PAULINE MANFORD sent a satisfied glance down the table.
It was on such occasions that she visibly reaped her reward. No one else in New York had so accomplished1 a cook, such smoothly2 running service, a dinner-table so softly yet brightly lit, or such skill in grouping about it persons not only eminent3 in wealth or fashion, but likely to find pleasure in each other's society.
The intimate reunion, of the not-more-than-the-Muses kind, was not Pauline's affair. She was aware of this, and seldom made the attempt—though, when she did, she was never able to discover why it was not a success. But in the organizing and administering of a big dinner she was conscious of mastery. Not the stupid big dinner of old days, when the "crowned heads" used to be treated like a caste apart, and everlastingly4 invited to meet each other through a whole monotonous5 season: Pauline was too modern for that. She excelled in a judicious6 blending of Wall Street and Bohemia, and her particular art lay in her selection of the latter element. Of course there were Bohemians and Bohemians; as she had once remarked to Nona, people weren't always amusing just because they were clever, or dull just because they were rich—though at the last clause Nona had screwed up her nose incredulously... Well, even Nona would be satisfied tonight, Pauline thought. It wasn't everybody who would have been bold enough to ask a social reformer like Parker Greg with the very people least disposed to encourage social reform, nor a young composer like Torfried Lobb (a disciple7 of "The Six") with all those stolid8 opera-goers, nor that disturbing Tommy Ardwin, the Cubist decorator, with the owners of the most expensive "period houses" in Fifth Avenue.
Pauline was not a bit afraid of such combinations. She knew in advance that at one of her dinners everything would "go"—it always did. And her success amused and exhilarated her so much that, even tonight, though she had come down oppressed with problems, they slipped from her before she even had time to remind herself that they were nonexistent. She had only to look at the faces gathered about that subdued9 radiance of old silver and scattered10 flowers to be sure of it. There, at the other end of the table, was her husband's dark head, comely11 and resolute12 in its vigorous middle-age; on his right the Marchesa di San Fedele, the famous San Fedele pearls illuminating13 her inconspicuous black; on his left the handsome Mrs. Herman Toy, magnanimously placed there by Pauline because she knew that Manford was said to be "taken" by her, and she wanted him to be in good-humour that evening. To measure her own competence14 she had only to take in this group, already settling down to an evening's enjoyment15, and then let her glance travel on to the others, the young and handsome women, the well-dressed confident-looking men. Nona, grave yet eager, was talking to Manford's legal rival, the brilliant Alfred Cosby, who was known to have said she was the cleverest girl in New York. Lita, cool and aloof16, drooped17 her head slightly to listen to Torfried Lobb, the composer; Jim gazed across the table at Lita as if his adoration18 made every intervening obstacle transparent19; Aggie20 Heuston, whose coldness certainly made her look distinguished21, though people complained that she was dull, dispensed22 occasional monosyllables to the ponderous24 Herman Toy; and Stanley Heuston, leaning back with that faint dry smile which Pauline found irritating because it was so inscrutable, kept his eyes discreetly25 but steadily26 on Nona. Dear good Stan, always like a brother to Nona! People who knew him well said he wasn't as sardonic27 as he looked.
It was a world after Pauline's heart—a world such as she believed its Maker28 meant it to be. She turned to the Bishop29 on her right, wondering if he shared her satisfaction, and encountered a glance of understanding.
"So refreshing30 to be among old friends... This is one of the few houses left... Always such a pleasure to meet the dear Marchesa; I hope she has better reports of her son? Wretched business, I'm afraid. My dear Mrs. Manford, I wonder if you know how blessed you are in your children? That wise little Nona, who is going to make some man so happy one of these days—not Cosby, no? Too much difference in age? And your steady Jim and his idol31 ... yes, I know it doesn't become my cloth to speak indulgently of idolatry. But happy marriages are so rare nowadays: where else could one find such examples as there are about this table? Your Jim and his Lita, and my good friend Heuston with that saint of a wife—" The Bishop paused, as if, even on so privileged an occasion, he was put to it to prolong the list. "Well, you've given them the example..." He stopped again, probably remembering that his hostess's matrimonial bliss32 was built on the ruins of her first husband's. But in divorcing she had invoked33 a cause which even the Church recognizes; and the Bishop proceeded serenely34: "Her children shall rise up and call her blessed—yes, dear friend, you must let me say it."
The words were balm to Pauline. Every syllable23 carried conviction: all was right with her world and the Bishop's! Why did she ever need any other spiritual guidance than that of her own creed35? She felt a twinge of regret at having so involved herself with the Mahatma. Yet what did Episcopal Bishops36 know of "holy ecstasy"? And could any number of Church services have reduced her hips37? After all, there was room for all the creeds38 in her easy rosy39 world. And the thought led her straight to her other preoccupation: the reception for the Cardinal40. She resolved to secure the Bishop's approval at once. After that, of course the Chief Rabbi would have to come. And what a lesson in tolerance41 and good-will to the discordant42 world she was trying to reform!
Nona, half-way down the table, viewed its guests from another angle. She had come back depressed43 rather than fortified44 from her flying visit to her father. There were days when Manford liked to be "surprised" at the office; when he and his daughter had their little jokes together over these clandestine45 visits. But this one had not come off in that spirit. She had found Manford tired and slightly irritable46; Nona, before he had time to tell her of her mother's visit, caught a lingering whiff of Pauline's cool hygienic scent47, and wondered nervously48 what could have happened to make Mrs. Manford break through her tightly packed engagements, and dash down to her husband's office. It was of course to that emergency that she had sacrificed poor Exhibit A—little guessing his relief at the postponement49. But what could have obliged her to see Manford so suddenly, when they were to meet at dinner that evening?
The girl had asked no questions: she knew that Manford, true to his profession, preferred putting them. And her chief object, of course, had been to get him to help her about Arthur Wyant. That, she perceived, at first added to his irritation50: was he Wyant's keeper, he wanted to know? But he broke off before the next question: "Why the devil can't his own son look after him?" She had seen that question on his very lips; but they shut down on it, and he rose from his chair with a shrug51. "Poor devil—if you think I can be of any use? All right, then—I'll drop in on him tomorrow." He and Wyant, ever since the divorce, had met whenever Jim's fate was to be discussed; Wyant felt a sort of humiliated52 gratitude53 for Manford's generosity54 to his son. "Not the money, you know, Nona—damn the money! But taking such an interest in him; helping55 him to find himself: appreciating him, hang it! He understands Jim a hundred times better than your mother ever did..." On this basis the two men came together now and then in a spirit of tolerant understanding...
Nona recalled her father's face as it had been when she left him: worried, fagged, yet with that twinkle of gaiety his eyes always had when he looked at her. Now, smoothed out, smiling, slightly replete56, it was hard as stone. "Like his own death-mask," the girl thought; "as if he'd done with everything, once for all.—And the way those two women bore him! Mummy put Gladys Toy next to him as a reward—for what?" She smiled at her mother's simplicity57 in imagining that he was having what Pauline called a "harmless flirtation58" with Mrs. Herman Toy. That lady's obvious charms were no more to him, Nona suspected, than those of the florid Bathsheba in the tapestry59 behind his chair. But Pauline had evidently had some special reason—over and above her usual diffused60 benevolence—for wanting to put Manford in a good humour. "The Mahatma, probably." Nona knew how her mother hated a fuss: how vulgar and unchristian she always thought it. And it would certainly be inconvenient61 to give up the rest-cure at Dawnside she had planned for March, when Manford was to go off tarpon-fishing.
Nona's glance, in the intervals62 of talk with her neighbours, travelled farther, lit on Jim's good-humoured wistful face—Jim was always wistful at his mother's banquets—and flitted on to Aggie Heuston's precise little mask, where everything was narrow and perpendicular63, like the head of a saint squeezed into a cathedral niche64. But the girl's eyes did not linger, for as they rested on Aggie they abruptly65 met the latter's gaze. Aggie had been furtively66 scrutinizing67 her, and the discovery gave Nona a faint shock. In another instant Mrs. Heuston turned to Parker Greg, the interesting young social reformer whom Pauline had thoughtfully placed next to her, with the optimistic idea that all persons interested in improving the world must therefore be in the fullest sympathy. Nona, knowing Parker Greg's views, smiled at that too. Aggie, she was sure, would feel much safer with her other neighbour, Mr. Herman Toy, who thought, on all subjects, just what all his fellow capitalists did.
Nona caught Stan Heuston's smile, and knew he had read her thought; but from him too she turned. The last thing she wanted was that he should guess her real opinion of his wife. Something deep down and dogged in Nona always, when it came to the touch, made her avert68 her feet from the line of least resistance.
Manford lent an absent ear first to one neighbour, then the other. Mrs. Toy was saying, in her flat uncadenced voice, like tepid69 water running into a bath: "I don't see how people can live without lifts in their houses, do you? But perhaps it's because I've never had to. Father's house had the first electric lift at Climax70. Once, in England, we went to stay with the Duke of Humber, at Humber Castle—one of those huge parties, royalties71 and everything—golf and polo all day, and a ball every night; and, will you believe it, we had to walk up and down stairs! I don't know what English people are made of. I suppose they've never been used to what we call comfort. The second day I told Herman I couldn't stand those awful slippery stairs after two rounds of golf, and dancing till four in the morning. It was simply destroying my heart—the doctor has warned me so often! I wanted to leave right away—but Herman said it would offend the Duke. The Duke's such a sweet old man. But, any way, I made Herman promise me a sapphire73 and emerald plaque74 from Carrier's before I'd agree to stick it out..."
The Marchesa's little ferret face with sharp impassioned eyes darted75 conversationally76 forward. "The Duke of Humber? I know him so well. Dear old man! Ah, you also stayed at Humber? So often he invites me. We are related ... yes, through his first wife, whose mother was a Venturini of the Calabrian branch: Donna Ottaviana. Yes. Another sister, Donna Rosmunda, the beauty of the family, married the Duke of Lepanto ... a mediatized prince..."
She stopped, and Manford read in her eyes the hasty inward interrogation: "Will they think that expression queer? I'm not sure myself just what 'mediatized' means. And these Americans! They stick at nothing, but they're shocked at everything." Aloud she continued: "A mediatized prince—but a man of the very highest character."
"Oh—" murmured Mrs. Toy, puzzled but obviously relieved.
The how-many-eth dinner did that make this winter? And no end in sight! How could Pauline stand it? Why did she want to stand it? All those rest-cures, massages78, rhythmic80 exercises, devised to restore the health of people who would have been as sound as bells if only they had led normal lives! Like that fool of a woman spreading her blond splendours so uselessly at his side, who couldn't walk upstairs because she had danced all night! Pauline was just like that—never walked upstairs, and then had to do gymnastics, and have osteopathy, and call in Hindu sages79, to prevent her muscles from getting atrophied81... He had a vision of his mother, out on the Minnesota farm, before they moved into Delos—saw her sowing, digging potatoes, feeding chickens; saw her kneading, baking, cooking, washing, mending, catching82 and harnessing the half-broken colt to drive twelve miles in the snow for the doctor, one day when all the men were away, and his little sister had been so badly scalded... And there the old lady sat at Delos, in her nice little brick house, in her hale and hearty83 old age, built to outlive them all.—Wasn't that perhaps the kind of life Manford himself had been meant for? Farming on a big scale, with all the modern appliances his forbears had lacked, outdoing everybody in the county, marketing84 his goods at the big centres, and cutting a swathe in state politics like his elder brother? Using his brains, muscles, the whole of him, body and soul, to do real things, bring about real results in the world, instead of all this artificial activity, this spinning around faster and faster in the void, and having to be continually rested and doctored to make up for exertions85 that led to nothing, nothing, nothing...
"Of course we all know you could tell us if you would. Everybody knows the Lindons have gone to you for advice." Mrs. Toy's large shallow eyes floated the question toward him on a sea-blue wave of curiosity. "Not a word of truth? Oh, of course you have to say that! But everybody has been expecting there'd be trouble soon..."
And, in a whisper, from the Marchesa's side: "Teasing you about that mysterious Mahatma? Foolish woman! As long as dear Pauline believes in him, I'm satisfied. That was what I was saying to Pauline before dinner: 'Whatever you and Dexter approve of, I approve of.' That's the reason why I'm so anxious to have my poor boy come to New York ... my Michelangelo! If only you could see him I know you'd grow as fond of him as you are of our dear Jim: perhaps even take him into your office... Ah, that, dear Dexter, has always been my dream!"
... What sort of a life, after all, if not this one? For of course that dream of a Western farm was all rubbish. What he really wanted was a life in which professional interests as far-reaching and absorbing as his own were somehow impossibly combined with great stretches of country quiet, books, horses and children—ah, children! Boys of his own—teaching them all sorts of country things; taking them for long trudges86, telling them about trees and plants and birds—watching the squirrels, feeding the robins87 and thrushes in winter; and coming home in the dusk to firelight, lamplight, a tea-table groaning88 with jolly things, all the boys and girls (girls too, more little Nonas) grouped around, hungry and tingling89 from their long tramp—and a woman lifting a calm face from her book: a woman who looked so absurdly young to be their mother; so—
"You're looking at Jim's wife?" The Marchesa broke in. "No wonder! Très en beauté, our Lita!—that dress, the very same colour as her hair, and those Indian emeralds ... how clever of her! But a little difficult to talk to? Little too silent? No? Ah, not to you, perhaps—her dear father! Father-in-law, I mean—"
Silent! The word sent him off again. For in that other world, so ringing with children's laughter, children's wrangles90, and all the healthy blustering91 noises of country life in a big family, there would somehow, underneath92 it all, be a great pool of silence, a reservoir on which one could always draw and flood one's soul with peace. The vision was vague and contradictory93, but it all seemed to meet and mingle94 in the woman's eyes...
Pauline was signalling from her table-end. He rose and offered his arm to the Marchesa.
In the hall the strains of the famous Somaliland orchestra bumped and tossed downstairs from the ball-room to meet them. The ladies, headed by Mrs. Toy, flocked to the mirror-lined lift dissembled behind forced lilacs and Japanese plums; but Amalasuntha, on Manford's arm, set her blunt black slipper72 on the marble tread.
"I'm used to Roman palaces!"
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1
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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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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disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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competence
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| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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transparent
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aggie
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| n.农校，农科大学生 | |
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distinguished
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dispensed
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syllable
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ponderous
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discreetly
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steadily
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sardonic
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maker
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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idol
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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serenely
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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creeds
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rosy
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cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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clandestine
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| adj.秘密的，暗中从事的 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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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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nervously
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postponement
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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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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replete
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| adj.饱满的，塞满的；n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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68
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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70
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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71
royalties
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| 特许权使用费 | |
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72
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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73
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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74
plaque
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| n.饰板，匾，(医)血小板 | |
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75
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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conversationally
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| adv.会话地 | |
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77
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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78
massages
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| 按摩，推拿( massage的名词复数 ) | |
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79
sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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80
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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81
atrophied
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| adj.萎缩的，衰退的v.（使）萎缩，（使）虚脱，（使）衰退( atrophy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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83
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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84
marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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85
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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86
trudges
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| n.跋涉，长途疲劳的步行( trudge的名词复数 ) | |
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87
robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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88
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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89
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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90
wrangles
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| n.（尤指长时间的）激烈争吵，口角，吵嘴( wrangle的名词复数 )v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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91
blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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92
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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93
contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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