Audrey was extremely depressed16 in the interval after the Beethoven Concerto and before the Lalo. But she was not depressed by the news of the accident to the Zacatecas Oil Corporation in which was the major part of her wealth. The tidings had stunned17 rather than injured that part of her which was capable of being affected18 by finance. She had not felt the blow. Moreover she was protected by the knowledge that she had thousands of pounds in hand and also the Moze property intact, and further she was already reconsidering her newly-acquired respect for money. No! What depressed her was a doubt as to the genius of Musa. In the long dreadful pause it seemed impossible that he should have genius. The entire concert presented itself as a grotesque19 farce20, of which she as its creator ought to be ashamed. She was ready to kill Xavier or his responsible representative.
Then she saw the tall and calm Rosamund, with her grey hair and black attire21 and her subduing22 self-complacency, making a way between the rows of stalls towards her.
“I wanted to see you,” said Rosamund, after the formal greetings. “Very much.” Her voice was as kind and as unrelenting as the grave.
At this point Miss Ingate ought to have yielded her seat to the terrific Rosamund, but she failed to do so, doubtless by inadvertence.
“Will you come into the foyer for a moment?” Rosamund inflexibly23 suggested.
“Isn’t the interval nearly over?” said Audrey.
“Oh, no!”
And as a fact there was not the slightest sign of the interval being nearly over. Audrey obediently rose. But the invitation had been so conspicuously24 addressed to herself that Miss Ingate, gathering25 her wits, remained in her chair.
The foyer—decorated in the Cracovian taste—was dotted with cigarette smokers26 and with those who had fled from the interval. Rosamund did not sit down; she did not try for seclusion27 in a corner. She stepped well into the foyer, and then stood still, and absently lighted a cigarette, omitting to offer a cigarette to Audrey. Rosamund’s air of a deaconess made the cigarette extremely remarkable28.
“I wanted to tell you about Jane Foley,” began Rosamund quietly. “Have you heard?”
“No! What?”
“Of course you haven’t. I alone knew. She has run away to England.”
“Run away! But she’ll be caught!”
“She may be. But that is not all. She has run away to get married. She dared not tell me. She wrote me. She put the letter in the manuscript of the last chapter but one of her book, which I am revising for her. She will almost certainly be caught if she tries to get married in her own name. Therefore she will get married in a false name. All this, however, is not what I wanted to tell you about.”
“Then you shouldn’t have begun to talk about it,” said Audrey suddenly. “Did you expect me to let you leave it in the middle! Jane getting married! I do think she might have told me.... What next, I wonder! I suppose you’ve—er—lost her now?”
“Not entirely29, I believe,” said Rosamund. “Certainly not entirely. But of course I could never trust her again. This is the worst blow I have ever had. She says—but why go into that? Well, she does say she will work as hard as ever, nearly; and that her future husband strongly supports us—and so on.” Rosamund smiled with complete detachment.
“And who’s he?” Audrey demanded.
“His name is Aguilar,” said Rosamund. “So she says.”
“Aguilar?”
“Yes. I gather—I say I gather—that he belongs to the industrial class. But of course that is precisely30 the class that Jane springs from. Odd! Is it not? Heredity, I presume.” She raised her shoulders.
Audrey said nothing. She was too shocked to speak—not pained or outraged31, but simply shaken. What in the name of Juno could Jane see in Aguilar? Jane, to whom every man was the hereditary32 enemy! Aguilar, who had no use for either man or woman! Aguilar, a man without a Christian33 name, one of those men in connection with whom a Christian name is impossibly ridiculous. How should she, Audrey, address Aguilar in future? Would he have to be asked to tea? These vital questions naturally transcended34 all others in Audrey’s mind.... Still (she veered35 round), it was perhaps after all just the union that might have been expected.
“And now,” said Rosamund at length, “I have a question to put to you.”
“Well?”
“I don’t want a definite answer here and now.” She looked round disdainfully at the foyer. “But I do want to set your mind on the right track at the earliest possible moment—before any accidents occur.” She smiled satirically. “You see how frank I am with you. I’ll be more frank still, and tell you that I came to this concert to-night specially36 to see you.”
“Did you?” Audrey murmured. “Well!”
The older woman looked down upon her from a superior height. Her eyes were those of an autocrat37. It was quite possible to see in them the born leader who had dominated thousands of women and played a drawn38 game with the British Government itself. But Audrey, at the very moment when she was feeling the overbearing magic of that gaze, happened to remember the scene in Madame Piriac’s automobile39 on the night of her first arrival in Paris, when she herself was asleep and Rosamund, not knowing that she was asleep, had been solemnly addressing her. Miss Ingate’s often repeated account of the scene always made her laugh, and the memory of it now caused her to smile faintly.
“I want to suggest to you,” Rosamund proceeded, “that you begin to work for me.”
“It is the same thing,” said Rosamund coldly. “I am the suffrage. Without me the cause would not have existed to-day.”
“Well,” said Audrey, “of course I will. I have done a bit already, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Rosamund admitted. “You did very well at the Blue City. That’s why I’m approaching you. That’s why I’ve chosen you.”
“Chosen me for what?”
“You know that a new great campaign will soon begin. It is all arranged. It will necessitate41 my returning to England and challenging the police. You know also that Jane Foley was to have been my lieutenant-in-chief—for the active part of the operation. You will admit that I can no longer count on her completely. Will you take her place?”
“I’ll help,” said Audrey. “I’ll do what I can. I dare say I shan’t have much money, because one of those ’accidents’ you mentioned has happened to me already.”
“That need not trouble you,” replied Rosamund imperturbable42. “I have always been able to get all the money that was needed.”
“Well, I’ll help all I can.”
“That’s not what I ask,” said Rosamund inflexibly. “Will you take Jane Foley’s place? Will you give yourself utterly43?”
“No, I won’t. You didn’t want a definite answer, but there it is.”
“But surely you believe in the cause?”
“Yes.”
“It’s the greatest of all causes.”
“I’m rather inclined to think it is.”
“Why not give yourself, then? You are free. I have given myself, my child.”
“Yes,” said Audrey, who resented the appellation45 of “child.” “But, you see, it’s your hobby.”
“My hobby, Mrs. Moncreiff!” exclaimed Rosamund.
“Certainly, your hobby,” Audrey persisted.
“I have sacrificed everything to it,” said Rosamund.
“Pardon me,” said Audrey. “I don’t think you’ve sacrificed anything to it. You just enjoy bossing other people above everything, and it gives you every chance to boss. And you enjoy plots too, and look at the chances you get for that’. Mind you, I like you for it. I think you’re splendid. Only I don’t want to be a monomaniac, and I won’t be.” Her convictions seemed to have become suddenly clear and absolutely decided46.
“Do you mean to infer that I am a monomaniac?” asked Rosamund, raising her eyebrows—but only a little.
“Well,” said Audrey, “as you mentioned frankness—what else would you call yourself but a monomaniac? You only live for one thing—don’t you, now?”
“It is the greatest thing.”
“I don’t say it isn’t,” Audrey admitted. “But I’ve been thinking a good deal about all this, and at last I’ve come to the conclusion that one thing-isn’t enough for me, not nearly enough. And I’m not going to be peculiar47 at any price. Neither a fanatic48 nor a monomaniac, nor anything like that.”
“You are in love,” asserted Rosamund.
“And what if I am? If you ask me, I think a girl who isn’t in love ought to be somewhat ashamed of herself, or at least sorry for herself. And I am sorry for myself, because I am not in love. I wish I was. Why shouldn’t I be? It must be lovely to be in love. If I was in love I shouldn’t be only in love. You think you understand what girls are nowadays, but you don’t. I didn’t myself until just lately. But I’m beginning to. Girls were supposed to be only interested in one thing—in your time. Monomaniacs, that’s what they had to be. You changed all that, or you’re trying to change it, but you only mean women to be monomaniacs about something else. It isn’t good enough. I want everything, and I’m going to get it—or have a good try for it. I’ll never be a martyr49 if I can help it. And I believe I can help it. I believe I’ve got just enough common sense to save me from being a martyr —either to a husband or a house or family—or a cause. I want to have a husband and a house and a family, and a cause too. That’ll be just about everything, won’t it? And if you imagine I can’t look after all of them at once, all I can say is I don’t agree with you. Because I’ve got an idea I can. Supposing I had all these things, I fancy I could have a tiff50 with my husband and make it up, play with my children, alter a dress, change the furniture, tackle the servants, and go out to a meeting and perhaps have a difficulty with the police—all in one day. Only if I did get into trouble with the police I should pay the fine—you see. The police aren’t going to have me altogether. Nobody is. Nobody, man or woman, is going to be able to boast that he’s got me altogether. You think you’re independent. But you aren’t. We girls will show you what independence is.”
“You’re a rather surprising young creature,” observed Rosamund with a casual air, unmoved. “You’re quite excited.”
“Yes. I surprise myself. But these things do come in bursts. I’ve noticed that before. They weren’t clear when you began to talk. They’re clear now.”
“I don’t see it,” Audrey protested. “I should have thought common sense would be lots more useful than martyrs. And monomaniacs never do have common sense.”
“You’re very young.”
“Is that meant for an insult, or is it just a statement?” Audrey laughed pleasantly.
And Rosamund laughed too.
“It’s just a statement,” said she.
“Well, here’s another statement,” said Audrey. “You’re very old. That’s where I have the advantage of you. Still, tell me what I can do in your new campaign, and I’ll do it if I can. But there isn’t going to be any utterly —that’s all.”
The foyer had nearly emptied. The distant sound of music could be heard.
As she was re-entering the hall, Audrey met Mr. Cowl, who was coming out.
“I have decided I can’t stand any more,” Mr. Cowl remarked in a loud whisper. “I hope you didn’t mind me telling you about the Zacatecas. As I said, I thought you might be interested. Good-bye. So pleasant to have met you again, dear lady.” His face had the same enigmatic smile which had made him so formidable at Moze.
Musa had already begun to play the Spanish Symphony of Lalo, without which no genius is permitted to make his formal debut53 on the violin in France.
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1 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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2 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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3 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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4 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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5 buttress | |
n.支撑物;v.支持 | |
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6 palls | |
n.柩衣( pall的名词复数 );墓衣;棺罩;深色或厚重的覆盖物v.(因过多或过久而)生厌,感到乏味,厌烦( pall的第三人称单数 ) | |
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7 allegro | |
adj. 快速而活泼的;n.快板;adv.活泼地 | |
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8 concerto | |
n.协奏曲 | |
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9 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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10 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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11 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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12 vociferous | |
adj.喧哗的,大叫大嚷的 | |
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13 desolating | |
毁坏( desolate的现在分词 ); 极大地破坏; 使沮丧; 使痛苦 | |
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14 cynical | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
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15 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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16 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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17 stunned | |
adj. 震惊的,惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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18 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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19 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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20 farce | |
n.闹剧,笑剧,滑稽戏;胡闹 | |
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21 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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22 subduing | |
征服( subdue的现在分词 ); 克制; 制服; 色变暗 | |
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23 inflexibly | |
adv.不屈曲地,不屈地 | |
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24 conspicuously | |
ad.明显地,惹人注目地 | |
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25 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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26 smokers | |
吸烟者( smoker的名词复数 ) | |
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27 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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28 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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29 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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30 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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31 outraged | |
a.震惊的,义愤填膺的 | |
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32 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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33 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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34 transcended | |
超出或超越(经验、信念、描写能力等)的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 ); 优于或胜过… | |
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35 veered | |
v.(尤指交通工具)改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 );(指谈话内容、人的行为或观点)突然改变;(指风) (在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向)逐渐转向;风向顺时针转 | |
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36 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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37 autocrat | |
n.独裁者;专横的人 | |
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38 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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39 automobile | |
n.汽车,机动车 | |
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40 suffrage | |
n.投票,选举权,参政权 | |
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41 necessitate | |
v.使成为必要,需要 | |
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42 imperturbable | |
adj.镇静的 | |
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43 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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44 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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45 appellation | |
n.名称,称呼 | |
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46 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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47 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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48 fanatic | |
n.狂热者,入迷者;adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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49 martyr | |
n.烈士,殉难者;vt.杀害,折磨,牺牲 | |
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50 tiff | |
n.小争吵,生气 | |
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51 martyrs | |
n.martyr的复数形式;烈士( martyr的名词复数 );殉道者;殉教者;乞怜者(向人诉苦以博取同情) | |
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52 adjourn | |
v.(使)休会,(使)休庭 | |
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53 debut | |
n.首次演出,初次露面 | |
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