THE Marchesa di San Fedele's ideas about the country were perfectly1 simple; in fact she had only one. She regarded it as a place in which there was more time to play bridge than in town. Thank God for that!—and the rest one simply bore with... Of course there was the obligatory2 going the rounds with host or hostess: gardens, glass, dairy, chicken-hatchery, and heaven knew what besides (stables, thank goodness, were out of fashion—even if people rode they no longer, unless they kept hounds, dragged one between those dreary3 rows of box stalls, or made one admire the lustrous4 steel and leather of the harness room, or the monograms5 stencilled6 in blue and red on the coach-house floor).
The Marchesa's life had always been made up of doing things as dull as going over model dairies in order to get the chance, or the money, to do others as thrilling to her as dancing was to Lita. It was part of the game: one had to pay for what one got: the thing was to try and get a great deal more than the strict equivalent.
"Not that I don't marvel7 at your results, Pauline; we all do. But they make me feel so useless and incapable8. All this wonderful creation—baths and swimming-pools and hatcheries and fire-engines, and everything so perfect, indoors and out! Sometimes I'm glad you've never been to our poor old San Fedele. But of course bathrooms will have to be put in at San Fedele if Michelangelo finds an American bride when he comes over..."
Pauline laid down the pen she had taken up to record the exact terms in which she was to address the Cardinal9's secretary. ("A personal note, dear; yes, in your own writing; they don't yet understand your new American ways at the Vatican...")
"When Michelangelo comes over?" Pauline echoed.
The Marchesa's face was sharper than a knife. "It's my little surprise. I didn't mean you or Dexter to know till the contract was signed..."
"What contract?"
"My boy's to do Cæsar Borgia in the new film. Klawhammer cabled a definite offer the day you left for the country. And of course I insisted on Michelangelo's sailing instantly, though he'd planned to spend the spring in Paris and was rather cross at having to give it up. But as I told him, now is the moment to secure a lovely American bride. We all know what your rich papas-in-law over here always ask: 'What debts? What prospects10? What other women?' The woman matter can generally be arranged. The debts are, in this case—thanks to your generosity11. But the prospects—what were they, I ask you? Months of green mould at San Fedele for a fortnight's splash in Rome ... oh, I don't disguise it! And what American bride would accept that? The San Fedele pearls, yes—but where is the San Fedele plumbing12? But now, my dear, Michelangelo presents himself as an equal ... superior, I might say, if I weren't afraid of being partial. Cæsar Borgia in a Klawhammer film—no one knows how many millions it may mean! And of course Michelangelo is the very type..."
"To do me the favour to transmit to his Eminence13... Yes; this really is a surprise, Amalasuntha." Inwardly Pauline was saying: "After all, why not? If his own mother doesn't mind seeing him all over the place on film posters. And perhaps now he may pay us back—in common decency15 he'll have to!"
She saw no serious reason for displeasure, once she had dropped her carefully cultivated Wyant attitude. "If only it doesn't upset Lita again, and make her restless!" But they really couldn't hope to keep all Lita's friends and relations off the screen.
"Arthur was amazed—and awfully16 pleased, after the first recoil17. Dear Arthur, you know, always recoils18 at first," the Marchesa continued, with her shrewd deprecating smile, which insinuated19 that Pauline of course wouldn't. (It was odd, Pauline reflected; the Marchesa always looked like a peasant when she was talking business.)
"Arthur? You've already written to him about it?"
"No, dear. I ran across him yesterday in town. You didn't know Arthur'd come back? I thought he said he'd telephoned to Nona, or somebody. A touch of gout—got fidgety because he couldn't see his doctor. But he looked remarkably20 well, I thought—so handsome still, in his élancé Wyant way; only a little too flushed, perhaps. Yes ... poor Eleanor... Oh, no; he said Jim was still on the island. Perfectly contented21 fishing. Jim's the only person I know who's always perfectly contented ... such a lesson..." The Marchesa's sigh seemed to add: "Very restful—but how I should despise him if he were my Michelangelo!"
Pauline could hear—oh, how distinctly!—all that her former husband would have to say about Michelangelo's projects. They would be food for an afternoon's irony22. But that did not greatly trouble her—nor did Wyant's unexpected return. He was always miserable23 out of reach of his doctor. And the fact that Jim hadn't come back proved that there was nothing seriously wrong. Pauline thought: "I'll write to Jim again, and tell him how perfect Dexter has been about Lita and the baby, and that will convince him there's no need to hurry back."
Complacency returned to her. How should it not, with the list for the Cardinal's reception nearly complete, and the telephonic assurance of the Bishop24 of New York and the Chief Rabbi that both these dignitaries would be present? Socially also, though the season was over, the occasion promised to be brilliant. Lots of people were coming back just to see how a Cardinal was received. Even the Rivingtons were coming—she had it from the Bishop. Yes, the Rivingtons had certainly been more cordial since she and Manford had thrown them over at the last minute. That was the way to treat people who thought themselves so awfully superior. What wouldn't the Rivingtons have given to capture the Cardinal? But he was sailing for Italy the day after Pauline's reception—that was the beauty of it! No one else could possibly have him. Amalasuntha had stage-managed the whole business very cleverly. She had even overcome the Cardinal's scruples25 when he heard that Mrs. Manford was chairman of the Birth Control committee... And tonight, at the dinner, how pleasant everybody's congratulations would be! Pauline gloried in her achievement for Manford's sake. Despite his assurance to the contrary she could never imagine, for more than a moment at a time, that such successes were really indifferent to him.
Lita appeared in the drawing-room after almost everybody had arrived. She was always among the last; and in the country, as she said, there was no way of knowing what time it was. Even at Cedarledge, where all the clocks agreed to a second, one could never believe them, and always suspected they must have stopped together, twelve hours before.
"Besides, what's the use of knowing what time it is in the country? Time for what?"
She came in quietly, almost unnoticeably, with the feathered gait that was half-way between drifting and floating; and at once, in spite of the twenty people assembled, had the shining parquet26 and all the mirrors to herself. That was her way: that knack27 of clearing the floor no matter how quietly she entered. And tonight—!
Well; perhaps, Manford thought, all the other women were a little overdressed. Women always had a tendency to overdress when they dined with the Manfords; to wear too many jewels, and put on clothes that glistened28. Even at Cedarledge Pauline's parties had a New York atmosphere. And Lita, in her straight white slip, slim and unadorned as a Primitive29 angel, with that close coif of goldfish-coloured hair, and not a spangle, a jewel, a pearl even, made the other women's clothes look like upholstery.
Manford, by the hearth30, slightly bored in anticipation31, yet bound to admit that, like all his wife's shows, it was effectively done—Manford received the shock of that quiet entrance, that shimmer32 widening into light, and then turned to Mrs. Herman Toy. Full noon there; the usual Rubensy redundance flushed by golfing in a high wind, by a last cocktail33 before dressing34, by the hurried wriggle35 into one of those elastic36 sheaths the women—the redundant37 women—wore. Well; he liked ripeness in a fruit to be eaten as soon as plucked. And Gladys' corn-yellow hair was almost as springy and full of coloured shadows as the other's red. But the voice, the dress, the jewels, the blatant38 jewels! A Cartier show-case spilt over a strawberry mousse... And the quick possessive look, so clumsily done—brazen, yet half-abashed! When a woman's first business was to make up her mind which it was to be... Chances were the man didn't care, as long as her ogling39 didn't make him ridiculous... Why couldn't some women always be in golf clothes—if any? Gala get-up wasn't in everybody's line... There was Lita speaking to Gladys now—with auburn eyebrows40 lifted just a thread. The contrast—! And Gladys purpler and more self-conscious—God, why did she have her clothes so tight? And that drawing-room drawl! Why couldn't she just sing out: "Hullo!" as she did in the open?
The Marchesa—how many times more was he to hear Pauline say: "Amalasuntha on your right, dear." Oh, to get away to a world where nobody gave dinners, and there were no Marchesas on one's right! He knew by heart the very look of the little cheese soufflés, light as cherubs41' feathers, that were being handed around before the soup on silver-gilt dishes with coats-of-arms. Everything at Cedarledge was silver-gilt. Pauline, as usual, had managed to transplant the party to New York, when all he wanted was to be quiet, smoke his pipe, and ride or tramp with Nona and Lita. Why couldn't she see it? Her vigilant42 eye sought his—was it for approval or admonition? What was she saying? "The Cardinal? Oh, yes. It's all settled. So sweet of him! Of course you must all promise to come. But I've got another little surprise for you after dinner. No; not a word beforehand; not if you were to put me on the rack." What on earth did she mean?
"A surprise? Is this a surprise party?" It was Amalasuntha now. "Then I must produce mine. But I daresay Pauline's told you. About Michelangelo and Klawhammer... Cæsar Borgia ... such a sum that I don't dare to mention it—you'd think I was mixing up the figures. But I've got them down in black and white. Of course, as the producers say, Michelangelo's so supremely43 the type—it's more than they ever could have hoped for." What was the woman raving44 about? "He sails tomorrow," she said. Sailing again—was that damned Michelangelo always sailing? Hadn't his debts been paid on the express condition—? But no; there's been nothing, as the Marchesa called it, "in black and white." The transaction had been based on the implicit45 understanding that nothing but dire47 necessity would induce Michelangelo to waste his charms on New York. Dire necessity—or the chance to put himself permanently48 beyond it! A fortune from a Klawhammer film. As Amalasuntha said, it was incalculable...
"It's the type, you see: between ourselves, there's always been a rumour49 of Borgia blood on the San Fedele side. A naughty ancestress! Perhaps you've noticed the likeness50? You remember that wonderful profile portrait of Cæsar Borgia in black velvet51? What gallery is it in? Oh, I know—it came out in 'Vogue52'!" Amalasuntha visibly bridled53 at her proficiency54. She was aware that envious55 people said the Italians knew nothing of their own artistic56 inheritance. "I remember being so struck by it at the time—I said to Venturino: 'But it's the image of our boy!' Though Michelangelo will have to grow a beard, which makes him furious... But then the millions!"
Manford, looking up, caught a double gaze bent57 in his direction. Gladys Toy's vast blue eyes had always been like searchlights; but tonight they seemed actually to be writing her private history over his head, like an advertising58 aeroplane. The fool! But was the other look also meant for him? That half-shaded glint of Lita's—was it not rather attached to the Marchesa, strung like a telephone wire to her lips? Klawhammer ... Michelangelo ... a Borgia film... Those listening eyes missed not a syllable59...
"The offers those fellows make—right and left—nobody takes much account of them. Wait till I see your contract, as you call it... If you really think it's a job for a gentleman," Manford growled60.
"But, my friend, gentlemen can't be choosers! Who are the real working-class today? Our old aristocracies, alas14! And besides, is it ever degrading to create a work of art? I thought in America you made so much of creativeness—constructiveness—what do you call it? Is it less creative to turn a film than to manufacture bathtubs? Can there be a nobler mission than to teach history to the millions by means of beautiful pictures? ... Yes! I see Lita listening, and I know she agrees with me... Lita! What a Lucrezia for his Cæsar! But why look shocked, dear Dexter? Of course you know that Lucrezia Borgia has been entirely61 rehabilitated62? I saw that also in 'Vogue.' She was a perfectly pure woman—and her hair was exactly the colour of Lita's."
They were finishing coffee in the drawing-room, the doors standing46 open into the tall library where the men always smoked—the library which (as Stanley Heuston had once remarked) Pauline's incorruptible honesty had actually caused her to fill with books.
"Oh, what is it? Not a fire? ... A chimney in the house? ... But it's actually here... Not a ..."
The women, a-flutter at the sudden siren-shriek, the hooting63, rushing and clattering64 up the drive, surged across the parquet, flowed with startled little cries out into the hall, and saw the unsurprisable Powder signalling to two perfectly matched footmen to throw open the double doors.
"A fire? The engine ... the ... oh, it's a fire-drill! ... A parade! How realistic! How lovely of you! What a beauty the engine is!"
Pauline stood smiling, watch in hand, as the hook-and-ladder motor clattered65 up the drive and ranged itself behind the engine. The big lantern over the front door illuminated66 fresh scarlet67 paint and super-polished brasses68, the firemen's agitated69 helmets and perspiring70 faces, the flashing hoods71 of the lamps.
"Just five minutes to the second! Wonderful!" She was shaking hands with each member of the amateur brigade in turn. "I can't tell you how I congratulate you—every one of you! Such an achievement ... you really manœuvre like professionals. No one would have believed it was the first time! Dexter, will you tell them a hot supper has been prepared downstairs!" To the guests she was explaining in a triumphant72 undertone: "I wanted to give them the chance to show off their new toy ... Yes, I believe it's absolutely the most perfected thing in fire-engines. Dexter and I thought it was time the village was properly equipped. It's really more on account of the farmers—such a sense of safety for the neighbourhood... Oh, Mr. Motts, I think you're simply wonderful, all of you. Mr. Manford and my daughter are going to show you the way to supper... Yes, yes, you must! Just a sandwich and something hot."
She dominated them all, grave and glittering as a goddess of Velocity73. "She enjoys it as much as other women do love-making," Manford muttered to himself.
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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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obligatory
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| adj.强制性的，义务的，必须的 | |
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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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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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monograms
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| n.字母组合( monogram的名词复数 ) | |
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stencilled
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| v.用模板印（文字或图案）( stencil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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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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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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plumbing
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| n.水管装置；水暖工的工作；管道工程v.用铅锤测量（plumb的现在分词）；探究 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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recoils
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| n.（尤指枪炮的）反冲，后坐力( recoil的名词复数 )v.畏缩( recoil的第三人称单数 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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insinuated
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| v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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parquet
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| n.镶木地板 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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redundant
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| adj.多余的，过剩的；(食物)丰富的；被解雇的 | |
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blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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ogling
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| v.（向…）抛媚眼，送秋波( ogle的现在分词 ) | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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cherubs
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| 小天使，胖娃娃( cherub的名词复数 ) | |
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vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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45
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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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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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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50
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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51
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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53
bridled
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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54
proficiency
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| n.精通，熟练，精练 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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56
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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60
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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61
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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rehabilitated
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| 改造（罪犯等）( rehabilitate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使恢复正常生活； 使恢复原状； 修复 | |
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63
hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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66
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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68
brasses
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| n.黄铜( brass的名词复数 )；铜管乐器；钱；黄铜饰品（尤指马挽具上的黄铜圆片） | |
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69
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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70
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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71
hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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72
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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velocity
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| n.速度，速率 | |
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