Nancy stood with her uncle, as she had announced her intention of doing. Sir Herbert, in a Norfolk jacket of voluminous tweed and a green Tyrolean hat, would hardly have been recognised by those who had only seen him in his Judge's robes. He asked Nancy as they were waiting whether she thought he was properly attired1. "I like to do the thing thoroughly2 while I'm about it," he said. "I notice that nobody but myself is wearing these buttoned things—spats I think they call them. I think you might have written, Nancy, to tell me they had gone out of fashion. Do you think I could take them off and throw them away presently? I don't know what good they are. It is only a passion for being correctly dressed that induced me to put them on."
"I think they look very nice," said Nancy. "And as for your hat, Uncle Herbert, I'm sure it's the very latest thing, because Humphrey has got one just like it. But it wants a woodcock's feather in it."
"Oh, does it? Thank you for telling me. I shall direct my attention to-day to shooting a woodcock if one turns up, and robbing him of his feather. It is very unpleasant and takes away your conceit3 of yourself not to have everything exactly right. With your intelligence you no doubt understand that."
"Joan understands it better than I do," replied Nancy. "She likes to be well dressed. I don't care about it one way or the other."
"Ah! but that's such a mistake," said Sir Herbert, "especially for a female, if I may call you so. When your body is well dressed your mind is well dressed. You should look into that."
"I have," said Nancy. "It's all a question of buttons."
What she meant by this aphorism4 did not appear, for a shot from the right of the line made Sir Herbert spring to attention, and immediately after, with a sudden whir, a high pheasant shot like a bullet over his head, and flying straight into the charge from his gun, turned over in the air and fell with a thud on the grass far behind him.
"Glorious!" exclaimed the Judge. "I'm in form." But although he fired many barrels during the next few minutes, in which a hot fusillade was going on on the right and on the left, and birds were falling, clean shot, or sliding to the ground with wings outspread, or continuing their swift flight unshaken, he brought only one down, with a broken wing, which ran off into the shaugh at the top of the hill.
"Now that is most disappointing," he said, when the tap-tap of the beaters' sticks could be heard, and they began to emerge from the wood one by one. "I really did think I was going to shoot well to-day. Life is full of such delusive5 hopes."
"I'm glad you didn't shoot too many," said Nancy. "They're such pretty things, and I like to see them get away."
"So do I, in theory," said Sir Herbert. "In practice, no. Do you think it is the lust6 for killing7, as some people say?"
"Oh no," said Nancy. "I have thought about that. If it were, I shouldn't want to come out. It is the skill."
"I think you're right, Nancy. That, and what remains8 of the primitive9 instinct of the chase. You had to kill your food, and you kept your health by doing so. You killed two birds with one stone."
"And now you don't even kill one bird with two barrels," said Nancy, with a side-glance at his eye.
He met her mischievous10 gaze. "Nancy," he said, "if you had said that on the bench they would have put it in the papers—with headlines; as it is, I've a good mind to commit you for contempt of court."
The divided groups began to congregate11. The Squire12 came round the corner very well pleased with himself. In spite of his preoccupation he had shot quite up to his form. And his good-humour was confirmed at the discovery that Hammond-Watt could be classed as a doubtful no longer, for he had killed more birds than anybody, and killed them clean, and that Bobby Trench13 had also given a fair account of himself. The day had begun well, and the fact that Sir Herbert had only shot two pheasants, one of which had got away, and George Senhouse had shot none, although, as is the unaccountable way of driven birds, they had come over him more thickly than over any one else, did not avail to dash his satisfaction. He led the way to the next stand, down a woodland ride, in high good-humour, walking with great strides, which Lady Birkett, who accompanied him, found some difficulty in keeping up with. "I hope Herbert will pick up," he said, laughing good-humoredly at his brother-in-law's misfortune. "Now I'm never very much away from my form, either above or below. Funny thing—form! Even when I'm worried to death about things it don't seem to make much difference to my eye."
But when the next drive was over, and he had only shot two pheasants, neither of them clean, and a rabbit, he said, "It's all this infernal worry. No man on earth, I don't care who he is, can shoot straight if he's got something weighing on his mind."
Lady Birkett was consolatory14. "My dear Edward, don't think about it," she said. "It will all come right."
"I wish I thought so," said the Squire. "I think if I had that woman here I'd put a charge of shot into her."
During the course of the morning the twins came together to compare notes. "Humphrey is shooting quite well," said Joan, "but, all the same, if he had fallen in with my suggestion we should have scooped15 twenty-four shillings. I reckon it up after every drive and tell him the result. I am hoping that he will be so pleased with himself that he will offer to settle up at the end of the day of his own accord."
"Don't make it too much," advised Nancy. "Ten shillings in our pockets are better than twenty in his."
"Bobby Trench offered to take over the arrangement," said Joan.
Nancy threw back her fair hair. "It's a pity to waste an opportunity," she said, "but of course you can't accept a tip from him."
"My dear, as if I would!" exclaimed Joan. "But he's very pushing. It's difficult to keep him at a distance. I think I shall go and stand with Mr. Wilkinson. He's a dear old thing, and I think he'd be flattered."
"Well, Bobby Trench is such a nuisance. He comes over and talks to us while we're waiting."
"If you stick on till lunch-time I'll change with you after. Uncle Herbert is shooting very badly, but he's full of conversation. And I didn't tell you—he asked after the camera fund. I don't know who can have told him—Dick, I suppose. Dear old Dick; I wish he was here!"
"So do I," said Joan. "Did Uncle Herbert show any signs of contributing?"
"That ought to do the trick," observed Joan. "I don't mind a bit taking it from relations. They ought to be encouraged to do their duty."
"All old people ought to tip all young ones," said Nancy largely. "You might convey that truth delicately to Mr. Wilkinson."
"I might, but I'm not going to."
"Or Colonel Stacey. Why not try him? He's old enough."
"You can do your own dirty work," said Joan, preparing to leave her. "Colonel Stacey is very poor. He lives in a tiny little house. I shall sit next to him at luncheon18, and see that he gets a jolly good one."
The Squire shot worse and worse as the morning went on, and through over-anxiety and confused instructions the birds were not driven properly out of High Beech19 Wood, which ought to have afforded the best drive of the day. They streamed away to the right of where the Squire was standing20, where there was neither a gun nor a stop, or went back over the heads of the keepers. Humphrey had suggested placing a gun where those that were got out of the wood eventually came over, and because he had pooh-poohed the suggestion the Squire was furious with him. Dick would have put a gun there without asking him. But Humphrey now could do nothing right. After this fiasco he suggested sending to the keeper's cottage, where luncheon was to be served, to tell them to set the tables outside. There was a warm grove21 of beeches22 at the back of it, where they sometimes did lunch earlier in the season, and to-day it was fine and sunny enough to have made it more pleasant to sit in the open than in a crowded room in a cottage. But the Squire said, "For God's sake, don't be altering arrangements now, and throwing everything out," so Humphrey had retired23 and told Bobby Trench that his governor was like a bear with a sore head.
"I thought he seemed rather passionate," said Bobby Trench pleasantly. "Not pulling 'em down, I suppose. It does put you out, you know."
"He'd better manage for himself," said Humphrey sulkily. "If he likes to make a mess of it, let him."
Joan, who was with them, grew red at this discussion. "Father has had a lot of worries," she said. "I think you ought to help him all you can, Humphrey."
Humphrey stared at her, and Bobby Trench said, "Bravo, Miss Joan, you stick up for your own."
"I'm going to," said Joan, and turned back to join Beatrice Senhouse, who was just behind them. At the next stand, the last of the morning, she went up to her father and said, "I'm going to count your birds, daddy, and I'll give you a kiss for every one you let off."
The Squire's worried face brightened. "I thought you'd forsaken24 your poor old father," he said. "Well, I'm letting plenty of them off, but we'll see what we can do this time."
Whether encouraged or not by his prospective26 reward, he acquitted27 himself well during the ensuing drive, in the course of which he got two high birds with a right and left, and another one going away with a quick change of guns; and when the drive was over he handed his gun to his loader, and put his hand on Joan's shoulder to walk towards the cottage, with a face all smiles.
Mrs. Clinton, with Lady Aldeburgh and her daughter, met them at the garden gate. "I have told them to put the table outside," she said, as they came up, and the Squire said, "Capital idea, Nina, capital idea!" and turning to Lady Aldeburgh twitted her on her late appearance. "You've missed some good sport," he said. "But we'll see what we can show you this afternoon."
Lady Aldeburgh, in a costume of Lincoln green with a short skirt bound in brown leather, looked younger than her own daughter, and felt no older than a child. "Oh, do let me stand by you, Mr. Clinton, and see you shoot," she said, clasping her hands appealingly. "I'll promise not to chatter28."
She sat next to Colonel Stacey at luncheon, as she had undertaken to do, and was assiduous in attending to his bodily wants. He was of the skeleton-like, big-moustached order of retired warrior30, and looked very much as if he suffered from a lack of nutriment, although as a matter of fact he was accustomed to "do himself" remarkably31 well, shirking nothing in the way of food and drink that other men of his age were apt to look askance at. He made an extremely good meal, and Joan took credit to herself for his doing so, although he did not repay her attentions with much notice, being well able to forage32 for himself. Mr. Wilkinson, who sat on her other side, was far more communicative and friendly, in a sort of pleasant, grandfatherly way; and as the three of them were standing together when luncheon was over, he took half a sovereign out of his pocket and said, "Now if I know anything of young women of your age, and I ought to by this time, I dare say you and Nancy will find some use for that."
Joan accepted it with gratitude33. Her mind was at ease; she had not worked for it in any way. It was a most acceptable windfall. "Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Wilkinson," she said. "Now we shall be able to buy our camera. We have been saving up for it for a long time."
"That's capital," said old Mr. Wilkinson, patting her on the shoulder and moving off.
Colonel Stacey, now that he had satisfied the claims of appetite, had some attention to spare for his late neighbour, who was really a very nice-mannered child, and not greedy as most children are, but well-behaved towards her elders. He in his turn pulled out a well-worn leather purse and extracted half a sovereign from it. Joan, seeing what was coming, had a moment of panic, and turned quickly away. But he stopped her and said, "There, take that; that makes one for each of you."
Joan's face was scarlet34. "Oh, thanks most awfully," she said hurriedly. "But we've got quite enough now," and then she fairly ran away, leaving Colonel Stacey, surprised at the curious ways of young girls, to put his half-sovereign philosophically35 back into his purse.
Lady Aldeburgh accompanied the Squire during most of the afternoon, and by a judicious36 use of flattery and girlish charm kept him in so good a humour with himself that he shot much better than in the morning, and fussed considerably37 less over details of arrangement than he would otherwise have done.
He could not have told how it came to pass, although Lady Aldeburgh might have been able to enlighten him, that as they were walking together down a muddy country lane, with the rest of the party straggling after them, he poured into her sympathetic ear the story of what he was now accustomed to call Dick's entanglement38.
Lady Aldeburgh bounded mentally over five-and-twenty or thirty years and became matronly, even maternal39.
"I have heard something about it, dear Mr. Clinton," she said, "and have been longing40 to tell you how much I sympathised with you. But I hardly liked to until you had spoken first. Of course one's children do give one trouble in many ways, and an old married woman like myself who has had a long experience can often help, with sympathy if not with advice. So I am very glad you have told me."
The Squire found this attitude right, and soothing42 besides. "Well, of course, it's an impossible idea," he said. "I shan't give in about it. Have you seen this woman, by the by?"
"I saw her last night," said Lady Aldeburgh, "and of course I've heard of her. She is not the sort of woman that I should care for a son of mine to marry. She seemed to me an affected43, underbred minx."
"You thought that, did you?" exclaimed the Squire, his eyes brightening. "Now it's the most extraordinary thing that the people round here can't see that. Even my cousin, old Humphrey Meadshire, seemed to be quite taken in by her."
"Oh, well—men!" said Lady Aldeburgh meaningly.
"Ah, but it isn't only men," said the Squire. "It's the women too. They're all ready to take her in as if she was one of themselves. Now I saw at once, the first time I set eyes on her, what sort of a woman she was. I don't profess44 to be more clear-sighted than other people, but—but, still, there it is. You saw it, and of course you go about more than the women do here, most of 'em, and know more of the world."
"I should hope I do, the frumps!" was Lady Aldeburgh's inward comment, but she said, "I know your Dick—not so well as I do Humphrey, but pretty well—and I say that he is much too fine a fellow to throw himself away like that. Still, if he has made up his mind about it, what can you do?"
He told her what he could do, and to some extent had done—withdraw or threaten to withdraw supplies, and she commended this course warmly. "That ought to bring him to his senses," she said. "And if it doesn't—well, you have other sons."
The Squire did not quite like this implication. He had never yet faced the question of what he would do after Dick got married, if he should get married in spite of him. But certainly, the prospect25 of disinheriting him had never crossed his mind.
"I have never met your second son, I think," said Lady Aldeburgh. "He's a doctor, isn't he?"
"Oh, that's Walter," said the Squire. "You'll see him this evening. He's the third. Humphrey comes next to Dick."
"Oh!" said Lady Aldeburgh, who had the same means of access to works of reference dealing45 with the County Families of England as other people, and used them not less frequently.
"You know we had to stop the same sort of thing with Clinton a few years ago," said Lady Aldeburgh. "He was wild to marry one of the Frivolity46 girls—pretty creature she was too, I must admit that, and quite respectable, and it really went to my heart to have to stop it. But of course it would never have done. And what made it so difficult for a time was that we had no hold over Clinton about money and that sort of thing. He must come in for everything."
"Oh, well," said the Squire airily, "I couldn't cut Dick out of Kencote eventually, whatever he did. But he wouldn't find things very easy if Kencote were all there was to come into."
Lady Aldeburgh took this, and took it rightly, as meaning that there was a good deal of unsettled property which the Squire could leave as he liked, which may or may not have been what she had wanted to find out. "Then you have an undoubted hold over him," she said. "Of course, I know it must be very unpleasant for you to have to exercise it, but, if I may say so, it seems to me that simply to threaten to withdraw his allowance if he should marry against your wishes won't stop him if he can look forward to having everything by and by."
"He wouldn't have everything, anyhow," said the Squire.
"Well, whatever he is going to have besides the place. You don't mind my talking of all this, do you? I've not the slightest desire to poke41 into affairs that don't concern me."
"Very good of you to take such an interest in it all," said the Squire. "I don't mind telling you in the least—it's quite simple. Kencote has always been entailed47, but there's a good deal of land and a considerable amount of other property which doesn't go with it. Dick won't be as well off as I was when I succeeded my grandfather, because there was nobody but me, except some old aunts, and I've got a large family to provide for. Still, he'll be a good deal better off than most men with a big place to keep up, and there'll be plenty left for the rest."
"That's if he does as you wish," said Lady Aldeburgh.
"Well, I hadn't thought of it in that way," admitted the Squire.
"But, my dear man," she exclaimed, "you are not using your best weapon—your only weapon. If he is infatuated with this woman do you think he will be prevented from marrying her by your stopping his allowance? Of course he won't. He can get what money he wants for the present, and she has some, I suppose. He only has to marry and sit down and wait."
"Then what ought I to do?" asked the Squire grumpily. He knew what she meant, and hated the idea of it.
"Why, tell him that if he makes this marriage you won't leave him a penny more than you're obliged to."
"If I said that I should commit myself."
"You mean if you threatened it, you'd have to do it. Well, I think you would. Yours—ours, I should say—is one of the oldest families in England, and you are the head of it. You can't see it let down like that."
This was balm to the Squire, but it did not relieve the heaviness of his heart. "I believe I shall have to do something of that sort," he said, "or threaten it anyhow," and having arrived at the place for the next drive, he turned with a sigh to the business in hand.
The short winter day came to an end, and at dusk they found themselves on the edge of the park, after having shot the birds out of the last covert48. They strolled home across the frosty grass, under the darkening sky already partly illumined by a round moon, merry or quiet, pleased or vexed49 with themselves, according to their several natures and the way they had acquitted themselves in the day's sport, and the warm, well-lighted house swallowed them up.
Joan and Nancy went up to their room. "You haven't been near me all the afternoon," said Nancy. "Here's half a crown from Humphrey. It's disappointing. Did you do any business with Uncle Herbert?"
For answer Joan burst out crying. "I hate all this beastly cadging50 for money," she said through her tears, "and I won't do it any more."
"Well, don't howl," said Nancy, "or you'll look awful when we go downstairs. What has happened?"
"Mr. Wilkinson gave me ten b—bob," sobbed51 Joan. "I didn't ask him for it. And then poor old Colonel Stacey thought he must do the same, so he took out a sh-shabby old purse and offered me another one, and I believe it was the only one in it. And I wouldn't take it."
"Do pull yourself together, old girl," entreated52 Nancy. "Well, if he's so hard up, I think it was rather a delicate action."
Joan turned on her, and her tears were dried up by the heat of her indignation. "You're always talking about your brains," she said, "and you can't see anything. Of course, I should have felt a beast anyhow, but I feel much more of a beast for taking Mr. Wilkinson's tip and refusing his."
"Why?" asked Nancy.
"Because he'd know I thought he was too poor," said Joan, her tears breaking out afresh.
Nancy considered this. "I dare say he didn't think much about it," she said. "But why didn't you go and make up to him afterwards, if you felt like that? Do leave off blubbering."
Joan took no heed53 of this advice. A physically54 tiring day and the distress55 she had kept down during the afternoon had been too much for her, and now she was lying on her bed sobbing56 unrestrainedly. "I w-would have gone to stand with him," she said. "P-poor old d-darling, he looked so lonely standing there all by himself, for no one went near him, except m-mother, once. B-but I thought he'd think I wanted the t-tip after all, so I d-didn't. Here's Mr. Wilkinson's half-sovereign. You can take it. I don't want it."
"Well, if you don't, I don't," said Nancy, picking up the coin which Joan had thrown on to the floor, nevertheless, and putting it on to the dressing-table. "I don't know why you're always trying to make me out more hard-hearted than you are. Shall I fetch mother?"
"N-no. Y-yes," said Joan.
So Mrs. Clinton was fetched, and heard the story, sitting on the bed, while Joan sobbed on her shoulder. Nancy leant on the rail and helped to explain matters. She now felt like crying herself. "We have a sort of joke with the boys," she said. "They understand it all right, but, of course, we wouldn't go asking everybody for money, mother."
"I think you are getting rather too old to accept money presents from any one outside the family," Mrs. Clinton said, "although it was very kind of Mr. Wilkinson to give you one, and I don't mind your having taken it in the least. And I'm sure Colonel Stacey didn't think anything of your refusing, Joan dear. So I shouldn't worry any more about that; and I think you had better have some tea up here and lie down till dinner-time."
So Joan's tender heart was comforted, and Colonel Stacey kept his half-sovereign, which if he could not have afforded to lose he would never have thought of offering.
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1
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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aphorism
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| n.格言，警语 | |
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delusive
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| adj.欺骗的，妄想的 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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congregate
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| v.(使)集合，聚集 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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consolatory
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| adj.慰问的，可藉慰的 | |
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scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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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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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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beeches
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| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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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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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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40
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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42
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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45
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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46
frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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49
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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50
cadging
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| v.乞讨，乞得，索取( cadge的现在分词 ) | |
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51
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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52
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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54
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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55
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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56
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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