An hour passed, and the downstairs rooms at the hotel grew dimand were almost deserted2, while the little box-like squares abovethem were brilliantly irradiated. Some forty or fifty peoplewere going to bed. The thump3 of jugs4 set down on the floor abovecould be heard and the clink of china, for there was not as thicka partition between the rooms as one might wish, so Miss Allan,the elderly lady who had been playing bridge, determined5, givingthe wall a smart rap with her knuckles6. It was only matchboard,she decided7, run up to make many little rooms of one large one.
Her grey petticoats slipped to the ground, and, stooping, she foldedher clothes with neat, if not loving fingers, screwed her hair intoa plait, wound her father's great gold watch, and opened the completeworks of Wordsworth. She was reading the "Prelude8," partly because shealways read the "Prelude" abroad, and partly because she was engagedin writing a short _Primer_ _of_ _English_ _Literature_--_Beowulf__to_ _Swinburne_--which would have a paragraph on Wordsworth.
She was deep in the fifth book, stopping indeed to pencil a note,when a pair of boots dropped, one after another, on the floorabove her. She looked up and speculated. Whose boots were they,she wondered. She then became aware of a swishing sound next door--a woman, clearly, putting away her dress. It was succeeded by a gentletapping sound, such as that which accompanies hair-dressing. Itwas very difficult to keep her attention fixed10 upon the "Prelude."Was it Susan Warrington tapping? She forced herself, however, to readto the end of the book, when she placed a mark between the pages,sighed contentedly11, and then turned out the light.
Very different was the room through the wall, though as like inshape as one egg-box is like another. As Miss Allan read her book,Susan Warrington was brushing her hair. Ages have consecratedthis hour, and the most majestic12 of all domestic actions, to talkof love between women; but Miss Warrington being alone could not talk;she could only look with extreme solicitude13 at her own face inthe glass. She turned her head from side to side, tossing heavylocks now this way now that; and then withdrew a pace or two,and considered herself seriously.
"I'm nice-looking," she determined. "Not pretty--possibly," she drewherself up a little. "Yes--most people would say I was handsome."She was really wondering what Arthur Venning would say she was.
Her feeling about him was decidedly queer. She would not admit toherself that she was in love with him or that she wanted to marry him,yet she spent every minute when she was alone in wondering what hethought of her, and in comparing what they had done to-day withwhat they had done the day before.
"He didn't ask me to play, but he certainly followed me into the hall,"she meditated15, summing up the evening. She was thirty years of age,and owing to the number of her sisters and the seclusion16 of lifein a country parsonage had as yet had no proposal of marriage.
The hour of confidences was often a sad one, and she had been knownto jump into bed, treating her hair unkindly, feeling herself overlookedby life in comparison with others. She was a big, well-made woman,the red lying upon her cheeks in patches that were too well defined,but her serious anxiety gave her a kind of beauty.
She was just about to pull back the bed-clothes when she exclaimed,"Oh, but I'm forgetting," and went to her writing-table. Abrown volume lay there stamped with the figure of the year.
She proceeded to write in the square ugly hand of a mature child,as she wrote daily year after year, keeping the diaries, though sheseldom looked at them.
"A.M.--Talked to Mrs. H. Elliot about country neighbours. She knowsthe Manns; also the Selby-Carroways. How small the world is!
Like her. Read a chapter of _Miss_ _Appleby's_ _Adventure_ to AuntE. P.M.--Played lawn-tennis with Mr. Perrott and Evelyn M. Don't_like_ Mr. P. Have a feeling that he is not 'quite,' thoughclever certainly. Beat them. Day splendid, view wonderful.
One gets used to no trees, though much too bare at first.
Cards after dinner. Aunt E. cheerful, though twingy, she says.
Mem.: _ask_ _about_ _damp_ _sheets_."She knelt in prayer, and then lay down in bed, tucking the blanketscomfortably about her, and in a few minutes her breathing showed that shewas asleep. With its profoundly peaceful sighs and hesitations17 it resembledthat of a cow standing18 up to its knees all night through in the long grass.
A glance into the next room revealed little more than a nose,prominent above the sheets. Growing accustomed to the darkness,for the windows were open and showed grey squares with splintersof starlight, one could distinguish a lean form, terribly likethe body of a dead person, the body indeed of William Pepper,asleep too. Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight--here were threePortuguese men of business, asleep presumably, since a snore camewith the regularity19 of a great ticking clock. Thirty-nine was acorner room, at the end of the passage, but late though it was--"One"struck gently downstairs--a line of light under the door showedthat some one was still awake.
"How late you are, Hugh!" a woman, lying in bed, said in a peevishbut solicitous20 voice. Her husband was brushing his teeth,and for some moments did not answer.
"You should have gone to sleep," he replied. "I was talkingto Thornbury.""But you know that I never can sleep when I'm waiting for you,"she said.
To that he made no answer, but only remarked, "Well then, we'll turnout the light." They were silent.
The faint but penetrating21 pulse of an electric bell could now be heardin the corridor. Old Mrs. Paley, having woken hungry but withouther spectacles, was summoning her maid to find the biscuit-box. Themaid having answered the bell, drearily22 respectful even at this hourthough muffled23 in a mackintosh, the passage was left in silence.
Downstairs all was empty and dark; but on the upper floor a light stillburnt in the room where the boots had dropped so heavily above MissAllan's head. Here was the gentleman who, a few hours previously,in the shade of the curtain, had seemed to consist entirely24 of legs.
Deep in an arm-chair he was reading the third volume of Gibbon's_History_ _of_ _the_ _Decline_ _and_ _Fall_ _of_ _Rome_ by candle-light.
As he read he knocked the ash automatically, now and again,from his cigarette and turned the page, while a whole processionof splendid sentences entered his capacious brow and went marchingthrough his brain in order. It seemed likely that this processmight continue for an hour or more, until the entire regiment25 hadshifted its quarters, had not the door opened, and the young man,who was inclined to be stout26, come in with large naked feet.
"Oh, Hirst, what I forgot to say was--""Two minutes," said Hirst, raising his finger.
He safely stowed away the last words of the paragraph.
"What was it you forgot to say?" he asked.
"D'you think you _do_ make enough allowance for feelings?"asked Mr. Hewet. He had again forgotten what he had meant to say.
After intense contemplation of the immaculate Gibbon Mr. Hirstsmiled at the question of his friend. He laid aside his bookand considered.
"I should call yours a singularly untidy mind," he observed.
"Feelings? Aren't they just what we do allow for? We put loveup there, and all the rest somewhere down below." With his lefthand he indicated the top of a pyramid, and with his right the base.
"But you didn't get out of bed to tell me that," he added severely27.
"I got out of bed," said Hewet vaguely28, "merely to talk I suppose.""Meanwhile I shall undress," said Hirst. When naked of all buthis shirt, and bent29 over the basin, Mr. Hirst no longer impressedone with the majesty30 of his intellect, but with the pathos31 of hisyoung yet ugly body, for he stooped, and he was so thin that therewere dark lines between the different bones of his neck and shoulders.
"Women interest me," said Hewet, who, sitting on the bed with hischin resting on his knees, paid no attention to the undressingof Mr. Hirst.
"They're so stupid," said Hirst. "You're sitting on my pyjamas32.""I suppose they _are_ stupid?" Hewet wondered.
"There can't be two opinions about that, I imagine," said Hirst,hopping briskly across the room, "unless you're in love--that fatwoman Warrington?" he enquired33.
"Not one fat woman--all fat women," Hewet sighed.
"The women I saw to-night were not fat," said Hirst, who was takingadvantage of Hewet's company to cut his toe-nails.
"Describe them," said Hewet.
"You know I can't describe things!" said Hirst. "They were muchlike other women, I should think. They always are.""No; that's where we differ," said Hewet. "I say everything's different.
No two people are in the least the same. Take you and me now.""So I used to think once," said Hirst. "But now they're all types.
Don't take us,--take this hotel. You could draw circles roundthe whole lot of them, and they'd never stray outside."("You can kill a hen by doing that"), Hewet murmured.
"Mr. Hughling Elliot, Mrs. Hughling Elliot, Miss Allan, Mr. andMrs. Thornbury--one circle," Hirst continued. "Miss Warrington,Mr. Arthur Venning, Mr. Perrott, Evelyn M. another circle;then there are a whole lot of natives; finally ourselves.""Are we all alone in our circle?" asked Hewet.
"Quite alone," said Hirst. "You try to get out, but you can't.
You only make a mess of things by trying.""I'm not a hen in a circle," said Hewet. "I'm a dove on a tree-top.""I wonder if this is what they call an ingrowing toe-nail?"said Hirst, examining the big toe on his left foot.
"I flit from branch to branch," continued Hewet. "The worldis profoundly pleasant." He lay back on the bed, upon his arms.
"I wonder if it's really nice to be as vague as you are?" asked Hirst,looking at him. "It's the lack of continuity--that's what'sso odd bout14 you," he went on. "At the age of twenty-seven,which is nearly thirty, you seem to have drawn34 no conclusions.
A party of old women excites you still as though you were three."Hewet contemplated36 the angular young man who was neatly37 brushingthe rims38 of his toe-nails into the fire-place in silence for a moment.
"I respect you, Hirst," he remarked.
"I envy you--some things," said Hirst. "One: your capacityfor not thinking; two: people like you better than they like me.
Women like you, I suppose.""I wonder whether that isn't really what matters most?" said Hewet.
Lying now flat on the bed he waved his hand in vague circlesabove him.
"Of course it is," said Hirst. "But that's not the difficulty.
The difficulty is, isn't it, to find an appropriate object?""There are no female hens in your circle?" asked Hewet.
"Not the ghost of one," said Hirst.
Although they had known each other for three years Hirst had neveryet heard the true story of Hewet's loves. In general conversationit was taken for granted that they were many, but in privatethe subject was allowed to lapse39. The fact that he had money enoughto do no work, and that he had left Cambridge after two termsowing to a difference with the authorities, and had then travelledand drifted, made his life strange at many points where his friends'
lives were much of a piece.
"I don't see your circles--I don't see them," Hewet continued.
"I see a thing like a teetotum spinning in and out--knocking into things--dashing from side to side--collecting numbers--more and more and more,till the whole place is thick with them. Round and round they go--out there, over the rim--out of sight."His fingers showed that the waltzing teetotums had spun40 over the edgeof the counterpane and fallen off the bed into infinity41.
"Could you contemplate35 three weeks alone in this hotel?" asked Hirst,after a moment's pause.
Hewet proceeded to think.
"The truth of it is that one never is alone, and one never isin company," he concluded.
"Meaning?" said Hirst.
"Meaning? Oh, something about bubbles--auras--what d'you call 'em?
You can't see my bubble; I can't see yours; all we see of eachother is a speck42, like the wick in the middle of that flame.
The flame goes about with us everywhere; it's not ourselves exactly,but what we feel; the world is short, or people mainly; all kindsof people.""A nice streaky bubble yours must be!" said Hirst.
"And supposing my bubble could run into some one else's bubble--""And they both burst?" put in Hirst.
"Then--then--then--" pondered Hewet, as if to himself, "it would bean e-nor-mous world," he said, stretching his arms to their full width,as though even so they could hardly clasp the billowy universe,for when he was with Hirst he always felt unusually sanguineand vague.
"I don't think you altogether as foolish as I used to, Hewet,"said Hirst. "You don't know what you mean but you try to say it.""But aren't you enjoying yourself here?" asked Hewet.
"On the whole--yes," said Hirst. "I like observing people.
I like looking at things. This country is amazingly beautiful.
Did you notice how the top of the mountain turned yellow to-night?
Really we must take our lunch and spend the day out. You're gettingdisgustingly fat." He pointed43 at the calf44 of Hewet's bare leg.
"We'll get up an expedition," said Hewet energetically. "We'll askthe entire hotel. We'll hire donkeys and--""Oh, Lord!" said Hirst, "do shut it! I can see Miss Warringtonand Miss Allan and Mrs. Elliot and the rest squatting45 on the stonesand quacking46, 'How jolly!'""We'll ask Venning and Perrott and Miss Murgatroyd--every one we canlay hands on," went on Hewet. "What's the name of the little oldgrasshopper with the eyeglasses? Pepper?--Pepper shall lead us.""Thank God, you'll never get the donkeys," said Hirst.
"I must make a note of that," said Hewet, slowly dropping his feetto the floor. "Hirst escorts Miss Warrington; Pepper advances alone ona white ass1; provisions equally distributed--or shall we hire a mule48?
The matrons--there's Mrs. Paley, by Jove!--share a carriage.""That's where you'll go wrong," said Hirst. "Putting virginsamong matrons.""How long should you think that an expedition like thatwould take, Hirst?" asked Hewet.
"From twelve to sixteen hours I would say," said Hirst. "The timeusually occupied by a first confinement49.""It will need considerable organisation," said Hewet. He wasnow padding softly round the room, and stopped to stir the bookson the table. They lay heaped one upon another.
"We shall want some poets too," he remarked. "Not Gibbon; no;d'you happen to have _Modern_ _Love_ or _John_ _Donne_? You see,I contemplate pauses when people get tired of looking at the view,and then it would be nice to read something rather difficult aloud.""Mrs. Paley _will_ enjoy herself," said Hirst.
"Mrs. Paley will enjoy it certainly," said Hewet. "It's one of thesaddest things I know--the way elderly ladies cease to read poetry.
And yet how appropriate this is:
I speak as one who plumbsLife's dim profound,One who at length can soundClear views and certain.
But--after love what comes?
A scene that lours,A few sad vacant hours,And then, the Curtain.
I daresay Mrs. Paley is the only one of us who can really understand that.""We'll ask her," said Hirst. "Please, Hewet, if you must go to bed,draw my curtain. Few things distress50 me more than the moonlight."Hewet retreated, pressing the poems of Thomas Hardy51 beneath his arm,and in their beds next door to each other both the young men weresoon asleep.
Between the extinction52 of Hewet's candle and the rising of a duskySpanish boy who was the first to survey the desolation of the hotelin the early morning, a few hours of silence intervened. One couldalmost hear a hundred people breathing deeply, and however wakefuland restless it would have been hard to escape sleep in the middleof so much sleep. Looking out of the windows, there was onlydarkness to be seen. All over the shadowed half of the worldpeople lay prone53, and a few flickering54 lights in empty streetsmarked the places where their cities were built. Red and yellowomnibuses were crowding each other in Piccadilly; sumptuous55 womenwere rocking at a standstill; but here in the darkness an owl47 flittedfrom tree to tree, and when the breeze lifted the branches the moonflashed as if it were a torch. Until all people should awakeagain the houseless animals were abroad, the tigers and the stags,and the elephants coming down in the darkness to drink at pools.
The wind at night blowing over the hills and woods was purerand fresher than the wind by day, and the earth, robbed of detail,more mysterious than the earth coloured and divided by roadsand fields. For six hours this profound beauty existed, and thenas the east grew whiter and whiter the ground swam to the surface,the roads were revealed, the smoke rose and the people stirred,and the sun shone upon the windows of the hotel at Santa Marina untilthey were uncurtained, and the gong blaring all through the housegave notice of breakfast.
Directly breakfast was over, the ladies as usual circled vaguely,picking up papers and putting them down again, about the hall.
"And what are you going to do to-day?" asked Mrs. Elliot driftingup against Miss Warrington.
Mrs. Elliot, the wife of Hughling the Oxford56 Don, was a short woman,whose expression was habitually57 plaintive58. Her eyes moved from thingto thing as though they never found anything sufficiently59 pleasantto rest upon for any length of time.
"I'm going to try to get Aunt Emma out into the town," said Susan.
"She's not seen a thing yet.""I call it so spirited of her at her age," said Mrs. Elliot,"coming all this way from her own fireside.""Yes, we always tell her she'll die on board ship," Susan replied.
"She was born on one," she added.
"In the old days," said Mrs. Elliot, "a great many people were.
I always pity the poor women so! We've got a lot to complain of!"She shook her head. Her eyes wandered about the table, and sheremarked irrelevantly60, "The poor little Queen of Holland!
Newspaper reporters practically, one may say, at her bedroom door!""Were you talking of the Queen of Holland?" said the pleasant voiceof Miss Allan, who was searching for the thick pages of _The__Times_ among a litter of thin foreign sheets.
"I always envy any one who lives in such an excessively flat country,"she remarked.
"How very strange!" said Mrs. Elliot. "I find a flat countryso depressing.""I'm afraid you can't be very happy here then, Miss Allan,"said Susan.
"On the contrary," said Miss Allan, "I am exceedingly fond of mountains."Perceiving _The_ _Times_ at some distance, she moved off to secure it.
"Well, I must find my husband," said Mrs. Elliot, fidgeting away.
"And I must go to my aunt," said Miss Warrington, and taking upthe duties of the day they moved away.
Whether the flimsiness of foreign sheets and the coarseness oftheir type is any proof of frivolity61 and ignorance, there is nodoubt that English people scarce consider news read there as news,any more than a programme bought from a man in the street inspiresconfidence in what it says. A very respectable elderly pair,having inspected the long tables of newspapers, did not think itworth their while to read more than the headlines.
"The debate on the fifteenth should have reached us by now,"Mrs. Thornbury murmured. Mr. Thornbury, who was beautifully cleanand had red rubbed into his handsome worn face like traces of painton a weather-beaten wooden figure, looked over his glasses and sawthat Miss Allan had _The_ _Times_.
The couple therefore sat themselves down in arm-chairs and waited.
"Ah, there's Mr. Hewet," said Mrs. Thornbury. "Mr. Hewet,"she continued, "do come and sit by us. I was telling my husbandhow much you reminded me of a dear old friend of mine--Mary Umpleby.
She was a most delightful62 woman, I assure you. She grew roses.
We used to stay with her in the old days.""No young man likes to have it said that he resemblesan elderly spinster," said Mr. Thornbury.
"On the contrary," said Mr. Hewet, "I always think it a complimentto remind people of some one else. But Miss Umpleby--why did shegrow roses?""Ah, poor thing," said Mrs. Thornbury, "that's a long story.
She had gone through dreadful sorrows. At one time I think shewould have lost her senses if it hadn't been for her garden.
The soil was very much against her--a blessing63 in disguise;she had to be up at dawn--out in all weathers. And then thereare creatures that eat roses. But she triumphed. She always did.
She was a brave soul." She sighed deeply but at the same timewith resignation.
"I did not realise that I was monopolising the paper," said Miss Allan,coming up to them.
"We were so anxious to read about the debate," said Mrs. Thornbury,accepting it on behalf of her husband.
"One doesn't realise how interesting a debate can be until one hassons in the navy. My interests are equally balanced, though; I havesons in the army too; and one son who makes speeches at the Union--my baby!""Hirst would know him, I expect," said Hewet.
"Mr. Hirst has such an interesting face," said Mrs. Thornbury.
"But I feel one ought to be very clever to talk to him.
Well, William?" she enquired, for Mr. Thornbury grunted64.
"They're making a mess of it," said Mr. Thornbury. He had reachedthe second column of the report, a spasmodic column, for the Irishmembers had been brawling65 three weeks ago at Westminster over aquestion of naval66 efficiency. After a disturbed paragraph or two,the column of print once more ran smoothly67.
"You have read it?" Mrs. Thornbury asked Miss Allan.
"No, I am ashamed to say I have only read about the discoveriesin Crete," said Miss Allan.
"Oh, but I would give so much to realise the ancient world!"cried Mrs. Thornbury. "Now that we old people are alone,--we're on oursecond honeymoon,--I am really going to put myself to school again.
After all we are _founded_ on the past, aren't we, Mr. Hewet?
My soldier son says that there is still a great deal to be learntfrom Hannibal. One ought to know so much more than one does.
Somehow when I read the paper, I begin with the debates first, and,before I've done, the door always opens--we're a very large partyat home--and so one never does think enough about the ancientsand all they've done for us. But _you_ begin at the beginning,Miss Allan.""When I think of the Greeks I think of them as naked black men,"said Miss Allan, "which is quite incorrect, I'm sure.""And you, Mr. Hirst?" said Mrs. Thornbury, perceiving that the gauntyoung man was near. "I'm sure you read everything.""I confine myself to cricket and crime," said Hirst. "The worstof coming from the upper classes," he continued, "is that one'sfriends are never killed in railway accidents."Mr. Thornbury threw down the paper, and emphatically droppedhis eyeglasses. The sheets fell in the middle of the group,and were eyed by them all.
"It's not gone well?" asked his wife solicitously68.
Hewet picked up one sheet and read, "A lady was walking yesterdayin the streets of Westminster when she perceived a cat in the windowof a deserted house. The famished69 animal--""I shall be out of it anyway," Mr. Thornbury interrupted peevishly70.
"Cats are often forgotten," Miss Allan remarked.
"Remember, William, the Prime Minister has reserved his answer,"said Mrs. Thornbury.
"At the age of eighty, Mr. Joshua Harris of Eeles Park, Brondesbury,has had a son," said Hirst.
". . . The famished animal, which had been noticed by workmenfor some days, was rescued, but--by Jove! it bit the man's handto pieces!""Wild with hunger, I suppose," commented Miss Allan.
"You're all neglecting the chief advantage of being abroad,"said Mr. Hughling Elliot, who had joined the group. "You mightread your news in French, which is equivalent to reading no newsat all."Mr. Elliot had a profound knowledge of Coptic, which he concealedas far as possible, and quoted French phrases so exquisitely71 that itwas hard to believe that he could also speak the ordinary tongue.
He had an immense respect for the French.
"Coming?" he asked the two young men. "We ought to start beforeit's really hot.""I beg of you not to walk in the heat, Hugh," his wife pleaded,giving him an angular parcel enclosing half a chicken and some raisins72.
"Hewet will be our barometer," said Mr. Elliot. "He will meltbefore I shall." Indeed, if so much as a drop had melted off hisspare ribs73, the bones would have lain bare. The ladies were leftalone now, surrounding _The_ _Times_ which lay upon the floor.
Miss Allan looked at her father's watch.
"Ten minutes to eleven," she observed.
"Work?" asked Mrs. Thornbury.
"Work," replied Miss Allan.
"What a fine creature she is!" murmured Mrs. Thornbury, as the squarefigure in its manly74 coat withdrew.
"And I'm sure she has a hard life," sighed Mrs. Elliot.
"Oh, it _is_ a hard life," said Mrs. Thornbury. "Unmarried women--earning their livings--it's the hardest life of all.""Yet she seems pretty cheerful," said Mrs. Elliot.
"It must be very interesting," said Mrs. Thornbury. "I envy herher knowledge.""But that isn't what women want," said Mrs. Elliot.
"I'm afraid it's all a great many can hope to have," sighedMrs. Thornbury. "I believe that there are more of us than ever now.
Sir Harley Lethbridge was telling me only the other day how difficultit is to find boys for the navy--partly because of their teeth,it is true. And I have heard young women talk quite openly of--""Dreadful, dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs. Elliot. "The crown, as one maycall it, of a woman's life. I, who know what it is to be childless--"she sighed and ceased.
"But we must not be hard," said Mrs. Thornbury. "The conditionsare so much changed since I was a young woman.""Surely _maternity_ does not change," said Mrs. Elliot.
"In some ways we can learn a great deal from the young,"said Mrs. Thornbury. "I learn so much from my own daughters.""I believe that Hughling really doesn't mind," said Mrs. Elliot.
"But then he has his work.""Women without children can do so much for the children of others,"observed Mrs. Thornbury gently.
"I sketch75 a great deal," said Mrs. Elliot, "but that isn't reallyan occupation. It's so disconcerting to find girls just beginningdoing better than one does oneself! And nature's difficult--very difficult!""Are there not institutions--clubs--that you could help?"asked Mrs. Thornbury.
"They are so exhausting," said Mrs. Elliot. "I look strong,because of my colour; but I'm not; the youngest of eleven never is.""If the mother is careful before," said Mrs. Thornbury judicially,"there is no reason why the size of the family should makeany difference. And there is no training like the trainingthat brothers and sisters give each other. I am sure of that.
I have seen it with my own children. My eldest76 boy Ralph, for instance--"But Mrs. Elliot was inattentive to the elder lady's experience,and her eyes wandered about the hall.
"My mother had two miscarriages77, I know," she said suddenly.
"The first because she met one of those great dancing bears--they shouldn't be allowed; the other--it was a horrid79 story--our cookhad a child and there was a dinner party. So I put my dyspepsiadown to that.""And a miscarriage78 is so much worse than a confinement,"Mrs. Thornbury murmured absentmindedly, adjusting her spectaclesand picking up _The_ _Times_. Mrs. Elliot rose and fluttered away.
When she had heard what one of the million voices speaking inthe paper had to say, and noticed that a cousin of hers had marrieda clergyman at Minehead--ignoring the drunken women, the goldenanimals of Crete, the movements of battalions80, the dinners,the reforms, the fires, the indignant, the learned and benevolent,Mrs. Thornbury went upstairs to write a letter for the mail.
The paper lay directly beneath the clock, the two together seemingto represent stability in a changing world. Mr. Perrott passed through;Mr. Venning poised81 for a second on the edge of a table. Mrs. Paleywas wheeled past. Susan followed. Mr. Venning strolled after her.
Portuguese military families, their clothes suggesting late risingin untidy bedrooms, trailed across, attended by confidential82 nursescarrying noisy children. As midday drew on, and the sun beat straightupon the roof, an eddy83 of great flies droned in a circle; iced drinkswere served under the palms; the long blinds were pulled down witha shriek84, turning all the light yellow. The clock now had a silenthall to tick in, and an audience of four or five somnolent85 merchants.
By degrees white figures with shady hats came in at the door,admitting a wedge of the hot summer day, and shutting it out again.
After resting in the dimness for a minute, they went upstairs.
Simultaneously, the clock wheezed86 one, and the gong sounded,beginning softly, working itself into a frenzy87, and ceasing.
There was a pause. Then all those who had gone upstairs came down;cripples came, planting both feet on the same step lest theyshould slip; prim9 little girls came, holding the nurse's finger;fat old men came still buttoning waistcoats. The gong had beensounded in the garden, and by degrees recumbent figures rose andstrolled in to eat, since the time had come for them to feed again.
There were pools and bars of shade in the garden even at midday,where two or three visitors could lie working or talking attheir ease.
Owing to the heat of the day, luncheon88 was generally a silent meal,when people observed their neighbors and took stock of any new facesthere might be, hazarding guesses as to who they were and what they did.
Mrs. Paley, although well over seventy and crippled in the legs,enjoyed her food and the peculiarities89 of her fellow-beings. Shewas seated at a small table with Susan.
"I shouldn't like to say what _she_ is!" she chuckled90, surveying a tall womandressed conspicuously91 in white, with paint in the hollows of her cheeks,who was always late, and always attended by a shabby female follower,at which remark Susan blushed, and wondered why her aunt said such things.
Lunch went on methodically, until each of the seven courses was leftin fragments and the fruit was merely a toy, to be peeled and slicedas a child destroys a daisy, petal92 by petal. The food served as anextinguisher upon any faint flame of the human spirit that mightsurvive the midday heat, but Susan sat in her room afterwards,turning over and over the delightful fact that Mr. Venning had cometo her in the garden, and had sat there quite half an hour while sheread aloud to her aunt. Men and women sought different cornerswhere they could lie unobserved, and from two to four it might besaid without exaggeration that the hotel was inhabited by bodieswithout souls. Disastrous93 would have been the result if a fireor a death had suddenly demanded something heroic of human nature,but tragedies come in the hungry hours. Towards four o'clockthe human spirit again began to lick the body, as a flame licksa black promontory94 of coal. Mrs. Paley felt it unseemly to open hertoothless jaw95 so widely, though there was no one near, and Mrs. Elliotsurveyed her found flushed face anxiously in the looking-glass.
Half an hour later, having removed the traces of sleep, they meteach other in the hall, and Mrs. Paley observed that she was goingto have her tea.
"You like your tea too, don't you?" she said, and invited Mrs. Elliot,whose husband was still out, to join her at a special table whichshe had placed for her under a tree.
"A little silver goes a long way in this country," she chuckled.
She sent Susan back to fetch another cup.
"They have such excellent biscuits here," she said, contemplatinga plateful. "Not sweet biscuits, which I don't like--dry biscuits. . . Have you been sketching96?""Oh, I've done two or three little daubs," said Mrs. Elliot, speakingrather louder than usual. "But it's so difficult after Oxfordshire,where there are so many trees. The light's so strong here.
Some people admire it, I know, but I find it very fatiguing97.""I really don't need cooking, Susan," said Mrs. Paley, when herniece returned. "I must trouble you to move me." Everything hadto be moved. Finally the old lady was placed so that the lightwavered over her, as though she were a fish in a net. Susan pouredout tea, and was just remarking that they were having hot weatherin Wiltshire too, when Mr. Venning asked whether he might join them.
"It's so nice to find a young man who doesn't despise tea,"said Mrs. Paley, regaining98 her good humour. "One of my nephewsthe other day asked for a glass of sherry--at five o'clock! Itold him he could get it at the public house round the corner,but not in my drawing room.""I'd rather go without lunch than tea," said Mr. Venning.
"That's not strictly99 true. I want both."Mr. Venning was a dark young man, about thirty-two years of age,very slapdash and confident in his manner, although at this momentobviously a little excited. His friend Mr. Perrott was a barrister,and as Mr. Perrott refused to go anywhere without Mr. Venning itwas necessary, when Mr. Perrott came to Santa Marina about a Company,for Mr. Venning to come too. He was a barrister also, but heloathed a profession which kept him indoors over books, and directlyhis widowed mother died he was going, so he confided100 to Susan,to take up flying seriously, and become partner in a large businessfor making aeroplanes. The talk rambled101 on. It dealt, of course,with the beauties and singularities of the place, the streets,the people, and the quantities of unowned yellow dogs.
"Don't you think it dreadfully cruel the way they treat dogsin this country?" asked Mrs. Paley.
"I'd have 'em all shot," said Mr. Venning.
"Oh, but the darling puppies," said Susan.
"Jolly little chaps," said Mr. Venning. "Look here, you've gotnothing to eat." A great wedge of cake was handed Susan on the pointof a trembling knife. Her hand trembled too as she took it.
"I have such a dear dog at home," said Mrs. Elliot.
"My parrot can't stand dogs," said Mrs. Paley, with the airof one making a confidence. "I always suspect that he (or she)was teased by a dog when I was abroad.""You didn't get far this morning, Miss Warrington," said Mr. Venning.
"It was hot," she answered. Their conversation became private,owing to Mrs. Paley's deafness and the long sad historywhich Mrs. Elliot had embarked102 upon of a wire-haired terrier,white with just one black spot, belonging to an uncle of hers,which had committed suicide. "Animals do commit suicide,"she sighed, as if she asserted a painful fact.
"Couldn't we explore the town this evening?" Mr. Venning suggested.
"My aunt--" Susan began.
"You deserve a holiday," he said. "You're always doing thingsfor other people.""But that's my life," she said, under cover of refilling the teapot.
"That's no one's life," he returned, "no young person's. You'll come?""I should like to come," she murmured.
At this moment Mrs. Elliot looked up and exclaimed, "Oh, Hugh!
He's bringing some one," she added.
"He would like some tea," said Mrs. Paley. "Susan, run and getsome cups--there are the two young men.""We're thirsting for tea," said Mr. Elliot. "You knowMr. Ambrose, Hilda? We met on the hill.""He dragged me in," said Ridley, "or I should have been ashamed.
I'm dusty and dirty and disagreeable." He pointed to his bootswhich were white with dust, while a dejected flower drooping103 inhis buttonhole, like an exhausted104 animal over a gate, added to theeffect of length and untidiness. He was introduced to the others.
Mr. Hewet and Mr. Hirst brought chairs, and tea began again,Susan pouring cascades105 of water from pot to pot, always cheerfully,and with the competence106 of long use.
"My wife's brother," Ridley explained to Hilda, whom hefailed to remember, "has a house here, which he has lent us.
I was sitting on a rock thinking of nothing at all when Elliotstarted up like a fairy in a pantomime.""Our chicken got into the salt," Hewet said dolefully to Susan.
"Nor is it true that bananas include moisture as well as sustenance107.
Hirst was already drinking.
"We've been cursing you," said Ridley in answer to Mrs. Elliot'skind enquiries about his wife. "You tourists eat up all the eggs,Helen tells me. That's an eye-sore too"--he nodded his headat the hotel. "Disgusting luxury, I call it. We live with pigsin the drawing-room.""The food is not at all what it ought to be, considering the price,"said Mrs. Paley seriously. "But unless one goes to a hotel where isone to go to?""Stay at home," said Ridley. "I often wish I had! Everyone oughtto stay at home. But, of course, they won't."Mrs. Paley conceived a certain grudge108 against Ridley, who seemedto be criticising her habits after an acquaintance of five minutes.
"I believe in foreign travel myself," she stated, "if one knows one'snative land, which I think I can honestly say I do. I should notallow any one to travel until they had visited Kent and Dorsetshire--Kent for the hops109, and Dorsetshire for its old stone cottages.
There is nothing to compare with them here.""Yes--I always think that some people like the flat and other peoplelike the downs," said Mrs. Elliot rather vaguely.
Hirst, who had been eating and drinking without interruption,now lit a cigarette, and observed, "Oh, but we're all agreedby this time that nature's a mistake. She's either very ugly,appallingly uncomfortable, or absolutely terrifying. I don't know whichalarms me most--a cow or a tree. I once met a cow in a field by night.
The creature looked at me. I assure you it turned my hair grey.
It's a disgrace that the animals should be allowed to go at large.""And what did the cow think of _him_?" Venning mumbled110 to Susan,who immediately decided in her own mind that Mr. Hirst was a dreadfulyoung man, and that although he had such an air of being clever heprobably wasn't as clever as Arthur, in the ways that really matter.
"Wasn't it Wilde who discovered the fact that nature makes noallowance for hip-bones?" enquired Hughling Elliot. He knew by thistime exactly what scholarships and distinction Hirst enjoyed,and had formed a very high opinion of his capacities.
But Hirst merely drew his lips together very tightly and madeno reply.
Ridley conjectured111 that it was now permissible112 for him to takehis leave. Politeness required him to thank Mrs. Elliot for his tea,and to add, with a wave of his hand, "You must come up and see us."The wave included both Hirst and Hewet, and Hewet answered,"I should like it immensely."The party broke up, and Susan, who had never felt so happy in her life,was just about to start for her walk in the town with Arthur,when Mrs. Paley beckoned113 her back. She could not understandfrom the book how Double Demon114 patience is played; and suggestedthat if they sat down and worked it out together it would fillup the time nicely before dinner.
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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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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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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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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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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hesitations
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| n.犹豫( hesitation的名词复数 )；踌躇；犹豫（之事或行为）；口吃 | |
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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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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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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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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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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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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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quacking
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| v.（鸭子）发出嘎嘎声( quack的现在分词 ) | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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brawling
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| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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miscarriages
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| 流产( miscarriage的名词复数 ) | |
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miscarriage
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| n.失败，未达到预期的结果；流产 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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battalions
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| n.（陆军的）一营（大约有一千兵士）( battalion的名词复数 )；协同作战的部队；军队；（组织在一起工作的）队伍 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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somnolent
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| adj.想睡的，催眠的；adv.瞌睡地；昏昏欲睡地；使人瞌睡地 | |
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wheezed
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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petal
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| n.花瓣 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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100
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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101
rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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102
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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103
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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104
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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105
cascades
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| 倾泻( cascade的名词复数 )； 小瀑布（尤指一连串瀑布中的一支）； 瀑布状物； 倾泻（或涌出）的东西 | |
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106
competence
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| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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107
sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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108
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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109
hops
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| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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110
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
permissible
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| adj.可允许的，许可的 | |
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113
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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