“I want to make pictures. You’ll teach me, won’t you, Miss Eve?”
“I’ll try to.”
“I’ve got a lovely box of paints. What a nice music stand you’ve got.”
“Some people call it an easel.”
“I ought to have one, oughtn’t I? I’ll ask Mr. Beeby to make one. Mr. Beeby’s the carpenter. He’s such a funny man, with a round-the-corner eye.”
Eve took the apprenticeship1 as seriously as it was offered, and started Lynette on a group of blue delphiniums, white lilies, and scarlet2 poppies. Lynette began with fine audacity3, and red, white and blue splodges sprang up all over the sheet. But they refused to take on any suggestion of detail, and the more Lynette strove with them, the smudgier they became.
“Oh, Miss Eve!”
“How are you getting on?”
“I’m not getting on.”
“The colours seem to have got on your fingers.”
“They’re all sticky. I oughtn’t to lick them, ought I?”
“No. Try a rag.”
“I’ll go and wash in the gold-fish basin. The gold-fish won’t mind.”
She ran off into the Japanese garden, reappeared, borrowed one of Eve’s clean rags, and stood watching the expert’s brush laying on colours.
“You do do it beautifully.”
“Well, you see, I have done it for years.”
“I shall be awful old, then, before I can paint daddy a picture. Can you draw fairies and animals?”
“Supposing I try?”
“Yes, do. Draw some in my book.”
The easel picture was covered up and abandoned for the time being. The two stools were placed side by side, and the two heads, the auburn and the black, came very close together.
“I’ll draw Mr. Puck.”
“Yes, Mr. Puck.”
“Mr. Puck is all round—round head, round eyes, round mouth.”
“What a funny little round tummy you have given him!”
“You see, he’s rather greedy. Now we’ll draw Mr. Bruin.”
“Daddy made such funny rhymes about Mr. Bruin. Give him a top-hat. Isn’t that sweet? But what’s he doing—sucking his fingers?”
“He has been stealing honey, and he’s licking his paws.”
“Now—now draw something out of the Bible.”
“The Bible?”
“Yes. Draw God making Eve.”
“That would take rather a long time.”
“Well, draw the Serpent Devil, and God in the garden.”
“I’ll draw the serpent.”
“What a lovely Snake Devil! Now, if I’d been God, I’d have got a big stick and hit the Snake Devil on the head. Wouldn’t it have saved lots and lots of trouble?”
“It would.”
“Then why didn’t God do it?”
Eve was rescued by Canterton from justifying6 such theological incongruities7. He found them with their heads together, auburn and black bent8 over Lynette’s drawing-book. He stood for a moment or two watching them, and listening to their intimate prattle9. This girl who loved the colour and the mystery of life as he loved them could be as a child with Lynette.
“You seem very busy.”
Lynette jumped up.
“Daddy, come and look! Isn’t Miss Eve clever?”
For some reason Eve blushed, and did not turn to look at Canterton.
“Here’s Mr. Puck, and old Bruin, and Titania, and Orson, and the Devil Serpent. Miss Eve is just splendid at devils.”
“Is she? That’s rather a reflection.”
He stood behind Eve and looked down over her shoulder.
“You have given the serpent a woman’s head.”
She turned her chin but not her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Symbolism?”
“I may have been thinking of something you said the other day.”
A full-throated and good-humoured voice was heard calling, “Lynette—Lynette!”
“Oh, there’s Miss Vance! It’s the music lesson. I’ll show her the Serpent Devil. I’ll come back, Miss Eve, presently.”
They were silent for a few moments after she had gone.
He came and stood in front of Eve.
“You seem to be getting on famously, you two.”
Her eyes lifted to his.
“She’s delightful12! No self-consciousness, no showing off, and such vitality13. And that hair and those elf’s eyes of hers thrill one.”
“And she likes you too, not a little.”
Eve coloured.
“Well, if she does, it’s like a bit of real life flying in through the narrow window of little worries, and calling one out to play.”
“Little worries?”
“I don’t want to talk about them—the importunities of the larder14, and the holes in the house-linen, and the weekly bills. I am always trying to teach myself to laugh. And it is very good for one to be among flowers.”
He glanced at the easel.
“You have covered up the picture. May I see it?”
“It is not quite finished. In twenty minutes——”
“May I come back in twenty minutes?”
“Oh, yes!”
“I like my own flowers to be just at their best when friends are to see them.”
“Yes, you understand.”
Canterton left her and spent half an hour walking the winding15 paths of the Japanese garden, crossing miniature waterways, and gazing into little pools. There were dwarf16 trees, dwarf hedges, and a little wooden temple half smothered17 with roses in which sat a solemn, black marble Buddha18. This Buddha had caused a mystery and a scandal in the neighbourhood, for it had been whispered that Canterton was a Buddhist19, and that he had been found on his knees in this little wooden temple. In the pools, crimson20, white, and yellow lilies basked21. The rocks were splashed with colour. Clumps22 of Japanese iris23 spread out their flat tops of purple and white and rose. Fish swam in the pools with a vague glimmer24 of silver and gold.
At the end of half an hour Canterton returned to the walled garden, and found Eve sitting before the picture, her hands lying in her lap. The poise25 of her head reminded him of “Beata Beatrix,” but her face had far more colour, more passionate26 aliveness, and there was the sex mystery upon her mouth and in the blackness of her hair.
“Ready?”
She turned to him and smiled.
“Yes, you may look.”
He stood gazing at her work in silence, yet with a profound delight welling up into his eyes. She watched his face, sensitively, hardly conscious of the fact that she wanted to please him more than anyone else in the world.
“Exquisite! By George, you have eyes!”
“I surprised myself. I think it must be Lynette’s magic, and the fairies in the Wilderness28.”
“If you are going to paint like that, you ought to do big things.”
“Oh, I don’t know! There are not many people who really care.”
“That’s true.”
He gazed again at the picture, and then his eyes suddenly sought hers.
“Yes, you can see things—you can feel the colour.”
“Sometimes it is so vivid that it almost hurts.”
They continued to look into each other’s eyes, questioningly, wonderingly, with something akin5 to self-realisation. It was as though they had discovered each other, and were re-discovering each other every time they met and talked.
Lynette reappeared where the long walk ended in a little courtyard paved with red bricks, and surrounded by square-cut box hedges. She had finished her half-hour’s music lesson with Miss Vance, and was out again like a bird on the wing. Canterton had insisted on limiting her lessons to three hours a day, though his ideas on a child’s upbringing had clashed with those of his wife. There had been a vast deal of talking on Gertrude’s part, and a few laconic29 answers on the part of her husband. Now and again, when the issue was serious, Canterton quietly persisted in having his own way. He never interfered30 with her multifarious schemes. Gertrude could fuss here, there, and everywhere, provided she did not tamper31 with Lynette’s childhood, or thrust her activities into the serious life of the great gardens of Fernhill.
“Let’s go and have tea in the Wilderness.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll come, Miss Eve?”
She snuggled up to Eve, and an arm went round her.
“I’m afraid I can’t, dear, to-day.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I must go home and take care of my mother.”
“How funny! Fancy anyone wanting to take care of my mother. Why, she’s always wanting to take care of everybody else, ’cept me! I wonder if they like it? I shouldn’t.”
“Your mother is very kind to everybody, dear.”
“Is she? Then why don’t Sarah, and Ann, and Edith, and Johnson, like her? I know they don’t, for I’ve heard them talking. They all love you, daddy.”
Canterton looked at her gravely.
“You mustn’t listen to what everybody says. And never tell tales of everybody. Come along, old lady, we’ll go down to the Wilderness.”
“I wish you’d come, Miss Eve.”
“I wish I could, but I mustn’t to-day.”
“I do like you so much, really I do.”
Eve drew Lynette close and kissed her with impulsive33 tenderness. And Canterton, who saw the love in the kiss, felt that he was standing34 at the gateway35 of mystery.
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1
apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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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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3
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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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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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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6
justifying
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| 证明…有理( justify的现在分词 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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7
incongruities
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| n.不协调( incongruity的名词复数 )；不一致；不适合；不协调的东西 | |
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8
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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9
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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10
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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12
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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13
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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14
larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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15
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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16
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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17
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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18
Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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19
Buddhist
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| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
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20
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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21
basked
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的过去式和过去分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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22
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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24
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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25
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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26
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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exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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28
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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29
laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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30
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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31
tamper
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| v.干预，玩弄，贿赂，窜改，削弱，损害 | |
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32
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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33
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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34
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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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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