Mrs. Trimwell, brisk, black eyed, white-aproned, entered with a covered dish.
Corin, deep in an armchair, was smoking a cigarette.
“I wonder,” said he meditative2, between the inhalations of smoke, “what the old painter of the church down yonder thinks of our proceedings3. It would be interesting to hear his own reflections on the subject. Presumably he does reflect. If his spirit haunts the church, possibly some fine evening I shall see him. Then I shall put a question or two.”
John merely laughed, and approached the table. Mrs. Trimwell, raising a dish-cover, disclosed two golden-brown soles, perfect samples of her culinary art.
“I have never,” continued Corin, still reflective, “seen a spirit, but I firmly believe that one might be seen under favourable5 conditions.”
[Pg 47]
“Come and eat,” laughed John.
Mrs. Trimwell eyed Corin for a moment in hesitating fashion. Then she spoke6 with the air of one embarking7 on a weighty question, though addressing herself to John.
“There’s never no knowing, sir, what it mightn’t be given you nor any one to see. I seed an angel myself once.”
“An angel!” he ejaculated.
John took the plate.
“I seed it,” reiterated10 Mrs. Trimwell, “as plain as I see you. I was doing my bit of ironing, the baby—that’s the youngest, sir—asleep in the cradle under the table, so as I could give the rocker a jog with my foot now and again, and the angel comed in.”
She paused, watching the effect of her words.
“But how?” queried11 John busy with the sole. “Through the window, the ceiling, or the floor? Angels, you know, are spirits, not corporeal12 weighty humans like ourselves. They’d never,” concluded John gravely, “make an ordinary, an expected entrance.”
[Pg 48]
Corin glanced at him sternly.
“I should have imagined you would have held the matter too sacred for joking about,” he remarked.
John smiled gently.
“This one,” said Mrs. Trimwell firmly, “came through the door. I heard the outer door click, and said I to myself, ‘That’s Robert for sure.’ I thought he’d come home a bit earlier. Then the kitchen door clicked. It opened just a little ways, and the beautifullest angel you ever seed comed in all floaty-like. I was that scared I dropped my iron—there’s the heat mark on the baby’s robe to this day—and I made a clean bolt for the back door. I never thought of the baby nor nothing. And as I bolted I squinnied over my shoulder, and I seed that angel by the table all white and shiny.”
Again she stopped, and regarded John, who was eating steadily13. To Corin, who was all agog14 for a continuance of the story, she perversely15 paid no heed16.
“But—” began John dubious.
“You may doubt me as much as you like, sir. I wasn’t going back to that kitchen without a neighbour. I told Vicar myself, sir, and he didn’t [Pg 49]believe me neither, though I’m a truthful17 woman. For as I says to my children: ‘You tell the truth at all costs. If you’re in a hole don’t tell a lie to try and get out of it. Truth will always give you the surest hand up even though her clutch is a bit severe.’ I’d not deceive you, sir, and ’tis the truth I’ve spoken as I spoke it to Vicar. I seed that angel.”
Finality in her tone she stood there, slightly challenging, yet respectful withal.
“Hmm!” mused18 John. “Your integrity, Mrs. Trimwell, is, I am convinced, above suspicion. Yet why, do you imagine, should the angel come? What, do you take it, was the motive19 for his visit?”
Mrs. Trimwell approached a step nearer. She lowered her voice to a confidential20 whisper.
“’Twas that day to the minute, sir, as my uncle died.”
“Ah!” John’s eyes, non-committal in expression, sought the window. Corin cast a look of scorn at him; then turned, eager, to Mrs. Trimwell.
“Did you tell the Vicar that?” he demanded.
“I did, sir,” replied Mrs. Trimwell, including [Pg 50]him for the first time within her range of vision. “But, Lor’, where’s the use of telling things to he! He don’t understand no more than a Bishop21.”
“Why a Bishop?” thought John in parenthesis22.
“When my Tilda was down with pneumony,” pursued Mrs. Trimwell reminiscent, “and the doctor said there wasn’t no chance for her, ‘I’ll see about chances,’ says I. Vicar, he talked about the Will of the Lord and submitting. ‘It’s not the minute to be talking about submitting yet,’ says I to him. ‘The Lord may do the willing, and I’m not one to deny it, but ’tis we do the doing, and it kind of fits in. And if you think I’m going to leave off fighting for my Tilda till the time comes as she’s ready to lay out, you’re much mistook.’ He was mistook, sir, for she’s in the kitchen now a-minding of the baby.” She ended on a note gloriously triumphant23.
The triumph found quick response in John’s eyes. I fancy he saw here reflected the attitude of that old-time king, who strove in prayer for his child, till striving and prayer were no longer of avail.
“The fighting chance,” murmured Corin, swallowing his last mouthful of sole.
[Pg 51]
Mrs. Trimwell removed the plates and placed cold chicken and salad on the table.
“In a manner of speaking it was,” said she, eyeing him with approval. She moved towards the door, then turned.
“You will take coffee after lunch?” she asked.
John looked his assent24, yet left it to Corin, as in a manner host, to give verbal reply to the query25.
“By all means,” replied Corin. “I need,” he assured her, “every atom of support at your avail.”
Mrs. Trimwell looked at him commiseratingly.
“I’ll be bound it’s hard work down there,” said she sympathetically. “How do you find it, sir?”
“Interesting,” returned Corin, “distinctly interesting. I feel like an explorer of bygone centuries penetrating26 through modern hideousity, early Victorian crudeness, Puritan dreariness27, and various other glooms, to the sweet, kindly28 simplicity29, the grace, the freshness, the love of beauty, appertaining to the olden days. I am,” concluded Corin, helping30 himself to salad, “crumbling to pieces that which has hidden beauty, and exposing beauty to the light of day. In other words, I’m scraping the plaster off the walls of the church, and enjoying myself.”
[Pg 52]
Mrs. Trimwell nodded, frank approbation31 plainly visible on her face.
“And time it was scraped, too. A mucky looking place it was with them walls all stained and chipped and mildewed32. Not that it hurt me much, seeing as I never go inside it, except it’s for a christening or a burial.”
“Oh!” remarked Corin, and somewhat feebly, be it stated.
John cast a whimsical look in his direction.
“I don’t hold with church-going,” pursued Mrs. Trimwell calmly. “Say your prayers at home if you want to say them, says I. And as for sermons,—if you’ve heard Vicar talk out of the pulpit whether you will or no, you don’t run off smiling to hear him talk in it. Leastways I don’t. There’s some as does, I know.”
“Oh!” said Corin again, and this time more feebly. (John, I fear me, was laughing inwardly.) To disagree with Mrs. Trimwell would, Corin felt, be tantamount to calling her a black kettle, setting up himself the while as a shiny brass33 pot, to which title he knew he possessed34 no manner of right. Yet to agree!—Well, Corin’s conscience, some hidden fragment of convention—call it what [Pg 53]you will—felt a slight hint of repugnance35 at her sentiments.
There is your man, your male individual, all over. Dogmatic religion—however vague the dogma—church-going is often outside his own category, yet for his women folk—any women folk—to speak against it holds for him a hint of distaste. It just serves to destroy that soft light of idealism with which he loves to surround women. Every man has one woman, at least, in this idealistic shrine36, or, if he has not, he is of all men most miserable37. And here it is that your adherents38 to the old Faith—the oldest Faith in Christendom—have a pull over your so-called enlightened individual. There is always One Woman to whom those of that old Faith can turn, one for whom no shrine is too fair, too lofty,—can be bedecked with no too costly39 wealth of love and homage40. Here, in this shrine, at her feet, may every idealistic thought of man towards woman be placed, preserved, and cherished.
Corin, as already stated, said “Oh!” an ejaculation at once feeble, utterly41 lacking in significance of any kind, a mere4 signal that his ears had received the speech.
[Pg 54]
“Miss Rosamund don’t hold with my views,” went on Mrs. Trimwell, while John’s heart gave a sudden throb42. “Not that I pays over-much heed to her, being a Papist what’s bound to go to Church and obey their priests if they don’t want any little unpleasantness in the next world, which I takes it may be a considerable more unpleasantness than you nor I would suppose. Still I will say she has a wonderful way of talking a thing clear, and if I didn’t know that popery was no better than a worshipping of graven images, I might go for to believe her.”
Corin glanced anxiously in the direction of John,—John who was eating chicken with an expressionless face, though I’ll not vouch43 that his shoulders didn’t shake a little now and then.
“Not that Miss Rosamund talks goody talk,” pursued Mrs. Trimwell, “which is a thing I never could abide44 in grown-up or child, and burnt them little tracty books they give my Tilda up to Sunday-school, setting of her off to talk texes to me and her father, which we didn’t smack45 her for though she deserved it. But there, she’d have been thinking she was an infant prodigal46 and a Christian47 martyr48 if we had. No; I just said how if she [Pg 55]was so fond of texes she could learn a few more instead of going along blackberrying with the other children, and I sets her down to get a chapter of the Gospels by heart. We didn’t hear no more of texes after that, didn’t me and her father,” concluded Mrs. Trimwell dryly.
Indubitably the corners of John’s mouth were twitching49 now. Then Mrs. Trimwell’s eye caught his. Laughter came, whole-heartedly to John, to Mrs. Trimwell first with a note of half apology, over which the entire humour of the reminiscence presently got the upper hand. Corin joined in somewhat relieved. He had feared lest John’s feelings might be hurt.
“When I thinks of Tilda setting there not knowing whether to sulk or pretend she liked it!” ejaculated Mrs. Trimwell after a moment. She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes with her apron1. “But there, it was coffee I was going after, and not memories of my Tilda.”
Mrs. Trimwell vanished.
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1
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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4
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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5
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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6
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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7
embarking
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| 乘船( embark的现在分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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8
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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10
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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12
corporeal
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| adj.肉体的，身体的；物质的 | |
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13
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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14
agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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15
perversely
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| adv. 倔强地 | |
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16
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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17
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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18
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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19
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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21
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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22
parenthesis
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| n.圆括号，插入语，插曲，间歇，停歇 | |
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23
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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25
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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26
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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27
dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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28
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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29
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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30
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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31
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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32
mildewed
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| adj.发了霉的，陈腐的，长了霉花的v.（使）发霉，（使）长霉( mildew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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34
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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35
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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36
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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37
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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39
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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40
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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41
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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42
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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43
vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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44
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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45
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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46
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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47
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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48
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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49
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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