Therefore Pelleas and I went in town to fetch various belongings4 and Nichola. Or I think I should say to approach Nichola, that violent and inevitable5 force to be reckoned with like the weather and earthquakes.
“Whatever will Nichola say?” we had been wondering all the way on train and ferry, and “Whatever will Nichola say?” we put it in a kind of panic, as Pelleas turned the latch-key at our house.
We went at once to the kitchen and as we descended6 the stairs we heard her singing low, like a lullaby, that passionate8 serenade, Com’ è gentil, from Don Pasquale. Her voice is harsh and broken and sadly alien to serenades but the tones have never lost what might have been their power of lullaby. Perhaps it is that this is never lost from any woman’s voice. At all events, old Nichola reduces street-organ song, and hymn9, and aria10 di bravura11 to this universal cradle measure.
When we appeared thus suddenly before her she looked up, but she did not cease her song. She kept her eyes on us and I saw them light, but the serenade went on and her hands continued their task above the table.
“Nichola,” I said, “we are invited to a most beautiful place on Long Island to stay a month while our friends are away. We are to take you, and we must start to-morrow. The house has one hundred and forty rooms, Nichola, and you shall be my lady’s maid, as you used.”
“And nothing to do, Nichola, but pick roses and sing,” Pelleas added, beaming.
Our old serving-woman pinched the crust about a plump new pie. On the board lay a straggling remnant of the dough13 for the Guinea goat. Nichola always fashioned from the remnant of pie-crust a Guinea goat which she baked and, with a blanket of jelly, ate, beginning at the horns. Once in her native Capri there had appeared, she had told me, a man from West Africa leading a Guinea goat which she averred14 could count; and the incident had so impressed her that she had never since made a pie without shaping this ruminant quadruped. Whether there really ever was such a goat I do not know, but Nichola believed in it and in memoriam molded pie-crust goats by the thousand. She has even fried them as doughnuts, too; but these are not so successful for the horns puff15 out absurdly.
“A hundred and forty rooms, Nichola,” I said, “and you shall be my lady’s maid.”
“Yah!” Nichola rejoined, interrupting her song rather to attend to pricking16 the pie-crust with a fork than to reply to us; “don’t look for no lady-maiding from me, mem. I’ll be kep’ busy countin’ up the windows, me. When do we start off?” she wanted to know.
Nichola evidently believed us to be jesting. Later when she found that our extravagant17 proposition was the truth she pretended to have known from the first.
We were in the midst of our simple preparations, when a wonderful thing occurred to Pelleas. I was folding my gown of heliotrope18 silk in its tissues, the gown with the collar of Mechlin which is now my chief finery, when Pelleas came in our room.
“Etarre,” he said, “you know what day comes next week. And now we shall spend it at Little Rosemont, alone!”
I knew what he meant. Had we not previously19 talked of it and mourned that it was not possible to us to celebrate that day alone, as we had always dreamed that one’s golden-wedding day should be spent?
“Our wedding day—our golden-wedding day,” I said.
Pelleas nodded. “As if they have not all been golden,” he observed simply.
There was in every fern a nod for our good fortune as on that next afternoon Pelleas and Nichola and I drove up the avenue at Little Rosemont. And at the very park entrance, though of course we did not know that at the time, a part of our adventure began when the gate was opened by that brown, smiling young under-gardener Karl, with honest man’s eyes and a boy’s dimples, who bowed us into the place like a good genie20. As we returned his greeting we felt that he was in a manner ringing up the curtain on the spectacle but we did not forecast that he was also to play a most important part.
In the great hall all the servants were gathered to welcome us, an ensemble21 of liveries and courtesies in which I distinguished22 only Mrs. Woods, the housekeeper23, very grave, a little hoarse24, and clothed on with black satin. We escaped as soon as possible, Pelleas and I not having been formed by heaven to play the important squire25 and his lady arriving home to bonfires and village bells and a chorus of our rent roll. But once safely in the lordly sitting room of our suite26, with its canopies27 and a dais, and epergnes filled with orchids28, I had but to look at Pelleas to feel wonderfully at home. It is a blessed thing to love some one so much that you feel at home together in any place of deserts or perils29 or even lordly rooms filled with orchids.
On that first evening we were destined31 to chance upon another blessed thing of the same quality. After our solitary32 dinner in the stately dining-room, Pelleas and I went wandering in the grounds, very still in the hush33 of June with June’s little moon lying on the sky. Little Rosemont is a place of well-swept lawns, and orchards34 then newly freed from the spell of their bloom; it is a place of great spaces and long naves35, with groves37 whose trees seem to have been drawn38 together to some secret lyre. The house is a miracle of line and from its deep verandas39 one sees afar off a band of the sea, as if some god had struck it from the gray east. And everywhere at that glad season were the roses, thousands and thousands of roses—ah, fancy using figures to compute40 roses quite as one does in defraying debts. Though indeed as Pelleas frivolously41 said, “‘Time brings roses’ but so does money!” For many of those assembled were from Persia and Cashmere and I dare say from Lud and Phut. I think that I have never had an experience of great delight at which a band of familiar, singing things was not present; and when I remember the month at Little Rosemont it is as if the roses were the musical interludes, like a Greek chorus, explaining what is. They hang starry43 on almost every incident; unless perhaps on that of the night of our arrival, when we are told that Nichola in the servants’ dining-hall produced a basket which she had brought with her and calmly took therefrom her Guinea goat of the day before and ate it, before all assembled, beginning at the horns!
From the driveway on that first walk Pelleas and I looked up to a balcony over which the roses were at carnival44. It was the kind of balcony that belongs to a moon and I half suspect all such balconies to be moon-made and invisible by sun or starlight; it was the kind of balcony that one finds in very old books, and one is certain that if any other than a lover were to step thereon it would forthwith crumble45 away. Pelleas, looking up at the balcony, irrelevantly46 said:—
“Do you remember the young rector over there in Inglese? The Reverend Arthur Didbin? Who married Viola to Our Telephone the other day?”
“Yes, of course, Pelleas,” said I, listening. What could the Reverend Arthur Didbin have to do with this balcony of roses?
“I’ve been thinking,” Pelleas went on, “that next week, on our golden-wedding day you know, we might have him come up here in the evening—there will be a full moon then—” he hesitated.
“Yes, yes?” I pressed him, bewildered.
“Well, and we might have him read the service for us, just we three up there on the balcony. The marriage service, Etarre—unless you think it would be too stupid and sentimental47, you know?”
“Stupid!” I said, “O, Pelleas.”
“But she thinks so anyway,” I urged, “and besides she will never know. But Mr. Didbin—what of him?” I asked doubtfully; “will he laugh or will he understand?”
Pelleas reflected.
“Ah, well,” he said, “Hobart told me that one night when Mr. Didbin’s train ran into an open switch he walked through six miles of mud to marry a little country couple whom he had never seen.”
And that confirmed us: The Reverend Arthur Didbin would understand. We stepped on in the pleasant light talking of this quite as if we had a claim on moon-made balconies and were the only lovers in the world. That we were not the only lovers we were soon to discover. At the edge of a grove36, where a midsummer-night-dream of a fountain tinkled49, we emerged on a green slope spangled with little flowers; and on its marge stood a shallow arbour formed like a shell or a petal50 and brave with bloom. We hastened toward it, certain that it had risen from the green to receive us, and were close upon it before we saw that it was already occupied. And there sat Bonnie, the little maid whose romance we had openly fostered, and with her that young Karl, the under-gardener, whom we observed in an instant Avis could never call Faint Heart any more.
Pelleas glanced at me merrily as we immediately turned aside pretending to be vastly absorbed in some botanical researches on the spangled evening slope.
“Bless us, Etarre,” he said, smiling, “what a world it is. You cannot possibly hollow out an arbour anywhere without two lovers waiting to occupy it.”
“Ah, yes,” said I, “the only difficulty is that there are more lovers than arbours. Here are we for example, arbourless.”
But that we did not mind. On the contrary, being meddlers where arbours and so on are concerned, we set about finding out more of the two whom we had surprised. This was not difficult because we had brought with us Nichola; and through her we were destined to develop huge interest in the household. Nichola indeed talked of them all perpetually while she was about my small mending and dressing52 and she scolded shrilly53 at matters as she found them quite as she habitually55 criticizes all orders and systems. Nichola is in conversation a sad misanthrope56, which is a pity, for she does not know it; and to know it is, one must suppose, the only compensation for being a misanthrope. She inveighed57 for example against the cook and the head laundress who had a most frightful58 feud59 of long standing60, jealously nourished, though neither now had the faintest idea in what it had arisen—was this not cosmopolitan61 and almost human of these two? And Nichola railed at the clannishness62 of the haughty63 Scotch64 butler until he one day opened an entry door for her, after which she softened65 her carping, as is the way of the world also, and objected only to what she called his “animal brogue,” for all the speeches of earth alien to the Italian are to Nichola a sign of just so much black inferiority. And she went on at a furious rate about the scandalous ways of “Reddie,” the second stableman, who, she declared, “kep’ the actual rats in the stable floor with their heads off their pillows, what with his playin’ on a borrow’ fiddle66 that he’d wen’ to work an’ learnt of himself.” Through Nichola we also had our attention directed to Mrs. Woods’ groveling fear of burglars—her one claim to distinction unless one includes that she pronounced them “burgulars.” And too we heard of the sinful pride of Sarah McLean of the cedar67 linen68 room who declared in the hearing of the household that one of her ancestors was a Hittite. Where she had acquired this historic impression we never learned nor with what she had confused the truth; but she stoutly69 clung to her original assertion and on one occasion openly told the housekeeper that as for her family-tree it was in the Old Testament70 Bible; and the housekeeper, crossing herself, told this to Nichola who listened, making the sign of the horn to ward51 away the evil. It was like learning the secrets of a village; but the greatest of these realities proved to be Bonnie McLean, daughter of her of Hittite descent, and Karl, the under-gardener and the genie of the gate. Picture the agitation71 of Pelleas and me when Nichola told us this:—
“Yes, mem,” she said, “them two, they’re in love pitiful. But the young leddy’s mother, she’s a widdy-leddy an’ dependent on. An’ as for the young fellow, he’s savin’ up fer to get his own mother acrost from the old country an’ when he does it they’re agoin’ to get marrit. But he needs eighty dollars an’ so far they say he’s got nine. Ain’t it the shame, mem, an’ the very potatoes in this house with cluster diamin’s in their eyes?”
Surely Avis did not know this about the young lovers—Avis, one of whose frocks would have set the two at housekeeping with the mother from “the old country” at the head of the table. Pelleas and I were certain that she did not know, although we have found that there are charming people of colossal73 interests to whom one marriage more or less seems to count for as little as a homeless kitten, or a “fledgling dead,” or the needless felling of an ancient oak. But it is among these things that Pelleas and I live, and we believe that in spite of all the lovers in the world there is yet not enough love to spare one lover’s happiness. So while the moon swelled74 to the full and swung through the black gulf75 of each night as if it had been shaped by heaven for that night’s appointment, we moved among the roses of Little Rosemont, biding76 our golden-wedding day, gradually becoming more and more intent upon the romance and the homely77 realities of that liveried household. Perhaps it was the story of Bonnie and Karl that suggested to Pelleas the next step in our adventure; or it may have been our interest in “Reddie,” whom we unearthed78 in the stable one afternoon and who, radiant, played for us for an hour and fervently79 thanked us when he had concluded. At all events, as our day of days came on apace Pelleas became convinced that it was infamously80 selfish for us to spend it in our own way. Because heaven had opened to us was that a reason for occupying heaven to the exclusion81 of the joys of others?
“Etarre,” he said boldly, “there is not the least virtue82 in making those about one happy. That is mere42 civilization. But there is nobody about us but Avis’ servants. And she told us to make ourselves at home. Let’s give all the servants a holiday on that day and get on by ourselves.”
“We might let them picnic in the grounds,” I suggested doubtfully.
“With lemonade and cake,” Pelleas submitted.
“Lemonade and cake!” I retorted with superiority; “the servants of to-day expect lobster83 and champagne84.”
“Ah, well,” Pelleas defiantly85 maintained, “I believe they will like your cream tarts86 anyway.” He meditated87 for a moment and then burst out daringly: “Etarre! Would Avis care? Of course she could never do it herself; but do you think she would care if we let them all come up that night and dance in the great hall?”
I stared at Pelleas aghast.
“But they wouldn’t like it, Pelleas!” I cried; “servants, in this day, are different. That butler now—O, Pelleas, he’d never do it.”
“Indeed he would,” Pelleas returned confidently; “he’s a fine Scot with a very decent bagpipe88 in his clothes closet. I’ve seen it. I’ll get him to bring it!” Pelleas declared with assurance.
“But why—” I quavered momentarily; “and why not?” I instantly went on; “the very thing!” I ended, as triumphantly89 as if I had thought the matter out quite for myself. “And, if you like, Pelleas, I’ll oversee90 the making of the cream tarts for the whole company!” I added, not to be outdone.
It is amazing what pleasant incredulities become perfectly91 possible when once you attack them as Nichola attacks her Guinea goats, beginning at the horns.
So that was why, having broached92 the subject to those concerned as delicately as if we had been providing entertainment for a minister of state; having been met with the enthusiasm which such a minister might exhibit as diplomacy93; and having myself contributed to the event by the preparation of a mountain of my chef d’œuvre, the frozen cream tarts which Pelleas appears to think would be fitting for both thrones and ministers assembled, he and I stood together at half after eight on the evening of our golden-wedding day and, in the middle of our lordly sitting room, looked at each other with tardy94 trembling. Now that the occasion was full upon us it seemed a Titanic95 undertaking96. I was certain that far from being delighted the servants were alarmed and derisive97 and wary98 of our advances; that “Reddie” would at the last moment refuse to play upon his borrowed fiddle for the dancing; and that the haughty Scotch butler would be bored to extinction99.
“O, Pelleas!” I said miserably100, as we went down the grand staircase, “it’s a terrible business, this attempt at philanthropy among the servants in high places.”
“At all events,” said Pelleas brightly, “we are not plotting to improve them. Though of course if that is done in the right way—” he added, not to be thought light-minded. Pelleas has an adorable habit of saying the most rebellious102 things, but it is simply because he is of opinion that a great deal of nonsense is talked by those who have not the brains to rebel.
On a sudden impulse he drew me aside to the latticed window of the landing and pushed it ajar. The moon rode high above the oaks; it was as if the night stood aside in delighted silence in this exalted103 moment of the moon’s full. Around the casement104 the roses gathered, so that the air was sweet.
“Ah, well,” Pelleas said softly, “I dare say they’ll like it. They must—‘in such a night.’ We’ll leave them to themselves in a little while. The Reverend Arthur Didbin will be here at ten, remember.”
The great honey-tongued clock beside us touched the silence with the half hour.
“Pelleas,” I whispered him, “O, Pelleas. It was fifty years ago this very minute. We were saying, ‘I will’ and ‘I will.’”
“Well,” said Pelleas, “we have, dear. Though we may yet fall out on a question of Angora cats and the proper way to lay an open fire.”
We smiled, but we understood. And we lingered for a moment in silence. Let me say to all skeptics that it is worth being married an hundred years to attain105 such a moment as that.
Then as we went down the stairs the dining-room door suddenly burst open with an amazing, eerie106 clamour; and into the great oak-paneled hall marched the haughty Scotch butler in full Highland107 costume, plaid and bare knees and feather, playing on his bagpipe like mad. No peril30, then, of his being bored to extinction, nor the others, as we were soon to find. For the bagpipe gave the signal and immediately came pouring from below stairs the great procession of our guests. My old head grows quite giddy as I try to recount them. There were Mrs. Woods, very grave, a little hoarse, and clothed on with black satin; and the mother of Bonnie in brown silk and a cameo pin, as became a daughter of the Hittites; and Bonnie herself of exquisite108 prettiness in white muslin and rosebuds109; and Karl in his well-brushed black; and “Reddie,” his face shining above a flaming cravat110; and the cook and the head laundress who had entered competitive toilettes like any gentlewomen; and the other menservants in decent apparel; and a bevy111 of chic112 maids in crisp finery and very high heels. Led by Mrs. Woods they came streaming toward us and shook our hands—was ever such a picture anywhere, I wondered, as I saw them moving between the priceless tapestries113 and clustering about the vast marble fireplace that came from the quarries114 of Africa. And to our unbounded gratification they seemed immensely to like it all and not to have lost their respect for us because we were civil to them. Then when, presently, we had sent “Reddie” and his fiddle up to the pillared musicians’ gallery, they all rose to his first strains and in an instant the Scotch butler had led out the crispest and highest-heeled of the maids and they all danced away with a will. Danced very well too. It is amazing how tricks of deportment are communicable from class to class. If I were to offer to solve the servant problem I conclude that I would suggest to all employers: Be gentlemen and gentlewomen yourselves and live with all dignity and daintiness. Though I dare say that I am a very impractical115 old woman, but all the virtue in the world does not lie in practicality either.
In a little time Pelleas slipped away to brew116 a steaming punch—a harmless steaming punch made from a recipe which my mother, who was a high church woman, always compounded for dining archbishops and the like. Bonnie and Karl did not dance but sat upon an old stone window seat brought from Thebes and watched with happy eyes. And when the punch came in we wheeled it before them and they served every one.
In that lull7 in the dancing I looked about with sudden misgiving117; Nichola was not with us. Where was Nichola, that faithful old woman, and why was she not at our party? She had left me in full season to make ready.
“Where is Nichola?” I anxiously demanded of Pelleas, reproaching myself for my neglect.
Pelleas did not immediately answer and when I looked up I fancied that I detected his eyes twinkling. But before I could wonder or inquire came that which it makes my heart beat now to remember. Without the slightest warning there sounded and echoed a violent summons on the great entrance doors. Nothing could have created more consternation118 than did the innocent fall of that silver knocker at Little Rosemont.
I chanced to be sitting near the door and I think that I must have risen in astonishment119. I saw Pelleas whirl in concern, and I was conscious of the instant lull in the animated120 talk. Then the Scotch butler recovered himself and in full Highland costume, with bare knees, he sprang to his post quite as if this had been at the head of a mountain pass and threw wide the door.
“Upon my word!” I heard exclaiming a fine, magnetic voice, “upon my word, a party. Let us blush and withdraw.”
But they came crowding to the door; and there in motor caps and coats stood a gay company of our friends and the friends of Avis, and of them Madame Sally Chartres and Wilfred; and Lisa and her uncle, Dudley Manners, who were guests near by at Chynmere Hall; and Hobart Eddy72, whose was the voice that I had heard. They had motored out from town and from places roundabout us and were come to pay us a visit.
“Sally!” said I feebly. Sally was with Hobart Eddy who adores her and, his critics say, affects her so-picturesque company to add to his so-popular eccentricities121. And with them came a cloud of the mighty122, a most impressive cloud of witnessing railway presidents and bankers and statesmen and the like; and all spectators at our party.
“No one is invited,” said I faintly, “we all belong here. Ah,” I cried, as the humour of it overcame me, “come in. Do come in. The punch is just served.”
They needed no second bidding. In they all marched in the merriest of humours, not in the least understanding the meaning of that strange assembly but with sufficient of moon magic and the swift motion in their dancing blood to be ready for everything. And while Pelleas led them away to the billiard room to put aside their wraps, I found Hobart Eddy beside me. And somehow, before I knew, I was telling him all about the occasion and at his beseeching124 actually leading him from one to another and soberly presenting him to Mrs. Woods and the daughter of the Hittites and the cook. Only to see that elegant young leader of cotillons bowing before the head laundress in her competitive toilette was something to remember.
“And voilà mes enfants, the sweethearts,” he murmured as we halted near the window seat from Thebes. There sat Bonnie and Karl, intent upon each other, she with a flush on her face that matched the rosebuds of her frock. And how it happened I hardly know, save that I was at that moment a distracted old woman and that in matters of romance I invariably lose my head; but I instantly went a little mad and told Hobart Eddy all about that young Endymion and his Diana of the tableaux125: how Endymion’s old mother must be spirited from “the old country” before they might be married; and even how eighty dollars was necessary and how they had only nine. I had just paused breathless when the others came trooping from the den2, and Sally Chartres in white cloth and white curls leaned upon the arm of Mr. Dudley Manners—he is king of some vast part of the mineral or vegetable kingdom at the moment though they modestly call it only a corner—and insisted on meeting every one, on hearing the bagpipe, on listening to “Reddie” play, and on being a good angel with a cloud of the mighty at her side.
In the midst of this bewildering business the dining-room doors opened and in came the tall and smiling footmen whose part was to bring up the supper of cold dainties. And even in that moment my heart thrilled with thanksgiving and pride in the contemplation of the one tall footman who bore the tray of those cream tarts of mine. I say it boldly, and Pelleas said it first: there never was such a decoction of thick, frozen cream and foamy126 chocolate in this world of delectables. I could not veil my satisfaction as I saw these set upon the table where the plates were piled, and of a truth they looked so delicious that for an instant it seemed to me the most natural thing in the world that Hobart Eddy should leap from his place at my side as if he had gone suddenly mad at the sight.
“Wait, please!” he cried ringingly, “no one must touch anything yet!”
On which he sprang up the step that leads to the great yellow salon127, lighted to enhance the look of festivity, and thus stood directly back of the supper table. He was very handsome, his face alight and glowing, his erect128, compact figure drawn to its full height. And before I could even guess what he was about, what had he done, this idol129 of society, this deviser of the eccentric, but make his friends know in a burst of amazing eloquence130 all that I had just told him of the love story of Bonnie and Karl, save their very names.
His friends listened, curious, ready to be amused, and at the last genuinely diverted; and the household of Little Rosemont listened, bewildered, not knowing what to expect; and as for Bonnie and Karl and Pelleas and me, we four listened and doubted the evidence of our own senses, until:—
“Therefore,” cried Hobart Eddy, “I offer at auction131 a portion of the contents of this table, especially one fourth of this tray of amazing tarts, as an all-star benefit for these two young people. Also, I offer a limited number of glasses of yonder punch—hey, Mannie!” he called warningly to Mr. Dudley Manners, who stood with a punch glass in his hand; “drop it down, man!”
“I’m hanged if I do,” said Mr. Manners, merrily; “I’ll bid five for it first, you know!”
“Done!” cried Hobart Eddy, rapping on the table, “and what am I bid for this first appetizing and innocent confection, this tart12, all compact of cream and spices—” So he went on, and I clung to my chair and expected the whole place to crumble away and Nichola to call me to breakfast in New York. It was too wonderful.
But it was all true. They were caught in the spirit of the happy hour as if this had been some new game contrived132 to tempt101 their flagging interests. They gathered about the table, they bid one another down, they prompted the auctioneer, they escaped to corners with cream tarts—my cream tarts!—for which they had paid a price that made me tremble. And as for our original guests, they were lined up at a respectful distance, but quite frantic133 with the excitement, for they were all devoted—as who would not have been?—to the two to whom this would mean all happiness. And as for Bonnie and Karl, scarce able to breathe they sat on the stone bench from Thebes and clung to each other’s hands. Ah, there never was such an hour. It makes me young to think of it.
So it went on until the last tart of the portion which he had reserved was auctioned134 to the highest bidder135. And hardly had Hobart Eddy invited the others to the table and paused for breath when the question that had been forced from my mind by the unexpected arrivals was answered: Nichola appeared in the dining-room door.
She had made herself splendid in her best frock, a flaming scarlet136 merino; for Nichola has never lost her Italian love of colour. On her head she had a marvelous cap of the kind that she can fashion at a moment’s notice from a linen pillow case and a bit of string. And she too bore a tray, a tray of that which had detained her below stairs fashioning it for a surprise, a tray, in short, heaped with tiers and tiers of pie-crust Guinea goats.
On these Hobart Eddy seized with an ardour that was beautiful to see. Nichola, frowning terribly, stood back half minded to break into shrill54 upbraidings. And while I was trying between my tears and smiles to make her know what it was all about, her whole herd137 of goats was sold off at a price which she afterward138 told me, privately139, was as high as the Pope in the Vatican could expect for his pie crusts.
They swept the pile of crisp notes and shining coin into a hat and thrust it in the hands of Nichola, who stood nearest; and that old woman at their bidding crossed the slippery oaken floor and poured the treasure in the lap of little Bonnie, while the daughter of the Hittites sobbed140 on the first shoulder, which chanced to be that of her ancient enemy, the housekeeper.
Nichola’s presentation speech was brief and to the point.
“Here,” she said, “get marrit.”
Bonnie, dear little maid in muslin and rosebuds, stood up with Karl, both pink and white to see; and they bowed, and laughed through their tears. Ah, there were tears in the eyes of others of us too as we looked; and Madame Sally Chartres and a very gay and magnificent Mrs. Dane-Orvil and the cook formed one group and impartially141 smiled at one another. Some way, a mask had fallen.
With Nichola’s words still in our ears the clock chimed quarter after ten, and in the moonlight of the open door appeared on a sudden the eager, concerned face of the Reverend Arthur Didbin, come to keep his appointment with Pelleas and me.
At sight of him Pelleas fairly beamed.
“Why not?” he cried out; “what do these two young people say? Why shall they not be married now?”
Why not, indeed? The proposition was met with acclamation. They hardly waited for the frightened, ecstatic nod of star-eyed little Bonnie before they had the supper table pushed aside—indeed, I do not remember now whether it was the railway president and Mr. Dudley Manners who did most of the work or the Scotch butler and the footmen, for they all helped together. And Bonnie and Karl stood up in the door of the salon, and so did the daughter of the Hittites, and Hobart Eddy insisted on being joint142 best man with the Scotch butler, and the Reverend Arthur Didbin married the two young lovers then and there. I have always held that the license143 demanded in some parts is unromantic nonsense.
After that there was a blur144 of adieux, and Hobart Eddy kissed my hand and even when his machine had been started came running back in the moonlight to get from Karl the address of his mother “in the old country” so that he might cable to her and have her rejoicing by next morning. No, never tell me that any man is mere idler and dilettante145, for I have seen the heart of one such and hereafter I dare not disbelieve in any one.
They all swept down the moonlit drive, hands waving, motor horns sounding; and the haughty Scotch butler in full Highland costume stood between two pillars and played his bagpipe to speed them on their way. The door of the tonneau of the last motor had just been hospitably146 opened with the offer to set down the Reverend Arthur Didbin in the village when that gentleman, his gray hair blowing, hurried to where Pelleas and I were standing.
“But,” he said anxiously, “did you not wish me for something? Did you not wish—”
At that Pelleas and I looked away from each other in sudden consternation and then with one accord smiled and shook our heads. With our assurance he turned away and in silence we watched him down the drive. And after the last motor had disappeared behind the shrubbery Pelleas and I lingered alone in the moonlit portal breathing in the roses, and still we did not meet each other’s eyes. But when there was at last no excuse for our waiting there longer I looked up at him shamefacedly enough.
“Pelleas,” I faced the truth, but solemnly lest he should imagine that I was not filled with regret at our neglect, “Pelleas, we forgot our golden wedding.”
“But there has been a golden wedding all the same,” said Pelleas.
However, in fear of what the balcony of roses would think of our defection, we stepped out there for a moment on our way upstairs. And there Pelleas said over something that is a kind of bridal song for a Golden Wedding:—
“My own, confirm me! If I tread
This path back, is it not in pride
To think how little I dreamed it led
To an age so blessed that by its side
Youth seems the waste instead!”
We do not think that the balcony itself can have agreed with this, because it was a moon balcony, made for youthful lovers. But roses are like a chorus, explaining what is; and no one can persuade us that these failed to understand.
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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2
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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3
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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4
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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5
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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6
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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7
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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8
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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9
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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10
aria
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| n.独唱曲，咏叹调 | |
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11
bravura
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| n.华美的乐曲；勇敢大胆的表现；adj.壮勇华丽的 | |
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12
tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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13
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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14
averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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15
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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16
pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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17
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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18
heliotrope
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| n.天芥菜；淡紫色 | |
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19
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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20
genie
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| n.妖怪，神怪 | |
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21
ensemble
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| n.合奏(唱)组；全套服装；整体，总效果 | |
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22
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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23
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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24
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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25
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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26
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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27
canopies
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| （宝座或床等上面的）华盖( canopy的名词复数 )； （飞行器上的）座舱罩； 任何悬于上空的覆盖物； 森林中天棚似的树荫 | |
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28
orchids
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| n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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29
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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30
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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31
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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32
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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33
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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34
orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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35
naves
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| n.教堂正厅( nave的名词复数 )；本堂；中央部；车轮的中心部 | |
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36
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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37
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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38
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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39
verandas
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| 阳台，走廊( veranda的名词复数 ) | |
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40
compute
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| v./n.计算，估计 | |
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41
frivolously
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| adv.轻浮地，愚昧地 | |
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42
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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43
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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44
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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45
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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46
irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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47
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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48
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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49
tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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50
petal
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| n.花瓣 | |
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51
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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52
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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53
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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54
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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55
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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56
misanthrope
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| n.恨人类的人；厌世者 | |
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57
inveighed
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| v.猛烈抨击，痛骂，谩骂( inveigh的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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59
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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60
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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61
cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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62
clannishness
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63
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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64
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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65
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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66
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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67
cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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68
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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69
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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70
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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71
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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72
eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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73
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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74
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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75
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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76
biding
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| v.等待，停留( bide的现在分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待；面临 | |
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77
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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78
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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79
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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80
infamously
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| 不名誉地 | |
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81
exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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82
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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83
lobster
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| n.龙虾，龙虾肉 | |
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84
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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85
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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86
tarts
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| n.果馅饼( tart的名词复数 )；轻佻的女人；妓女；小妞 | |
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87
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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88
bagpipe
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| n.风笛 | |
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89
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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90
oversee
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| vt.监督，管理 | |
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91
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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92
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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93
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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94
tardy
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| adj.缓慢的，迟缓的 | |
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95
titanic
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| adj.巨人的，庞大的，强大的 | |
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96
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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97
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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98
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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99
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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100
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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101
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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102
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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103
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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104
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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105
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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106
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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107
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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108
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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109
rosebuds
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| 蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女，初入社交界的少女( rosebud的名词复数 ) | |
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110
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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111
bevy
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| n.一群 | |
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112
chic
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| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
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113
tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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114
quarries
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| n.（采）石场( quarry的名词复数 )；猎物（指鸟，兽等）；方形石；（格窗等的）方形玻璃v.从采石场采得( quarry的第三人称单数 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
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115
impractical
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| adj.不现实的，不实用的，不切实际的 | |
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116
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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117
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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118
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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119
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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120
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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121
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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122
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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123
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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124
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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125
tableaux
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| n.舞台造型，（由活人扮演的）静态画面、场面；人构成的画面或场景( tableau的名词复数 )；舞台造型；戏剧性的场面；绚丽的场景 | |
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126
foamy
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| adj.全是泡沫的，泡沫的，起泡沫的 | |
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127
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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128
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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129
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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130
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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131
auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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132
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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133
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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134
auctioned
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| v.拍卖( auction的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
bidder
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| n.(拍卖时的)出价人，报价人，投标人 | |
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136
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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137
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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138
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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139
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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140
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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141
impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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142
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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143
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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144
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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145
dilettante
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| n.半瓶醋，业余爱好者 | |
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146
hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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