell me. I always know by your walk.”
“It is odd, isn’t it?” said her Ladyship briskly. “It is just like my dear father. A piece of news was written all over him until he got rid of it. I remember when poor George Somerville shot himself—my dear mother and I were sitting on the terrace, and we saw my father coming up from the village—quite a long way off—you could not distinguish a feature—but we knew at once he was bringing news—news of importance. But where were we?”
She stopped suddenly and looked at him with the smile which had turned the heads of half the gilded99 youth of fifty years ago.
“I am a garrulous100 old woman, my dear Arthur. You are anxious about something, 191and here am I worrying you with my silly reminiscences—yes—now what is it? Tell me all about it, and we will see what can be done.”
“I am certainly perturbed,” said Mr. Fothersley. He smoothed down his delicate grey waistcoat and settled himself back in his chair. “I am afraid there is no doubt Nita is becoming jealous of Miss Seer.”
“Quite so! Quite so! But you know what Nita is about these things. And, unfortunately, it appears that Roger has been over to Thorpe once or twice alone lately.”
“Perfectly natural,” said her Ladyship judicially102. “He would be interested in the farm for Dick’s sake. I like to go there myself. She hasn’t spoilt the place.”
“Nita called her ‘that woman’ to me just now,” said Mr. Fothersley solemnly.
Lady Condor raised her hand. “That settles it, of course! And now, dear Arthur, what is to be done? We really cannot have one of those dreadful performances that have unfortunately occurred in the past!”
“I really don’t know,” said Mr. Fothersley. He was divided between excitement and distress103. “It is quite useless to talk to either of them. Nita generally consults me, but she 192listens neither to reason nor advice. And Roger only laughs or loses his temper.”
“Yes,” agreed Lady Condor. “I think it depends on the state of his liver. And as for poor Nita listening to reason on that subject—well—as you say!”
“If only she would not tell everybody it would not be so terrible.”
“Ah, that is just the little touch of bourgeois,” said Lady Condor. “It was wine, wasn’t it? Or was it something dried? And poor dear Roger is really so safe—yes—he would be terribly bored with a real affair de c?ur. He would forget any woman for weeks if he were arranging a combination of elements to see if they would blow each other up. And if the poor woman made a scene, or uttered a word of reproach even, he would be off for good and all—pouf—just like that. And what good is that to any woman? I have told Nita so, but it is no good—no! Now if she had been married to Condor! Poor darling, he is perfectly helpless in the hands of anything in petticoats! It is not his fault. It is temperament104, you know. All the Hawkhursts have very inflammable dispositions105. And when he was younger, women were so silly about him! I used to pretend not to know, and I was 193always charming to them all. It worked admirably.”
“I always admired your dignity, dear Marion,” said Mr. Fothersley.
“We have always shielded our men,” said Lady Condor, and she looked a very great lady indeed.
“Fortunately”—Lady Condor pursued her reminiscences—“Condor has a sense of humour, which always prevented him making himself really ridiculous: that would have worried me. A man running round a woman looking like an amorous107 sheep! Where are my glasses, Arthur? And who is that girl over there, all legs and neck? Of course the present style of dress has its advantages—one has nothing on to lose. But where was I? Something about sheep? Oh yes, dear Condor. I have always been so thankful that when he lost his figure—he had a very fine figure as a young man you remember—he gave up all that sort of thing. You must, of course, if you have any sense of the ridiculous. But about Roger and Miss Seer. She is a woman with dignity. Now where can she have got it from? She seems 194to have been brought up between an orphan108 clergy109 school and some shop—was it old furniture?—something old I know. Not clothes—no—but something old. And some one said she had been a cook. But one can be anything these days.”
“She is of gentle birth,” said Mr. Fothersley. “Her mother, I gather, was a Courthope, and the Seers seem to be quite good people—Irish I believe—but of good blood. It always tells.”
“You never know which way,” said her Ladyship sagely110. “Now look at my Uncle Marcus. Oh, there is Miss Seer. Yes—I really don’t think we need worry. It would be difficult to be rude to her. There, you see—dear Nita is being quite nice! And Roger is quite safe with Condor and the pigs.”
It was indeed late in the afternoon before North came upon Ruth, watching a set of tennis.
“You don’t play?” he asked.
“I never had the chance to learn any of the usual things,” she said, smiling. “I’m afraid I only came to-day with an ulterior motive111. I want you to show me a photograph of Dick Carey.”
“That, oddly enough, was also in my mind,” he said, smiling too. “Come into my study and find it for yourself.”
He was conscious of a little pleasant excitement 195as they went, and also of a curious uncertainty112 as to whether he wanted the experiment to succeed or not.
Ruth went in front of him through the French window and stood for a while looking round her. She was not a slow woman, but nothing she did ever seemed hurried.
“What a delicious room!” she said. “And what a glory of books! And I do like the way you have your writing-table. How much better than across the window, and yet you get all the light. I may poke46 about?”
“Of course.”
She moved the writing-table and picked up a quaint113 letter-weight with interest. The photograph she ignored.
“I love your writing-chair,” she said.
“It was my grandfather’s. The only bit I have of his. My parents cleared out the whole lot when they married—too awful, wasn’t it?”
“But your books are wonderful! Surely you have many first editions here. Old Raphael would have loved them.”
“The best of my first editions are on the right of the fireplace.”
She turned, and then suddenly her face lit. Lit up curiously114, as if there were a light behind it.
“Oh!” she said quite softly, then crossed to 196the fireplace and stood looking at the photograph he had moved that afternoon from the writing-table.
She did not pick it up or touch it; only looked at it with wide eyes for quite a long time.
Then she turned to him.
“That is the man I saw,” she said. “Now will you believe?”
And at that moment the Horizon beyond Eternity did indeed approach closer, approach into the realm of the possible.
He admitted nothing, and she did not press it. She sat down in the big armchair on the small corner left by Larry, who was curled up in it asleep. He shifted a little to make more room for her and laid a gentle feathered paw upon her knee.
“That’s odd,” said North. “He won’t let anyone else come near my chair when he’s in it.”
“He knows I’m a link,” said Ruth, smiling. “I wish you could look on me as that too.”
“I do—but for purposes of research only. You mustn’t drive me too quickly.”
“I won’t. Indeed I won’t.” She spoke45 with the earnestness of a child who has asked a favour. “I only want you just not to shut it all out.”
“I’m interested, and that is as far as I can 197go at present. I wondered if you would care to read a bit of Dick’s diary which I have here. It came to me with other papers, and there are some letters here.”
“Oh!” The exclamation115 was full of interest and pleasure.
He gave her the small packet, smiling, and she held it between both her hands for a moment looking at it.
“They will be very sacred to me,” she said.
He nodded. “One feels like that. It is only a small portion of a diary. I fancy he kept one very intermittently116. Dick was never a writer. But the letter about von Sch?de will interest you.”
Ruth stood with her eyes fixed117 on the small packet. “Could you tell me—would you mind—how it happened?” she said.
“A shell fell, burying some of his men. He went to help dig them out. Another shell fell on the same place. That was the end.”
She looked up. Her eyes shone.
“He was saving life, not taking it. Oh, I am glad.”
She put the packet into the pocket of her linen118 skirt, gave him a little smile, and slipped away almost as a wraith119 might slip. She wanted, suddenly and overpoweringly, to get back to Thorpe....
198Lady Condor, enjoying, as was her frequent custom, a second tea, said quite suddenly, in the middle of a lament120 on the difficulty of obtaining reliable cosmetics121, “That is a clever woman!”
Mr. Fothersley, who was honestly interested in cosmetics, tore his mind away from them and looked round.
“Who?” he asked.
“Miss Seer. I have been watching, after what you told me. You have not noticed? She has been in Roger’s study with him, only about ten minutes—yes—but she has done it without Nita knowing. Look, she is saying good-bye now. And dear Nita all smiles and quite pleasant. Nita was playing croquet of course but even then—— Perhaps it was just luck—but quite amazing.”
Mr. Fothersley agreed. “Most fortunate,” he added.
“You know, Arthur, she is not unattractive,” Lady Condor continued. “By no means in her première jeunesse and can never have been a beauty. But there is something cool and restful-looking about her which some men might like. You never know, do you? I remember once Condor was quite infatuated for a few weeks, with a woman rather in the same style.”
199“But I thought you didn’t think——” began Mr. Fothersley.
“Of course I don’t think—not really.” Lady Condor watched Ruth’s farewells through her glasses. “That’s what is so stupid about all these supposed affairs of Roger’s. There never is anything in them. So stupid——” She stopped suddenly and looked sideways at him, rather the look of a child found with a forbidden toy.
“But——” began Mr. Fothersley, and stopped also.
The two old friends looked at each other.
“Arthur,” said Lady Condor. “I believe you are as bad as I am. Yes—don’t deny it. I saw the guilt60 in your eyes. So funny—just as I discovered my own. But so nice—we can be quite honest with each other.”
“My dear Marion—I don’t——” Mr. Fothersley began to protest.
“Dear Arthur, yes—you do. We both of us enjoy—yes—where are my glasses? What a mercy you did not tread on them. But where was I? Yes. We both of us enjoy these little excitements. Positively”—her shrewd old face lighted up with mischief—“positively I believe we miss it when Roger is not supposed to be carrying on with somebody. I discovered it in a flash just this very moment! I do hope 200we don’t really hope there is something in it all the time. It would be so dreadful of us.”
“Certainly we do not,” said Mr. Fothersley, deeply pained but associating himself with her from long habit. “Most certainly not! I can assure you my conscience is quite clear. Really, you are allowing your imagination to run away with you. We have always done our best to stop Nita creating these most awkward situations.”
“Yes, of course we have,” said Lady Condor soothingly. “I did not mean that. But now where is Condor? Oh, he has walked home across the fields. So good for his figure! I wish I could do the same for mine. Yes, Nita has been quite nice to Miss Seer, and now Violet is seeing her off.”
“I am motoring back to town to-night,” Violet Riversley was saying as she shut the door of Ruth Seer’s little two-seater car, “or I would like to come over to Thorpe. How is it?”
“Just lovely,” said Ruth, smiling. “Be sure and come whenever you can.”
She had taken off the brakes, put out the clutch and got into gear before Violet answered. Then she laid her hand, as with a sudden impulse, on the side of the car.
“If one day I should—quite suddenly—wire 201to you and ask you to have me to stay—would you?” she asked.
“Why yes, of course,” said Ruth.
“You might have other visitors—or be away.”
“No, I shall not have other visitors, and I shall not be away.”
The conveyances122 of other guests had begun to crowd the drive, and Ruth had to give all her attention to getting her car out of a gate built before the day of cars. It was only when she was running clear, down the long slope from Fairbridge, that she remembered the curious and absolute certainty with which she had answered Violet Riversley’s question.
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1
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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waddle
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| vi.摇摆地走；n.摇摆的走路(样子) | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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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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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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12
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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deadlock
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| n.僵局，僵持 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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15
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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16
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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17
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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18
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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19
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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20
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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21
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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22
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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23
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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24
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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25
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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26
mallet
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| n.槌棒 | |
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27
tabulating
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| 把（数字、事实）列成表( tabulate的现在分词 )； 制表 | |
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28
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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29
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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30
heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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31
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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32
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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33
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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34
fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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35
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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36
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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37
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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38
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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39
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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40
verged
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| 接近，逼近（verge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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41
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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42
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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43
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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44
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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45
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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46
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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47
appreciably
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| adv.相当大地 | |
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48
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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49
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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50
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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51
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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52
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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53
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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54
wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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55
wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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56
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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57
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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58
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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59
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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60
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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61
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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62
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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63
bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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64
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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65
hoyden
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| n.野丫头，淘气姑娘 | |
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66
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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67
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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68
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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69
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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70
badinage
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| n.开玩笑，打趣 | |
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71
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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72
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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73
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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74
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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75
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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76
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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77
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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78
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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79
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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80
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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81
nostalgia
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| n.怀乡病，留恋过去，怀旧 | |
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82
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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83
condor
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| n.秃鹰；秃鹰金币 | |
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85
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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86
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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87
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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88
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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89
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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90
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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91
automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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92
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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93
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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94
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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95
scarcity
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| n.缺乏，不足，萧条 | |
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96
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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97
retrieved
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| v.取回( retrieve的过去式和过去分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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98
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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99
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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100
garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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101
iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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102
judicially
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| 依法判决地，公平地 | |
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103
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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104
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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105
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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106
deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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107
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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108
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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109
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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110
sagely
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| adv. 贤能地，贤明地 | |
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111
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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112
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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113
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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114
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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115
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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116
intermittently
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| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
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117
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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118
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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119
wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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120
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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121
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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122
conveyances
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| n.传送( conveyance的名词复数 )；运送；表达；运输工具 | |
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