There lived Mr. Charteris, and his father and grandfather before him. Mr. Charteris was the happy possessor of a wife and a daughter. It is with the daughter that I am most concerned.
Her name was Cleone, and she was very lovely. She had thick gold curls, eyes of cornflower blue, and a pair of red lips that pouted6 or smiled in equal fascination7. She was just eighteen, and the joy and despair of all the young men of the countryside. Particularly was she the despair of Mr. Philip Jettan.
Philip was head over ears in love with Cleone. He had been so ever since she returned from the convent where she had received a slight education. Before her departure for this convent, she and Philip, James and Jennifer Winton, had played together and quarrelled together since any of them could walk. Then Cleone went away to acquire polish, and the two boys thought very little more about her, until she returned, and then they thought of nothing else but her. The romping9 playfellow was gone for ever, but in her place was a Vision. Philip and James began to eye one another askance.
Delighted by the new state of affairs, Cleone queened it right royally, and played one young man against the other. But it was not long before she found herself thinking far more about Mr. Jettan than was seemly. He began to haunt her dreams, and when he came to visit the house her heart fluttered a little and showed a tendency to jump into her throat.
Cleone was stern with her heart, for there was much in Mr. Jettan that did not meet with her approval. However masterful and handsome he might be—and Philip was both—he was distressingly10 boorish11 in many ways. Before her return to Sharley House Cleone had spent a few months with her aunt, who lived in Town. Several men had made very elegant love to her and showered compliments about her golden head. She had not cared the snap of her fingers for any one of them, but their graceful12 homage13 was very gratifying. Philip's speech was direct and purposeful, and his compliments were never neat. His clothes also left much to be desired. Cleone had an eye for colour and style; she liked her cavaliers to be à la mode. Sir Matthew Trelawney, for instance, had affected14 the most wonderful stockings, clocked with butterflies; Frederick King wore so excellently fitting a coat that, it was said, he required three men to ease him into it. Philip's coat was made for comfort; he would have scorned the stockings of Matthew Trelawney. He even refused to buy a wig15, but wore his own brown hair brushed back from his face and tied loosely at his neck with a piece of black ribbon. No powder, no curls, unpolished nails, and an unpainted face—guiltless, too, of even the smallest patch—it was, thought Cleone, enough to make one weep. Nevertheless, she did not weep, because, for one thing, it would have made her eyes red, and another, it would be of very little use. Philip must be reformed, since she—well, since she did not dislike him.
At the present time Philip had just returned from Town, whither he had been sent by his father, ostensibly to transact17 some business concerning the estate, but really that his unfashionable soul might succumb18 to the delights of Town. Philip was not aware of this secret purpose, but Cleone knew all about it. She was very fond of Sir Maurice, and he of her. When Sir Maurice saw which way Philip looked for a wife, he was pleased enough, although a Jettan might have cast his eyes much higher. But Sir Maurice, mindful of the old adage19, was content to let things run their course. All that worried him was the apparent obduracy20 of his son in the matter of the first prophecy. He loved Philip, he did not wish to lose him, he liked his companionship, but—"By God, sir, you are a damned dull dog!"
At that young Philip's straight brows drew close over the bridge of his nose, only to relax again as he smiled.
"Well, sir, I hold two gay dogs in the family to be enough."
Sir Maurice's mouth quivered responsively.
"What's that, Philip? Do you seek to reprove me?"
"So it seems," said his father. "And you being yourself have fallen in love with a mighty21 pretty child; still being yourself, you are like to be left disconsolate22."
Philip had flushed slightly at the reference to Cleone. The end of the sentence left him frowning.
"What mean you, sir?"
The shrewd grey eyes, so like his own, regarded him pityingly.
"Little Mistress Cleone will have none of you an you fail to mend your ways, my son. Do you not know it? What has that dainty piece to do with a raw clodhopper like yourself?"
Philip answered low.
"If Mistress Cleone gives me her love it will be for me as I am. She is worthy23 a man, not a powdered, ruffled24 beau."
"A man! Sacré tonnerre, 'tis what you are, hein? Philip, child, get you to Town to your uncle and buy a wig."
"No, sir, I thank you. I shall do very well without a wig."
"Mille diables! You'll to Town as I say, defiant28 boy! You may finish the business with that scoundrel Jenkins while you are about it!"
Philip nodded.
"That I will do, sir, since you wish it."
"Bah!" retorted his father.
He had gone; now he had come back, the business details settled to his satisfaction, but with no wig. Sir Maurice was pleased to see him again, more pleased than he appeared, as Philip was well aware. He listened to what his son had to tell him of Tom Jettan, failed to glean29 any of the latest society gossip, and dismissed Philip from his presence.
Half an hour later Philip rode in at the gates of Sharley House, sitting straight in his saddle, a pulse in his throat throbbing30 in anticipation31.
Cleone saw him coming. She was seated in the parlour window, embroidering32 in a languid fashion. Truth to tell, she was tired of her own company and not at all averse33 from seeing Philip. As he passed the window she bent34 forward a little, smiling down at him. Philip saw her at once; indeed, he had been eyeing every window of the warm, red house in the hope that she might be sitting in one. He reined35 in his horse and bowed to her, hat in hand.
Cleone opened the casement36 wider, leaning over the sill, her golden curls falling forward under the strings37 of her cap.
"Why, sir, are you back already?" she asked, dimpling.
"Already!" he echoed. "It has been years! Ten years, Cleone!"
"Pooh!" she said. "Ten days—not a moment more!"
"Is that all it has seemed to you?" he said.
"What more?" she retorted. "'Tis all it is!"
Into Philip's eyes came a gleam of triumph.
"Aha! You've counted, then! Oh, Cleone!"
The roguish look fled.
"Monstrous what, dear Cleone?"
"Impudent41!" she ended. "I declare I won't see you!" As if to add weight to this statement, she shut the casement and moved away into the room.
Presently, however, she relented, and tripped downstairs to the withdrawing-room, where she found Mr. Jettan paying his respects to her mamma. She curtseyed very demurely42, allowed him to kiss the tips of her fingers, and seated herself beside Madam Charteris.
Madam patted her hand.
"Well, child, here is Philip returned from Town with not a word to tell us of his gaiety!"
Cleone raised her eyes to survey Philip.
"Tut-tut!" said her mother. "Now, Philip, tell us all! Did you not meet one beauty to whom you lost your heart?"
"No, madam," answered Philip. "The painted society dames44 attract me not at all." His eyes rested on Cleone as he spoke.
"I dare say you've not yet heard the news?" Cleone said, after a slight pause. "Or did Sir Maurice tell you?"
"No—that is, I do not know. What is it? Good news?"
"It remains45 to be seen," she replied. "'Tis that Mr. Bancroft is to return! What think you of that?"
"Bancroft? Sir Harold's son?"
"Yes, Henry Bancroft. Is it not exciting? Only think—he has been away nigh on eight years! Why, he must be—" she began to count on her rosy-tipped fingers "—twenty-six, or twenty-seven. Oh, a man! I do so wonder what he is like now!"
"H'm!" remarked Philip. His voice held no enthusiasm. "What does he want here?"
"To see his papa, of course. After so many years!"
"Well, I will tell you. Papa rode over to Great Fittledean two days ago, and he found Sir Harold mightily50 amused, did he not, Mamma?"
Madam Charteris assented51 vaguely52. She was stitching at a length of satin, content to drop out of the conversation.
"Yes. It seems that Henry—"
"Who?" Philip straightened in his chair.
"Mr. Bancroft," said Cleone. A smile trembled on her lips. "It seems that Mr. Bancroft has had occasion to fight a duel53. Is it not too dreadful?"
Philip agreed with more heartiness54 than he had yet shown.
"I am sure I do not know why gentlemen must fight. 'Tis very terrible, I think. But, of course, 'tis monstrous gallant55 and exciting. And poor Mr. Bancroft has been advised to leave London for a while, because some great personage is angered. Papa did not say who was the gentleman he fought, but Sir Harold was vastly amused." She glanced up at Philip, in time to catch sight of the scornful frown on his face. "Oh, Philip, do you know? Have you perhaps heard?"
"No one who has been in Town this last week could fail to have heard," said Philip shortly. Then, very abruptly56, he changed the subject.
When Philip came back to the Pride it was close on the dinner hour. He walked slowly upstairs to change his clothes, for on that point Sir Maurice was obdurate57. He would not allow buckskins or riding-boots at his table. He himself was fastidious to a fault. Every evening he donned stiff satins and velvets; his thin face was painted, powdered and patched; his wig tied with great precision in the nape of his neck. He walked now with a stick, but his carriage was still fairly upright. The stick was, as Philip told him, a mere58 affectation.
Philip was rather silent during the first part of the meal, but when the lackeys59 left the room, and Sir Maurice pushed the port towards him, he spoke suddenly, as if the words had hovered60 on his tongue for some time.
"Father, do you hear that Bancroft is to return?"
Sir Maurice selected a nut from the dish before him, cracking it between his long, white fingers.
"I believe someone told me. What of it?"
"You said nothing of it to me."
The grey eyes lifted.
"Is he a friend of yours? I did not know."
"A friend!" Philip set his glass down with a snap. "Hardly, sir!"
"Now what's to do?" asked his father. "Why the scorn?"
"Sir, if you could but hear the gossip about him!"
"I have no doubt I should be vastly entertained," said Sir Maurice. "What's the tale?"
"The fellow is for ever embroiling61 himself in some low quarrel. This time it is Lady Marchand. Faugh!"
"Lady Marchand? Not Dolly Marchand?"
"I believe so. Why, sir, do you know her?"
"I—er—knew her mother. Tell me, is she as charming?"
"As I know neither her mother, nor Lady Marchand—"
Sir Maurice sighed.
"No. Of course not. Go on."
"It's a damned sordid62 tale, sir, and I'll spare you the details. Lord Marchand and Bancroft fought out at Ipswich. Bancroft wounded him in the lung, and 'tis said he'll not recover."
"Clumsy," remarked Sir Maurice. "So Bancroft retires?"
"The Prince of Wales is furious, as well he might be. And Bancroft brings himself and his morals here."
A faint smile hovered on Sir Maurice's lips.
"And Mr. Jettan is righteously indignant. From which I gather that Mistress Cleone is prepared to welcome this slayer63 of hearts. You'd best have bought a wig, Philip."
In spite of himself, Philip laughed.
"Sir, you are incorrigible64!"
"Faute de mieux. And whence, if I may ask, did you glean all this—sordid information, oh my righteous son?"
"From Tom, of course. He could talk of nothing else."
"Alack! The saint is still upon his pedestal. In fact, the story was forced upon you. Philip, you enrage65 me." He looked up and met his son's amused glance. "Yes, child, I am enraged66. Pass the wine."
Philip pushed the decanter towards him. His rather stern eyes were twinkling.
"I'll swear no one ever before possessed67 so outrageous68 a sire," he said. "I've heard of some who disinherited their sons for disreputable behaviour, but it seems you are like to disinherit me for irreproachable69 conduct."
"It's a piquante situation," agreed Sir Maurice. "But I shan't disinherit you."
"No?"
"Where's the use? With no money you could not hope to—ah—follow in my footsteps. I've a mind to turn you out of the house, though."
"Half a mind," corrected Philip. "The other half, sir, rejoices in my unblemished reputation."
"Does it?" Sir Maurice was mildly interested. "Faith, I did not know that."
"Sir, were I to break away and become as flighty as you wish, no one would be more aghast than yourself."
"You infer, my son, that I desire you to follow not in my footsteps, but in—let us say, Bancroft's. Nothing could more thoroughly70 disgust me."
"Ah!" Philip leaned forward eagerly. "You admit that?"
"Certainly. I abhor72 clumsiness in an affaire." He watched Philip draw back. "An affaire of the heart should be daintily conducted. A Jettan should bear in mind that for him there can be only one love; the others," he waved his hand, "should be treated with the delicacy73 that they deserve. Above all, they should end lightly. I would have no woman the worse for you, child, but I would have you know women and the world. I would have you experience the pleasures and the displeasures of Polite Society; I would have you taste the joys of Hazard, and the exhilaration of your sword against another's; I would have you take pains in the selection of a cravat74, or the designing of a vest; I would have you learn the way to turn a neat compliment and a pretty phrase; above all, I would have you know yourself, your fellow-men, and the world." He paused, studying his son. Then he smiled. "Well? What have you to say to my peroration75?"
Philip answered simply, and in admiration76.
"Why, sir, that I am spellbound by your fluency77. In truth, Father, you have a remarkably78 beautiful voice."
"Bah!" snapped Sir Maurice.
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1
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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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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pouted
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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10
distressingly
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| adv. 令人苦恼地；悲惨地 | |
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boorish
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| adj.粗野的，乡巴佬的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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adage
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| n.格言，古训 | |
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obduracy
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| n.冷酷无情，顽固，执拗 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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glean
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| v.收集(消息、资料、情报等) | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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32
embroidering
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| v.（在织物上）绣花( embroider的现在分词 )；刺绣；对…加以渲染（或修饰）；给…添枝加叶 | |
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33
averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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35
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pouting
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的现在分词 ) | |
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40
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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41
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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44
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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45
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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48
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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49
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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51
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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53
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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54
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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56
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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58
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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59
lackeys
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| n.听差( lackey的名词复数 )；男仆（通常穿制服）；卑躬屈膝的人；被待为奴仆的人 | |
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60
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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embroiling
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| v.使（自己或他人）卷入纠纷( embroil的现在分词 ) | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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64
incorrigible
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| adj.难以纠正的，屡教不改的 | |
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enrage
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| v.触怒，激怒 | |
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enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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67
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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68
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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69
irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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70
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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71
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
abhor
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| v.憎恶；痛恨 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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peroration
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| n.（演说等之）结论 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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