Whist-parties were almost the only social entertainment ever given amongst the genteel persons in Whitford. The Rev2. Cyrus Bodkin, D.D., liked his rubber; so did Robert Smith, Esq., M.R.C.S., and Mr. Dockett, the attorney, and Miss Chubb, and one or two more cronies, who were frequently seen at the doctor's green card-tables.
The Bodkins lived in a gloomy stone house adjoining the grammar-school, of which, indeed, it formed part. The house was approached by a gravelled courtyard, surrounded by high stone walls. The garden at the back ran sloping down to a broad green meadow, which in turn was bounded by the little river Whit1, all overhung with willows3, and covered by a floating mass of broad water-lily leaves, just opposite the doctor's garden gate.
In the full summer time, the view from the back of the house was pretty and pastoral enough. But in autumn and winter the meadow was a swamp, whose vivid green looked poisonous—as indeed it was, exhaling4 ague and rheumatism5 from its plashy surface—and a white brooding mist trailed itself, morning and evening, along the sluggish6 Whit, like a fallen cloud, condemned7 by some angry prince of the air to crawl serpent-like on earth, instead of soaring and sailing in the empyrean.
Such fancies never came into Doctor Bodkin's head, however, nor into his wife's either—good, anxious, unselfish, sad, little woman! Into his daughter Minnie's brain all sorts of wild, fantastic notions would intrude8 as she lay on her sofa, looking out upon the garden, and the river, and the meadow, and the gnarled old willows, and the flying scud9 in the sky; but she very seldom spoke10 of her fancies to any one. She spoke of other matters, though, freely enough. She had many visitors, who came and sat around her couch, or beside the lounging-chair, on which, on her good days, she reclined. She was better acquainted with the news of Whitford than most of the people who could use their limbs to go abroad and see what was passing. She was interested in the progress of the boys at the grammar-school, and knew the names, and a good deal about the characters, of every one of them. She would chat, and laugh, and joke by the hour with the frequenters of her father's house; but of herself—of her own thoughts, feelings, and fancies—Minnie Bodkin said no word to them. Nor did she, in truth, ever speak much on that subject all her life. And there were days—black days in the calendar of her poor anxious little mother—when Minnie would remain shut into her room, refusing to see or speak with anyone, and suffering much pain of body, with a proud stoicism which rejected sympathy like a wall of granite11.
There is no suggestion of granite about her now, however, as she lies, propped12 up by crimson13 cushions, on a sofa in her father's drawing-room. The room is bright and warm, despite the white kraken of mist that is coiled around the outer walls of the house. Wax-lights shine in tall, old-fashioned silver candlesticks on the mantelpiece, and on the centre table, and on a pianoforte, beside which stands a canterbury full of music-books. A great fire blazes in the grate, and makes its immediate14 neighbourhood too hot for the comfort of most people. But Minnie is apt to be chilly15, and loves the heat. Some delicate ferns and hothouse plants adorn16 a stand between the windows. They are rather a rare luxury in Whitford; but Minnie loves flowers, and always has some choice ones about her. A still rarer luxury hangs on the wall opposite to her sofa, in the shape of a very fine copy—on a reduced scale—of Raphael's Madonna di San Sisto. Minnie had fallen in love with a print from that famous picture long ago, and the copy was procured17 for her at considerable pains and expense. The furniture of the room is of crimson and dark oak. Minnie delights in rich colours and picturesque18 combinations. In a word, there is not an inch of the apartment, from floor to ceiling, in the arrangement of which Minnie's tastes have not been consulted, and in which traces of Minnie's influence are not plainly to be seen by those who know that household.
Minnie has a face, which, if you saw it represented in time-darkened oil colours, and framed on the walls of a picture-gallery, you would pronounce strikingly beautiful. Such faces are sometimes seen in flesh and blood, and, strange to say, do by no means excite the same enthusiasm in ordinary beholders, who, for the most part, like the picturesque in a picture and nowhere else; and who, to paraphrase19 what was said of Voltaire's intellect, admire chiefly those women who have, more than other young ladies, the prettiness which all young ladies have.
Minnie's face is pale and rather sallow. Her skin is not transparent21, but fine in texture22, like fine vellum, and it seldom changes its hue23 from emotion. When it does, it grows dark-red or deadly-white. Pleasing blushes or pallors are never seen on it. She has dark, thick hair, worn short, and brushed away from a high, smooth, rounded forehead, in which shine a pair of bright brown eyes, under finely-arched eyebrows24. But the beauty of the face lies in the perfection of its outlines: brow, cheeks, and chin are alike delicately moulded; her mouth—although the lips are too pale—is almost faultless, as are the white, small teeth she shows when she smiles. There is an indefinable air of sickness and suffering over this beautiful face, and dark traces beneath the eyes, and a pathetic, weary look in them sometimes; but, when she speaks or smiles, you forget all that.
There are people in this world whose intellects remind one of lamps too scantily25 supplied with oil. The little feeble flame in them burns and flickers26, certainly, but it is but a dull sort of dead light after all. Now Minnie Bodkin's spirit-lamp, if the phrase may be permitted, illumined everything it shone upon, and there were some persons who found it a great deal too dazzling to be pleasant.
It is not at all too bright at this moment for Algernon Errington, who, seated close beside her couch, is giving her, sotto voce, a humorous imitation of the psalm-singing in old Max's parlour; and describing, with great relish27, his mother's cool suggestion that the family prayers should be put off until she should be absent at a whist-party.
"Poor dear mother," says Algernon, smiling, "she can't forget that she is an Ancram; and sometimes comes out with one of her grande dame28 speeches, as if she were addressing my grandfather's Warwickshire tenantry forty years ago!" At which simple, candid29 words Minnie shoots out a queer, keen glance at the young fellow from under her eyelids30.
"And the Methodist preacher—what is he like?" she asks. "Whitford is, or was, a little inclined to go crazed about him. I don't know whether the enthusiasm is burning itself out, as such fires of straw will do, but a few weeks ago I heard that the little Wesleyan chapel31 was crowded to overflowing32 whenever he preached; and that once or twice, when he addressed the people out of doors on Whit Meadow, there was such a multitude as never was seen there before. I was quite curious to see the man who could so move our sluggish Whitfordians."
Algernon had taken up a sheet of note-paper and a pen from Minnie's letter-writing table, whilst she was speaking. "Look here," he says, "here's the preacher!" And he holds out the paper on which he has drawn33, with a few rapid strokes, a caricature of David Powell.
Minnie looks at it with raised eyebrows.
"Oh," says she, "is he like that? I am disappointed. This is the common, conventional, long-haired Methodist, that one sees in every comic print."
And in truth Algernon's portrait is not a good likeness34, even for a caricature. He had drawn a lank35, hook-nosed man, with long, black hair, expressed by two blots36 of ink falling on either side of his face.
"He wears his hair just like that!" says Algy, contemplating37 his own work with a good deal of satisfaction.
The card playing has not yet begun. Mrs. Bodkin, small, thin, with a questioning, sharp, little nose, and a chin which narrows off too suddenly, and an odd resemblance altogether to a little melancholy38 fox, is presiding at a tea-table. Besides tea and coffee, it is furnished with substantial cakes of many various kinds. Whitford people, for the most part, dine early, so that they are ready for solid food again by about eight o'clock; and will, probably, sustain nature once more with sandwiches and mulled wine before they sleep.
It is not a large party. There is Mrs. Errington, majestic39 in a dyed silk, and a real lace cap, the latter a relic40 of the "better days" she is fond of reverting41 to; Miss Chubb, a stout42 spinster, with a languishing43 fat face as round as a full moon, and little rings of hair gummed down all over her forehead, and half-way down her plump cheeks; Mr. Smith, the surgeon, black-eyed, red-faced, and smiling; the Rev. Peter Warlock, curate of St. Chad's, a serious, ghoul-like young man, who rends44 great bits out of his muffin with his teeth, in a way to make you shudder45 if you happen to be nervous or fanciful; Mr. Dockett, the attorney, and his wife, each dressed in black, each with a huge double chin and smothered46 voice, and altogether comically like one another.
On the hearth-rug, with his back to the fire, and his coffee-cup in his hand, stands Dr. Bodkin. He is short and thick. He has an air of command. He looks at the world in general as if it were liable to an "imposition" of ever so many hundred lines of Latin poetry, and as if he were ready to enforce the penalty at brief notice. He is not a hard man at heart, but nature has made him conceited47, and habit has made him a tyrant48. The boys kotoo to him in the school, and his wife bends submissively to his will at home. There is only one person in the world who habitually49 opposes and sets aside his assumption of infallibility, and that person—his daughter Minnie—he loves and fears. He tramples50 on most other people, in the firm persuasion51 that it is for their good. He is bald, large-faced, with a long upper-lip, which he shoots out into a funnel52 shape when he talks. He is an honest man in his calling, has a fair share of routine learning, and imparts it laboriously53 to the boys under his tuition.
Presently the people seem to slacken in eating and drinking. "Another cup of tea, Mrs. Errington? Won't you try any of that pound cake, Mr. Warlock?" (N.B. He has eaten three muffins unassisted; but they do not prosper54 with him. He has a hungry glare.) "Mrs. Dockett? No?" Mrs. Bodkin looks round, and lifts her meek55, foxy little nose interrogatively at each member of the circle. No one will eat or drink more. The doctor prepares to make up the tables.
The card-tables are always set out in an inner drawing-room, adjoining that in which our friends are taking tea. Dr. Bodkin hates to hear any noise when he is at his rubber, so there are thick curtains before the door of communication between the two rooms; and the door is shut, and the curtains drawn, whenever Minnie desires to have music on whist evenings.
The sound of the piano penetrates56 to the card-players, nevertheless. But Mrs. Bodkin declares that she can never hear a note, when she is in the little drawing-room, with the door shut, and the curtains drawn. And although the doctor wears a frown on his bald forehead, and is more than ordinarily severe on his partner whenever the piano begins to sound during a game, yet he never takes any step to have the instrument silenced.
The players file off in the wake of the host. There is a quartet at the doctor's table. At another, Mrs. Dockett, Mrs. Warlock, and Mr. Smith play dummy57. Algernon Errington hates cards, and—naturally—doesn't play. The Rev. Peter Warlock also hates cards, but is wanted to make up the rubber, and—naturally—plays. Mrs. Bodkin hovers58 between the two rooms, and Minnie and Algernon are left almost tête-à-tête.
"And so you really, really think of going to London?" says Minnie gravely.
"To seek my fortune!" answers Algernon, with a smile. "Turn a-gain, Er-ring-ton—I don't know why that shouldn't be rung out on Bow Bells. You see my name has the same number of syllables59 as Whit-ting-ton! I declare that is a good omen20!"
"Whittington made himself useful to the cook, and took care of his kitten. I wonder what you will do, Algy, to deserve fortune?"
"Do you think fortune favours the deserving? They paint her as a woman!" cries Master Algernon, with a saucy60 grimace61.
"Algy, I like you. We are old chums. Have you considered this step? Have you any reasonable prospect62 of making your way, if you refuse the Bristol man's proposition."
Minnie seldom speaks so earnestly as she is speaking now; still seldomer volunteers any inquiry63 into other people's affairs. Algernon is sensible of the distinction, and flattered by it. He forthwith proceeds to lay his hopes and plans before her; that is to say, he talks a great deal with astonishing candour and fluency64, and says wonderfully little. His mother is so anxious; these Seeleys are her people. It would vex65 the dear old lady so terribly, if he were to prefer the Bristol side of the house! Though, perhaps, that would be, selfishly speaking, the right policy.
"Ah, I see!" exclaims Minnie, sinking back among her cushions when he has done speaking.
By-and-by, one or two more guests drop in: young Pawkins, of Pudcombe Hall, some six miles from Whitford; Lieutenant-Colonel Whistler, on half-pay, with his two nieces, Rose and Violet McDougall; and with them Alethea Dockett, who is still a day-boarder at a girls' school in Whitford, and has been spending the afternoon with the Misses McDougall. The latter young ladies never play whist. Little Ally Dockett sometimes takes a hand, if need be, and acquits66 herself not discreditably; but sixteen rushes in where two-and-thirty fears to tread. Rose and Violet are on the doubtful border-land of life, and keep up a brisk skirmishing warfare67 with their enemy, Time. They would not give that wily old traitor68 the triumph of putting themselves at a whist-table for—for anything short of a bona fide offer of marriage, with a good settlement.
All those guests Minnie receives very graciously, with a sort of royal condescension69. She is quite unconscious that the Misses McDougall (of whose intelligence she has, truth to say, a disdainful estimate) are alive to the fact that she thinks them fools, and that they take a good deal of credit to themselves for bearing with her airs, poor thing! But then she is so afflicted70!
"Oh, Minnie, what's that? Do let me see! Is it one of your caricatures, you wicked thing?" cries Rose, darting71 on the portrait of David Powell.
"It's better drawn than Minnie can do," says Violet, with an air of having evidence wrung72 from her on oath.
"It may be that, and yet not very good," answers Minnie carelessly. "Mr. Errington has been trying to give me an idea of some one I've never seen, and probably never shall see."
"It's the Methodist preacher, by Jove!" says young Pawkins with his glass in his eye. "I heard him and saw him last summer on Whit Meadow."
Colonel Whistler, after holding the paper out at the utmost stretch of his arm, solemnly puts on a pair of gold spectacles and examines it.
"Monstrous73 good!" he pronounces. "Very well, Errington! That's just the cut of that kind of fellow."
"Have you seen him, colonel?" asks Minnie.
"No—no; I can't say I have seen him. Don't like these irregular practitioners74, Miss Minnie. But I know the sort of fellow. That's just the cut of 'em!"
"I wish I could draw, Miss Bodkin," says a voice behind Minnie at the head of the sofa; "I would show you a better likeness of the man than that!"
Minnie puts her thin white hand over her shoulder to the new comer, whom she cannot see. "Mr. Diamond!" she exclaims very softly.
"How can you tell?"
"I know your voice."
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1
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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exhaling
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的现在分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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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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8
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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scud
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| n.疾行；v.疾行 | |
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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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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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paraphrase
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| vt.将…释义，改写；n.释义，意义 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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flickers
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| 电影制片业； （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的名词复数 ) | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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blots
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| 污渍( blot的名词复数 )； 墨水渍； 错事； 污点 | |
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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44
rends
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| v.撕碎( rend的第三人称单数 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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46
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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tramples
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| 踩( trample的第三人称单数 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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penetrates
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| v.穿过( penetrate的第三人称单数 )；刺入；了解；渗透 | |
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dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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hovers
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| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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64
fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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66
acquits
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的第三人称单数 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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68
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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69
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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70
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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71
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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72
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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73
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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practitioners
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| n.习艺者，实习者( practitioner的名词复数 )；从业者（尤指医师） | |
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