The bitterness of it tasted dry and insipid1 in John Charlock's mouth, like Dead Sea fruit. It was only lately that he had found out that all he had longed and hoped for since the early days was nothing more than vexation of spirit.
This process had been gradual, but it was none the less painful for that. It mattered nothing now that fame and fortune had come to him through the medium of his brush and pencil. For Charlock had fought his way up from the bottom. He had known what it was to starve. He had often slept in the open parks. And now everything was changed, and he stood almost unrivalled as a portrait-painter. And at the same time he appeared to have found the one woman who could make his happiness complete.
It was only five years ago, yet it seemed to Charlock like a lifetime. Perhaps he had been to blame; perhaps he had been harsh and hard, but the gulf2 between his wife and himself seemed to have been bridged over since the boy came.
And the child was slipping away, as an evening primrose3 blooms and dies within the compass of a night.... It had been a weary vigil and cruel withal, since there was only one end. The doctor held out no hope. He had told him that the boy could not last till morning, and that was why Charlock had sent the nurse away, so that he might be with his child till the end. Very quietly he crept back to the bed again and stood looking down at the small, white face. The features were so colourless that death might have come already, save that the lips were parting and the eyelids4 twitched5. The child had spoken his last words. Charlock would never hear that voice again.
The end was very, very near. The tiny life was drifting out to sea with the tide. As Charlock stood there his eye noted6 the sudden change, his quick ear caught a fluttering sigh. There was no need to tell him that the boy had gone.
Well, that was over, at any rate. Charlock felt quite calm and collected. There was no great grief in his heart. He supposed it was all for the best. Perhaps it would have been a pity if little Jack7 had grown up to the knowledge of a divided household. But it would be a divided household no longer. And the sooner Kate Charlock realised that the better. Of course, she would have all the sympathy and he would have all the blame. Not that he cared much about that. A great artist like John Charlock was beyond the measure of ordinary criticism. No doubt his was a sour, saturnine8 nature. No doubt Kate Charlock was pitied by all who knew her. It seemed almost a tragedy that a woman so pure and beautiful should be allied9 to so uncouth10 a being as Charlock. These strange thoughts ran through the painter's mind like a thread of scarlet11 intermingled with a warp12 of black.
Well, the boy was dead. Charlock repeated the words over and over again, as if forcing himself to realise it. He had sat there for hours watching the small light burn lower and lower in its socket13, while his wife slept in her own room. She had persistently14 refused to believe that there was anything radically15 wrong with the boy, though she had asked Charlock to call her in case a crisis might arise. Perhaps Charlock had forgotten about his wife. But the boy was dead, and Kate Charlock lay asleep, happily oblivious16 to the toy tragedy.
But she would have to be told. She must be aroused at once. Quietly Charlock crossed the corridor and entered his wife's room. He gave a quick, contemptuous glance at all the signs of extravagance and luxury which was the dominant17 note of the place. Here was a Duchesse dressing-table, littered with silver toilet appliances. The air was heavy with perfume. A pair of wax candles gleamed on either side of the dressing-table. In an armchair close by a figure in black lay fast asleep. The hangings from the bed were thrown back, and on the bed itself lay a heap of discarded clothing. With a sudden outburst of anger Charlock shook the figure in the armchair. The woman opened her eyes.
"What has become of your mistress?" Charlock asked hoarsely18. "Now, don't tell any of your lies to me! Where has she gone?"
The maid began to whimper, but it was no use to wriggle19 and prevaricate20 under those stern eyes. There was something in the square, grim face of John Charlock that caused most people to fear him. He looked positively21 cruel.
"Oh, she has gone out, and she left you to wait up for her? She went early? It was a few minutes past ten when your mistress came to bed, and I was to wake her if anything—happened."
"If you want to know, she's gone to Mrs. Bromley-Martin's," she said. "It's no business of mine, and, though I am a servant, I am not used to being spoken to like this. If you looked after your wife a bit better there wouldn't be so much talk."
"Talk!" Charlock echoed. "What do you mean?"
"Ask the other servants. Ask your neighbours. Ask them what Mrs. Charlock does in the garden by night. It is all very well to be fond of solitude25. If it could only speak, that old sundial could tell a story or two. Once they used to hide love-letters in trees. Nowadays they have got a better idea than that. If I were you——"
But Charlock was not listening. It was doubtful, even, if he had noticed the studied insolence26 of the French maid. He strode back to the chamber27 of death and locked the door behind him. He was thinking of men who had killed their wives for less than this. He was filled with the heartless cruelty of it, the cold-blooded cruelty and deceit. How could a mother have slipped away in this fashion, knowing that her child was so ill? It was no excuse that she had been sanguine28 of his recovery. From the very first she had refused to believe that there was anything wrong with the boy. And doubtless that was why she had gone off, thinking that her husband would be none the wiser. And once he had regarded her as one of the best of women and the sweetest. He had not been much of a squire29 of dames30, except from a business point of view. But Kate Chantrey had been different from the rest. Her beauty was so spirituelle. Those great brown eyes of hers were clear and pure and soulful as those of a Madonna.
Bare-headed, Charlock walked through the garden and out into the road. The dawn was breaking in the east and pearly mists were rolling up the valleys. But Charlock saw none of these things. In a vague kind of way he noticed the old sundial at the bottom of the garden, with the fountain round it—that marvellous piece of carving31 which had been one of his extravagances on his last trip to Venice. It looked fair and chaste32 in the light of the early morn. There was nothing about it to suggest a vulgar liaison33 such as that at which Hortense, the French maid, had hinted. Charlock would have dismissed the idea contemptuously, but somehow he could not get it out of his mind; and yet it must have been mere23 servants' gossip. Kate Charlock was too inordinately34 selfish, too fond of the luxuries that her husband's money provided, to compromise herself even for so fascinating a man as Arnold Rent. Charlock knew that Rent was a friend of his wife's, a man whom she professed35 to understand and sympathise with. But the matter had never troubled him before. He could trust Kate. Assuredly he had confidence in her so long as her interests were his.
He came at length to his destination. He walked across the lawn of Mrs. Bromley-Martin's house. He could see two figures on the balcony. With a bitter smile he recognised his wife.
"The woman pays," he muttered to himself. "Oh, yes, the woman pays right enough, but it is generally the man who finds the money. Presumably God in His wisdom has some use for women like that, but it is hard to see where that fool of a fellow comes in. I dare say he fancies her ill-used and ill-treated, and tied to a brute36 unworthy of a mate at all. And yet as I stand here, knowing everything, I am not surprised that Rent should be deceived. Well, he shall have his chance to learn his lesson as I learnt mine. It seems almost a pity to intrude37 upon a scene of high emotion like that, but it must be done."
Charlock bent38 to listen again. There was no word of the conversation that escaped him. Then he saw the hostess emerge and claim his wife's attention. A wild desire to rush into the drawing-room, to overturn chairs and card-tables and drive those puppets into the open air seized him. They longed for a new sensation. They were very near having one at that moment. Checking the insane impulse, Charlock passed through the open window and entered the drawing-room. The close, highly spiced atmosphere seemed to choke him. His mind went back, now, to the great trouble which he had just gone through. There sat the woman who should have shared his vigil, smiling and sorting her cards as if she had not a care in the world.
It was hard to restrain the reproaches that rose to his lips. It was a tense task to approach the card-table quietly and lay his hand upon his wife's arm. It was small wonder, too, that the grip should have been close as that of a vise.
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1
insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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8
saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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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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12
warp
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| vt.弄歪，使翘曲，使不正常，歪曲，使有偏见 | |
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socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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radically
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| ad.根本地，本质地 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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prevaricate
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| v.支吾其词；说谎；n.推诿的人；撒谎的人 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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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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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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28
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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32
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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33
liaison
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| n.联系，（未婚男女间的）暖昧关系，私通 | |
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inordinately
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| adv.无度地，非常地 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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36
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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37
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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