In the month of August Lord Roxhall, who was at Arcachon with his wife, ostensibly for health, in reality to cut short the expenses of a season in town, received amongst his correspondence a letter in a black-edged envelope addressed in a clear firm handwriting which was unknown to him, and bearing the postmark of his own country town, that town which William Massarene’s funeral had recently passed through in such pomp and glory.
The letter astonished him, and he read it twice, incredulous of its meaning and wondering vaguely1 if it were genuine.
It was dated from Vale Royal and worded thus:
“My dear Lord Roxhall,
“Pardon me that I have not earlier replied to your very kind letter of condolence on the terrible death of my father. Under his will I unfortunately become sole owner of all he possessed2. He purchased this estate of Vale Royal of you, and I inherit it with the rest. I do not think we have done any harm here; we have perhaps done some material good, but the people on the estate dislike us and despise us. I quite understand and do not blame their feeling. I like and respect it. They are as faithful to you as Highlanders to Charles Edward. I cannot remain here, for neither my mother nor I care to reside amongst a justly disaffected3 population. My poor father bought your estate at a fair price no doubt; but it will never be morally or righteously ours. There are some things of which no amount of money can legalize the sale to a sensitive conscience. Will you do me a favor? Will you buy it back? I should only require half the purchase-money, and should be much obliged to you to let the other half remain on mortgage on the estate. I believe the value of land is decreased since he bought it, and of course you would have a valuation taken. Or I should be happy to comply with any other conditions which might be more suitable to you. In any way if you will take it off my hands as soon as the law permits me to dispose of it, I shall be greatly indebted and relieved of a heavy burden; for no one can do any good on a property where all the occupants[415] of the soil are their enemies. So entirely5 is my mother, as well as myself, convinced of this fact that we shall leave the place, never to return to it, in a few days’ time, and the house will remain closed. I hope that you will before long go back to it.
“I remain, sincerely yours,
“Katherine Massarene.”
He was breakfasting under the pine trees, his wife was opposite to him at a small round table. The letter astonished him and affected4 him, he discerned the generosity6 which was ill-concealed8 under its effort to make the offer seem to the advantage of the writer. When he had pondered over it for some minutes he passed it over the table to his companion.
“She would give it to us if she dared,” he said as his wife took it. She read it quickly at a glance, as women do read, and looked up, the color rising in her face, her eyes radiant with hope.
“Oh, Gerald! Can you do it?”
“Do you care so much?” said Roxhall; his own voice was unsteady.
Lady Roxhall leaned her elbow on the table and covered her eyes with her hand to hide her emotion from the passers-by in the hotel garden.
“I could not tell you all I have suffered; I tried to conceal7 it; if it were only to have left the grave of Lillias to strangers——”
“You good little thing, to have been so silent!” said Roxhall, touched and grateful.
“I think I could do it,” answered Roxhall. “At least, if it is fair to take her offer. One must not come over this young woman because she is generous. Yes; I think with great pinching we could do it.”
“I would live on bread and water all my life to go back!” said his wife with a force he had never known in her.
“I ought never to have sold it,” said Roxhall, his thoughts reverting10 to his cousin’s wiles11. He took up the letter and read it again.
[416]“She would like to give it to us,” he said a second time. “How very odd that such an unutterable cad as that man Massarene was should have such a daughter. I think I had better go to London to-night and see our lawyers. I will get the old place back somehow, if it’s fair to her.”
“Yes, one must be fair to her,” said his wife, and added with remorse12, “And to think how rude I have always been to her! I turned my back on them all three at the late State concert, just a week before the man was assassinated13.”
Roxhall laughed and got up to go and look at the railway time-table, and she rose too, and to avoid her many acquaintances went to walk by herself in the woods and commune with her own heart, and her longing14 to return to Vale Royal, and her wistful memories of her little dead child, Lillias. She was a gentle, brave, tender-hearted woman who had suffered much and concealed her sufferings courageously15 from both her husband and her world.
At the end of that month Katherine Massarene had ceased for a time her painful self-imposed task and gone down to Bournemouth, where she had taken a house for the autumn and winter; a villa16 in a pine-wood which looked on to the sea. It was a pretty place but to her mother it seemed a poor nutshell after the spaciousness17 and splendor18 of Harrenden House and Vale Royal. The diminished establishment, the comparatively empty stables, the loss of Richemont and his satellites, were at once a relief and an offence to her.
“One would think poor William had been sold up and we was livin’ on my savings,” she said in indignation.
“My dear mother, you could not keep up this place under three thousand a year,” said her daughter.
“And what’s that to us as had millions?” asked her mother.
Katherine thought of the primary plank19 hut at Kerosene20 City, but she saw that her mother was in no mood to remember those primitive21 times.
The Bournemouth residence was really pretty and had a simple elegance22 in it which was due to a great painter whose whim23 and pleasure it had been; and it was a fitting retreat for two women in deep mourning. But Margaret[417] Massarene chose to consider it as a mixture of workhouse and prison. Her fretfulness and incessant24 lamentation25 made her companionship very trying, for it was the kind of obstinate26 discontent with which no arguments can struggle with any chance of success. One fine dim balmy morning, when the smell of the sea blended strongly with the scent27 from the pine-woods, Katherine was alone in the large room which had been the painter’s studio and was now set aside for her own use, reading the still voluminous correspondence from her agents and solicitors28. A young footman, who had not the perfect training which Mr. Winter had exacted in his underlings, opened the door and ushered29 in unannounced a tall fair man, who stood in hesitation30 on the threshold. “Lord Hurstmanceaux, ma’am,” said the young servant, and shut the door behind the visitor’s back.
Katherine looked up from her heavily-laden writing-table, and was vexed31 to feel that she changed color.
“My mother and I do not receive——” she said with some embarrassment32.
Hurstmanceaux came across the room and stood on the other side of the table.
She answered merely “No.”
“And why not?”
“Because I do not choose to take that money.”
Hurstmanceaux’s face grew red and very stern.
“You insult me, Miss Massarene.”
“I do not mean to do so,” said Katherine gently. “I begged you not to send it to me. My father, I am certain, never expected the duchess to repay it.”
“That is very singular language. Do you mean that your father was on terms with my sister which would justify35 him in making her such gifts?”
She was silent; that was her meaning but she could not say so.
“If you do think it, you must cease to think it,” said Ronald. “If there were any man in your family——”
Katherine looked him straight in the eyes.
“Pray do not let the fact of my sex influence you. I[418] dare say I have many male relatives, but they are, I believe, navvies, and colliers, and laborers36, and the like, who would not be foemen worthy37 of your patrician38 steel.”
“You have full right to condemn40 my sister, but not to suppose what you do not know,” he said with some embarrassment. “The debt was a matter of business, as a matter of business I treat it, and refund41 the money to you, who are the sole living representative of the dead creditor42.”
“There are many debts due to him. I have cancelled them all. They are all due from persons of your great world. He thought their suffrages43 worth buying. I do not. And I think the people who sell oranges and apples in the streets are superior to those who sell their prestige, their patronage44, or their company.”
“I am wholly of your opinion,” he said coldly. “But in this instance the debt is paid so far as a debt ever can be; and you are bound to take the payment of it. You are not bound to preserve silence on the matter, but if you do so you will make me grateful.”
“I have told you that you may be certain of my silence,” she said, with some impatience47. “That is elementary honor which even I, low-born as I am, can understand!”
“Honor does not require silence of you,” said Hurstmanceaux. “But such silence will be a charity to us.”
“If you are a gentlewoman, madam,” he added, in his coldest and most courteous49 manner, “you must also understand that you render my position insupportable unless you accept that money.”
She did not immediately reply. She had not thought of the matter from his point of view. She reflected a little while, not looking at him, then she said, briefly50:
“Very well. It shall be as you wish.”
“I thank you,” he said, with embarrassment; and after a pause added, “I thank you exceedingly.” Then he[419] bowed distantly, and left her without any additional words.
She sat in the same place for many minutes looking out over the grey sea which gleamed between the stems of the pines. Then she rose and went to a dispatch-box, in which she had placed all his sister’s letters to her father, all proof of sums received by her, and all William Massarene’s counterfoils51 of checks passed to her, and also the worthless bills of Cocky.
She put all these together in a large envelope, sealed it carefully, and sent it registered to the Duchess of Otterbourne at the post office of Bergen, where she knew that the steam-yacht in which that lady had gone to Norway was at anchor.
She thus put it out of her own power for ever, and out of the power of any who might come after her, to prove the shame of Hurstmanceaux’s best-beloved sister. “He will never be dishonored through us,” she thought.
The voice of her mother startled her and jarred on her.
“That’s a handsome man as is gone out just now,” said Mrs. Massarene. “’Tis the duchess’s brother, ain’t it?”
“He’s his sister’s good looks,” said Mrs. Massarene. “But he never would know poor William. May one ask what he come about, my dear?”
“Only some business of his sister’s,” replied her daughter.
“He was always mighty53 high,” said Mrs. Massarene. “I hope you’re stand off too. Let him feel as you’re your father’s daughter.”
Mrs. Massarene, since the tyranny under which she had been repressed so long had been removed from her, was a more self-asserting and self-satisfied person. Her deep crape garments lent her in her own eyes majesty55 and importance, despite the slur56 which the will had cast upon her. She was William’s widow, a position which seemed to her second to none in distinction. Death did for her lost spouse57 in her eyes what it often does for the dead with tender-hearted survivors58; it made his cruelties dim and[420] distant, it made his memory something which his life certainly had never been. That burial by peers and princes had been as a cloud of incense59 which was for ever rising about his manes. Royalty60 would not have sent even its youngest and smallest officer of the Household to represent it at any funeral which had not been the wake of all the virtues61. Those towering heaps of wreaths had been in her view as a cairn burying out of sight all her husband’s misdeeds and brutalities.
As ill-luck would have it, Daddy Gwyllian, who was staying at Cowes, crossed over to Bournemouth that morning to see an invalid62 friend. He was sauntering along in his light grey clothes, his straw hat, and his yachting shoes, when as he passed the garden gateway63 of the villa which Mrs. Massarene had hired, he encountered Ronald coming out of it.
“Ah! dear boy,” he cried, in his pleasantest manner. “Making it up with the heiress, eh? Quite right. Quite right. Pity you’ve been so stiff-necked about it all these years.”
Hurstmanceaux was extremely annoyed at this undesirable64 meeting. But he had nothing that he could say which would not have made matters worse.
“Where did you spring from, Daddy?” he said impatiently. “You are always appearing like a Jack65 in a box.”
“I make it a rule to be where my richest and laziest fellow-creatures most congregate,” replied Daddy. “And that in the month of August is the Solent. But come, Ronnie, let out a bit; you know I’m a very old friend. What are you doing down here if you’re not paying court to Miss Massarene?”
“I am certainly not paying court to Miss Massarene,” replied Hurstmanceaux, very distantly. “I was obliged to see her on business.”
“It may be. I remain in the antechamber.”
“Tut, tut! Of course you say so. You are really becoming like other people, Ronnie. I see you have sold your pictures!”
[421]“Is that anyone’s affair but mine?”
“Well, yes, I think so. A sale is everybody’s affair. There’s nothing sacred about it. I always told you they were wasted at Faldon. Nobody saw ’em but spiders and mice.”
Hurstmanceaux was silent.
“What an uncommunicative beggar he is,” thought Daddy. “When one thinks that I’ve known him ever since he was in knickerbockers with his hair down to his waist!”
“Is it true that Roxhall buys back Vale Royal?” he asked.
“Ask Roxhall,” said Hurstmanceaux, “and I fear I must leave you now and walk on faster to the station.”
But Gwyllian held him by the lappet of his coat.
“They do say,” he whispered, “that she’s almost given it to him. You must know. Now do be frank, Ronnie.”
“Frankness does not necessitate67 the discussion of other people’s affairs. Ask Roxhall’s wife; she is at Cowes; or go in and ask Miss Massarene; you know her.”
He disengaged himself with some difficulty from the clinging hold of Gwyllian’s white wrinkled fingers, and went onward68 to the station to go to Southampton, where his yawl was awaiting him. Daddy looked at the gate of the villa. Should he ring? No, he thought not. She was an unpleasant woman to tackle, hedgehoggy and impenetrable; she would be capable of saying to him, as Hurstmanceaux had done, that Roxhall’s affairs were no business of his. She was one of those unnatural69 and offensive persons who, having no curiosity themselves, regard curiosity in others without sympathy, and even with disapproval70. Daddy, feeling ill-used and aggrieved71, turned down a lane bordered by rhododendrons and eucalyptus72, and went to lunch with his sick friend, to whom he imparted sotto voce the fact that he thought Ronald would come round and marry Miss Massarene.
“He’s always been such a crank,” added Daddy. “But he’s begun to sell. That looks like coming to his senses—doing like other people.”
“It is certainly doing like many other people,” said his sick friend with a sad smile, for he had seen his own collections[422] go to the hammer. When Gwyllian, a few hours later, went comfortably back over the water in a steam-launch to East Cowes, he reflected as he glided73 along on what he had heard. Being a sagacious person, he connected the sale of the Faldon pictures with the visit to Katherine Massarene. “He’s either paying some debt of his sister’s or he’s helping74 Roxhall to buy back the place. He’s such a confounded fool, he’d give his head away; and I dare say the young woman is sharp about money; wouldn’t be her father’s daughter if she wasn’t.” So he came very nearly to the truth in his own mind as he sat in the launch, whilst it wound in and out among the craft in the roads.
It was no business of his, but Daddy Gwyllian had always found that guessing what hands other people held was the most amusing way of playing the rubber of life; at least, when you are old, and only a looker-on at the tables.
“They do say she’s almost given it to him.” The words rang in Ronald’s ears as he went on board his old yawl, the Dianthus, and crossed to the island. Roxhall had not spoken to him of the matter; he only knew what was, by that time, table-talk, that Vale Royal was to return to its original owner so soon as the law permitted Katherine Massarene to dispose of any portion of her inheritance. Meantime, the house was closed. Roxhall had not sought him on the subject, and he felt that if they discussed it, they would probably quarrel, their views would be so different. It was very bitter to him that any member of his family should again be indebted to the Massarene fortune. It seemed as if the very stars in their courses fought against his will. Why had not Roxhall simply replied to her overtures75, as he himself would have replied, that the sale of the estates, once having been made, could not be annulled76?
As it was, all the world was talking of her generosity. It was intolerable! She had meant well, no doubt, but Roxhall should have taught her, as he had taught her, that men who respect themselves cannot receive that kind of favors.
“Why did you let him accept the return of the property,[423] Elsie?” he said to Lady Roxhall, whom he saw on the club terrace at Cowes as soon as he landed there.
Lady Roxhall colored a little.
“Perhaps we ought not to have done so. But, oh, my dear Ronald, I shall be so rejoiced to go back! It was very good of Miss Massarene to offer its release,” she added, “so rude as we have all of us been to her.”
“You cannot be rude any more,” said Hurstmanceaux. “You have sold your freedom of choice for a mess of pottage. You have accepted this lady’s favors. You must embrace her in return if she exacts it.”
“How irritable77 Ronald has grown,” thought Lady Roxhall. “He used to be so kind and sweet-tempered. I suppose it is his having to sell his pictures that sours him. I wonder why he did sell them?”
Hurstmanceaux, before he went on board to sleep that night, wrote a letter at the R. Y. S. Club, which it cost him a great effort to write.
“But it’s not fair for all the generosity to be on her side,” he thought. “We must look like a set of savages78 to her. We have not even the common decency79 to thank her.”
“Madam,—
“Circumstances, on which it is needless for me to dwell, make it impossible for me to have the honor of any intercourse80 with you in the future. But do not think that I am, for that reason, insensible to the nobility, generosity, and kindness which you have displayed in your dealings with more than one member of my family, and the forbearance you have shown to one wholly unworthy of it. For the silence you have kept in the past, and have offered to preserve in the future, I pray you to accept my sincere gratitude81. I beg to remain, Madam,
“Your obedient servant,
“Hurstmanceaux.”
This letter brought tears to the eyes of the woman to whom it was addressed, although she was but very rarely moved to such emotion. “Why should we be strangers,” she thought, “because of the sins or the crimes of others?”
[424]She drew the check which he had sent her on his bankers, but she gave, at the same time, a commission to a famous art agent in Paris to buy back the Dutch and Flemish pictures of the Faldon Collection from the dealers82 who had purchased them, and on no account to let her name appear in connection with the purchase.
Why should an honest and gallant83 gentleman lose heirlooms because his sister had been as venal84 as any courtezan of ancient Rome or modern Paris? How she would be able ever to restore them to him she did not know; meantime, she saved them from the hammer.
She thought that she would leave them to him by will, in case of her own death, with reversion to the National Gallery if he refused to accept them, and to restore them to their places at Faldon.
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1
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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disaffected
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| adj.（政治上）不满的，叛离的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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assassinated
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| v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 )；中伤；诋毁；破坏 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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spaciousness
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| n.宽敞 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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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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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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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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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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abruptly
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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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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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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refund
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| v.退还，偿还；n.归还，偿还额，退款 | |
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creditor
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| n.债仅人，债主，贷方 | |
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suffrages
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| （政治性选举的）选举权，投票权( suffrage的名词复数 ) | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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counterfoils
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| n.（支票、票据等的）存根，票根( counterfoil的名词复数 ) | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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slur
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| v.含糊地说；诋毁；连唱；n.诋毁；含糊的发音 | |
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spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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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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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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necessitate
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| v.使成为必要，需要 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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eucalyptus
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| n.桉树，桉属植物 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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annulled
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| v.宣告无效( annul的过去式和过去分词 )；取消；使消失；抹去 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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82
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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venal
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| adj.唯利是图的，贪脏枉法的 | |
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