Lydia’s succeeding letters, mainly of condolence, had, however, kept unbroken the fragile thread of friendship. The last, especially, written after Mrs. Gale5’s death, gave evidence of sincere feeling, and emboldened16 Olivia, who knew no other mortal soul in London—the real London, which did not embrace the Clapham aunt and uncle—to seek her practical advice. In the voluminous response she recognized the old capable Lydia. Letter followed letter until, with Mr. Trivett’s professional assistance, she found herself the lucky tenant18 of a little suite19 in a set of service flats in Victoria Street.
She entered into possession a fortnight after her interview with Blaise Olifant, who was to take up residence at “The Towers” the following day. Mr. Trivett and his wife, Mr. Fenmarch and Mr. Freke, and the elder Miss Freke, who kept house for her father, saw her off at the station, covering her with their protective wings to the last moment. Each elderly gentleman drew her aside, and, with wagging of benevolent20 head, offered help in time of trouble. They all seemed to think she was making for disaster.
But their solicitude21 touched her deeply. The lump that had arisen in her throat when she had passed out across the threshold of her old home swelled22 uncomfortably, and, when the train moved off and she responded to waving hands and hats on the platform, tears stood in her eyes. Presently she recovered.
Myra, exhibiting no symptoms of exhilaration, did not reply. As they approached London, Olivia’s spirits rose. At last the dream of the past weeks was about to be realized. When she stepped out of the train at Paddington, it was with the throb24 of the conqueror25 setting foot, for the first time on coveted26 territory. She devoured27 with her eyes, through the taxi windows, the shops and sights and the movement of the great thoroughfares through which they passed on their way to Victoria Mansions28, where her fifth-floor eyrie was situated29. Once there, Myra, accustomed to the spacious30 family house, sniffed31 at the exiguous32 accommodation and sarcastically33 remarked that it would have been better if air were laid on like gas. But Olivia paid little heed34 to her immediate35 surroundings. The cramped36 flat was but the campaigner’s tent. Her sphere of action lay limitless beyond the conventional walls. The walls, however, bounded the sphere of Myra, who had no conception of glorious adventure. The rapidly ascending37 lift had caused qualms38 in an unaccustomed stomach, and she felt uneasy at living at such a height above the ground. Why Olivia could not have carried on for indefinite years in the comfort and security of “The Towers” she was at a loss to imagine. Why give up the ease of a big house for poky lodgings39 halfway40 up to the sky. A sitting-room41, a bedroom, a slip with a bed in it for herself, a bathroom—Myra thanked goodness both of them were slim—and that was the London of Olivia’s promise. She sighed. At last put down Olivia’s aberration42 to the war. The war, in those days, explained everything.
Meanwhile Olivia had thrown up the sash of the sitting-room window and was gazing down at the ceaseless traffic in the street far below—gazing down on the roofs of the taxis and automobiles43 which sped like swift flat beetles44, on the dwarfed45 yet monstrous46 insects that were the motor-buses, on the foreshortened dots of the hurrying ant-like swarms47 of pedestrians48. It was gathering49 dusk, and already a few lights gleamed from the masses of buildings across the way. Soon the street lamps sprang into successive points of illumination. She stood fascinated, watching the rapid change from December day into December night, until at last the distant road seemed but a fantastic medley50 of ever-dying, ever-recurring sounds and flashes of white and red. Yet it was not fantastic chaos—her heart leapt at the thought—it was pregnant with significance. All that rumble51 and hooting52 and darting53 light proclaimed human purpose and endeavour, mysterious, breath-catching in its unknown and vast corporate54 intensity55. Shivers of ecstasy56 ran through her. At last she herself was a unit in this eager life of London. She would have her place in the absorbing yet perplexing drama into the midst of which she had stepped with no key to its meaning. But she would pick up the threads, learn what had gone before—of that she felt certain—and then—she laughed—she would play her part with the best of them. To-morrow she would be scurrying57 about among them, with her definite human aims. Why not to-night? Delirious58 thought! She was free. She could walk out into the throbbing59 thoroughfares and who could say her nay60? She put her hand to her bosom61 and felt the crackle of ten five-pound notes. To emotional girlhood the feel of money, money not to hoard62 and make-do for weeks and weeks with the spectre of want ever in attendance, but money to fling recklessly about, has its barbaric thrill. Suppose she let slip from her fingers one of the notes and it swayed and fluttered down, down, down, until at last it reached the pavement, and suppose a poor starving girl picked it up and carried it home to her invalid63 mother. . . . But, on the other hand, suppose—and her profound and cynical64 knowledge of human chances assured her that it would be a thousand to one probability—supposing it fell on the silk hat of a corpulent profiteer! No. She was not going to shower promiscuous65 five-pound notes over London. But still the crackling wad meant power. She was free to go forth66 there and then and purchase all the joys, for herself and others, hovering67 over there in that luminous17 haze68 over the Westminster towers of the magical city of dreams.
She withdrew from the window and stood in the dark room, a light in her eyes, and clenched69 her hands. Yes. She would go out, now, and walk and walk, and fill her soul with the wonder of it all.
And then practical memory administered a prosaic70 jog to her aspiring71 spirit. Lydia Dawlish was coming to dine with her in the common dining-room or restaurant downstairs. Shivering with cold, she shut the window, turned on the light and sat by the fire, and ordered tea in the most matter-of-fact way in the world.
Lydia Dawlish appeared a couple of hours afterwards—fair, plump, and prosperous, attired72 in one of her own dashing creations of hats set at a rakish angle on her blond hair, and a vast coat of dark fur. Olivia, in her simple black semi-evening frock run up by an agitated73 Medlow dressmaker, felt a poor little dot of a thing before this regal personage. And when the guest threw off the coat, the flowered silk lining74 of which was a dazing joy to starved feminine eyes, and revealed the slate-blue dinner gown from which creamy neck and shapely arms emerged insolent75, Olivia could do nothing but stare open-mouthed, until power came to gasp76 her wonder and admiration77.
“It’s only an old thing,” said Lydia. “I had to put on a compromise between downstairs and Percy’s.”
“Percy’s?”
“Yes—don’t you know? The night club. I’m going on afterwards.”
Olivia’s face fell. “I thought you were going to spend the evening with me.”
“Of course I am, silly child. Night clubs don’t begin till eleven. A man, Sydney Rooke, is calling for me. Well. How are you? And what are your plans now you’ve got here?”
She radiated health and vigour78. Also proclaimed sex defiant79, vaguely80 disquieting81 to the country bred girl. Olivia felt suddenly shy.
“It will take me a few days to turn round.”
“Also to find clothes to turn round in,” said Lydia, with a good-humoured yet comprehensive glance at the funny little black frock. “I hope you haven’t been laying in a stock of things like that.”
Olivia smiled. This was but a makeshift. She had been saving up for London. Perhaps Lydia would advise her. She had heard of a good place—what did they call it?—an enormous shop in Oxford82 Street. Lydia threw up her white arms.
“My dear child, you’re not going to be a fashionable beauty at subscription83 dances and whist-drives at Upper Tooting! You’re going to live in London. Good God! You can’t get clothes in Oxford Street.”
“Where shall I get them, then?” asked Olivia.
From the illustrated84 papers she had become aware of the existence of Pacotille and Luquin and other mongers of celestial85 fripperies; but she had also heard of the Stock Exchange and the Court of St. James’s and the Stepney Board of Guardians86; and they all seemed equally remote from her sphere of being.
“I’ll take you about with me to-morrow,” Lydia declared grandly, “and put you in the way of things. I dare say I can find you a hat or two chez Lydia—that’s me—at cost price.” She laughed and put a patronizing arm around Olivia’s shoulders. “We’ll make a woman of you yet.”
The lift carried them down to the restaurant floor. They dined, not too badly, at a side table from which they could view the small crowded room. Olivia felt disappointed. Only a few people were in evening dress. It was rather a dowdy87 assembly, very much like that in the boarding-house at Llandudno, her father’s summer holiday resort for years before the war. Her inexperience had expected the glitter and joy of London. Hospitably88 she offered wine, champagne89, as her father, a lover of celebrations, would have done; but Lydia drank nothing with her meals—the only way not to get fat, which she dreaded90. Olivia drank water. The feast seemed tame, and the imported mutton tough. She reproached herself for inadequate91 entertainment of her resplendent friend.
They talked; chiefly Lydia, after she had received Olivia’s report on her family’s welfare and contemporary Medlow affairs; and Olivia listened contentedly93, absorbing every minute strange esoteric knowledge of the great London world of which the pulsating94 centre appeared to be Lydia, Ltd., in Maddox Street. There Duchesses bought hats which their Dukes did not pay for. There Cabinet Ministers’ wives, in the hope of getting on the right financial side of Lydia, whispered confidential95 Cabinet secrets, while Ministers wondered how the deuce things got into the papers. There romantic engagements were brought from inception96 to maturity97. There also, had she chosen to keep a record, she could have accumulated enough evidence to bring about the divorces of half the aristocracy of England. She rattled98 off the names like a machine-gun. She impressed Olivia with the fact that Lydia, Ltd., was not a mere99 hat shop, but a social institution of which Lydia Dawlish was the creating and inspiring personality. Lydia, it appeared, weekended at great houses. “You see, my dear, my husband was the son of an Honourable100 and the grandson of an Earl. He hadn’t much money, poor darling, but still he had the connection, most useful to me nowadays. The family buy their hats from me, and spread the glad tidings.” She commanded a legion of men who had vowed101 that she should live, free of charge, on the fat of the land, and should travel whithersoever she desired in swift and luxurious102 motor-cars.
“Of course, my dear,” she said, “it’s rather a strain. Men will cart about a stylish103, good-looking woman for a certain time, just out of vanity. But if she’s a dull damn fool, they’re either bored to tears and chuck her, or they’ll want to—well—well—— Anyhow, you’ve got to keep your wits about you and amuse them. You’ve got to pay for everything in this life—or work for the means of paying—which comes to the same thing. And I work. I don’t say it isn’t pleasant work—but it’s hard work. You go out with a man to dinner, theatre and a night club, and dismiss him at your front door at two o’clock in the morning with the perfectly104 contented92 feeling that he has had a perfectly good time and would be an ass1 to spoil things by hinting at anything different—and you’ve jolly well earned your comfortable, innocent night’s rest.”
This explosion of the whole philosophy of modern conscientious105 woman came at the end of dinner. Olivia toyed absently with her coffee, watching successive spoonfuls of tepid106 light-amber coloured liquid fall into her cup.
“But—all these men—” she said in a low voice—the position was so baffling and so disconcerting. “You are a beautiful and clever woman. Don’t they sometimes want to—to make love to you?”
“They all do. What do you think? I, an unattached widow and, as you say, not unattractive. But because I’m clever, I head them off. That’s the whole point of what I’ve been telling you.”
“But, suppose,” replied Olivia, still intent on the yellowish water, “suppose you fell in love with one of these men. Women do fall in love, I believe.”
“Why then, I’d marry him the next day,” cried Lydia, with a laugh. “But,” she added, “that’s not the type of man a sensible woman falls in love with.”
Olivia’s eyes sought the tablecloth107. She was conscious of disturbance108 and, at the same time, virginal resentment109.
“As far as my limited experience goes—a woman isn’t always sensible.”
“She has to learn sense. That’s the great advantage of modern life. It gives her every opportunity of acquiring it from the moment she goes out into the world.”
“And what kind of man does the sensible woman fall in love with?”
“Somebody comfortable,” replied Lydia. “My ideal would be a young, rather lazy and very broad-minded bishop110.”
Olivia shook her head. The only time she had seen a bishop was at her confirmation111. The encounter did not encourage dreams of romance in episcopal circles.
“But these men who take you out,” Olivia persisted thoughtfully “and do all these wonderful things for you—it must cost them a dreadful lot of money—what kind of people are they?”
“All sorts. Some are of the very best—the backbone112 of the nation. They go off and marry nice girls who don’t frequent night clubs and settle down for the rest of their lives.”
They drank their coffee and went upstairs, where questions of more immediate practical interest occupied their minds. Olivia’s wardrobe was passed in review, while Myra stood impassive like a sergeant113 at kit114 inspection115.
“My poor child,” said Lydia, “you’ve not a single article, inside or outside, that is fit to wear. I’ll send you a second-hand116 clothes man who’ll buy up the whole lot as it stands and give you a good price for it. I don’t know yet quite what you’re thinking of doing—but at any rate you can’t do it in these things.”
Olivia looked wistfully at the home-made garments which Lydia cast with scorn across the bed. They, at least, had seemed quite dainty and appropriate.
“Well,” she said, with a sigh, “you know best, Lydia.”
These all-important matters held their attention till a quarter past eleven, when Mr. Sydney Rooke was announced. He was an elderly young man in evening dress, with crisp black hair parted in the middle and thinning at the temples. A little military moustache gave him an air of youth which was belied117 by deep lines in his sallow face. His dark eyes were rather tired and his mouth hard. But his manners were perfect. He gave them both to understand that though Lydia was, naturally, the lady of his evening’s devotion yet his heart was filled with a sense of Olivia’s graciousness. Half a dozen words and a bow did it. In a polite phrase, a bow and a gesture he indicated that if Miss Gale would join them, his cup of happiness would overflow118. Olivia pleaded fatigue119. Then another evening? With Mrs. Dawlish. A pleasant little party, in fact. He would be enchanted120.
“We’ll fix it up for about a fortnight hence,” said Lydia significantly. “To-morrow, then, dear, at eleven.”
When they had gone Olivia, who had accompanied them to the flat door, threw herself on the sofa and, putting her hands behind her head stared over the edge of her own world into a new one, strange and bewildering.
Myra entered.
“Are you ever going to bed?”
“I suppose I must,” said Olivia.
“Are dressed-up men like that often coming here?”
“God knows,” said Olivia, “who are coming here. I don’t.”
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1
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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consorted
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| v.结伴( consort的过去式和过去分词 )；交往；相称；调和 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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territorials
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| n.（常大写）地方自卫队士兵( territorial的名词复数 ) | |
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avocations
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| n.业余爱好，嗜好( avocation的名词复数 )；职业 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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exiguous
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| adj.不足的，太少的 | |
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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aberration
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| n.离开正路，脱离常规，色差 | |
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automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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beetles
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| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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medley
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| n.混合 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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52
hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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corporate
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| adj.共同的，全体的；公司的，企业的 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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56
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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57
scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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60
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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66
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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67
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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68
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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76
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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dowdy
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| adj.不整洁的；过旧的 | |
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hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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90
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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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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pulsating
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| adj.搏动的，脉冲的v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的现在分词 )；跳动；脉动；受（激情）震动 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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inception
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| n.开端，开始，取得学位 | |
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maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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101
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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102
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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103
stylish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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107
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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108
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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112
backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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114
kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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115
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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116
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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117
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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118
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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119
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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120
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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