HE did not get back until almost dinner time. The meal was not an agreeable one, though Jane-Ellen's part of the performance was no less perfectly1 achieved than usual. It was evident that there had been a scene between the two ladies. Cora's eyes were distinctly red, and though Mrs. Falkener's bore no such evidence, she looked more haggard than was her wont2. Tucker was still feeling somewhat imposed upon, Smithfield's manner suggested a dignified3 rebuke4, Crane felt no inclination5 to lighten the general tone, and altogether the occasion was dreary6 in the extreme.
As soon as they had had coffee, Cora sat down at the piano, and drawing Burton to her by a request for more light, she whispered:
"Won't you take me out in the garden? I have something I must say to you."
Crane acquiesced7. It was a splendid, misty8 November night. The moonlight was of that sea-green color which, so often represented on the stage, is seldom seen in nature. The moon concealed9 the bareness of the garden-beds, lent a suggestion of mystery to the thickets11 of what had once been flowering shrubs12, and made the columns of the piazza13, which in the daytime showed themselves most plainly to be but ill-painted wood, appear almost like the marble portico15 of an Ionic temple.
The air was so still that from the stables, almost a quarter of a mile away, they could hear the sound of one of the horses kicking in its stall, and the tune16 that a groom17 was rather unskilfully deducing from a concertina.
Crane whistled the air softly as he strolled along by his companion's side, until she stopped and said with great intensity19:
"I want to say something to you, Burton. I'm not happy. I'm horribly distressed20. I ought not to say what I'm going to say, at least the general idea seems to be that girls shouldn't—but I have a feeling that you're really my friend, a friend to whom I can speak frankly21 even about things that concern me."
"You make no mistake there, Cora," he returned.
He was what is considered a brave man, with calm nerves and quick judgment22; physical danger had a certain stimulating23 effect upon him; morally, too, he did not lack courage; though good-naturedly inclined to have everything as pleasant as possible, he was not in the least afraid to make himself disagreeable. But now, at the thought of what Miss Falkener was going to say to him, he was frankly and unmistakably terrified. Why, he asked himself? Young and timid girls could go through such scenes and, it was said, actually enjoy them. Why should he be unreasoningly terrified—terrified with the same instinctive24 desire to run away that some people feel when they see snakes or spiders? Why should he feel as if prison walls were closing about him?
"Two years ago, when you and I first began to see each other," Miss Falkener went on, in a voice that she kept dropping lower and lower in order to conceal10 its tremors25, "I liked you at once, Burton. I liked you very much. But, aside from that—you know, I'm not always very happy with my mother, aside from liking26 you, I made up my mind in the most cold-blooded, mercenary way, that the best thing I could do was to marry you."
"Well, I call that a thoroughly27 kind thought," said Crane, smiling at her, as a martyr28 might make a little joke about the lions.
"It wasn't kind," said Cora. "It was just selfish. I supposed I would be able to make you happy, but really, I thought very little about you in the matter. I was thinking only of myself. But I've been well repaid for it—" She stopped, almost with a sob29; and while she was silently struggling for sufficient self-control to continue, Crane became aware that the front door had opened, letting a sudden shaft30 of yellow light fall upon them through the green moonshine, and that Tucker had come out on the piazza. He was looking about; he was looking for them. Not a sound did Burton make, but if concentration of thought has any unseen power, he drew Tucker's gaze to them.
"Burton," said Tucker.
There was no answer.
"Burton!" he called again.
Miss Falkener raised her head.
"Some one called you," she said.
Then Crane's figure became less rigid31, and he moved a step forward. He was saved for the time, at least.
"Want me, Tuck?" he said.
Solon came down the steps carefully. He had reached an age when the eye does not quickly adjust itself to changes of light.
"Yes," he said, "I do want to see you. I want to ask you one question. Did you or did you not assure me the boy Brindlebury had left the house?"
"I did so assure you," answered Crane, "and I had been so foolish as to hope we had heard the last of him. Smithfield told me before dinner that he left early in the afternoon."
"Smithfield lied to you. The boy is in bed in his own room at this moment."
"How do you know?"
"Go and see for yourself."
Crane was just angry enough at every one to welcome any action. Only a few seconds elapsed before he was in the servants' wing of the house. All the doors were standing32 open, disclosing black darkness, except one which was closed, and under this a bright streak33 was visible.
Crane flung himself upon this, thinking it would be locked, but evidently Brindlebury had not thought any such precaution necessary. The door at once yielded, and Crane entered.
Brindlebury, fully18 dressed, was lying flat on his back on the bed, with his legs crossed in the air; a cigarette was in his mouth (one of Burton's cigarettes), a reading-lamp was at his elbow, and he was engaged in the perusal34 of a new novel which Crane had received the day before, and had strangely missed ever since. On the floor near-by was a tray, empty indeed, but bearing unmistakable signs of having been well filled only recently.
Crane took the cigarette from Brindlebury's mouth, and the book from his hand.
"Now," he said, "I'll give you five minutes to get your things together and get out." There were no signs that packing had ever been contemplated35; all Brindlebury's belongings36 were undisturbed.
The boy looked at Crane. He would like to have answered, but he could not think of anything to say, so he got up slowly and tried to smooth his hair which was very much rumpled37.
"I'm not positive I have such a thing as a bag," he observed at length, but a little search revealed one in the closet. It was marked "B. Revelly."
"A token of respect from your late employer, I suppose," said Crane.
The boy did not answer. He was rather sulkily putting on his clothes. He was not a neat packer. A tooth-brush and some pipe tobacco, a wet sponge and some clean shirts, boots and pajamas38 were indiscriminately mixed.
The five minutes, unmarked by any conversation, had almost elapsed when light steps were heard in the hallway, and a voice exclaimed:
"Did you have a good dinner, honey?" and Jane-Ellen came spinning into the room, all the demureness39 gone from her manner.
At the sight of her employer, she stopped, and her hand went up to her mouth with a gesture expressive40 of the utmost horror. Brindlebury did not stop packing. He was now filling in the corners with shaving soap and socks.
His sister turned to Crane.
"Jane-Ellen," replied Crane, "that really doesn't go. It was a good manner, and you worked it well, but it is now, if you will forgive my saying so, old stuff. I cannot look upon you as a foolishly fond sister, trying to protect an erring42 brother. I think it far more likely that you are the organizer of this efficient little plan to keep him here unobserved, eating my food, reading my books, and smoking, if I am not greatly mistaken, my cigarettes."
"Oh, Brin, do you take Mr. Crane's cigarettes?" said Jane-Ellen.
"Not unless I'm out of my own," said her brother.
It was plain that Jane-Ellen was going to make another effort to improve the situation. She was thinking hard. At last she began:
"I don't defend what we've done, sir, but if you would have let me see you alone this afternoon, I was going to ask that Brindlebury might stay just for this one night. Only I couldn't speak before Mr. Tucker, I'm so afraid of him."
"There you go again," said Burton. "You're not telling the truth. You're not in the least afraid of Tucker."
"Well, not as much as I am of you, sir."
"Jane-Ellen," said Crane, "I believe you are a very naughty girl." He was surprised to find that every trace of ill temper had left him.
"I know what you mean, sir," said the cook, and this time her voice had a certain commonplace tone. "And it's true. I haven't always been perfectly honest with you, but a servant can't be candid44 and open, sir; you know, yourself, it wouldn't do."
"I'd like to see it tried," returned Crane.
"Well, I'm honest now, sir," she went on, "in asking you to let Brin stay. He'll apologize, I'm sure—"
"I will not," said the boy, still packing.
But his sister hardly noticed the interruption.
"He will do what I tell him when he comes to think it over, if you will only relent. Don't you think you are just a little hard on him? He is my brother, and it would make me so happy if you would let him stay."
The desire to make others happy is not a crime, yet Crane felt nothing but shame at the obvious weakening of his own resolution under the peculiarly melting voice of Jane-Ellen. He glanced at the boy, he thought of Tucker, he looked long at Jane-Ellen. Who knows what might have happened if his eyes, which he decided45 he must wrench46 away from hers, had not suddenly fallen upon a small object lying undisguised on Brindlebury's dressing-table.
It was the pearl set miniature.
All three saw it almost at the same instant. The hands of all went out toward it, but Crane's reached it first. He took it up.
"Have you any explanation to offer, Brindlebury?" he said.
"I can explain," exclaimed Jane-Ellen.
"I'm sure you can," Crane answered. "The only question is, shall I believe your explanation."
"He took it because it reminded him of me. That's the only reason he wanted it."
Crane looked from the miniature to the cook. He knew that this was also the only reason why he himself wanted it.
"Jane-Ellen," he said, "go downstairs and order the motor to come to the side door at once."
"Mr. Crane, you're not going to have Brin arrested?"
He shook his head.
"I ought to, perhaps, but I am not going to. I'm going to take him in the motor to what I consider a safe distance, and drop him."
"Cats usually come back," said the boy, with a return of his normal spirits.
"Cats have nine lives," replied Crane, significantly.
Something about the tone of this remark put an end to the conversation. Jane-Ellen obediently left the room. Brindlebury struggled frantically48 to strap49 his bulging50 bag, and succeeded only with the assistance of Crane.
When they went downstairs, the motor was already ticking quietly at the side door. No one was visible, except Jane-Ellen, who was wistfully watching it.
Brindlebury got in, and set his bag upright between his knees; Crane got in, and had actually released the brake, when, looking up at the cook still standing there, he found himself saying:
"Do you want to come, too, Jane-Ellen, to see the last of your brother?"
Of course she did; she looked hastily about and then turned toward the stairs, but Crane stopped her.
"No," he said, "don't go up. There's a coat of mine there in the coat closet. Take that."
Immediately she reappeared in a heavy Irish frieze51 overcoat he had had made that spring in New Bond Street. It was an easy fit for Crane; it enveloped52 Jane-Ellen completely. The collar which she had contrived53 to turn up as she put the coat on, stood level with the top of her head; the hem14 trailed on the ground, and the sleeves hung limp from below the elbows. She looked like a very small kitten wrapped up in a very large baby's blanket. But she did not allow this superfluity, of cloth to hamper54 her movements; she sprang into the little back seat, and they started.
After about half an hour, Crane stopped the car. They were now in the outskirts55 of the main town of the district.
"This is where you get out," he said.
Brindlebury obeyed.
"Smithfield paid you your wages, I believe," and Burton plunged56 into his own pocket. "Well, there's something extra."
At this, a trembling might have been seen in the right sleeve of the frieze coat, and the next second, Jane-Ellen's hand emerged from the cuff57, and Crane for the first time experienced the touch of her fingers. She pushed his hand away from her brother's.
"Don't take that money, Brin," she cried.
Brindlebury's hand dropped.
"No, of course not. What do you take me for?" he said. Then he snatched off his cap and kissed his sister good-by, and, picking up his bag, he disappeared into the darkness.
There was a moment's silence between the other two, before Crane said:
"Better get into the front seat. You'll be more comfortable."
Holding up her coat, as if it were a coronation robe, Jane-Ellen stepped in, sat down, and wrapped it carefully about her knees—a process in which Crane by the greatest effort of self-control did not join. Again the brake squeaked58 and the motor moved forward.
A great deal has been said about silence as a method of spiritual communion, but few of us, in social situations, at least, have the courage of these convictions. Most hostesses, on looking about a silent dinner-table, would be more apt to think that they were watching a suspension of diplomatic relations, rather than an intercommunication of souls. But there are moments for all of us when we value silence as highly as Maeterlinck himself and this, in Burton's opinion, was one of them.
The moonlight, so much more beautiful and affecting than he had found it earlier in the evening in the garden, the smooth, quick motion, the damp night air blowing against his face, made him acutely aware of the presence at his side of that small, still companion. He felt no need of speech, nor did he speculate as to her state of mind. He drove, and enjoyed life deeply.
They were nearly at home again, before he asked:
"Why was it you did not wish your brother to take what I offered him?"
"Because," she answered, in a tone of simplicity59 and sincerity60 he had never yet heard from her, "it would not have been good for him. He's young, and takes things too easily. He ought not to have money he does not work for."
"I am glad that you feel like that," he said. "I was afraid you refused to let him have it, because you were angry at me for sending him away."
He was afraid that she would relapse into her old tone of mock servility and assure him that she would never be guilty of the liberty of criticizing her employer, but she did not. She said:
"But I was not angry at you. I should not have respected you if you had done anything else."
He answered seriously:
"You knew that I was sorry not to do what you asked me to do?"
"Yes, I knew," she said.
They did not speak again.
They left the car at the garage and walked to the house. There had been failure in coöperation, for Smithfield evidently had not known of the expedition. The side door was locked, and so was the front door.
"I suppose I'd better ring," said Crane reluctantly. Somehow he was not eager to face Smithfield's cold, reproving glance.
"No, follow me," whispered Jane-Ellen.
"I don't believe that window has had a bolt for sixty years," she said.
"And to think," returned Crane, as he gently raised it, "that before I took the house I complained of its being out of repair."
He climbed in and opened the kitchen door for her. He had a match, and she knew the whereabouts of a candle. They still spoke62 in whispers. There was, of course, no real reason why they were so eager to let the household sleep undisturbed, yet they were obviously united in the resolution to make no unnecessary sound.
"Wouldn't you like something to eat?" breathed Jane-Ellen.
"A good idea," he answered.
She divested63 herself of his coat and beckoned64 him to the ice-box. They had entirely65 ceased to be master and servant.
"Some of that chicken salad you had for dinner," she murmured, "if any of it came down. I dare say it didn't though. Smithfield's so fond of it."
Crane laughed.
"You mean he eats in the pantry?"
She nodded.
"All butlers do, and Smithfield's a little bit greedy, though you'd never guess it, would you?"
They laughed softly over Smithfield, as they spread out their simple meal on the kitchen table. Jane-Ellen showed a faint disposition66 to wait upon her employer, but it was easily vanquished67 by his assertion that he would eat nothing unless she sat down, too. A few minutes later, it was he who was doing whatever work was to be done, and she sitting with her elbows on the table watching him. There seemed, after all, nothing unnatural68 in this new relation.
Presently, Willoughby, hearing the sound of dishes, or smelling the chicken salad, awoke and jumped on the table.
"Do you mind him?" asked his mistress in melting tones.
Crane didn't mind him at all. He offered the cat a bit of chicken. Willoughby seemed to enjoy it, chewing it with quick little jerks of his head. And presently, he raised a paw and deflected69 a fork which Crane was carrying to his own mouth. Even this Crane appeared to find amusing.
Before they had finished, the kitchen clock behind them suddenly and discordantly70 struck once. Burton started and half turned his head, but she stopped him.
"Let's guess what time it is," she said. "Of course, it's later than half past ten. It might be half past eleven."
"Or even half past twelve."
"It could be one."
"But certainly not half past."
They looked around. It was half past.
Jane-Ellen sprang up.
"Oh, how dreadful!" she exclaimed, without, however, any very real conviction. "How terribly late, and I have to get up so early in the morning."
"It makes me desperately71 ashamed," said Crane, "to think you have to get up to cook for all of us and that I can sleep just as late as I want to."
She laughed.
"If you haven't anything worse to worry about than that, you're very lucky."
But he had something to worry about, and as soon as she was gone, he began to worry about it, namely, the painful and complicated situation of a man who has fallen in love with his cook.
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1
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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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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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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demureness
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| n.demure（拘谨的，端庄的）的变形 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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impugns
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| v.非难，指谪( impugn的第三人称单数 )；对…有怀疑 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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hamper
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| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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57
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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58
squeaked
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的过去式和过去分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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59
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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60
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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61
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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62
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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63
divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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64
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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66
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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67
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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68
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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69
deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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discordantly
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| adv.不一致地，不和谐地 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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