Also she invited Father O’Sullivan to tea on an occasion when Tommy, by Muriel’s suggestion, had taken Anne to skate at Prince’s.
Father O’Sullivan was a short, stoutish3 man, with grizzled hair, small twinkling eyes, and a mouth that had the kindliest twist of a smile imaginable. To know Father O’Sullivan for an hour was to love him. To know him for longer was to love him better. Muriel had known him from her babyhood.
This afternoon, having invited him to tea, she plied4 him with cakes and quince sandwiches, which latter his soul adored, and talked in a gay and inconsequent fashion of airy nothings, to which Father O’Sullivan responded after the manner of Irishmen, be they priests or laymen5.
But on the conclusion of the meal she dropped into a pensive6 mood, and sat with her elbow on the arm of her chair, and her pointed7 chin resting in her cupped hand, gazing into space with great dreamy eyes.
And then all at once she roused herself and looked across at Father O’Sullivan.
“Father,” she said seriously, “I want you to say a Mass for me.”
“You do, do you?” said Father O’Sullivan, stroking his chin. “And with what intention?”
“Well,” said Muriel, reflective, “it’s not quite easy to explain. I think I’d better tell you the story.” And she launched forth8, omitting names at the moment, though at a future date she happened inadvertently to mention Peter’s.
“Well, now,” said Father O’Sullivan as she ended, and his eyes were twinkling, “is it just a little small story like that you’d have me be repeating at Mass, for I’m thinking it will take just no time at all.”
“Oh, don’t laugh at me!” begged Muriel. “Don’t you see how difficult it is to put into words what I want!” She dropped her hands in her lap and gazed at him tragically9.
“First, then,” said Muriel, “I want her to be happy again, and I don’t see how that can be unless she hears from him, and even that alone would be no good, because I’m sure to be really happy she’d have to marry him, and you see he has committed forgery11. If only that could be untrue—but it’s impossible, and I don’t see how anything can come right,” she ended despairingly.
Father O’Sullivan rubbed his hair up the wrong way. “And it’s a Mass with the intention of things coming right you want me to say, when all the time you’re feeling sure they can’t,” he remarked severely12. “And if I’m going to say it that way myself, what kind of faith do you think I’m going to have in it?”
Muriel looked at him contritely13. “But don’t you see—” she began.
“Oh, I see fast enough,” he responded. “Let’s get at what you want the other way round. To begin with, you want the young man never to have committed the forgery, and then you want to run through the whole gamut14 till they live happily ever after. And all the time you’re wishing it, and wanting me to pray for it, you’re telling yourself it can’t be. Isn’t that so?” His twinkling old eyes belied15 the half-severity of his words.
“Oh, but,” said Muriel, “it’s—it’s such a lot to ask.”
Father O’Sullivan leaned forward and tapped the forefinger16 of his right hand in the palm of his left.
“Faith, my child, is not asking God for bushels and setting out a pint17 measure to catch them in. It’s a good old saying, but not my own, more’s the pity of it. Now, do you want me to say this Mass for you with the intention we’ve arranged?”
“Yes,” said Muriel firmly.
“And you’ll come to it, and believe that it will be answered, whether in your way or God’s you leave to Him?” he asked gravely.
“Yes,” said Muriel again.
Father O’Sullivan nodded his head approvingly. “To-morrow morning at eight o’clock I’ll be saying it then,” he said, “and you’ll be praying too.” He leaned back in his chair.
“Of course,” ventured Muriel, “it’s rather a complicated thing to put into words.”
Father O’Sullivan smiled, a merry, twinkling humorous old smile. “Faith, I’ll be getting it into some kind of shape,” he promised. “And if we could hear all the prayers sent up to heaven I’m thinking we’d find many a muddled18 phrase down here straightened out by the holy saints as they carry them up to God’s Throne. And no matter what the muddles19 are, the answer’s clear enough when it comes.”
And then the door opened and Anne, Tommy, and General Carden walked in.
And Father O’Sullivan, as he watched her face with wicked pleasure, realized—and it did not take a vast amount of sagacity to do so—that one at least of the three was concerned with the story she had just confided21 to his ears. And as it obviously was not Tommy, and he concluded he might rule out the white-haired military-looking man, it left only the tall, graceful22 woman who crossed to a chair by Muriel and began pulling off her gloves.
“We got bored,” said Tommy; “at least Anne did, and we decided23 to come home to tea. And we met General Carden on the doorstep, and here we all are. And if you’re too flustered24 for some reason to introduce everybody nicely, I will.”
“Don’t be silly, Tommy,” said Muriel, laughing and recovering her equanimity25. “Ring the bell, and we’ll have fresh tea made.”
“No need,” said Tommy. “I saw Morris in the hall and told him.” And he sat down by Father O’Sullivan. General Carden took a chair near Anne.
“I was sorry not to find you at home when I called last Thursday,” he said. “Your servant told me you were at home on Tuesdays.”
“Yes,” said Anne. She hesitated, half doubtful. Then she added: “But perhaps you’ll come another afternoon? At-home days are not very satisfactory. Shall we say Wednesday?”
“I shall be delighted,” returned General Carden. “We had, if I remember rightly, a long argument the last time we met, about a book. Let me see, what was the author’s name?” He wrinkled his brows, reflective, thoughtful.
Anne turned to put her gloves on the table beside her. “Robin Adair, wasn’t it?” she asked quietly.
“Ah, yes, of course!” replied the old hypocrite.
Muriel glanced at Anne. “I wish,” she reflected with admiration26, “that I could act as well. I nearly gave myself away just now, when they all descended27 on me like an avalanche28. And I’d bet my bottom dollar Father O’Sullivan guessed something.” Which bet, if there had been any one to take her on, Muriel would certainly have won.
Anne, as she drove towards Chelsea half an hour later, wondered vaguely29 why she had asked General Carden to tea with her. Finally she decided that it was for the obvious reason that he wanted to come, and she would have been rude if she had not done so.
And Father O’Sullivan, as he walked home, ruminated30 on the tangled31 story Muriel had told him. It was only one of the many tangles32 in the world, and he knew it, but it had been brought directly to his notice, and he had a very simple and perfect faith that the good God would unravel33 the knots in His own way and at His own time.
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1
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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2
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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stoutish
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| 略胖的 | |
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plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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5
laymen
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| 门外汉，外行人( layman的名词复数 )； 普通教徒（有别于神职人员） | |
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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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8
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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10
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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contritely
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gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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15
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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16
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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muddles
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| v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的第三人称单数 )；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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20
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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21
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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22
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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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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24
flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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30
ruminated
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| v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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31
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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32
tangles
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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33
unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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