Sydney’s little affair is nothing. He actually still persists in thinking himself in love with me,—as if, since last night, when he what he calls ‘proposed’ to me, he has not time to fall out of love, and in again, half a dozen times; and, on the strength of it, he seems to consider himself entitled to make himself as disagreeable as he can. That I should not mind,—for Sydney disagreeable is about as nice as Sydney any other way; but when it comes to his shooting poisoned shafts1 at Paul, I object. If he imagines that anything he can say, or hint, will lessen2 my estimation of Paul Lessingham by one hair’s breadth, he has less wisdom even than I gave him credit for. By the way, Percy Woodville asked me to be his wife to-night,—which, also, is nothing; he has been trying to do it for the last three years,—though, under the circumstances, it is a little trying; but he would not spit venom3 merely because I preferred another man,—and he, I believe, does care for me.
Papa’s affair is serious. It is the first clashing of the foils,—and this time, I imagine, the buttons are really off. This morning he said a few words, not so much to, as at me. He informed me that Paul was expected to speak to-night,—as if I did not know it!—and availed himself of the opening to load him with the abuse which, in his case, he thinks is not unbecoming to a gentleman. I don’t know—or, rather, I do know what he would think, if he heard another man use, in the presence of a woman, the kind of language which he habitually5 employs. However, I said nothing. I had a motive6 for allowing the chaff7 to fly before the wind.
But, to-night, issue was joined.
I, of course, went to hear Paul speak,—as I have done over and over again before. Afterwards, Paul came and fetched me from the cage. He had to leave me for a moment, while he gave somebody a message; and in the lobby, there was Sydney,—all sneers8! I could have pinched him. Just as I was coming to the conclusion that I should have to stick a pin into his arm, Paul returned,—and, positively9, Sydney was rude to him. I was ashamed, if Mr Atherton was not. As if it was not enough that he should be insulted by a mere4 popinjay, at the very moment when he had been adding another stone to the fabric10 of his country’s glory,—papa came up. He actually wanted to take me away from Paul. I should have liked to see him do it. Of course I went down with Paul to the carriage, leaving papa to follow if he chose. He did not choose,—but, none the less, he managed to be home within three minutes after I had myself returned.
Then the battle began.
It is impossible for me to give an idea of papa in a rage. There may be men who look well when they lose their temper, but, if there are, papa is certainly not one. He is always talking about the magnificence, and the high breeding of the Lindons, but anything less high-bred than the head of the Lindons, in his moments of wrath11, it would be hard to conceive. His language I will not attempt to portray,—but his observations consisted, mainly, of abuse of Paul, glorification12 of the Lindons, and orders to me.
‘I forbid you—I forbid you—’ when papa wishes to be impressive he repeats his own words three or four times over; I don’t know if he imagines that they are improved by repetition; if he does, he is wrong—‘I forbid you ever again to speak to that—that—that—’
Here followed language.
I was silent.
My cue was to keep cool. I believe that, with the exception, perhaps, of being a little white, and exceedingly sorry that papa should so forget himself, I was about the same as I generally am.
‘Do you hear me?—do you hear what I say?—do you hear me, miss?’
‘Yes, papa; I hear you.’
‘Then—then—then promise me!—promise that you will do as I tell you!—mark my words, my girl, you shall promise before you leave this room!’
‘My dear papa!—do you intend me to spend the remainder of my life in the drawing-room?’
‘Don’t you be impertinent!—do-do-don’t you speak to me like that!—I—I—I won’t have it!’
‘I tell you what it is, papa, if you don’t take care you’ll have another attack of gout.’
‘Damn gout.’
That was the most sensible thing he said; if such a tormentor13 as gout can be consigned14 to the nether15 regions by the mere utterance16 of a word, by all means let the word be uttered. Off he went again.
‘The man’s a ruffianly, rascally,—’ and so on. ‘There’s not such a villainous vagabond—’ and all the rest of it. ‘And I order you,—I’m a Lindon, and I order you! I’m your father, and I order you!—I order you never to speak to such a—such a’—various vain repetitions—‘again, and—and—and I order you never to look at him!’
‘Listen to me, papa. I will promise you never to speak to Paul Lessingham again, if you will promise me never to speak to Lord Cantilever17 again,—or to recognise him if you meet him in the street.’
‘You should have seen how papa glared. Lord Cantilever is the head of his party. Its august, and, I presume, reverenced18 leader. He is papa’s particular fetish. I am not sure that he does regard him as being any lower than the angels, but if he does it is certainly something in decimals. My suggestion seemed as outrageous19 to him as his suggestion seemed to me. But it is papa’s misfortune that he can only see one side of a question,—and that’s his own.’
‘You—you dare to compare Lord Cantilever to—to that—that—that—!’
‘I am not comparing them. I am not aware of there being anything in particular against Lord Cantilever,—that is against his character. But, of course, I should not dream of comparing a man of his calibre, with one of real ability, like Paul Lessingham. It would be to treat his lordship with too much severity.’
I could not help it,—but that did it. The rest of papa’s conversation was a jumble20 of explosions. It was all so sad.
Papa poured all the vials of his wrath upon Paul,—to his own sore disfigurement. He threatened me with all the pains and penalties of the inquisition if I did not immediately promise to hold no further communication with Mr Lessingham,—of course I did nothing of the kind. He cursed me, in default, by bell, book, and candle,—and by ever so many other things beside. He called me the most dreadful names,—me! his only child. He warned me that I should find myself in prison before I had done,—I am not sure that he did not hint darkly at the gallows21. Finally, he drove me from the room in a whirlwind of anathemas22.
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1
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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2
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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3
venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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4
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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5
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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6
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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7
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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8
sneers
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| 讥笑的表情（言语）( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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10
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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11
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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12
glorification
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| n.赞颂 | |
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13
tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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14
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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15
nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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16
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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17
cantilever
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| n.悬梁臂；adj.采用伸臂建成的 | |
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18
reverenced
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| v.尊敬，崇敬( reverence的过去式和过去分词 )；敬礼 | |
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19
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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20
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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21
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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22
anathemas
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| n.（天主教的）革出教门( anathema的名词复数 )；诅咒；令人极其讨厌的事；被基督教诅咒的人或事 | |
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