THE Irish lord had a word to say to his wife, before he submitted to her the letter which he had just written.
He had been summoned to a meeting of proprietors2 at the office of the newspaper, convened3 to settle the terms of a new subscription4 rendered necessary by unforeseen expenses incurred5 in the interests of the speculation6. The vote that followed, after careful preliminary consultation7, authorised a claim on the purses of subscribing8 proprietors, which sadly reduced the sum obtained by Lord Harry9’s promissory note. Nor was this inconvenience the only trial of endurance to which the Irish lord was compelled to submit. The hope which he had entertained of assistance from the profits of the new journal, when repayment10 of the loan that he had raised became due, was now plainly revealed as a delusion11. Ruin stared him in the face, unless he could command the means of waiting for the pecuniary12 success of the newspaper, during an interval13 variously estimated at six months, or even at a year to come.
“Our case is desperate enough,” he said, “to call for a desperate remedy. Keep up your spirits, Iris1 — I have written to my brother.”
Iris looked at him in dismay.
“Surely,” she said, “you once told me you had written to your brother, and he answered you in the cruellest manner through his lawyers.”
“Quite true, my dear. But, this time, there is one circumstance in our favour — my brother is going to be married. The lady is said to be an heiress; a charming creature, admired and beloved wherever she goes. There must surely be something to soften14 the hardest heart in that happy prospect15. Read what I have written, and tell me what you think of it.”
The opinion of the devoted16 wife encouraged the desperate husband: the letter was dispatched by the post of that day.
If boisterous17 good spirits can make a man agreeable at the dinner-table, then indeed Mr. Vimpany, on his return to the cottage, played the part of a welcome guest. He was inexhaustible in gallant18 attentions to his friend’s wife; he told his most amusing stories in his happiest way; he gaily19 drank his host’s fine white Burgundy, and praised with thorough knowledge of the subject the succulent French dishes; he tried Lord Harry with talk on politics, talk on sport, and (wonderful to relate in these days) talk on literature. The preoccupied20 Irishman was equally inaccessible21 on all three subjects. When the dessert was placed on the table — still bent22 on making himself agreeable to Lady Harry — Mr. Vimpany led the conversation to the subject of floriculture. In the interests of her ladyship’s pretty little garden, he advocated a complete change in the system of cultivation23, and justified24 his revolutionary views by misquoting the published work of a great authority on gardening with such polite obstinacy25 that Iris (eager to confute him) went away to fetch the book. The moment he had entrapped26 her into leaving the room, the doctor turned to Lord Harry with a sudden change to the imperative27 mood in look and manner.
“What have you been about,” he asked, “since we had that talk in the Gardens to-day? Have you looked at your empty purse, and are you wise enough to take my way of filling it?”
“As long as there’s the ghost of a chance left to me,” Lord Harry replied, “I’ll take any way of filling my purse but yours.”
“Does that mean you have found a way?”
“Do me a favour, Vimpany. Defer28 all questions till the end of the week.”
“And then I shall have your answer?”
“Without fail, I promise it. Hush29!”
Iris returned to the dining-room with her book; and polite Mr. Vimpany owned in the readiest manner that he had been mistaken.
The remaining days of the week followed each other wearily. During the interval, Lord Harry’s friend carefully preserved the character of a model guest — he gave as little trouble as possible. Every morning after breakfast the doctor went away by the train. Every morning (with similar regularity) he was followed by the resolute30 Fanny Mere31. Pursuing his way through widely different quarters of Paris, he invariably stopped at a public building, invariably presented a letter at the door, and was invariably asked to walk in. Inquiries32, patiently persisted in by the English maid, led in each case to the same result. The different public buildings were devoted to the same benevolent33 purpose. Like the Hotel Dieu, they were all hospitals; and Mr. Vimpany’s object in visiting them remained as profound a mystery as ever.
Early on the last morning of the week the answer from Lord Harry’s brother arrived. Hearing of it, Iris ran eagerly into her husband’s room. The letter was already scattered34 in fragments on the floor. What the tone of the Earl’s inhuman35 answer had been in the past time, that it was again now.
Iris put her arms round her husband’s neck. “Oh, my poor love, what is to be done?”
He answered in one reckless word: “Nothing!”
“Is there nobody else who can help us?” she asked.
“Ah, well, darling, there’s perhaps one other person still left,”
“Who is the person?”
“Who should it be but your own dear self?”
She looked at him in undisguised bewilderment: “Only tell me, Harry, what I can do?”
“Write to Mountjoy, and ask him to lend me the money.”
He said it. In those shameless words, he said it. She, who had sacrificed Mountjoy to the man whom she had married, was now asked by that man to use Mountjoy’s devotion to her, as a means of paying his debts! Iris drew back from him with a cry of disgust.
“You refuse?” he said.
“Do you insult me by doubting it?” she answered.
He rang the bell furiously, and dashed out of the room. She heard him, on the stairs, ask where Mr. Vimpany was. The servant replied: “In the garden, my lord.”
Smoking a cigar luxuriously36 in the fine morning air, the doctor saw his excitable Irish friend hastening out to meet him.
“Don’t hurry,” he said, in full possession of his impudent37 good-humour; “and don’t lose your temper. Will you take my way out of your difficulties, or will you not? Which is it — Yes or No?”
“You infernal scoundrel — Yes!”
“My dear lord, I congratulate you.”
“On what, sir?”
“On being as great a scoundrel as I am.”
收听单词发音 |
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iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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convened
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| 召开( convene的过去式 )； 召集； （为正式会议而）聚集； 集合 | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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subscribing
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| v.捐助( subscribe的现在分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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repayment
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| n.偿还，偿还款；报酬 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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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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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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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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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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entrapped
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| v.使陷入圈套，使入陷阱( entrap的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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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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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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