Evie heard of her father's engagement when she was in for a tennis tournament, and her play went simply to pot. That she should marry and leave him had seemed natural enough; that he, left alone, should do the same was deceitful; and now Charles and Dolly said that it was all her fault. "But I never dreamt of such a thing," she grumbled1. "Dad took me to call now and then, and made me ask her to Simpson's. Well, I'm altogether off Dad." It was also an insult to their mother's memory; there they were agreed, and Evie had the idea of returning Mrs. Wilcox's lace and jewellery "as a protest." Against what it would protest she was not clear; but being only eighteen, the idea of renunciation appealed to her, the more as she did not care for jewellery or lace. Dolly then suggested that she and Uncle Percy should pretend to break off their engagement, and then perhaps Mr. Wilcox would quarrel with Miss Schlegel, and break off his; or Paul might be cabled for. But at this point Charles told them not to talk nonsense. So Evie settled to marry as soon as possible; it was no good hanging about with these Schlegels eyeing her. The date of her wedding was consequently put forward from September to August, and in the intoxication2 of presents she recovered much of her good-humour.
Margaret found that she was expected to figure at this function, and to figure largely; it would be such an opportunity, said Henry, for her to get to know his set. Sir James Bidder3 would be there, and all the Cahills and the Fussells, and his sister-in-law, Mrs. Warrington Wilcox, had fortunately got back from her tour round the world. Henry she loved, but his set promised to be another matter. He had not the knack4 of surrounding himself with nice people--indeed, for a man of ability and virtue5 his choice had been singularly unfortunate; he had no guiding principle beyond a certain preference for mediocrity; he was content to settle one of the greatest things in life haphazard6, and so, while his investments went right, his friends generally went wrong. She would be told, "Oh, So-and-so's a good sort--a thundering good sort," and find, on meeting him, that he was a brute7 or a bore. If Henry had shown real affection, she would have understood, for affection explains everything. But he seemed without sentiment. The "thundering good sort" might at any moment become "a fellow for whom I never did have much use, and have less now," and be shaken off cheerily into oblivion. Margaret had done the same as a schoolgirl. Now she never forgot anyone for whom she had once cared; she connected, though the connection might be bitter, and she hoped that some day Henry would do the same.
Evie was not to be married from Ducie Street. She had a fancy for something rural, and, besides, no one would be in London then, so she left her boxes for a few weeks at Oniton Grange, and her banns were duly published in the parish church, and for a couple of days the little town, dreaming between the ruddy hills, was roused by the clang of our civilization, and drew up by the roadside to let the motors pass. Oniton had been a discovery of Mr. Wilcox's--a discovery of which he was not altogether proud. It was up towards the Welsh border, and so difficult of access that he had concluded it must be something special. A ruined castle stood in the grounds. But having got there, what was one to do? The shooting was bad, the fishing indifferent, and women-folk reported the scenery as nothing much. The place turned out to be in the wrong part of Shropshire, damn it, and though he never damned his own property aloud, he was only waiting to get it off his hands, and then to let fly. Evie's marriage was its last appearance in public. As soon as a tenant8 was found, it became a house for which he never had had much use, and had less now, and, like Howards End, faded into Limbo9.
But on Margaret Oniton was destined10 to make a lasting11 impression. She regarded it as her future home, and was anxious to start straight with the clergy12, etc., and, if possible, to see something of the local life. It was a market-town--as tiny a one as England possesses--and had for ages served that lonely valley, and guarded our marches against the Kelt. In spite of the occasion, in spite of the numbing13 hilarity14 that greeted her as soon as she got into the reserved saloon at Paddington, her senses were awake and watching, and though Oniton was to prove one of her innumerable false starts, she never forgot it, nor the things that happened there.
The London party only numbered eight--the Fussells, father and son, two Anglo-Indian ladies named Mrs. Plynlimmon and Lady Edser, Mrs. Warrington Wilcox and her daughter, and lastly, the little girl, very smart and quiet, who figures at so many weddings, and who kept a watchful15 eye on Margaret, the bride-elect, Dolly was absent--a domestic event detained her at Hilton; Paul had cabled a humorous message; Charles was to meet them with a trio of motors at Shrewsbury. Helen had refused her invitation; Tibby had never answered his. The management was excellent, as was to be expected with anything that Henry undertook; one was conscious of his sensible and generous brain in the background. They were his guests as soon as they reached the train; a special label for their luggage; a courier; a special lunch; they had only to look pleasant and, where possible, pretty. Margaret thought with dismay of her own nuptials--presumably under the management of Tibby. "Mr. Theobald Schlegel and Miss Helen Schlegel request the pleasure of Mrs. Plynlimmon's company on the occasion of the marriage of their sister Margaret." The formula was incredible, but it must soon be printed and sent, and though Wickham Place need not compete with Oniton, it must feed its guests properly, and provide them with sufficient chairs. Her wedding would either be ramshackly or bourgeois--she hoped the latter. Such an affair as the present, staged with a deftness16 that was almost beautiful, lay beyond her powers and those of her friends.
The low rich purr of a Great Western express is not the worst background for conversation, and the journey passed pleasantly enough. Nothing could have exceeded the kindness of the two men. They raised windows for some ladies, and lowered them for others, they rang the bell for the servant, they identified the colleges as the train slipped past Oxford17, they caught books or bag-purses in the act of tumbling on to the floor. Yet there was nothing finicky about their politeness: it had the Public School touch, and, though sedulous18, was virile19. More battles than Waterloo have been won on our playing-fields, and Margaret bowed to a charm of which she did not wholly approve, and said nothing when the Oxford colleges were identified wrongly. "Male and female created He them"; the journey to Shrewsbury confirmed this questionable20 statement, and the long glass saloon, that moved so easily and felt so comfortable, became a forcing-house for the idea of sex.
At Shrewsbury came fresh air. Margaret was all for sight-seeing, and while the others were finishing their tea at the Raven21, she annexed22 a motor and hurried over the astonishing city. Her chauffeur23 was not the faithful Crane, but an Italian, who dearly loved making her late. Charles, watch in hand, though with a level brow, was standing24 in front of the hotel when they returned. It was perfectly25 all right, he told her; she was by no means the last. And then he dived into the coffee-room, and she heard him say, "For God's sake, hurry the women up; we shall never be off," and Albert Fussell reply, "Not I; I've done my share," and Colonel Fussell opine that the ladies were getting themselves up to kill. Presently Myra (Mrs. Warrington's daughter) appeared, and as she was his cousin, Charles blew her up a little: she had been changing her smart traveling hat for a smart motor hat. Then Mrs. Warrington herself, leading the quiet child; the two Anglo-Indian ladies were always last. Maids, courier, heavy luggage, had already gone on by a branch-line to a station nearer Oniton, but there were five hat-boxes and four dressing-bags to be packed, and five dust-cloaks to be put on, and to be put off at the last moment, because Charles declared them not necessary. The men presided over everything with unfailing good-humour. By half-past five the party was ready, and went out of Shrewsbury by the Welsh Bridge.
Shropshire had not the reticence26 of Hertfordshire. Though robbed of half its magic by swift movement, it still conveyed the sense of hills. They were nearing the buttresses27 that force the Severn eastern and make it an English stream, and the sun, sinking over the Sentinels of Wales, was straight in their eyes. Having picked up another guest, they turned southward, avoiding the greater mountains, but conscious of an occasional summit, rounded and mild, whose colouring differed in quality from that of the lower earth, and whose contours altered more slowly. Quiet mysteries were in progress behind those tossing horizons: the West, as ever, was retreating with some secret which may not be worth the discovery, but which no practical man will ever discover.
They spoke28 of Tariff29 Reform.
Mrs. Warrington was just back from the Colonies. Like many other critics of Empire, her mouth had been stopped with food, and she could only exclaim at the hospitality with which she had been received, and warn the Mother Country against trifling30 with young Titans. "They threaten to cut the painter," she cried, "and where shall we be then? Miss Schlegel, you'll undertake to keep Henry sound about Tariff Reform? It is our last hope."
Margaret playfully confessed herself on the other side, and they began to quote from their respective hand-books while the motor carried them deep into the hills. Curious these were, rather than impressive, for their outlines lacked beauty, and the pink fields--on their summits suggested the handkerchiefs of a giant spread out to dry. An occasional outcrop of rock, an occasional wood, an occasional "forest," treeless and brown, all hinted at wildness to follow, but the main colour was an agricultural green. The air grew cooler; they had surmounted31 the last gradient, and Oniton lay below them with its church, its radiating houses, its castle, its river-girt peninsula. Close to the castle was a grey mansion32, unintellectual but kindly33, stretching with its grounds across the peninsula's neck--the sort of mansion that was built all over England in the beginning of the last century, while architecture was still an expression of the national character. That was the Grange, remarked Albert, over his shoulder, and then he jammed the brake on, and the motor slowed down and stopped. "I'm sorry," said he, turning round. "Do you mind getting out--by the door on the right? Steady on!"
"What's happened?" asked Mrs. Warrington.
Then the car behind them drew up, and the voice of Charles was heard saying: "Get out the women at once." There was a concourse of males, and Margaret and her companions were hustled34 out and received into the second car. What had happened? As it started off again, the door of a cottage opened, and a girl screamed wildly at them.
"What is it?" the ladies cried.
Charles drove them a hundred yards without speaking. Then he said: "It's all right. Your car just touched a dog."
"But stop!" cried Margaret, horrified35.
"It didn't hurt him."
"Didn't really hurt him?" asked Myra.
"No."
"Do PLEASE stop!" said Margaret, leaning forward. She was standing up in the car, the other occupants holding her knees to steady her. "I want to go back, please."
Charles took no notice.
"We've left Mr. Fussell behind," said another; "and Angelo, and Crane."
"Yes, but no woman."
"I expect a little of"--Mrs. Warrington scratched her palm--" will be more to the point than one of us!"
"The insurance company sees to that," remarked Charles, "and Albert will do the talking."
"I want to go back, though, I say!" repeated Margaret, getting angry.
Charles took no notice. The motor, loaded with refugees, continued to travel very slowly down the hill. "The men are there," chorused the others. "Men will see to it."
"The men CAN'T see to it. Oh, this is ridiculous! Charles, I ask you to stop."
"Stopping's no good," drawled Charles.
"Isn't it?" said Margaret, and jumped straight out of the car.
She fell on her knees, cut her gloves, shook her hat over her ear. Cries of alarm followed her. "You've hurt yourself," exclaimed Charles, jumping after her.
"Of course I've hurt myself!" she retorted.
"May I ask what--"
"There's nothing to ask," said Margaret.
"Your hand's bleeding."
"I know."
"I'm in for a frightful36 row from the pater."
"You should have thought of that sooner, Charles."
Charles had never been in such a position before. It was a woman in revolt who was hobbling away from him, and the sight was too strange to leave any room for anger. He recovered himself when the others caught them up: their sort he understood. He commanded them to go back.
Albert Fussell was seen walking towards them.
"It's all right!" he called. "It wasn't a dog, it was a cat."
"There!" exclaimed Charles triumphantly37. "It's only a rotten cat.
"Got room in your car for a little un? I cut as soon as I saw it wasn't a dog; the chauffeurs38 are tackling the girl." But Margaret walked forward steadily39. Why should the chauffeurs tackle the girl? Ladies sheltering behind men, men sheltering behind servants--the whole system's wrong, and she must challenge it.
"Miss Schlegel! 'Pon my word, you've hurt your hand."
"I'm just going to see," said Margaret. "Don't you wait, Mr. Fussell."
The second motor came round the corner. "lt is all right, madam," said Crane in his turn. He had taken to calling her madam.
"What's all right? The cat?"
"Yes, madam. The girl will receive compensation for it."
"She was a very ruda girla," said Angelo from the third motor thoughtfully.
"Wouldn't you have been rude?"
The Italian spread out his hands, implying that he had not thought of rudeness, but would produce it if it pleased her. The situation became absurd. The gentlemen were again buzzing round Miss Schlegel with offers of assistance, and Lady Edser began to bind40 up her hand. She yielded, apologizing slightly, and was led back to the car, and soon the landscape resumed its motion, the lonely cottage disappeared, the castle swelled41 on its cushion of turf, and they had arrived. No doubt she had disgraced herself. But she felt their whole journey from London had been unreal. They had no part with the earth and its emotions. They were dust, and a stink42, and cosmopolitan43 chatter44, and the girl whose cat had been killed had lived more deeply than they.
"Oh, Henry," she exclaimed, "I have been so naughty," for she had decided45 to take up this line. "We ran over a cat. Charles told me not to jump out, but I would, and look!" She held out her bandaged hand. "Your poor Meg went such a flop46."
Mr. Wilcox looked bewildered. In evening dress, he was standing to welcome his guests in the hall.
"Thinking it was a dog," added Mrs. Warrington.
"Ah, a dog's a companion!" said Colonel Fussell. "A dog'll remember you."
"Have you hurt yourself, Margaret?"
"Not to speak about; and it's my left hand."
"Well, hurry up and change."
She obeyed, as did the others. Mr. Wilcox then turned to his son.
"Now, Charles, what's happened?"
Charles was absolutely honest. He described what he believed to have happened. Albert had flattened47 out a cat, and Miss Schlegel had lost her nerve, as any woman might. She had been got safely into the other car, but when it was in motion had leapt out--again, in spite of all that they could say. After walking a little on the road, she had calmed down and had said that she was sorry. His father accepted this explanation, and neither knew that Margaret had artfully prepared the way for it. It fitted in too well with their view of feminine nature. In the smoking-room, after dinner, the Colonel put forward the view that Miss Schlegel had jumped it out of devilry. Well he remembered as a young man, in the harbour of Gibraltar once, how a girl--a handsome girl, too--had jumped overboard for a bet. He could see her now, and all the lads overboard after her. But Charles and Mr. Wilcox agreed it was much more probably nerves in Miss Schlegel's case. Charles was depressed48. That woman had a tongue. She would bring worse disgrace on his father before she had done with them. He strolled out on to the castle mound49 to think the matter over. The evening was exquisite50. On three sides of him a little river whispered, full of messages from the west; above his head the ruins made patterns against the sky. He carefully reviewed their dealings with this family, until he fitted Helen, and Margaret, and Aunt Juley into an orderly conspiracy51. Paternity had made him suspicious. He had two children to look after, and more coming, and day by day they seemed less likely to grow up rich men. "It is all very well," he reflected, "the pater saying that he will be just to all, but one can't be just indefinitely. Money isn't elastic52. What's to happen if Evie has a family? And, come to that, so may the pater. There'll not be enough to go round, for there's none coming in, either through Dolly or Percy. It's damnable!" He looked enviously53 at the Grange, whose windows poured light and laughter. First and last, this wedding would cost a pretty penny. Two ladies were strolling up and down the garden terrace, and as the syllables54 "Imperialism55" were wafted56 to his ears, he guessed that one of them was his aunt. She might have helped him, if she too had not had a family to provide for. "Every one for himself," he repeated--a maxim57 which had cheered him in the past, but which rang grimly enough among the ruins of Oniton. He lacked his father's ability in business, and so had an ever higher regard for money; unless he could inherit plenty, he feared to leave his children poor.
As he sat thinking, one of the ladies left the terrace and walked into the meadow; he recognized her as Margaret by the white bandage that gleamed on her arm, and put out his cigar, lest the gleam should betray him. She climbed up the mound in zigzags58, and at times stooped down, as if she was stroking the turf. It sounds absolutely incredible, but for a moment Charles thought that she was in love with him, and had come out to tempt59 him. Charles believed in temptresses, who are indeed the strong man's necessary complement60, and having no sense of humour, he could not purge61 himself of the thought by a smile. Margaret, who was engaged to his father, and his sister's wedding-guest, kept on her way without noticing him, and he admitted that he had wronged her on this point. But what was she doing? Why was she stumbling about amongst the rubble62 and catching63 her dress in brambles and burrs? As she edged round the keep, she must have got to leeward64 and smelt65 his cigar-smoke, for she exclaimed, "Hullo! Who's that?"
Charles made no answer.
"Saxon or Kelt?" she continued, laughing in the darkness. "But it doesn't matter. Whichever you are, you will have to listen to me. I love this place. I love Shropshire. I hate London. I am glad that this will be my home. Ah, dear"--she was now moving back towards the house--"what a comfort to have arrived!"
"That woman means mischief," thought Charles, and compressed his lips. In a few minutes he followed her indoors, as the ground was getting damp. Mists were rising from the river, and presently it became invisible, though it whispered more loudly. There had been a heavy downpour in the Welsh hills.
收听单词发音 |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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bidder
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| n.(拍卖时的)出价人，报价人，投标人 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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limbo
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| n.地狱的边缘；监狱 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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numbing
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| adj.使麻木的，使失去感觉的v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的现在分词 ) | |
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hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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deftness
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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sedulous
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| adj.勤勉的，努力的 | |
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virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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buttresses
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| n.扶壁，扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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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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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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chauffeurs
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| n.受雇于人的汽车司机( chauffeur的名词复数 ) | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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flop
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| n.失败(者)，扑通一声；vi.笨重地行动，沉重地落下 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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55
imperialism
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| n.帝国主义，帝国主义政策 | |
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56
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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58
zigzags
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| n.锯齿形的线条、小径等( zigzag的名词复数 )v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的第三人称单数 ) | |
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59
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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60
complement
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| n.补足物，船上的定员；补语；vt.补充，补足 | |
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61
purge
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| n.整肃，清除，泻药，净化；vt.净化，清除，摆脱；vi.清除，通便，腹泻，变得清洁 | |
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62
rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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63
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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64
leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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65
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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