When Susan's engagement had been approved at home, and made publicto any one who took an interest in it at the hotel--and by this timethe society at the hotel was divided so as to point to invisiblechalk-marks such as Mr. Hirst had described, the news was felt tojustify some celebration--an expedition? That had been done already.
A dance then. The advantage of a dance was that it abolished oneof those long evenings which were apt to become tedious and leadto absurdly early hours in spite of bridge.
Two or three people standing1 under the erect2 body of the stuffedleopard in the hall very soon had the matter decided3. Evelyn slida pace or two this way and that, and pronounced that the floorwas excellent. Signor Rodriguez informed them of an old Spaniardwho fiddled4 at weddings--fiddled so as to make a tortoise waltz;and his daughter, although endowed with eyes as black ascoal-scuttles, had the same power over the piano. If therewere any so sick or so surly as to prefer sedentary occupationson the night in question to spinning and watching others spin,the drawing-room and billiard-room were theirs. Hewet made ithis business to conciliate the outsiders as much as possible.
To Hirst's theory of the invisible chalk-marks he would pay noattention whatever. He was treated to a snub or two, but, in reward,found obscure lonely gentlemen delighted to have this opportunityof talking to their kind, and the lady of doubtful character showedevery symptom of confiding5 her case to him in the near future.
Indeed it was made quite obvious to him that the two or three hoursbetween dinner and bed contained an amount of unhappiness, which wasreally pitiable, so many people had not succeeded in making friends.
It was settled that the dance was to be on Friday, one week afterthe engagement, and at dinner Hewet declared himself satisfied.
"They're all coming!" he told Hirst. "Pepper!" he called,seeing William Pepper slip past in the wake of the soup witha pamphlet beneath his arm, "We're counting on you to open the ball.""You will certainly put sleep out of the question," Pepper returned.
"You are to take the floor with Miss Allan," Hewet continued,consulting a sheet of pencilled notes.
Pepper stopped and began a discourse6 upon round dances, country dances,morris dances, and quadrilles, all of which are entirely7 superiorto the bastard8 waltz and spurious polka which have ousted9 themmost unjustly in contemporary popularity--when the waiters gentlypushed him on to his table in the corner.
The dining-room at this moment had a certain fantastic resemblanceto a farmyard scattered10 with grain on which bright pigeonskept descending11. Almost all the ladies wore dresses which theyhad not yet displayed, and their hair rose in waves and scrollsso as to appear like carved wood in Gothic churches ratherthan hair. The dinner was shorter and less formal than usual,even the waiters seeming to be affected12 with the general excitement.
Ten minutes before the clock struck nine the committee made a tourthrough the ballroom13. The hall, when emptied of its furniture,brilliantly lit, adorned14 with flowers whose scent15 tinged16 the air,presented a wonderful appearance of ethereal gaiety.
"It's like a starlit sky on an absolutely cloudless night,"Hewet murmured, looking about him, at the airy empty room.
"A heavenly floor, anyhow," Evelyn added, taking a run and slidingtwo or three feet along.
"What about those curtains?" asked Hirst. The crimson17 curtainswere drawn18 across the long windows. "It's a perfect night outside.""Yes, but curtains inspire confidence," Miss Allan decided.
"When the ball is in full swing it will be time to draw them.
We might even open the windows a little. . . . If we do it now elderlypeople will imagine there are draughts19.
Her wisdom had come to be recognised, and held in respect.
Meanwhile as they stood talking, the musicians were unwrappingtheir instruments, and the violin was repeating again and againa note struck upon the piano. Everything was ready to begin.
After a few minutes' pause, the father, the daughter, and theson-in-law who played the horn flourished with one accord.
Like the rats who followed the piper, heads instantly appearedin the doorway20. There was another flourish; and then the triodashed spontaneously into the triumphant21 swing of the waltz.
It was as though the room were instantly flooded with water.
After a moment's hesitation22 first one couple, then another,leapt into mid-stream, and went round and round in the eddies23.
The rhythmic24 swish of the dancers sounded like a swirling25 pool.
By degrees the room grew perceptibly hotter. The smell of kidgloves mingled26 with the strong scent of flowers. The eddiesseemed to circle faster and faster, until the music wrought27 itselfinto a crash, ceased, and the circles were smashed into littleseparate bits. The couples struck off in different directions,leaving a thin row of elderly people stuck fast to the walls,and here and there a piece of trimming or a handkerchief or aflower lay upon the floor. There was a pause, and then the musicstarted again, the eddies whirled, the couples circled round in them,until there was a crash, and the circles were broken up intoseparate pieces.
When this had happened about five times, Hirst, who leant againsta window-frame, like some singular gargoyle29, perceived that HelenAmbrose and Rachel stood in the doorway. The crowd was suchthat they could not move, but he recognised them by a piece ofHelen's shoulder and a glimpse of Rachel's head turning round.
He made his way to them; they greeted him with relief.
"We are suffering the tortures of the damned," said Helen.
"This is my idea of hell," said Rachel.
Her eyes were bright and she looked bewildered.
Hewet and Miss Allan, who had been waltzing somewhat laboriously,paused and greeted the newcomers.
"This _is_ nice," said Hewet. "But where is Mr. Ambrose?""Pindar," said Helen. "May a married woman who was forty inOctober dance? I can't stand still." She seemed to fade into Hewet,and they both dissolved in the crowd.
"We must follow suit," said Hirst to Rachel, and he took herresolutely by the elbow. Rachel, without being expert, danced well,because of a good ear for rhythm, but Hirst had no taste for music,and a few dancing lessons at Cambridge had only put him into possessionof the anatomy30 of a waltz, without imparting any of its spirit.
A single turn proved to them that their methods were incompatible;instead of fitting into each other their bones seemed to jut31 outin angles making smooth turning an impossibility, and cutting,moreover, into the circular progress of the other dancers.
"Shall we stop?" said Hirst. Rachel gathered from his expressionthat he was annoyed.
They staggered to seats in the corner, from which they had a viewof the room. It was still surging, in waves of blue and yellow,striped by the black evening-clothes of the gentlemen.
"An amazing spectacle," Hirst remarked. "Do you dance muchin London?" They were both breathing fast, and both a little excited,though each was determined32 not to show any excitement at all.
"Scarcely ever. Do you?""My people give a dance every Christmas.""This isn't half a bad floor," Rachel said. Hirst did not attemptto answer her platitude33. He sat quite silent, staring at the dancers.
After three minutes the silence became so intolerable to Rachelthat she was goaded34 to advance another commonplace about the beautyof the night. Hirst interrupted her ruthlessly.
"Was that all nonsense what you said the other day about beinga Christian35 and having no education?" he asked.
"It was practically true," she replied. "But I also play the pianovery well," she said, "better, I expect than any one in this room.
You are the most distinguished36 man in England, aren't you?"she asked shyly.
"One of the three," he corrected.
Helen whirling past here tossed a fan into Rachel's lap.
"She is very beautiful," Hirst remarked.
They were again silent. Rachel was wondering whether he thoughther also nice-looking; St. John was considering the immensedifficulty of talking to girls who had no experience of life.
Rachel had obviously never thought or felt or seen anything,and she might be intelligent or she might be just like all the rest.
But Hewet's taunt37 rankled38 in his mind--"you don't know how to geton with women," and he was determined to profit by this opportunity.
Her evening-clothes bestowed39 on her just that degree of unrealityand distinction which made it romantic to speak to her, and stirreda desire to talk, which irritated him because he did not knowhow to begin. He glanced at her, and she seemed to him veryremote and inexplicable40, very young and chaste41. He drew a sigh,and began.
"About books now. What have you read? Just Shakespeare and the Bible?""I haven't read many classics," Rachel stated. She was slightlyannoyed by his jaunty42 and rather unnatural43 manner, while his masculineacquirements induced her to take a very modest view of her own power.
"D'you mean to tell me you've reached the age of twenty-four withoutreading Gibbon?" he demanded.
"Yes, I have," she answered.
"Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, throwing out his hands. "You must beginto-morrow. I shall send you my copy. What I want to know is--"he looked at her critically. "You see, the problem is, can onereally talk to you? Have you got a mind, or are you like the restof your sex? You seem to me absurdly young compared with menof your age."Rachel looked at him but said nothing.
"About Gibbon," he continued. "D'you think you'll be ableto appreciate him? He's the test, of course. It's awfullydifficult to tell about women," he continued, "how much, I mean,is due to lack of training, and how much is native incapacity.
I don't see myself why you shouldn't understand--only I suppose you'veled an absurd life until now--you've just walked in a crocodile,I suppose, with your hair down your back."The music was again beginning. Hirst's eye wandered about the roomin search of Mrs. Ambrose. With the best will in the world hewas conscious that they were not getting on well together.
"I'd like awfully44 to lend you books," he said, buttoning his gloves,and rising from his seat. "We shall meet again. "I'm going to leaveyou now."He got up and left her.
Rachel looked round. She felt herself surrounded, like a child ata party, by the faces of strangers all hostile to her, with hookednoses and sneering45, indifferent eyes. She was by a window,she pushed it open with a jerk. She stepped out into the garden.
Her eyes swam with tears of rage.
"Damn that man!" she exclaimed, having acquired some of Helen's words.
"Damn his insolence46!"She stood in the middle of the pale square of light which thewindow she had opened threw upon the grass. The forms of greatblack trees rose massively in front of her. She stood still,looking at them, shivering slightly with anger and excitement.
She heard the trampling47 and swinging of the dancers behind her,and the rhythmic sway of the waltz music.
"There are trees," she said aloud. Would the trees make upfor St. John Hirst? She would be a Persian princess farfrom civilisation48, riding her horse upon the mountains alone,and making her women sing to her in the evening, far from all this,from the strife49 and men and women--a form came out of the shadow;a little red light burnt high up in its blackness.
"Miss Vinrace, is it?" said Hewet, peering at her. "You weredancing with Hirst?""He's made me furious!" she cried vehemently50. "No one's any rightto be insolent51!""Insolent?" Hewet repeated, taking his cigar from his mouthin surprise. "Hirst--insolent?""It's insolent to--" said Rachel, and stopped. She did not knowexactly why she had been made so angry. With a great effort shepulled herself together.
"Oh, well," she added, the vision of Helen and her mockery before her,"I dare say I'm a fool." She made as though she were going backinto the ballroom, but Hewet stopped her.
"Please explain to me," he said. "I feel sure Hirst didn't meanto hurt you."When Rachel tried to explain, she found it very difficult.
She could not say that she found the vision of herself walkingin a crocodile with her hair down her back peculiarly unjustand horrible, nor could she explain why Hirst's assumption ofthe superiority of his nature and experience had seemed to her notonly galling52 but terrible--as if a gate had clanged in her face.
Pacing up and down the terrace beside Hewet she said bitterly:
"It's no good; we should live separate; we cannot understand each other;we only bring out what's worst."Hewet brushed aside her generalisation as to the natures ofthe two sexes, for such generalisations bored him and seemedto him generally untrue. But, knowing Hirst, he guessed fairlyaccurately what had happened, and, though secretly much amused,was determined that Rachel should not store the incidentaway in her mind to take its place in the view she had of life.
"Now you'll hate him," he said, "which is wrong. Poor old Hirst--he can't help his method. And really, Miss Vinrace, he was doing his best;he was paying you a compliment--he was trying--he was trying--"he could not finish for the laughter that overcame him.
Rachel veered53 round suddenly and laughed out too. She saw that therewas something ridiculous about Hirst, and perhaps about herself.
"It's his way of making friends, I suppose," she laughed. "Well--Ishall do my part. I shall begin--'Ugly in body, repulsive54 in mindas you are, Mr. Hirst--""Hear, hear!" cried Hewet. "That's the way to treat him. You see,Miss Vinrace, you must make allowances for Hirst. He's lived allhis life in front of a looking-glass, so to speak, in a beautifulpanelled room, hung with Japanese prints and lovely old chairsand tables, just one splash of colour, you know, in the right place,--between the windows I think it is,--and there he sits hour afterhour with his toes on the fender, talking about philosophy andGod and his liver and his heart and the hearts of his friends.
They're all broken. You can't expect him to be at his best ina ballroom. He wants a cosy56, smoky, masculine place, where he canstretch his legs out, and only speak when he's got something to say.
For myself, I find it rather dreary57. But I do respect it.
They're all so much in earnest. They do take the serious thingsvery seriously."The description of Hirst's way of life interested Rachel so muchthat she almost forgot her private grudge58 against him, and herrespect revived.
"They are really very clever then?" she asked.
"Of course they are. So far as brains go I think it's true what hesaid the other day; they're the cleverest people in England. But--you ought to take him in hand," he added. "There's a great deal morein him than's ever been got at. He wants some one to laugh at him.
. . . The idea of Hirst telling you that you've had no experiences!
Poor old Hirst!"They had been pacing up and down the terrace while they talked, and nowone by one the dark windows were uncurtained by an invisible hand,and panes55 of light fell regularly at equal intervals59 upon the grass.
They stopped to look in at the drawing-room, and perceived Mr. Pepperwriting alone at a table.
"There's Pepper writing to his aunt," said Hewet. "She mustbe a very remarkable60 old lady, eighty-five he tells me, and hetakes her for walking tours in the New Forest. . . . Pepper!"he cried, rapping on the window. "Go and do your duty. Miss Allanexpects you."When they came to the windows of the ballroom, the swingof the dancers and the lilt of the music was irresistible61.
"Shall we?" said Hewet, and they clasped hands and swept offmagnificently into the great swirling pool. Although this was onlythe second time they had met, the first time they had seen a manand woman kissing each other, and the second time Mr. Hewet had foundthat a young woman angry is very like a child. So that when theyjoined hands in the dance they felt more at their ease than is usual.
It was midnight and the dance was now at its height. Servants werepeeping in at the windows; the garden was sprinkled with the whiteshapes of couples sitting out. Mrs. Thornbury and Mrs. Elliotsat side by side under a palm tree, holding fans, handkerchiefs,and brooches deposited in their laps by flushed maidens63.
Occasionally they exchanged comments.
"Miss Warrington _does_ look happy," said Mrs. Elliot; they both smiled;they both sighed.
"He has a great deal of character," said Mrs. Thornbury,alluding to Arthur.
"And character is what one wants," said Mrs. Elliot. "Now thatyoung man is _clever_ enough," she added, nodding at Hirst,who came past with Miss Allan on his arm.
"He does not look strong," said Mrs. Thornbury. "His complexion64 isnot good.--Shall I tear it off?" she asked, for Rachel had stopped,conscious of a long strip trailing behind her.
"I hope you are enjoying yourselves?" Hewet asked the ladies.
"This is a very familiar position for me!" smiled Mrs. Thornbury.
"I have brought out five daughters--and they all loved dancing!
You love it too, Miss Vinrace?" she asked, looking at Rachel withmaternal eyes. "I know I did when I was your age. How I used to begmy mother to let me stay--and now I sympathise with the poor mothers--but I sympathise with the daughters too!"She smiled sympathetically, and at the same time rather keenly,at Rachel.
"They seem to find a great deal to say to each other," said Mrs. Elliot,looking significantly at the backs of the couple as they turned away.
"Did you notice at the picnic? He was the only person who couldmake her utter.""Her father is a very interesting man," said Mrs. Thornbury.
"He has one of the largest shipping65 businesses in Hull66. He madea very able reply, you remember, to Mr. Asquith at the last election.
It is so interesting to find that a man of his experience is astrong Protectionist."She would have liked to discuss politics, which interestedher more than personalities67, but Mrs. Elliot would only talkabout the Empire in a less abstract form.
"I hear there are dreadful accounts from England about the rats,"she said. "A sister-in-law, who lives at Norwich, tells me ithas been quite unsafe to order poultry69. The plague--you see.
It attacks the rats, and through them other creatures.""And the local authorities are not taking proper steps?"asked Mrs. Thornbury.
"That she does not say. But she describes the attitude of theeducated people--who should know better--as callous70 in the extreme.
Of course, my sister-in-law is one of those active modern women,who always takes things up, you know--the kind of woman one admires,though one does not feel, at least I do not feel--but then she hasa constitution of iron."Mrs. Elliot, brought back to the consideration of her own delicacy,here sighed.
"A very animated71 face," said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at Evelyn M. whohad stopped near them to pin tight a scarlet72 flower at her breast.
It would not stay, and, with a spirited gesture of impatience,she thrust it into her partner's button-hole. He was a tallmelancholy youth, who received the gift as a knight73 might receivehis lady's token.
"Very trying to the eyes," was Mrs. Eliot's next remark, after watchingthe yellow whirl in which so few of the whirlers had either nameor character for her, for a few minutes. Bursting out of the crowd,Helen approached them, and took a vacant chair.
"May I sit by you?" she said, smiling and breathing fast.
"I suppose I ought to be ashamed of myself," she went on, sitting down,"at my age."Her beauty, now that she was flushed and animated, was more expansivethan usual, and both the ladies felt the same desire to touch her.
"I _am_ enjoying myself," she panted. "Movement--isn't it amazing?""I have always heard that nothing comes up to dancing if one isa good dancer," said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at her with a smile.
Helen swayed slightly as if she sat on wires.
"I could dance for ever!" she said. "They ought to let themselvesgo more!" she exclaimed. "They ought to leap and swing. Look!
How they mince74!""Have you seen those wonderful Russian dancers?" began Mrs. Elliot.
But Helen saw her partner coming and rose as the moon rises.
She was half round the room before they took their eyes off her,for they could not help admiring her, although they thought it a littleodd that a woman of her age should enjoy dancing.
Directly Helen was left alone for a minute she was joinedby St. John Hirst, who had been watching for an opportunity.
"Should you mind sitting out with me?" he asked. "I'm quiteincapable of dancing." He piloted Helen to a corner which wassupplied with two arm-chairs, and thus enjoyed the advantageof semi-privacy. They sat down, and for a few minutes Helenwas too much under the influence of dancing to speak.
"Astonishing!" she exclaimed at last. "What sort of shape canshe think her body is?" This remark was called forth75 by a ladywho came past them, waddling76 rather than walking, and leaningon the arm of a stout77 man with globular green eyes set in a fatwhite face. Some support was necessary, for she was very stout,and so compressed that the upper part of her body hung considerablyin advance of her feet, which could only trip in tiny steps,owing to the tightness of the skirt round her ankles.
The dress itself consisted of a small piece of shiny yellow satin,adorned here and there indiscriminately with round shields of blueand green beads78 made to imitate hues79 of a peacock's breast.
On the summit of a frothy castle of hair a purple plume80 stood erect,while her short neck was encircled by a black velvet81 ribbon knobbedwith gems82, and golden bracelets83 were tightly wedged into the fleshof her fat gloved arms. She had the face of an impertinentbut jolly little pig, mottled red under a dusting of powder.
St. John could not join in Helen's laughter.
"It makes me sick," he declared. "The whole thing makes me sick.
. . . Consider the minds of those people--their feelings.
Don't you agree?""I always make a vow84 never to go to another party of any description,"Helen replied, "and I always break it."She leant back in her chair and looked laughingly at the young man.
She could see that he was genuinely cross, if at the same timeslightly excited.
"However," he said, resuming his jaunty tone, "I suppose one mustjust make up one's mind to it.""To what?""There never will be more than five people in the world worthtalking to."Slowly the flush and sparkle in Helen's face died away, and shelooked as quiet and as observant as usual.
"Five people?" she remarked. "I should say there were more than five.""You've been very fortunate, then," said Hirst. "Or perhaps I'vebeen very unfortunate." He became silent.
"Should you say I was a difficult kind of person to get on with?"he asked sharply.
"Most clever people are when they're young," Helen replied.
"And of course I am--immensely clever," said Hirst. "I'm infinitelycleverer than Hewet. It's quite possible," he continued in hiscuriously impersonal85 manner, "that I'm going to be one of the peoplewho really matter. That's utterly86 different from being clever,though one can't expect one's family to see it," he added bitterly.
Helen thought herself justified87 in asking, "Do you find your familydifficult to get on with?""Intolerable. . . . They want me to be a peer and a privy88 councillor.
I've come out here partly in order to settle the matter. It's got tobe settled. Either I must go to the bar, or I must stay on in Cambridge.
Of course, there are obvious drawbacks to each, but the argumentscertainly do seem to me in favour of Cambridge. This kind of thing!"he waved his hand at the crowded ballroom. "Repulsive. I'm consciousof great powers of affection too. I'm not susceptible89, of course,in the way Hewet is. I'm very fond of a few people. I think,for example, that there's something to be said for my mother,though she is in many ways so deplorable. . . . At Cambridge,of course, I should inevitably90 become the most important manin the place, but there are other reasons why I dread68 Cambridge--"he ceased.
"Are you finding me a dreadful bore?" he asked. He changed curiouslyfrom a friend confiding in a friend to a conventional young manat a party.
"Not in the least," said Helen. "I like it very much.""You can't think," he exclaimed, speaking almost with emotion,"what a difference it makes finding someone to talk to!
Directly I saw you I felt you might possibly understand me.
I'm very fond of Hewet, but he hasn't the remotest idea what I'm like.
You're the only woman I've ever met who seems to have the faintestconception of what I mean when I say a thing."The next dance was beginning; it was the Barcarolle out of Hoffman,which made Helen beat her toe in time to it; but she felt thatafter such a compliment it was impossible to get up and go, and,besides being amused, she was really flattered, and the honestyof his conceit91 attracted her. She suspected that he was not happy,and was sufficiently92 feminine to wish to receive confidences.
"I'm very old," she sighed.
"The odd thing is that I don't find you old at all," he replied.
"I feel as though we were exactly the same age. Moreover--"here he hesitated, but took courage from a glance at her face,"I feel as if I could talk quite plainly to you as one does to a man--about the relations between the sexes, about . . . and . . ."In spite of his certainty a slight redness came into his face as hespoke the last two words.
She reassured94 him at once by the laugh with which she exclaimed,"I should hope so!"He looked at her with real cordiality, and the lines which weredrawn about his nose and lips slackened for the first time.
"Thank God!" he exclaimed. "Now we can behave like civilisedhuman beings."Certainly a barrier which usually stands fast had fallen, and itwas possible to speak of matters which are generally only alludedto between men and women when doctors are present, or the shadowof death. In five minutes he was telling her the history of his life.
It was long, for it was full of extremely elaborate incidents,which led on to a discussion of the principles on which moralityis founded, and thus to several very interesting matters,which even in this ballroom had to be discussed in a whisper,lest one of the pouter pigeon ladies or resplendent merchants shouldoverhear them, and proceed to demand that they should leave the place.
When they had come to an end, or, to speak more accurately,when Helen intimated by a slight slackening of her attention thatthey had sat there long enough, Hirst rose, exclaiming, "So there'sno reason whatever for all this mystery!""None, except that we are English people," she answered. She took hisarm and they crossed the ball-room, making their way with difficultybetween the spinning couples, who were now perceptibly dishevelled,and certainly to a critical eye by no means lovely in their shapes.
The excitement of undertaking95 a friendship and the length oftheir talk, made them hungry, and they went in search of foodto the dining-room, which was now full of people eating at littleseparate tables. In the doorway they met Rachel, going up to danceagain with Arthur Venning. She was flushed and looked very happy,and Helen was struck by the fact that in this mood she wascertainly more attractive than the generality of young women.
She had never noticed it so clearly before.
"Enjoying yourself?" she asked, as they stopped for a second.
"Miss Vinrace," Arthur answered for her, "has just made a confession;she'd no idea that dances could be so delightful96.""Yes!" Rachel exclaimed. "I've changed my view of life completely!""You don't say so!" Helen mocked. They passed on.
"That's typical of Rachel," she said. "She changes her view of lifeabout every other day. D'you know, I believe you're just the personI want," she said, as they sat down, "to help me complete her education?
She's been brought up practically in a nunnery. Her father's too absurd.
I've been doing what I can--but I'm too old, and I'm a woman.
Why shouldn't you talk to her--explain things to her--talk to her,I mean, as you talk to me?""I have made one attempt already this evening," said St. John.
"I rather doubt that it was successful. She seems to me so very youngand inexperienced. I have promised to lend her Gibbon.""It's not Gibbon exactly," Helen pondered. "It's the facts of life,I think--d'you see what I mean? What really goes on, what people feel,although they generally try to hide it? There's nothing to befrightened of. It's so much more beautiful than the pretences--always more interesting--always better, I should say, than _that_kind of thing."She nodded her head at a table near them, where two girls and two youngmen were chaffing each other very loudly, and carrying on an archinsinuating dialogue, sprinkled with endearments97, about, it seemed,a pair of stockings or a pair of legs. One of the girls was flirtinga fan and pretending to be shocked, and the sight was very unpleasant,partly because it was obvious that the girls were secretly hostileto each other.
"In my old age, however," Helen sighed, "I'm coming to thinkthat it doesn't much matter in the long run what one does:
people always go their own way--nothing will ever influence them."She nodded her head at the supper party.
But St. John did not agree. He said that he thought one couldreally make a great deal of difference by one's point of view,books and so on, and added that few things at the present timemattered more than the enlightenment of women. He sometimes thoughtthat almost everything was due to education.
In the ballroom, meanwhile, the dancers were being formed intosquares for the lancers. Arthur and Rachel, Susan and Hewet,Miss Allan and Hughling Elliot found themselves together.
Miss Allan looked at her watch.
"Half-past one," she stated. "And I have to despatch98 AlexanderPope to-morrow.""Pope!" snorted Mr. Elliot. "Who reads Pope, I should like to know?
And as for reading about him--No, no, Miss Allan; be persuaded youwill benefit the world much more by dancing than by writing."It was one of Mr. Elliot's affectations that nothing in the worldcould compare with the delights of dancing--nothing in the worldwas so tedious as literature. Thus he sought pathetically enoughto ingratiate himself with the young, and to prove to them beyonda doubt that though married to a ninny of a wife, and rather paleand bent99 and careworn100 by his weight of learning, he was as much aliveas the youngest of them all.
"It's a question of bread and butter," said Miss Allan calmly.
"However, they seem to expect me." She took up her position andpointed a square black toe.
"Mr. Hewet, you bow to me." It was evident at once that Miss Allanwas the only one of them who had a thoroughly102 sound knowledgeof the figures of the dance.
After the lancers there was a waltz; after the waltz a polka;and then a terrible thing happened; the music, which had beensounding regularly with five-minute pauses, stopped suddenly.
The lady with the great dark eyes began to swathe her violinin silk, and the gentleman placed his horn carefully in its case.
They were surrounded by couples imploring103 them in English, in French,in Spanish, of one more dance, one only; it was still early.
But the old man at the piano merely exhibited his watch and shookhis head. He turned up the collar of his coat and produced a redsilk muffler, which completely dashed his festive105 appearance.
Strange as it seemed, the musicians were pale and heavy-eyed; they lookedbored and prosaic106, as if the summit of their desire was cold meatand beer, succeeded immediately by bed.
Rachel was one of those who had begged them to continue. When theyrefused she began turning over the sheets of dance music which layupon the piano. The pieces were generally bound in coloured covers,with pictures on them of romantic scenes--gondoliers astrideon the crescent of the moon, nuns107 peering through the bars of aconvent window, or young women with their hair down pointing a gunat the stars. She remembered that the general effect of the musicto which they had danced so gaily108 was one of passionate109 regretfor dead love and the innocent years of youth; dreadful sorrowshad always separated the dancers from their past happiness.
"No wonder they get sick of playing stuff like this," she remarkedreading a bar or two; "they're really hymn110 tunes112, played very fast,with bits out of Wagner and Beethoven.""Do you play? Would you play? Anything, so long as we candance to it!" From all sides her gift for playing the pianowas insisted upon, and she had to consent. As very soon shehad played the only pieces of dance music she could remember,she went on to play an air from a sonata113 by Mozart.
"But that's not a dance," said some one pausing by the piano.
"It is," she replied, emphatically nodding her head. "Invent the steps."Sure of her melody she marked the rhythm boldly so as to simplifythe way. Helen caught the idea; seized Miss Allan by the arm,and whirled round the room, now curtseying, now spinning round,now tripping this way and that like a child skipping through a meadow.
"This is the dance for people who don't know how to dance!"she cried. The tune111 changed to a minuet; St. John hopped114 withincredible swiftness first on his left leg, then on his right;the tune flowed melodiously115; Hewet, swaying his arms and holdingout the tails of his coat, swam down the room in imitation of thevoluptuous dreamy dance of an Indian maiden62 dancing before her Rajah.
The tune marched; and Miss Allen advanced with skirts extendedand bowed profoundly to the engaged pair. Once their feet fellin with the rhythm they showed a complete lack of selfconsciousness.
From Mozart Rachel passed without stopping to old English hunting songs,carols, and hymn tunes, for, as she had observed, any good tune,with a little management, became a tune one could dance to.
By degrees every person in the room was tripping and turning in pairsor alone. Mr. Pepper executed an ingenious pointed101 step derivedfrom figure-skating, for which he once held some local championship;while Mrs. Thornbury tried to recall an old country dance which shehad seen danced by her father's tenants116 in Dorsetshire in the old days.
As for Mr. and Mrs. Elliot, they gallopaded round and round the roomwith such impetuosity that the other dancers shivered at their approach.
Some people were heard to criticise117 the performance as a romp;to others it was the most enjoyable part of the evening.
"Now for the great round dance!" Hewet shouted. Instantly a giganticcircle was formed, the dancers holding hands and shouting out,"D'you ken28 John Peel," as they swung faster and faster and faster,until the strain was too great, and one link of the chain--Mrs. Thornbury--gave way, and the rest went flying across the roomin all directions, to land upon the floor or the chairs or in eachother's arms as seemed most convenient.
Rising from these positions, breathless and unkempt, it struckthem for the first time that the electric lights pricked118 the airvery vainly, and instinctively119 a great many eyes turned tothe windows. Yes--there was the dawn. While they had been dancingthe night had passed, and it had come. Outside, the mountainsshowed very pure and remote; the dew was sparkling on the grass,and the sky was flushed with blue, save for the pale yellowsand pinks in the East. The dancers came crowding to the windows,pushed them open, and here and there ventured a foot upon the grass.
"How silly the poor old lights look!" said Evelyn M. in a curiouslysubdued tone of voice. "And ourselves; it isn't becoming."It was true; the untidy hair, and the green and yellow gems, which hadseemed so festive half an hour ago, now looked cheap and slovenly120.
The complexions121 of the elder ladies suffered terribly, and, as ifconscious that a cold eye had been turned upon them, they beganto say good-night and to make their way up to bed.
Rachel, though robbed of her audience, had gone on playing to herself.
From John Peel she passed to Bach, who was at this time the subjectof her intense enthusiasm, and one by one some of the younger dancerscame in from the garden and sat upon the deserted122 gilt123 chairs roundthe piano, the room being now so clear that they turned out the lights.
As they sat and listened, their nerves were quieted; the heat andsoreness of their lips, the result of incessant124 talking and laughing,was smoothed away. They sat very still as if they saw a building withspaces and columns succeeding each other rising in the empty space.
Then they began to see themselves and their lives, and the wholeof human life advancing very nobly under the direction of the music.
They felt themselves ennobled, and when Rachel stopped playing theydesired nothing but sleep.
Susan rose. "I think this has been the happiest night of my life!"she exclaimed. "I do adore music," she said, as she thanked Rachel.
"It just seems to say all the things one can't say oneself."She gave a nervous little laugh and looked from one to another withgreat benignity125, as though she would like to say something but couldnot find the words in which to express it. "Every one's been so kind--so very kind," she said. Then she too went to bed.
The party having ended in the very abrupt126 way in which partiesdo end, Helen and Rachel stood by the door with their cloaks on,looking for a carriage.
"I suppose you realise that there are no carriages left?"said St. John, who had been out to look. "You must sleep here.""Oh, no," said Helen; "we shall walk.""May we come too?" Hewet asked. "We can't go to bed. Imagine lyingamong bolsters127 and looking at one's washstand on a morning like this--Is that where you live?" They had begun to walk down the avenue,and he turned and pointed at the white and green villa128 on the hillside,which seemed to have its eyes shut.
"That's not a light burning, is it?" Helen asked anxiously.
"It's the sun," said St. John. The upper windows had each a spotof gold on them.
"I was afraid it was my husband, still reading Greek," she said.
"All this time he's been editing _Pindar_."They passed through the town and turned up the steep road,which was perfectly129 clear, though still unbordered by shadows.
Partly because they were tired, and partly because the early lightsubdued them, they scarcely spoke93, but breathed in the deliciousfresh air, which seemed to belong to a different state of lifefrom the air at midday. When they came to the high yellow wall,where the lane turned off from the road, Helen was for dismissingthe two young men.
"You've come far enough," she said. "Go back to bed."But they seemed unwilling130 to move.
"Let's sit down a moment," said Hewet. He spread his coat onthe ground. "Let's sit down and consider." They sat down and lookedout over the bay; it was very still, the sea was rippling131 faintly,and lines of green and blue were beginning to stripe it. There wereno sailing boats as yet, but a steamer was anchored in the bay,looking very ghostly in the mist; it gave one unearthly cry,and then all was silent.
Rachel occupied herself in collecting one grey stone after anotherand building them into a little cairn; she did it very quietlyand carefully.
"And so you've changed your view of life, Rachel?" said Helen.
Rachel added another stone and yawned. "I don't remember," she said,"I feel like a fish at the bottom of the sea." She yawned again.
None of these people possessed132 any power to frighten her out here inthe dawn, and she felt perfectly familiar even with Mr. Hirst.
"My brain, on the contrary," said Hirst, "is in a conditionof abnormal activity." He sat in his favourite position with hisarms binding133 his legs together and his chin resting on the topof his knees. "I see through everything--absolutely everything.
Life has no more mysteries for me." He spoke with conviction,but did not appear to wish for an answer. Near though they sat,and familiar though they felt, they seemed mere104 shadows to each other.
"And all those people down there going to sleep," Hewet began dreamily,"thinking such different things,--Miss Warrington, I suppose,is now on her knees; the Elliots are a little startled, it's not often_they_ get out of breath, and they want to get to sleep as quicklyas possible; then there's the poor lean young man who danced all nightwith Evelyn; he's putting his flower in water and asking himself,'Is this love?'--and poor old Perrott, I daresay, can't get to sleepat all, and is reading his favourite Greek book to console himself--and the others--no, Hirst," he wound up, "I don't find it simpleat all.""I have a key," said Hirst cryptically134. His chin was still uponhis knees and his eyes fixed135 in front of him.
A silence followed. Then Helen rose and bade them good-night.
"But," she said, "remember that you've got to come and see us."They waved good-night and parted, but the two young men did notgo back to the hotel; they went for a walk, during which theyscarcely spoke, and never mentioned the names of the two women,who were, to a considerable extent, the subject of their thoughts.
They did not wish to share their impressions. They returned tothe hotel in time for breakfast.
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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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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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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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fiddled
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| v.伪造( fiddle的过去式和过去分词 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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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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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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ousted
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| 驱逐( oust的过去式和过去分词 )； 革职； 罢黜； 剥夺 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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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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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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gargoyle
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| n.笕嘴 | |
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anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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jut
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| v.突出；n.突出，突出物 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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platitude
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| n.老生常谈，陈词滥调 | |
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goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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galling
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| adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
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53
veered
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| 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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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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56
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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57
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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59
intervals
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| 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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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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68
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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76
waddling
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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81
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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84
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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94
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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95
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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96
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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97
endearments
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| n.表示爱慕的话语，亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
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98
despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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99
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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100
careworn
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| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
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101
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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102
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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103
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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104
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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105
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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106
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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107
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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108
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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109
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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110
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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111
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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112
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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113
sonata
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| n.奏鸣曲 | |
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114
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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115
melodiously
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116
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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117
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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118
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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119
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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120
slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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121
complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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122
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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123
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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124
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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125
benignity
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| n.仁慈 | |
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126
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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127
bolsters
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| n.长枕( bolster的名词复数 )；垫子；衬垫；支持物v.支持( bolster的第三人称单数 )；支撑；给予必要的支持；援助 | |
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128
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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129
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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130
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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131
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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132
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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133
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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134
cryptically
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135
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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