“O Mrs. Effingham, I am so glad that you have come!” exclaimed Louisa, advancing towards her with almost a dancing step, in a flutter of muslin and lace. “Here is a little note which came for you about five minutes ago; I dare say that it is an excuse from one of the guests.”
Clemence broke the seal, and glanced over the contents. “You are right; Dr. Howard has been suddenly summoned to see a patient in the country.”
“Oh! then, dear Mrs. Effingham,” cried Louisa eagerly, laying her white-gloved hand on the arm of her step-mother, “you know that some one must fill his place; do—do let me go down to dinner!”
“Arabella is the elder,” replied Clemence.
“Arabella!” repeated Louisa, pettishly4; “there is very little difference between our ages, and I am the taller of the two; besides,” she added more slowly, as if measuring her words as she spoke—“besides, after what passed the day before yesterday, I should hardly have expected you to favour Arabella.”
“I should think it very wrong to favour either,” said Clemence gravely, “and still more wrong to neglect either; for—” here she was suddenly interrupted and startled by the sound of a loud knock at the door.
“A guest already!” exclaimed Louisa, hurriedly attempting to pull on her left-hand glove.
“A guest already!” echoed Clemence, glancing uneasily at the unlighted chandelier, and laying her hand on the bell-rope.
In two minutes a loud voice was heard below in the hall. “Not see me!—going to have company! Trash and nonsense, man! she’ll see me at any hour, and in any company!” and a heavy, tramping step immediately sounded on the stair, while Clemence exclaimed, with mingled3 pleasure, surprise, and vexation, “Oh! can it be my dear Uncle Thistlewood?” and hastening down the long room, she met him just as he flung the door wide open.
In a moment she was in his arms! The old sea-captain kissed his niece heartily5, again and again, each time making the room resound6. Louisa, extremely diverted, perhaps a little maliciously7 so, at what she considered the inopportune appearance of one of Mrs. Effingham’s vulgar relations, advanced towards the door to have a nearer view of the meeting, and so came in for her share of it.
“Ah! one of your daughters, Clemence?” cried her old uncle, and he immediately bestowed8 on the astonished Louisa a fatherly salute9. “Fine, well-grown girl,” he continued in his loud, cheerful voice; “must make you feel quite old, my darling, to have children as tall as yourself! But let us have a little of the fire, for it’s blowing great guns to-night, and I’ve had my feet half frozen off on the top of the omnibus!” And marching up to the grate at the end of the room, the captain spread out his coarse red hands to the warmth, after having stirred the fire to a roaring blaze, and stamped on the rug to warm his feet, leaving the impression of his boots on the velvet10. “And now, let me have a better look of your sweet face, blessings11 on it!” cried the sea-man, turning towards Clemence, and taking hold of both her hands, while he fixed12 on her a gaze of fond admiration13. Very lovely, indeed, looked Mrs. Effingham, with the flush of excitement on her cheek, and the sparkle of affection in her eye. Captain Thistlewood was evidently pleased with his survey, though he said,—
“You seem to me a little older and thinner than when we parted, May-blossom, and you looked just as well in your good russet gown as in that dainty blue velvet with the sparklers; but you’ll do very well—do very well! And now I dare say that you want to know what brought the old man gadding14 here.” He threw himself into an arm-chair to converse15 more at ease, perfectly16 regardless of the presence of the servants, now engaged in illuminating17 the room.
“You see, ever since you left us, Stoneby’s grown as dull as ditch-water—all the life seems gone out of it. Parson’s always busy as usual—too busy to have much time to give to a little social gossip; and his wife’s sick, and keeps her room in the cold weather. There’s nothing stirring in the village, or for ten miles round—the very windmill seems to have gone to sleep; and the robins18, to my mind, don’t chirp19 and sing as they used to do. Susan has taken it into her silly head to marry, like her mistress, and the new girl don’t suit me—breaks my crockery, and over-roasts my mutton. The long and short of it is, that home is not home without my May-blossom. I bore it as long as I could—lonely evenings and all. At last says I to myself, ‘I’ll put up my bundle and be off to London. I know there’s some one there will be glad to see the old man; let him arrive when he may, he won’t be unwelcome!’”
Clemence felt indignant with herself for not being able more fully20 and cordially to respond to her uncle’s assurance. “The world must indeed have already exercised its corrupting21 influence over me,” was her silent reflection, “when I can experience anything but joy at the sound of that dear familiar voice! But what will my husband say?” As the thought crossed her mind, the door opened, and Mr. Effingham entered the room.
A greater contrast could scarcely be imagined than that between the tall, dignified22, handsome gentleman, with his polished manner and graceful23 address, and the short, square-built, jovial24 old captain, with a face much of the shape and colouring, without the smoothness, of a rosy-cheeked apple. Mr. Effingham was aware of the arrival of Thistlewood—indeed, no one in the house, not afflicted25 with deafness, was likely to be altogether ignorant of it; he was therefore quite prepared for the meeting. To the unspeakable relief of Clemence, Mr. Effingham cordially held out his hand to the sailor, who shook it as he might have worked a pump handle, and then said in a kindly26 voice, “I am glad to see you, captain; you must take up your quarters with us.”
Thistlewood nodded in acquiescence27, as one who felt an invitation to be quite an unnecessary form; but Clemence’s expressive28 eyes were turned on her husband with a look of gratitude29, which told how much it was appreciated by her.
“We expect company this evening,” continued Mr. Effingham.
“Ay, so the white-headed chap with the gold cable told me.”
“It does not want a quarter of an hour to dinner-time,” said the gentleman, taking out his watch.
“Dinner-time! I should rather call it supper-time. Ha! ha! ha! I dined before one, but my long journey has made me rather peckish. A beefsteak wouldn’t come anyways amiss.”
“You may like to make some little alteration30 in your dress,” observed Mr. Effingham, glancing at the pea-jacket and muddy boots of his guest; “my servant will show you your apartment.”
The question of toilet was evidently one of supreme31 indifference32 to the honest captain; a dress good enough to walk in seemed to him to be good enough to eat in; but he made no difficulty about compliance33. He was just about to quit the room, when it was entered by Arabella.
The young lady stared at the rough-looking stranger with an air of haughty34 inquiry35 which would have abashed36 a sensitive man; but Captain Thistlewood was as little troubled with shyness as with hypochondria—his nerves were weather-proof, as well as his constitution—his perceptions were blunt to ridicule37 or insult, if only directed against himself.
“Ha! another fine daughter!” he exclaimed; “we must not meet as strangers, my dear;” and he would have greeted Arabella in the same paternal38 style as her sister, but for the backward step and the indignant look, which might have beseemed an empress.
“Who is this man?” she exclaimed.
“Mrs. Effingham’s uncle and my friend,” was her father’s reply, uttered in a tone which effectually repressed for the time any further expression of Arabella’s scorn.
The two girls retired39 to the back drawing-room to converse together, Louisa full of mirth, Arabella of indignation; while Clemence, glad to be a few minutes alone with her husband, laid her hand fondly on his arm, and murmured, “How good you have been to me, Vincent!”
“I could wish that your uncle had not arrived till to-morrow,” said Mr. Effingham; “but I could not but treat with courtesy and kindness him from whose hand I received my wife. Will there be room at the table?”
“Yes; Dr. Howard has declined.”
“To which lady would you introduce Captain Thistlewood?”
“Let me consider,” said Clemence, thoughtfully; “who is most good-natured and quiet? Uncle sometimes says such strange things.”
“What say you to Miss Mildmay?”
“She would show no rudeness at least, but—” here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of servants.
When the little captain re-appeared in the drawing-room, radiant in blue coat, buff waistcoat and brass40 buttons, most of the guests had arrived. That semicircle of ladies had been formed which presents to the eye of a hostess as formidable a front as the unbroken square of infantry41, bristling42 with steel, does to an opposing general. Mrs. Effingham was, as yet, entirely43 unskilled in the art of mixing together the various materials of society. With a shy, anxious air, she glided44 from one guest to another to accomplish the necessary form of introduction,—to her a serious undertaking45, especially as some of her visitors were strangers to her. Clemence tried to forget that the cold, criticizing eye of Lady Selina was watching her every movement, and sought to remember only, that even in the arrangement of a party she might please her husband, and do credit to him. The entrance of Captain Thistlewood had considerable effect in breaking the ice of formality which lies like a crust upon London society, though in a manner that astonished the guests, and embarrassed the master and mistress of the house. The jovial sailor was as much at his ease in the polished circle as amidst shipmates round a cuddy table; and his loud voice and merry laugh, as he stood with his thumbs in his pockets, chatting with Louisa, created an unusual sensation.
“Who may that lively old gentleman be?” inquired Lord Vaughan of Lady Selina.
“One of Mrs. Effingham’s near relations,” was her distinctly audible reply.
Clemence hastened to introduce the captain to Miss Mildmay, in hopes that that lady’s opposite qualities might serve as a kind of compensation balance, to moderate her uncle’s boisterous46 mirth. Miss Mildmay was a sallow lady on the shady side of forty, attired47 in a pale sea-green silk, with long, lank48 sprays of artificial leaves drooping49 low on each side of her head. She was a mild, inanimate sample of gentility, whose very eyes seemed to have had the colour washed out of them, and whose prim50, pursed-up lips rarely unclosed to speak, and still more rarely to smile. Miss Mildmay was one of the dead-weights of society, and was, therefore, judiciously51 coupled with the little, noisy, bustling52 captain, who, like some steam locomotive, would sturdily puff53 straight on his way, regardless of obstacles, unconscious of observation, ready to go over or through an obstruction54, but never to turn aside for it, let it be what it might.
As Captain Thistlewood wanted nothing but a listener, he dashed bravely along the railway of conversation, choosing, of course, his own lines—now on country subjects, now on sea—turnips and tornadoes55, calves56 and Cape57 wines,—till, on dinner being announced, he gallantly58 handed down his partner, and in his simplicity59 took his seat near the top of the table, in order to be, as he said, “within hail of my niece.”
Miss Mildmay languidly drew off her gloves; there was a pause of a few minutes in the conversation, for Captain Thistlewood, bending forward, was looking with curious eyes down the length of the table, decked out in the magnificence of modern taste. He had never seen anything like it before.
“I say!” he burst out at length, “do you call this a dinner? Nothing on the table but fruit, and flowers, and sweat-meats, that wouldn’t furnish a meal for a sparrow!”
The sailor’s exclamation60 overcame the gravity of several of those who sat near him; even Miss Mildmay put up her feather-tipped fan to her lips,—it is possible that it might be to conceal61 a smile.
“But what’s that on the dish before us?” continued the captain, surveying it with curious surprise. “Peaches in December! I never heard of such a thing!” And determined62 to investigate the phenomenon more closely, he suddenly plunged63 his fork into the nearest peach, and carried it off to his plate. In a moment his knife had divided the sugared cake into halves. “It’s all a sham64!” he cried, pushing it from him; “no more a peach than I am!”—and then, for the first time in the experience of man, a little laugh was actually heard from Miss Mildmay, in which Clemence herself, who had seen the proceeding65, could not refrain from joining. The captain laughed loudest of all, quite unconscious that anything excited mirth except the “sham” of the peaches.
“I did not know, Clemence,” he cried, “that you would have been up to such dodges66!” and the exclamation set his end of the table in a roar. Such a merry party had perhaps never before assembled round the mahogany in Belgrave Square.
Notwithstanding the prognostications of Lady Selina, nothing glaringly wrong appeared in the arrangements of the banquet. Perhaps the sharp eye of malice67 detected here and there some token of inexperience in the mistress of the feast, but few were disposed to criticize harshly. Lord Vaughan did not regret the absence of his French cook; and Colonel Parsons and Sir William Page sat as contentedly68 on the same side of the table, as if they had never occupied opposite benches in “The House.” All would have proceeded in the most approved routine of formality and regularity69, but for the presence of the merry old captain, who cut his jokes, and told his stories, and pledged his niece in a loud, jovial tone, to the great amusement of the guests, but the embarrassment70 of Mrs. Effingham.
Arabella and Louisa awaited the ladies in the drawing-room, where they were joined by Thistlewood and the other gentlemen. The stiff semicircle was again dashingly broken by the brave old captain, who chatted merrily with the laughing Louisa, proposed a country dance or a reel, and engaged her as his partner. But nothing so informally lively as an impromptu71 dance after dinner was to be thought of in Belgrave Square. The grand piano, indeed, was opened; but it was that a succession of ladies, after a due amount of declining and pressing, might give the company the benefit of their music.
Captain Thistlewood was extremely fond of music, and therefore at once planted himself by the piano, beating time like a conductor. The concert opened with a bravura72 song from Miss Praed, to which he listened with much of the feeling which Johnson expressed when asked if a lady’s performance were not wonderful: “Wonderful!—would it were impossible!” Then followed a languid “morceau” from Miss Mildmay, which the composer must have designed for a soporific; and then Arabella seated herself before the instrument. Her forte73 was rapid execution; hers was a hurry-skurry style of playing, hand over hand, the right suddenly plunging74 into the bass75, then the left unexpectedly flourishing away in the treble—each seeming bent76 on invading the province of the other, and causing as much noise there as possible. As the performer finished with a crashing chord, the captain, who had been watching her fingers with great diversion, clapped Arabella on the shoulder. “Well done, my lass!” he exclaimed; “that’s what I should call a thunder-and-lightning piece, stunning77 in both senses of the word! But still, for my part, I like a little quiet tune;—did you ever hear your mother sing ‘Nelly Bly’?”
Arabella looked daggers78 as she withdrew from the piano. To be so treated, as if she were a child—she, an earl’s grand-daughter—before so many guests, and by him, the vulgar little brother-in-law of an apothecary79; it was more than her proud spirit could endure! Mrs. Effingham should pay dearly for the insult!
Nothing further occurred to vary the monotony of the fashionable London entertainment. The evening wore on, much after the usual style of such evenings, till, one after another, the guests took leave of their young bright hostess; and there was cloaking in the ante-room, and bustle80 in the hall, and rolling of carriages from the door—till at length the lights in the drawing-room were darkened, silence settled down even on the servants’ hall, the grand entertainment was concluded, the laborious81 trifle ended, and that which had cost so much thought and anxious care, to say nothing of trouble and expense, passed quietly into the mass of nothings, once important, which Memory, when she takes inventory82 of her possessions, throws aside for ever as mere83 tarnished84 tinsel not worth the preserving.
“I am so glad that it is over!” thought Clemence.
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收听单词发音
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1
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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2
constellations
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| n.星座( constellation的名词复数 )；一群杰出人物；一系列（相关的想法、事物）；一群（相关的人） | |
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3
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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pettishly
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5
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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resound
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| v.回响 | |
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7
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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8
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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10
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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11
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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12
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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13
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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14
gadding
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| n.叮搔症adj.蔓生的v.闲逛( gad的现在分词 )；游荡；找乐子；用铁棒刺 | |
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15
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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16
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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17
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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18
robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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chirp
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| v.(尤指鸟)唧唧喳喳的叫 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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21
corrupting
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的现在分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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22
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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23
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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24
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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25
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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30
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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32
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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33
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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34
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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35
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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36
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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38
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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39
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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40
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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41
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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42
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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43
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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44
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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45
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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46
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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47
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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48
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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49
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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50
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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51
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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52
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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53
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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54
obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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55
tornadoes
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| n.龙卷风，旋风( tornado的名词复数 ) | |
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56
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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57
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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58
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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59
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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60
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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61
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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62
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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63
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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66
dodges
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| n.闪躲( dodge的名词复数 )；躲避；伎俩；妙计v.闪躲( dodge的第三人称单数 )；回避 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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71
impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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72
bravura
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| n.华美的乐曲；勇敢大胆的表现；adj.壮勇华丽的 | |
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73
forte
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| n.长处，擅长；adj.(音乐)强音的 | |
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74
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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76
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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77
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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78
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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80
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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81
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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82
inventory
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| n.详细目录，存货清单 | |
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83
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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84
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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