“Kingson Cuthcott & Forsyte,
“Old Jewry.
“May 17th, 1932.
“MY DEAR MISS CHARWELL —
“I write to tell you that we have succeeded in coming to an arrangement by which the costs of the action will be met without making any call upon either Mr. Croom or your sister. I shall be grateful if you could take an opportunity of relieving their minds and also your father’s mind in the matter.
“Believe me, my dear Miss Charwell,
“Very faithfully yours,
“ROGER FORSYTE.”
Reaching her on a really warm morning, to sound of mowing3 machine and to scent4 of grass, it would have ‘intrigued’ her if she had not detested5 the word. She turned from the window and said:
“The lawyers say we need none of us worry any more about those costs, dad; they’ve come to an arrangement.”
“How?”
“They don’t say, but they want your mind relieved.”
“I don’t understand lawyers,” muttered the General, “but if they say it’s all right, I’m very glad. I’ve been worrying.”
“Yes, dear. Coffee?”
But she resumed her meditations6 on that cryptic7 letter. Did something in Jerry Corven’s conduct force him to agree to this ‘arrangement’? Was there not someone called ‘The King’s Proctor’ who could stop decrees being granted? Or — what?
Abandoning her first idea of driving over to Tony Croom because of the questions he might ask, she wrote to him and to Clare instead. The more, however, she pondered over the wording of the solicitor’s letter, the more convinced she became that she must see ‘very young’ Roger. There was that at the back of her mind which refused quietus. She, therefore, arranged to see him at a teashop near the British Museum on his way homeward from the City, and went there direct from her train. The place was an ‘artifact,’ designed, so far as a Regency edifice8 could be, to reproduce such a ‘coffee house’ as Boswell and Johnson might have frequented. Its floor was not sanded, but looked as if it should be. There were no long clay pipes, but there were long cardboard cigarette-holders9. The furniture was wooden, the light dim. No record having been discovered of what the ‘staff’ should look like, they looked sea-green. Prints of old coaching inns were hung on walls panelled by the Tottenham Court Road. Quite a few patrons were drinking tea and smoking cigarettes. None of them used the long cardboard holders. ‘Very young’ Roger, limping slightly, and with his customary air of not being quite what he ought to be, uncovered his sandyish head and smiled above his chin.
“China or Indian?” said Dinny.
“Whatever you’re having.”
“Then two coffees, please, and muffins.”
“Muffins! This IS a treat, dear papa. Those are quite good old copper10 bed-warmers, Miss Cherrell. I wonder if they’d sell them.”
“Do you collect?”
“Pick things up. No use having a Queen Anne house unless you can do something for it.”
“Does your wife sympathise?”
“No, she’s all for the T.C.R., bridge, golf, and the modernities. I never can keep my hands off old silver.”
“I HAVE to,” murmured Dinny. “Your letter was a very pleasant relief. Did you really mean that we should none of us have to pay?”
“I did.”
She considered her next question, scrutinising him through her lashes11. With all his ?sthetic leanings, he looked uncommonly12 spry.
“In confidence, Mr. Forsyte, how did you manage to make that arrangement? Had it to do with my brother-inlaw?”
‘Very young’ Roger laid his hand on his heart.
“‘The tongue of Forsyte is his own,’ cf. Marmion. But you needn’t worry.”
“I need, or shall, unless I know it wasn’t that.”
“Make your mind easy, then; it had nothing to do with Corven.”
Dinny ate a muffin in complete silence, then spoke13 of period silver. ‘Very young’ Roger gave an erudite dissertation14 on its mark — if she would come down for a week-end, he would turn her into a connoisseur15.
They parted cordially, and Dinny went towards her Uncle Adrian’s. That uneasiness was still at the back of her mind. The trees had leaved enticingly16 these last warm days; the Square wherein he dwelled had an air quiet and green, as if inhabited by minds. Nobody was at home. “But,” said the maid, “Mr. Cherrell is sure to be in about six, miss.”
Dinny waited in a small panelled room full of books and pipes and photographs of Diana and the two Ferse children. An old collie kept her company, and through the opened window seeped17 the sounds of London streets. She was crumpling18 the dog’s ears when Adrian came in.
“Well, Dinny, so it’s over. I hope you feel better.”
Dinny handed him the letter.
“I know it’s nothing to do with Jerry Corven. You know Eustace Dornford, Uncle. I want you to find out from him quietly whether it’s he who is paying these costs.”
Adrian pulled at his beard.
“I don’t suppose he’d tell me.”
“Somebody must have paid them, and I can only think of him. I don’t want to go to him myself.”
Adrian looked at her intently. Her face was concerned and brooding.
“Not easy, Dinny; but I’ll try. What’s going to happen to those two?”
“I don’t know, they don’t know; nobody knows.”
“How are your people taking it?”
“Terribly glad it’s over, and don’t care much now it is. You’ll let me know soon, won’t you, Uncle dear?”
“I will, my dear; but I shall probably draw blank.”
Dinny made for Melton Mews, and met her sister on the doorstep. Clare’s cheeks were flushed; there was febrility in her whole manner and appearance.
“I’ve asked Tony Croom here this evening,” she said, when Dinny was leaving to catch her train. “One must pay one’s debts.”
“Oh!” murmured Dinny, and for the life of her could say no more.
The words haunted her in the bus to Paddington, in the refreshment19 room while she ate a sandwich, in the railway carriage going home. Pay one’s debts! The first canon of self-respect! Suppose Dornford had paid those costs! Was she as precious as all that? Wilfrid had had all of her according to her heart and her hope and her desire. If Dornford wanted what was left over — why not? She dropped thinking of herself and went back to thought of Clare. Had she paid her debt by now? Transgressors by law — ought to transgress20! And yet — so much future could be compromised in so few minutes!
She sat very still. And the train rattled21 on in the dying twilight22.
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1
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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2
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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3
mowing
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| n.割草，一次收割量，牧草地v.刈，割( mow的现在分词 ) | |
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4
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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5
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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7
cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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8
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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9
holders
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| 支持物( holder的名词复数 )； 持有者； （支票等）持有人； 支托（或握持）…之物 | |
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10
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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11
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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12
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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13
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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14
dissertation
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| n.（博士学位）论文，学术演讲，专题论文 | |
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15
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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16
enticingly
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17
seeped
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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18
crumpling
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| 压皱，弄皱( crumple的现在分词 )； 变皱 | |
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19
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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20
transgress
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| vt.违反，逾越 | |
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21
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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22
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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