Sir Maurice stood in front of the empty grate, talking to Mr. Charteris; madam sat on a couch, her daughter beside her, and Philip nearby. They all looked up as Mr. Bancroft was announced, and Philip rose, for the first time in his life acutely conscious of an ill-fitting coat and unpowdered hair.
Mr. Bancroft was a dream of lilac and rose. He might have been dressed for a ball, thought Cleone. Diamonds and rubies3 flashed from his buckles4, and from his cravat5; a diamond clasp was above the riband that tied his wig6. He minced7 forward daintily and bowed, one be-ringed hand over his heart.
Sir Maurice came forward, very stately in black with touches of purple.
"Ah, Mr. Bancroft! I need not present you to the ladies, I know." He paused to allow Bancroft to throw a languishing8 glance towards the couch. "I think you and my son are not altogether unknown to one another?"
Bancroft turned on his heel to face Philip. He bowed again, slightly flourishing his handkerchief.
"My playmate of long ago," he murmured. "Your very obedient, Mr. Jettan."
Philip returned the bow awkwardly.
"I am very pleased to meet you again, sir," he said, determined9 to be polite to this most obnoxious10 guest. "Do you—er—intend to make a long stay?"
Bancroft raised his shoulders and spread out his hands.
"I had thought not, sir, but now"—another glance was cast at Cleone—"I think—perhaps—!" He smiled, running quick, appraising11 eyes over Philip's person. "Do you know, sir, I swear I'd not have known you. You have grown prodigiously12."
Cleone broke into the conversation.
"You were so much older than Philip or James or me, Mr. Bancroft!"
Instantly he swept round.
"Why, sir, have you lost your years?" she asked.
"In your company, yes, madam. Can you wonder?"
"Not flattered, Mistress Cleone; justly appreciated."
"La!" said Madam Charteris. "How can you say such things, Mr. Bancroft? I declare you will make my daughter vain!"
"Vanity, madam, mates not with such beauty as that of your daughter," he retaliated15. To the right he could see Philip, glowering16, and his mischievous17 soul laughed. Then Sir Maurice claimed his attention, and he turned away.
Philip walked to the couch and stood behind it, resting his arm on the back. He leaned over Cleone with an air of possession.
"Pranked out mummer!" he muttered in her ear.
Cleone smiled up at him.
"Why, sir, are you at variance18 with him in the matter of my looks?" she asked, and thereby19 bereft20 him of speech. Her smile turned to a look of reproach. "'Tis your cue, sir; am I to be slighted?"
"You know—what I think of you, Cleone. I cannot—mouth what I feel—in pretty phrases."
A strangely tender light came into her eyes.
"You might try, Philip," she said.
"What, here? Not I! I am not one to sing your charms in public." He laughed shortly. "So that is what you desire?"
The tender light died.
"No, sir. I desire you will not lean so close. You inconvenience me."
Philip straightened at once, but he still stood behind her. Bancroft met his eyes and was quick to read the challenge they held. He smiled, twirling his eyeglass.
When dinner was announced, Cleone was talking to Bancroft. It was but natural that he should offer her his arm, but to Philip it seemed a most officious, impudent22 action. Sir Maurice led Madam Charteris into the dining-room; Mr. Charteris and Philip brought up the rear.
From Philip's point of view the meal was not a success. Seated side by side, Cleone and Bancroft exchanged a flood of conversation. Philip, at the foot of the table, had on his right Mr. Bancroft, and on his left Mr. Charteris. To the latter he made grave conversation. Occasionally Bancroft dragged him into a discussion; once or twice Madam Charteris and Sir Maurice appealed to him. But Cleone seemed unaware23 of his existence. She was very gay, too; her eyes sparkled and shone, her cheeks were faintly flushed. She answered Mr. Bancroft's sallies with delightful24 little laughs and applause.
As the dinner proceeded, Philip was made to feel more than ever his own shortcomings. When he looked at Mr. Bancroft's white hands with their highly polished nails, and many rings, he compared them with his strong brown ones, tanned and—coarse? Covertly26 he inspected them; no, they were better hands than that nincompoop's, but his nails ... bah! only fops such as this puppy polished their nails!...
The lilac satin of Mr. Bancroft's coat shimmered27 in the light of the candles. How tightly it fitted him across the shoulders! How heavily it was laced, and how full were its skirts! A coat for a drawing-room! Unconsciously Philip squared his shoulders. All that foaming28 lace ... more suited to a woman than to a man. The quizzing-glass ... abominable29 affectation! The jewels ... flaunting30 them in the country! Patched and painted, mincing31, prattling32 puppy-dog! How could Cleone bear him so near, with his fat, soft hands, and his person reeking33 of some sickly scent34?...
Now he was talking of town and its allure35, toying with the names of first one celebrity36 and then another. And Cleone drinking in the silly, smug talk!... Now hints at conquests made—veiled allusions37 to his own charms. Ape!—truckling, overdressed ape! Suddenly Philip wanted to throw his glass at Bancroft. He choked down the mad impulse, and strove to listen to Mr. Charteris.
Back in the withdrawing-room again it was worse. Sir Maurice asked Cleone to sing, and she went to the spinet38. Bancroft followed, to choose her music, to turn the pages, to gaze at her in frank admiration39. Damn him, damn him, damn him!
The party came to an end at last; Philip was alone with his father. Sir Maurice leaned his chin in his hand, watching him amusedly. For a long while Philip said nothing, but presently he brought his eyes away from the window and looked at his father.
"And that," he said bitingly, "is what you would have me. A conceited40, painted puppy, fawning42 and leering on every woman that crosses his path!"
"Not at all." Sir Maurice took out his snuff-box and opened it. "'Tis the last thing in the world I would have you."
"You said—"
"I said I would have you a very perfect gentleman, knowing the world and its ways."
"Well?—"
"You perhaps conceive Mr. Bancroft a perfect gentleman?"
"Not I! 'Tis you who—"
Sir Maurice raised one delicate hand.
"Pardon me! You choose to assume that I thought it. Mr. Bancroft is, as you so truly remark, a conceited, painted puppet. But he apes, so far as he is able, the thing that I am; that I wish you to become. You are a country-bumpkin, my dear; he is a coddled doll. Strive to become something betwixt the two."
"I had sooner be what I am!"
"Which is a conceited oaf."
"Sir!"
"Remain what you are, my son, but bethink you—which will Cleone prefer? Him who gives her graceful44 homage45, and charms her ears with honeyed words, or him who is tongue-tied before her, who is careless of his appearance, and who treats her, not as a young and beautiful girl, but as his inevitable46 possession?"
Philip answered quickly.
"Cleone, sir, will—give herself where she pleases, but she is not one to over-rate the tricks of such as Bancroft."
"Or to under-rate the discomforts47 of tying herself to one who is tied to the soil and his own pleasure," said Sir Maurice softly.
The grey eyes met his, a trifle hurt.
"I am selfish, Father? Because I will not become the thing I despise?"
"And narrow, Philip, to despise what you do not know."
"Thank you!" The young voice was exceedingly bitter. "I am to be a painted popinjay! I tell you, sir, Cleone must take me as I am."
"Or leave you as you are," said Sir Maurice gently.
"A warning, sir?"
"That's for you to judge, child. And now I'll to bed." He paused, looking at his son.
Philip went to him.
"Good night, sir."
Sir Maurice smiled, holding out his hand.
"Good night, my son."
Philip kissed his fingers.
Followed a week of disturbing trivialities. Mr. Bancroft was more often in Little Fittledean than at home, and most often at Sharley House. He there met Philip, not once, but many times, hostile and possessive. He laughed softly, and sought to engage Philip in a war of wits, but Philip's tongue was stiff and reluctant. So Mr. Bancroft made covert25 sport of him and renewed his attentions to Cleone.
Cleone herself was living in a strange whirl. There was much in Mr. Bancroft that displeased48 her; I do not think she ever had it in her mind to wed1 him, which was perhaps fortunate, as Mr. Bancroft certainly had it not in his. But homage is grateful to women, and ardent49 yet dainty love-making fascinating to the young. She played with Mr. Bancroft, but thought no less of Philip. Yet Philip contrived50 to irritate her. His air of ownership, his angry, reproachful looks, fired the spirit of coquetry within her. Mastery thrilled her, but a mastery that offered to take all, giving nothing, annoyed her. That Philip loved her to distraction51, she knew; also she knew that Philip would expect her to bend before his will. He would not change, it would be she who must conform to his pleasure. Philip was determined to remain as he was, faithful but dull. She wanted all that he despised: life, gaiety, society, and frivolity52. She weighed the question carefully, a little too carefully for a maid in love. She wanted Philip and she did not want him. As he was, she would have none of him; as she wished him to be, he might have her. But for the present she was no man's, and no man had the right to chide53 her. Philip had made a mistake in his wooing in showing her how much his own he thought her. All unwitting, he was paving the way to his own downfall.
Despite the lisping conceit41 of Mr. Bancroft, his polished phrases and his elegancy when compared with Philip's brusqueness threw Philip in the shade. Mr. Bancroft could taunt54 and gibe55 at Philip, sure of triumph; Philip tied his tongue in knots and relapsed into silence, leaving Mr. Bancroft to shine in his victory. The man Cleone chose to wed must be a match for all, with words or swords. Cleone continued to smile upon Mr. Bancroft.
At the end of the week the trouble came to a head. In the garden of Sharley House, before Cleone, Mr. Bancroft threw veiled taunts56 at Philip, and very thinly veiled sneers57. He continued to hold the younger man's lack of polish up to scorn, always smiling and urbane58.
Cleone recognised the gleam in Philip's eye. She was a little frightened and sought to smooth over the breach59. But when she presently retired60 to the house, Philip arrested Mr. Bancroft, who was following.
"A word with you, sir."
Bancroft turned, brows raised, lips curled almost sneeringly61.
Philip stood very straight, shoulders squared.
"You have seen fit to mock at me, sir—"
"I?" interpolated Bancroft languidly. "My dear sir!"
"—and I resent it. There is that in your manner to which I object."
Bancroft's brows rose higher.
"To—which—you—object...." he echoed softly.
"I trust I make myself clear?" snapped Philip.
Bancroft raised his eyeglass. Through it he studied Philip from his toes to his head.
"Is it possible that you want satisfaction?" he drawled.
"More than that," retorted Philip. "It is certain."
Once again he was scrutinised. Mr. Bancroft's smile grew.
"I do not fight with schoolboys," he said.
The colour flooded Philip's face.
"Perhaps because you are afraid," he said quickly, guarding his temper.
"Perhaps," nodded Bancroft. "Yet I have not the reputation of a coward."
It was Bancroft's turn to flush.
"I—beg—your—pardon?"
"It is necessary," bowed Philip, enjoying himself now for the first time in many days.
"I would sooner be that, sir, than an impudent, painted puppy."
"I see you will have it, Mr. Jettan. I will meet you when and where you will."
Philip patted his sword-hilt, and Bancroft observed for the first time that he was wearing a sword.
"I have noticed, Mr. Bancroft, that you habitually67 don your sword. So I took the precaution of wearing mine. 'When' is now, and 'where' is yonder!" He pointed68 above the hedge that encircled the garden to the copse beyond. It was a very fine theatrical69 effect, and he was pleased with it.
"A trifle countrified, Mr. Jettan. Do you propose to dispense71 with such needless formalities as seconds?"
"I think we can trust each other," said Philip grandly.
"Then pray lead the way," bowed Bancroft.
What followed was not so fine. Bancroft was proficient72 in the art of the duello; Philip had never fought in his life. Fencing had never interested him, and Sir Maurice had long since despaired of teaching him anything more than the rudiments73. However, he was very angry and very reckless, while Bancroft thought to play with him. He thrust so wildly and so insanely that Bancroft was taken unawares and received a fine slash74 across the arm. After that he fenced more carefully, and in a very short time pinked Philip neatly75 and artistically76 above the elbow of his sword arm. As Philip's blade wavered and fell, he wiped his own on his handkerchief, sheathed77 it, and bowed.
"Let this be a lesson to you, sir," he said, and walked away before Philip could pick up his sword.
Twenty minutes later Philip walked into the hall of Sharley House, a handkerchief tied tightly round his arm, and asked for Mistress Cleone. On being told that she was in the parlour, he stalked in upon her.
"Oh!" she cried, and half rose. "What—what have you done? You are hurt!"
"It is less than nothing, I thank you," replied Philip. "I want you to answer me plainly, Cleone. What is that fellow to you?"
Cleone sat down again. Her eyes flashed; Philip was nearer than ever to his downfall.
"I consider such a question an—an impertinence!" cried Cleone. "What right have you to ask me such a thing?"
Philip's brows met across the bridge of his nose.
"You do love him?"
"No, I don't! I mean—Oh, how dare you?"
Philip came closer. The frown faded.
"Cleone—do you—could you—love me?"
Cleone was silent.
Closer still came Philip, and spoke rather huskily.
"Will you—marry me, Cleone?"
Still silence, but the blue eyes were downcast.
"Cleone," blundered Philip, "you—don't want a—mincing, powdered—beau."
"I do not want a—a—raw—country-bumpkin," she said cruelly.
Philip drew himself up.
"That is what you think me, Cleone?"
Something in his voice brought tears to her eyes.
"I—no—I—oh, Philip, I could not marry you as you are!"
"No?" Philip spoke very evenly. "But if I became—your ideal—you could marry me?"
"I—oh, you should not—ask such questions!"
"As I am—you'll none of me. You do not want—an honest man's love. You want the pretty compliments of a doll. If I will learn to be—a doll—you'll wed me. Well, I will learn. You shall not be—annoyed—by an honest man's love—any longer. I will go to London—and one day I'll return. Farewell, Cleone."
"Oh—goodness—are you—going to town?" she gasped.
"Since that is your desire, yes," he answered.
She held out her hand, and when he kissed it her fingers clung for an instant.
"Come back to me, Philip," she whispered.
He bowed, still holding her hand, and then, without a word, released it, and marched out, very dignified81. It was another fine tragic82 effect, but Cleone, when the door closed behind him, broke into an hysterical83 laugh. She was rather amazed, and a little apprehensive84.
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1
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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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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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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minced
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| v.切碎( mince的过去式和过去分词 )；剁碎；绞碎；用绞肉机绞（食物，尤指肉） | |
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8
languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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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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retaliated
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| v.报复，反击( retaliate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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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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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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prattling
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的现在分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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scent
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allure
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| n.诱惑力，魅力；vt.诱惑，引诱，吸引 | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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spinet
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| n.小型立式钢琴 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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fawning
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| adj.乞怜的，奉承的v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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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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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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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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chide
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| v.叱责；谴责 | |
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taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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gibe
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| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
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taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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sneers
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| 讥笑的表情（言语）( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
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urbane
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| adj.温文尔雅的，懂礼的 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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sneeringly
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| 嘲笑地，轻蔑地 | |
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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libertine
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| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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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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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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proficient
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| adj.熟练的，精通的；n.能手，专家 | |
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rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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