Mrs. Betty Steel drew a slice of toast from the rack, toyed with it, and looked reflectively at her husband’s empty chair. She was a dark, sinuous9, feline10 creature was Mrs. Betty, with a tight red mouth, and an olive whiteness of skin under her black wreath of hair. Her hands were thin, mercurial11, and yet suggestive of pretty and graceful12 claws. A clever woman, cleverer with her head than with her heart, acute, elegant, aggressive, yet often circuitous13 in her methods. She had abundant impulse in her, blood, and clan14, even evidenced by the way in which she ripped the wrapper from a copy of the Wilmenden Mail.
Mrs. Betty buried her face in the pages, crumbling15 her toast irritably16 as her eyes ran to and fro over the head-lines. She glanced up as her husband entered, a smooth-faced, compressed, and professional person, with an assured manner and an incisive17 cut of the mouth and chin.
“Any news in this hub of monotony?”
His wife put down the paper, and called back the dog who was poking18 his nose near the bacon-dish on the fire-guard.
“Quack medicines much in evidence. The fellows are arrant19 Papists, Parker; they promise to cure everything with nothing. Tea or coffee?”
Mrs. Betty spoke20 with the slight drawl that was habitual21 to her. Her admirers felt it to be distinguished22, but its effect upon shop assistants was to spread the instincts of socialism.
Dr. Parker Steel declared for coffee, and took salt to his porridge. He was not a man who wasted words, save perhaps on the most paying patients. Professional ambition, and an aggressive conviction that he was to be the leading citizen in Roxton filled the greater part of the gentleman’s sphere of consciousness.
“And local sensations?”
“Mrs. Pindar’s ball, a very dull affair, sausage-rolls and jelly, and a floor like glue—probably.”
“Any one there?”
“The Lombard Street clique23, the Carnabys, Tom Flemming, Kate Murchison, etc., etc., etc.”
Parker Steel grunted25, and appeared to be estimating the number of cubes in the sugar bowl by way of exercising himself in the compilation26 of statistics.
“Murchison not there, I suppose?” he asked.
“The wife—quite sufficient.”
Her husband smiled, showing the regular white teeth under his trim, black mustache with scarcely any flow of feeling in his features. Dr. Parker Steel was very proud of his teeth and finger-nails.
“You don’t love that lady much, eh?”
Mrs. Betty’s refined superciliousness27 trifled with the suggestion.
“Kate Murchison? I cannot say that I ever trouble much about her. Rather fat and vulgar—perhaps. Fat women do not appeal to me; they seem to carry sentimentality and gush28 about with them like patchouli. Do you think that you are gaining ground on Murchison, Parker, eh?”
The husband appeared confident.
“Perhaps.”
“Old Hicks will resign the Hospital soon; you must take it.”
“Not worth the trouble.”
Mrs. Betty’s dark eyes condemned29 the assertion.
“Dirt’s money in the wrong place, as they say in trade, Parker.”
“Well?” And the amused consort30 glanced at her with a cold flicker31 of affection.
“Study it on utilitarian32 principles. Lady Twaddle-twaddle sends her cook, or her gardener, or her boot-boy to be treated in Roxton Hospital. You exercise yourself on the boot-boy or the cook, and Lady Twaddle-twaddle approves the cure. Praise is never thrown away. Let the old ladies who attend missionary33 meetings say of you, ‘that Dr. Steel is so kind and attentive34 to the poor.’ We have to lay the foundation of a palace in the soil.”
Parker Steel chuckled35, knowing that behind Mrs. Betty’s elegant verbiage36 there was a tenacity37 of purpose that would have surprised her best friends.
“I wonder whether Murchison is as privileged as I am?” he said, passing his cup over the red tea cosy.
“I suppose the woman gushes38 for him, just as I work my wits for you.”
“The Amazons of Roxton.”
“We live in a civilized39 age, Parker, but the battle is no less bitter for us. I use my head. Half the words I speak are winged for a final end.”
“You are clever enough, Betty,” he confessed.
“We both have brains”—and she gave an ironical40 laugh—“I shall not be content till the world, our world, fully41 recognizes that fact. Old Hicks is past his work. Murchison is the only rival you need consider. Therefore, Parker, our battle is with the gentleman of Lombard Street.”
“And with the wife?”
“That is my affair.”
Such life feuds42 as are chronicled in the hatred44 of a Fredegonde for a Brunehaut may be studied in miniature in many a modern setting. Ever since childhood Betty Steel and Catherine Murchison had been born foes45. Their innate46 instincts had seemed antagonistic47 and repellent, and the life of Roxton had not chastened the tacit feud43. Girls together at the same school, they had fought for leadership and moral sway. Catherine had been one of those creatures in whom the deeper feelings of womanhood come early to the surface. Children had loved her; her arms had been always open to them, and she had stood out as a species of little mother to whom the owners of bleeding knees had run for comfort.
The rivalry49 of girlhood had deepened into the rivalry of womanhood. They were the “beauties” of Roxton; the one generous, ruddy, and open-hearted; the other sleek50, white-faced, a studied artist in elegance51 and charm. Both were admired and championed by their retainers; Catherine popular with the many, Betty served by the few. Miss Elizabeth had beheld52 herself the less favored goddess, and as of old the apple of Paris had had the power to inflame53.
Catherine’s final crime against her rival had been her marrying of James Murchison. Miss Betty had chosen the gentleman for herself, though she would rather have bitten her tongue off than have confessed the fact. The hatred of the wife had been extended to the husband, and Dr. Parker Steel had assuaged54 the smart. And thus the rivalry of these two women lived on intensified55 by the professional rivalry of two men.
As for my lady Betty, she hated the wife in Lombard Street with all the quiet virulence56 of her nature. It was the hate of the head for the heart, of the intellect for the soul. Envy and jealousy57 were sponsors to the bantling that Betty Steel had reared. Catherine Murchison had children; Mrs. Steel had none. Her detestation of her rival was the more intense even because she recognized the good in her that made her loved by others. Catherine Murchison had a larger following than Mrs. Steel in Roxton, and the truth strengthened the poison in the stew58.
With Catherine the feeling was more one of distaste than active enmity. Betty Steel repelled59 her, even as certain electrical currents repel48 the magnet. She mistrusted the woman, avoided her, even ignored her, an attitude which did not fail to influence Mrs. Betty. Catherine Murchison’s heart was too full of the deeper happiness of life for her to trouble her head greatly about the pale and fastidious Greek whose dark eyes flashed whenever she passed the great red brick house in Lombard Street. Life had a June warmth for Catherine. Nor had she that innate restlessness of soul that fosters jealousy and the passion for climbing above the common crowd.
Parker Steel reminded his wife, as he rose from the breakfast-table, of a certain charity concert that was to be given at the Roxton public hall the same evening.
“Are you going?”
“Yes, I believe so; Mrs. Fraser extorted60 a guinea from us; I may as well get something for my money. And you?”
Her husband smoothed his hair and looked in the mirror.
“Expecting a confinement61. If you get a chance, be polite to old Fraser, she would be worth bagging in the future, and Murchison thieved her from old Hicks.”
Catherine Murchison sang at the charity concert that night, and Mrs. Betty listened to her with the outward complacency of an angel. The big woman in her black dress, with a white rose in her ruddy hair, bowed and smiled to the enthusiasts62 of the Roxton slums who knew her nearly as well as they knew her husband. Catherine Murchison’s rare contralto flowed unconcernedly over her rival’s head. She sang finely, and without effort, and the voice seemed part of her, a touch of the sunset, a breath from the fields of June. Catherine’s nature came out before men in her singing. A glorious unaffectedness, a charm with no trick of the self-conscious egoist. It was this very naturalness, this splendid unconcern that had forever baffled Mrs. Betty Steel. The woman was proof against the mundane63 sneer64. Ridicule65 could not touch her, and the burrs of spite fell away from her smooth completeness.
“By George, what a voice that woman has!”
The bourgeoisie of Roxton was piling up its applause. Mrs. Murchison had half the small boys in the town as her devoted66 henchmen. Politically her personality would have carried an election.
“It comes from the heart, sir.”
Porteous Carmagee, solicitor67 and commissioner68 for oaths, had his bald head tilted69 towards Mr. Thomas Flemming’s ear. Mr. Flemming was one of the cultured idlers of the town, a gentleman who was an authority on ornithology70, who presided often at the county bench, and could dash off a cartoon that was not quite clever enough for Punch.
“What did you say, Carmagee? The beggars are making such a din—”
“From the heart, sir, from the heart.”
“Indigestion, eh?”
Mr. Carmagee was seized with an irritable71 twitching72 of his creased73, brown face.
“Oh, an encore, that’s good. I said, Tom, that Kate Murchison’s voice came from her heart.”
“Very likely, very likely.”
“I could sit all night and hear her sing.”
“I doubt it,” quoth the man of culture, with a twinkle.
The opening notes rippled74 on the piano, and Mr. Carmagee lay back in his chair to listen. He was a little monkey of a man, fiery-eyed, wrinkled, with a grieved and husky voice that seemed eternally in a hurry. He knew everybody and everybody’s business, and the secrets his bald pate75 covered would have trebled the circulation of the Roxton Herald76 in a week. Porteous Carmagee was godfather to Catherine Murchison’s two children. She was one of the few women, and he had stated it almost as a grievance77, who could make him admit the possible advantages of matrimony.
“Bravo, bravo”—and Mr. Carmagee slapped Tom Flemming’s knee. ‘When the swans fly towards the south, and the hills are all aglow78.’ I believe in woman bringing luck, my friend.”
“Oh, possibly.”
“Murchison took the right turning. Supposing he had married—”
Mr. Flemming trod on the attorney’s toe.
“Look out, she’s there; people have ears, you know; they’re not chairs.”
Mr. Carmagee nursed a grievance on the instant.
“Mention a name,” he snapped.
And Thomas Flemming pointed79 towards Mrs. Betty with his programme.
Parker Steel’s wife drove home alone in her husband’s brougham, ignoring the many moonlight effects that the old town offered her with its multitudinous gables and timbered fronts. She was not in the happiest of tempers, feeling much like a sensuous80 cat that has been tumbled unceremoniously from some crusty stranger’s lap. Betty had attempted blandishments with the distinguished Mrs. Fraser, and had been favored with a shoulder and half an aristocratic cheek. Moreover, she had watched the great lady melt under Catherine Murchison’s smiles, and such incidents are not rose leaves to a woman.
Mrs. Betty lay back in a corner of the brougham, and indulged herself in mental tearings of Catherine Murchison’s hair. What insolent81 naturalness this rival of hers possessed82! Mrs. Betty was fastidious and critical enough, and her very acuteness compelled her to confess that her enmity seemed but a blunted weapon. Catherine Murchison was so cantankerously83 popular. She looked well, dressed well, did things well, loved well. The woman was an irritating prodigy84. It was her very sincerity85, the wholesomeness86 of her charm, that made her seem invulnerable, a woman who never worried her head about social competition.
Parker Steel sat reading before the fire when his wife returned. He uncurled himself languidly and with deliberation, pulled down his dress waistcoat, and put his book aside carefully on the table beside his chair.
“Enjoyed yourself?”
“Not vastly. I wonder why vulgar people always eat oranges in public?”
“Better than sucking lemons.”
Mrs. Betty tossed her opera-cloak aside and slipped into a chair. Her husband’s complacency irritated her a little. He was not a sympathetic soul, save in the presence of prominent patients.
“You look bored, dear. Who performed?”
“The usual amateurs. I am tired to death; are you coming to bed?”
Parker Steel looked at the clock, and sighed.
“I shall not be wanted till about five,” he said. “Confound these guinea babies. I hope to build a tariff87 wall round myself when we are more independent.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And Mrs. Fraser?”
“Safe in the other camp, dear.”
Parker Steel was dropping off to sleep that night when he felt his wife’s hand upon his shoulder. He turned with a grunt24, and saw her white face dim amid her cloud of hair.
“Anything wrong?”
“No. Do you believe in Murchison, Parker?”
“Believe in him?”
“Yes, is he reliable; does he know his work?”
Her husband laughed.
“Why, do you want to consult the fellow?”
“You have never caught him tripping?”
“Not yet. What are you driving at?”
“Oh—nothing,” and she turned away, and put the hair back from her face, feeling feverish88 with the ferment89 of her thoughts.
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1
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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buttress
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| n.支撑物；v.支持 | |
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pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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6
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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scintillant
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| adj.产生火花的，闪烁（耀）的 | |
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plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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feline
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| adj.猫科的 | |
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mercurial
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| adj.善变的，活泼的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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arrant
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| adj.极端的；最大的 | |
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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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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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clique
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| n.朋党派系，小集团 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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25
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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compilation
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| n.编译，编辑 | |
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superciliousness
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| n.高傲，傲慢 | |
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gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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utilitarian
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| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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verbiage
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| n.冗词；冗长 | |
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tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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gushes
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| n.涌出，迸发( gush的名词复数 )v.喷，涌( gush的第三人称单数 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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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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feuds
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| n.长期不和，世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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antagonistic
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| adj.敌对的 | |
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48
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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50
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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51
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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52
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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53
inflame
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| v.使燃烧；使极度激动；使发炎 | |
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54
assuaged
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| v.减轻( assuage的过去式和过去分词 )；缓和；平息；使安静 | |
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55
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
virulence
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| n.毒力，毒性；病毒性；致病力 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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58
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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59
repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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60
extorted
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| v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 )；曲解 | |
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61
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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62
enthusiasts
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| n.热心人，热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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mundane
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| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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66
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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68
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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69
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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70
ornithology
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| n.鸟类学 | |
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71
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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72
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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73
creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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74
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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75
pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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77
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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78
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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79
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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80
sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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81
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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82
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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83
cantankerously
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84
prodigy
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| n.惊人的事物，奇迹，神童，天才，预兆 | |
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85
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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86
wholesomeness
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| 卫生性 | |
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87
tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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88
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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89
ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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