Such a record would explain Olivia, not only to the world, but to herself during that first fortnight in London. Her hours could be reckoned by gasps15 of wonder. She lost count of time, of money, of human values. Things that had never before entered into her philosophy, such as the subtle shade of silk stockings which would make or mar16 a costume, loomed17 paramount18 in importance. The after-use scarcely occurred to her. Sufficient for the day was the chiffon thereof; also the gradual transformation19 of herself from the prim20 slip of a girl with just the pretension21 (in her own mind) to good looks, into a radiant and somewhat distinguished22 dark-haired little personage.
Her shrinkings, her arguments with Lydia Dawlish, her defeats, went all into the melting-pot of her delight. “No bath salts, my dear?” cried Lydia. “Whoever heard of a woman not using bath salts?” So bath salts were ordered. And—horrified: “My dear, you don’t mean to say you wash your face in soap and water. What will become of your skin?” So Olivia was put under the orders of a West End specialist, who stocked her dressing-table with delectable23 creams and oils. It was all so new, so unheard of, so wonderful to the girl, an experience worth the living through, even though all thousands at deposit at the bank should vanish at the end of it. Merely to sit in a sensuously25 furnished room and have beautiful women parade before her, clad in dreams of loveliness—any one of which was hers for a scribble26 on a bit of pink paper—evoked within her strange and almost spiritual emotions. Medlow was countless27 leagues away; this transcended28 the London even of her most foolish visions.
Afterwards Olivia, when, sense of values being restored she looked back on this phantasmagoria of dressmakers, milliners, lingerie makers29 and furriers, said to Lydia Dawlish:
“It’s funny, but the fact that there might be a man or so in the world never entered my head.”
And the wise Lydia answered: “You were too busy turning yourself into a woman.”
Twice or thrice during this chrysalis period she stole out of nights with Myra to the dress circle of a theatre, where, besides ingenuous30 joy in the drama, she found unconfessed consolation31 in the company of homely32 folk like herself—girls in clean blouses or simple little frocks like her own, and young men either in well-worn khaki or morning dress. On these occasions she wondered very much what she was about to do in the other galley33—that of the expensively furred and jewelled haughtinesses and impudences whom she shouldered in the vestibule crush and whom she saw drive away in luxurious34 limousines35. These flashing personalities37 frightened her with their implied suggestions of worlds beyond her ken38. One woman made especial impression on her—a woman tall, serene39, with a clear-cut face, vaguely40 familiar, and a beautiful voice; she overheard a commonplace phrase or two addressed to the escorting man. She brushed Olivia’s arm and turned with a smile and a word of gracious apology and passed on. Olivia caught a whisper behind her. “That’s the Marchioness of Aintree. Isn’t she lovely?” But she did not need to be told that she had been in contact with a great lady. And she went home doubting exceedingly whether, for all her flourish of social trumpets41, Lydia Dawlish’s galley was that of Lady Aintree.
Criticism of Lydia, however, she put behind her as ingratitude42, for Lydia made up royally for past negligence43. Time and energy that ought to have been devoted44 to Lydia, Ltd., was diverted to the creation of Olivia.
“I don’t know why you’re so good to me,” she would say.
And the other, with a little mocking smile round her lips: “It’s worth it. I’m giving myself a new experience.”
The first occasion on which she went out into the great world was that of Sydney Rooke’s party. She knew that her low-cut, sleeveless, short-skirted gown of old gold tissue had material existence, but she felt herself half-ashamedly, half-deliciously clad in nothing but a bodily sensation. A faint blush lingered in her cheeks all the evening. Lydia, calling for her in Rooke’s car, which had been placed at her disposal, held her at arm’s length in sincere and noble admiration45, moved by the artist’s joy in beholding46 the finished product of his toil47, and embraced her fondly. Then she surveyed her again, from the little gold brocade slippers48 to the diamond butterfly (one of her mother’s bits of jewellery) in her dark wavy49 hair.
“You’re the daintiest elf in London,” she cried.
To the dinner at the Savoy Sydney Rooke had invited a white-moustached soldier, Major-General Wigram, whose blue undress uniform, to the bedazzlement of Olivia, gleamed with four long rows of multi-coloured ribbon; a vivacious50 middle-aged51 woman, Mrs. Fane Sylvester, who wrote novels, plays, books of travel, and fashion articles in a weekly periodical—Olivia learned all this in their first five-minute converse52 in the lounge; Sir Paul and Lady Barraclough, he a young baronet whose civilian53 evening dress could not proclaim hard-won distinctions, she a pretty, fair, fragile creature, both of them obviously reacting joyously54 to relaxation55 of tension; and, last, the Vicomte de Mauregard, of the French Embassy, young, good looking, who spoke56 polished English with a faultless accent. It was, socially, as correct a little party as the brooding, innocent spirit of Mrs. Gale57 could have desired for her about-to-be prodigal58 daughter. Olivia sat between her host and Mauregard. On her host’s right was Lady Barraclough; then the General, then Lydia, then Sir Paul, facing Rooke at the round table, then Mrs. Fane Sylvester, who was Mauregard’s left-hand neighbour. They were by the terrace windows, far from what Olivia, with her fresh mind playing on social phenomena59, held then and ever afterwards, most rightly, to be the maddening and human intercourse-destroying band.
Not that her first entrance down the imposing60 broad staircase, into the lounge filled with mirifically vestured fellow-creatures, to the accompaniment of a clashing rag-time imbecility, did not set all her young nerves vibrating to the point of delicious agony. It was like a mad fanfare61 heralding62 her advent3 in a new world. But soon she found that the blare of the idiot music deadened all other senses. Before her eyes swayed black-and-white things whom at the back of her mind she recognized as men, and various forms all stark63 flesh, flashing jewels and a maze64 of colours, whom she knew to be women. The gathering65 group of her own party seemed but figures of a dream. Her unaccustomed ears could not catch a word of the conventional gambits of conversation opened, on introduction, by her fellow guests. It was only when they passed between the tables of the great restaurant and the horrible noise of the negroid, syncopated parody66 of tune67 grew fainter and fainter, and they reached the peace of the terrace side, that the maddening clatter68 faded from her ears and consciousness of her surroundings returned.
Then she surrendered herself to huge enjoyment69. Both her neighbours had been all over the world and seen all sorts and conditions of men. They were vividly70 aware of current events. Pride would not allow her to betray the fact that often they spoke of matters far beyond her experience of men and things. Under their stimulus71 she began to regain72 the self that, for the past fortnight, the cardboard boxes of London had snowed under.
“It’s no use asking me,” she said to Mauregard, “whether I’ve been to Monte Carlo or Madagascar or Madame Tussaud’s, for I haven’t. I haven’t been anywhere. I’ve somehow existed at the back of Nowhere, and to-night I’ve come to life.”
“No, I’m of the other kind. I come from far inland. I believe they call it Shropshire. That oughtn’t to convey anything to you.”
“Indeed it does!” cried Mauregard. “Was I not at school at Shrewsbury?”
“No?”
“But yes. Three years. So I’m Shropshire, too.”
“That’s delightful,” she remarked; “but it does away with my little mystery of Nowhere.”
“No, no,” he protested, with a laugh. He was a fair, bright-eyed boy with a little curled-up moustache which gave him the air of a cherub74 playfully disguised. “It is the county of mystery. Doesn’t your poet say:
‘Once in the wind of morning
??I ranged the thymy wold;
“That’s from A Shropshire Lad,” cried Olivia.
“Of course. So why shouldn’t you have come from the wind of morning, the azure world-wide air or the golden brook77?”
“That’s beautiful of you,” said Olivia. “Well, why shouldn’t I? It’s more romantic and imaginative than the commonplace old sea. The sea has been overdone78. I used to look at it once a year, and, now I come to think of it, it always seemed to be self-conscious, trying to live up to its reputation. But ‘the wind of the morning——’ Anyhow, here I am.”
“Blown to London by the wind of a Shropshire morning.”
Olivia’s spirit danced in the talk. With his national touch on the lighter79 emotions, Mauregard drew from her an exposition of the Dryad’s sensations on sudden confrontation80 with modern life. To talk well is a great gift; to compel others to talk well is a greater; and the latter gift was Mauregard’s. Olivia put food into her mouth, but whether it was fish or flesh or fowl81 she knew not. When her host broke the spell by an announcement in her ear that he had a couple of boxes for “Jazz-Jazz,” she became aware that she was eating partridge.
Mr. Sydney Rooke talked of women’s clothes, of which he had an expert knowledge. Lady Barraclough chimed in. Olivia, fresh from the welter, spoke as one in authority. Now and again she caught Lydia’s eye across the table and received an approving nod. The elderly General regarded her with amused admiration. She began to taste the first-fruits of social success. She drove in a taxi to the theatre with the Barracloughs and Mrs. Fane Sylvester and sat with them in a box during the first act of the gay revue. For the second act there was a change of company and she found herself next to the General. He had served in India and was familiar with the names of her mother’s people. What Anglo-Indian was not? Long ago he had met an uncle of hers; dead, poor chap. This social placing gave her a throb82 of pleasure, setting her, at least, in a stranger’s eyes, in her mother’s sphere. The performance over, they parted great friends.
General Wigram and Mrs. Fane Sylvester excusing themselves from going on to Percy’s, the others crowded into Sydney Rooke’s limousine36. The crash of jazz music welcomed them. Already a few couples were dancing; others were flocking in from the theatres. They supped merrily. Sydney Rooke pointed83 out to Olivia’s wondering eyes the stars of the theatrical84 firmament85 who condescended86 to walk the parquet87 floor of the famous night club. He also indicated here and there a perfectly88 attired89 youth as a professional dancer.
“On the stage?”
He explained that they had their professional partners and gave exhibition dances, showing the new steps. They also gave private lessons. It was the way they made their living. Olivia knitted a perplexed90 brow.
“It doesn’t seem a very noble profession for a young man.”
“I’m with you a thousand times, my dear Miss Gale. The parasite92, per se, isn’t a noble object. But what would you have? The noble things of the past few years came to an end a short while ago, and, if I can read the times, reaction has already begun. In six months’ time the noble fellow will be a hopeless anachronism.”
“Do you mean,” asked Olivia, “that all the young men will be rotten?”
He smiled. “How direct you are! Disconcerting, if I may say so. So positive; while I was approaching the matter from the negative side. There’ll be a universal loss of ideals.”
Olivia protested. “The young man has before him the reconstruction93 of the world.”
“Oh no,” said Rooke. “He has done his bit. He expects other people to carry out the reconstructing business for him. All he cares about is to find a couple of sixpences to jingle94 together in his pocket.”
“And have these young men who devote their lives to foxtrotting done their bit?”
He begged the question. “Pray be guided by my prophecy, Miss Gale. Next year you mustn’t mention war to ears polite. These young men are alive. They thank God for it. Let you and me do likewise.”
This little supper-table talk was the only cloud on a radiant night. The Vicomte de Mauregard took her to dance. At first she felt awkward, knowing only the simple steps of five years ago. But instinct soon guided her, and for two hours she danced and danced in an unthinking ecstasy95. The clattering96 and unmeaning din7 which had dazed her on her entrance to the Savoy was now pregnant with physical significance. The tearing of the strings97, the clashing of the cymbals98, the barbaric thumping99 of the drum, the sudden raucous100 scream from negro throats, set vibrating within her responsive chords of an atavistic savagery101. When each nerve-tearing cacophony102 came to its abrupt103 end, she joined breathlessly with the suddenly halting crow in eager clapping for the encore. And then, when the blood-stirring strings and cymbals crashed out, overpowering the staccato of hand beating hand, she surrendered herself with an indrawn sigh of content to her partner’s arm—to the rhythm, to the movement, to the mere24 bodily guidance, half conscious of the proud flexibility104 of her frame under the man’s firm clasp, to something, she knew not what, far remote from previous experience. Strange, too, the personality of the man did not matter. Paul Barraclough, Sydney Rooke, Mauregard, she danced with them all in turn. In her pulsating105 happiness she mixed them all up together, so that a flashing glance, liable to be misinterpreted, proceeded from a mere impulse of identification. Now and then, in the swimming throng106 of men and women, and the intoxication107 of passing raiment impregnated with scent108 and cigarette smoke, she exchanged an absent smile with Lydia and Lady Barraclough. Otherwise she scarcely realized their existence. She was led panting by Mauregard to a supper table while he went in search of refreshment109. He returned with a waiter, apologizing for the abomination of iced ginger110 ale and curled orange peel, which was all that the laws of the land allowed him to offer. Horse’s neck, it was called. She laughed, delighted with the name, and, after drinking, laughed again, delighted with the cool liquid so tingling111 on her palate.
“It’s a drink for the gods,” she declared.
“Do you really think it’s so awful?”
“Mon Dieu!” replied the young Frenchman.
Then Lydia came up with a dark-eyed, good-looking boy in tow, whom she introduced, as Mr. Bobbie Quinton and Olivia was surprised to recognize as one of the professionals. She accepted, however, his invitation to dance and went off on his arm. She found him a boy of charming manners and agreeable voice, and in the lightness and certainty of his dancing he far outclassed her other partners. He suggested new steps. She tried and blundered. She excused herself.
“This is the first time I’ve danced for four years.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said he. “You’re a born dancer. You only need a few lessons to bring you up to date. What I find in so many of the women I teach is that they not only don’t begin to understand what they’re trying to do, but that they never try to understand. You, on the other hand, have it instinctively113. But, of course, you can’t learn steps in a place like this.”
“I wonder if you could give me some lessons?”
About two o’clock in the morning Sydney Rooke and Lydia deposited Olivia at the front door of Victoria Mansions115. Rooke stood hat in hand as she entered.
“I hope you’ve not been too bored by our little evening.”
“Bored! It has been just one heaven after another opening out before me.”
“But not the seventh. If only I could have provided that!”
“I’ll find it in the happiest and soundest night’s rest I ever had,” said Olivia.
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1
odyssey
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| n.长途冒险旅行；一连串的冒险 | |
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2
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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3
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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5
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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6
vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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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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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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13
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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15
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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16
mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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20
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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21
pretension
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| n.要求；自命，自称；自负 | |
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22
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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23
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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24
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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sensuously
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| adv.感觉上 | |
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scribble
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| v.潦草地书写，乱写，滥写；n.潦草的写法，潦草写成的东西，杂文 | |
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27
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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28
transcended
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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29
makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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34
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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limousines
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| n.豪华轿车( limousine的名词复数 )；（往返机场接送旅客的）中型客车，小型公共汽车 | |
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limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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41
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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42
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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43
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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44
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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45
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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46
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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47
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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48
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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49
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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50
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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51
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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52
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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53
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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54
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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55
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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56
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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57
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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58
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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59
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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60
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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61
fanfare
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| n.喇叭；号角之声；v.热闹地宣布 | |
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62
heralding
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| v.预示( herald的现在分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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63
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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64
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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65
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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parody
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| n.打油诗文，诙谐的改编诗文，拙劣的模仿；v.拙劣模仿，作模仿诗文 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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68
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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69
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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72
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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cherub
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| n.小天使，胖娃娃 | |
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azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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overdone
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| v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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80
confrontation
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| n.对抗，对峙，冲突 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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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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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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parquet
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| n.镶木地板 | |
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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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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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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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parasite
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| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
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reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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96
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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98
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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99
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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100
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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101
savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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102
cacophony
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| n.刺耳的声音 | |
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103
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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104
flexibility
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| n.柔韧性，弹性，（光的）折射性，灵活性 | |
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105
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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106
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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107
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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108
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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109
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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110
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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111
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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112
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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113
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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114
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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115
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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