When Vance came down the next morning none of Mrs. Glaisher’s other guests were visible. Even Alders1, no doubt engrossed2 in secretarial business, did not show himself; but the night before, when Vance had questioned him about Chris Churley, he had said instantly: “Ah, you know Chris? So much the better. I was going to ask if you wouldn’t give him an interview — for an article in the ‘Windmill’, you know.”
Vance laughed. “Yes, I do know; and I gave him the interview a good many weeks ago.”
Alders wrinkled his brows deprecatingly. “Ah — there it is! No results, I suppose? A genius — certainly a touch of genius, eh? But can’t be pinned down. He begged me to get him a chance to see Gratz Blemer, and though Blemer’s shy of publicity3 at present (or SHE is, rather) I did persuade them that ‘The Rush Hour’ ought to be written about in the ‘Windmill’, and Chris spent an afternoon on the yacht — enjoying it immensely, by the way; but as for the article, nothing came of it. Blemer keeps on asking me when he’s to see the copy; and what can I answer, when I can’t even get hold of Churley?”
“Ah — you can’t get hold of him?”
“Vanished — like an absconding4 cashier. Some fellow saw him playing in the baccarat room at Monte Carlo; but I’ve looked in two or three times without finding him. And of course I don’t know his address. I daresay, though, he’ll bob up when he hears you’re here.”
Vance had good reasons for not thinking so; but there seemed nothing to do but to prosecute5 his search at Monte Carlo, since it was there that Chris had last been seen. A confidential6 enquiry at the police-station might possibly give some result; but in a big city like Nice the boy would be harder to trace.
Vance was still dizzy with the translation from Oubli-sur-Mer to the Villa7 Mirifique. Floss Delaney, unreal as the setting in which he had found her, seemed the crowning improbability of the adventure. But the villa, at any rate, was substantial. The morning sun, robbing it of its magic, merely turned it into an expensive-looking house from which splendour and poetry had fled. As he paced the terrace above the over-ornamented gardens Vance asked himself if he should have the same disillusionment when he saw Miss Delaney again. On the very spot where he now paused to light his cigarette he had stood beside her the night before while the moon turned her bare arms to amber8. He had promised to meet her, with the rest of the party, that evening at Monte Carlo; they were to dine, he didn’t remember where, with the fat pale man he had taken for the Duke of Spartivento, and who turned out to be somebody infinitely9 more important, an oil or railway king, Alders explained.
Vance had had only a short exchange of words with Alders when the party broke up, for the secretary had to hurry away to arrange for the morrow. Alders had undergone a curious transformation10. In spite of all that the best tailoring could do he was as mothlike and furtive11 as ever; but under his apologetic manner Vance felt a new assurance, perhaps founded on financial security. Alders’s literary earnings12, he explained to Vance (who wondered by what they were produced), had become too precarious13; in these uncertain times his publishers would give him no promise regarding the big book he had long been planning (Vance would remember?) on Ignatius Loyola . . . no, on El Greco; and his own small income having unfortunately diminished, he had accepted the post of secretary to Mrs. Glaisher rather than become a burden on his friends. He added that his wide range of acquaintances enabled him to be of some service to his employer, who, like the illustrious women of the Renaissance14 (“there’s something of the Sforzas about her, I always think,”) wanted to know every one eminent15 in rank or talent, and had shown herself very appreciative16 of his guidance. “Of course,” Alders explained, in the same tone of timid fastidiousness in which Vance had heard him dilate17 on the Valencian primitives18, or the capitals of Santo Domingo de Silos — “of course it’s easy, even for women of Mrs. Glaisher’s discernment, to be taken in by the flashy adventurers who are always trying to force their way into rich people’s houses; and I do my best to protect her. As you see, the set she has about her would be distinguished19 anywhere . . . Sir Felix Oster (the stout20 pale man on her left at dinner; a Napoleonic head, I often say) — Sir Felix very seldom troubles himself to go to other people’s houses. We’re all dining with him tonight, at the new restaurant up at La Turbie; and as for my old friend, the Duke of Spartivento — he was tremendously excited at meeting you, my dear Weston — told me he’d heard all about your books; well, in the Duke’s case,” Alders summed up with his faint sketch21 of a smile, “I begin to think that in introducing him here I may have done him an even bigger service than I have his hostess.” Alders laid his hands together with the devotional gesture Vance had seen him make in the presence of works of art. “An Italian Duke and a grandee22 of Spain . . . all I can say is, the prize is worthy23 of the effort.”
At Alders’s words a pang24 shot through Vance. What was the prize, and whose was to be the effort? Instantly he imagined that he had seen Alders’s Duke watching Floss Delaney between his narrowed lids. And what was it that Lady Pevensey had said about the Duke’s carrying Floss off for a cruise with the Gratz Blemers? A wave of jealousy25 buzzed in Vance’s ears. Jealousy could outlive love, then, cling to it like a beast of prey26 to a carcase for which it no longer hungered? He had never loved Floss, in the sense in which he now understood loving; and he imagined that his fugitive27 passion had long since turned to loathing28. Yet that night, while he tossed between the scented29 sheets of Mrs. Glaisher’s guest-room, he could not shake off the torment30. Floss Delaney — she was less than nothing to him! But the idea that other men coveted31 her made his flesh burn though his heart was cold . . . Why subject himself to further misery32? What had he and she to do with each other? If he had not pledged himself to find Chris Churley he would have jumped into the first train for Oubli. Instead, when he had taken leave of Floss he had agreed to dine the next night with Alders’s railway king in order to have another chance of meeting her. In the morning light, after coffee, and a stroll on Mrs. Glaisher’s terrace, the situation seemed less lurid33. He decided34 that if he spent the day hunting for Chris he had the right to an amusing evening, and that there was no reason why Floss’s presence should prevent his taking it. She was only one pretty woman among the many at Mrs. Glaisher’s; it was long since he had been among the flower-maidens, and now that the chance had come why should he fly from them?
He took the first train to Nice and went to the Préfecture de Police. Chris’s name was unknown there, but Vance’s description was noted35 down, and the sergeant36 said that they might have some information the next day. Vance continued his journey to Monte Carlo, where he made the same enquiries; then he decided that, the lunch hour being at hand, his best chance of finding Chris was to look for him in the fashionable restaurants. If he had carried away any winnings he was pretty sure to be spending them where caviar and new asparagus were to be had; if not, to be enjoying these delicacies37 at the expense of others. Vance went first to the restaurant which Floss had pointed38 out as the most sought after.
It was so full that the guests, overflowing39 onto the terrace, sat wedged under bright awnings40 and umbrellas; but Vance scanned the crowd in vain for a dark face with a mop of orange-coloured hair. He was about to seek out a more modest ordinary for himself when an elderly gentleman in smartly-cut homespun and a carefully assorted41 tie began to wave the carte du jour in his direction.
This gentleman, before whom head-waiter and sommelier were obsequiously42 drawn43 up, had a sallow complexion44, weak handsome features and tremulous lids above eyes of the same gray as his thinnish hair and moustache. He might have been a long-since~retired American diplomatist, or the gentlemanly man in a bank who explains to flustered45 ladies why they mustn’t draw a cheque when there’s nothing to draw against. He looked either part to perfection, and Vance was wavering between the two when he heard himself hailed in a slow southern drawl. “Why, for the Lord’s sake, if it isn’t young Weston! Come right over here, my son, and let’s open a bottle of wine to celebrate our escape from Crampton!”
It was Harrison Delaney, looking up at him with the same slow ironic46 twinkle that was like the reflection of his voice. Vance saw him lounging in the dreary47 room of the little house at Crampton, between his whisky-bottle, his dog-eared copy of Pope, and the ledger48 which lack of use had kept immaculate. As a real~estate agent Delaney had been Euphoria’s most famous failure. Lorin Weston used to say that if there hadn’t been any other way for him to lose his money he’d have dug a hole in the ground and buried it — that is, if he’d ever had the guts49 to dig. By the time Vance was meeting Floss down the lane her father had long since abandoned the struggle, and Euphoria remembered him only when there was a distinguished stranger to be received or an oration50 to be delivered. Then, shaved, pomaded and tall-hatted for the occasion, Delaney was drawn from his obscurity by a community dimly conscious that, freely as it applied51 the title, he was in reality its only gentleman. After all, a man who quoted Pope and Horace the way Lorin Weston quoted prices on the Stock Exchange did give his home town a sort of proprietary52 satisfaction; and when a fortune suddenly fell into Delaney’s lap the people who were not envious53 of him said: “Well, he’ll know how to spend it anyhow.”
Apparently54 he did; at any rate in a way to impress some of the most eminent head-waiters in Europe. In the act of discussing the relative merits of oeufs aux truffes blanches55 and demoiselles de Caen he paused and waved Vance to the seat facing him. “Here, waiter — where’s that wine card? You choose for yourself, young fellow. My palate’s too burnt out by whisky to be much good in selecting Bordeaux or Burgundies. But champagne56, now — what, no champagne? Well, this fellow here recommends a white Musigny — what’d you say the year was, waiter?”
These details being settled in a leisurely57 and emphatic58 style, Mr. Delaney leaned back and scrutinized59 Vance thoughtfully over his cocktail60. The impression Vance received was of a man who had merely transposed the terms of his inactivity. He had leaned back in just the same way in his rocking-chair at Crampton, or among his cronies at the Elkington House or Mandel’s grocery, the thumb of one long distinguished-looking hand thrust into the armhole of his waistcoat, and a cigar meditatively61 twirled in the other. The only difference was that the hands were now carefully manicured, that the waistcoat was cut by a master, the cigar heavily belted with gold. Mr. Delaney looked out on the world with the same ironic and disenchanted eye. He told Vance he was having a good time, but not as good a time as he’d expected. Now that they had plenty of money Floss would insist on dragging him around from one country to another, though he guessed she found all the places they’d been to were pretty much the same when you got there; he was sure he did. He guessed nowadays you could see all there was to see in the world if you just took a season ticket at the nearest movie-show. The only difference he could make out between all the places he’d seen was the way the barman mixed the cocktails62 — and the way some of ’em did it made you think they’d never tasted anything stronger than their mother’s milk.
Florence (Mr. Delaney continued) seemed to think you ought to go round and see the real places. When she got to them he didn’t believe she got much of a kick out of it; not unless there were a lot of fellows for her to dance with; but after the bad time she’d had when she was growing up he felt he owed it to her to let her have her way. As for him, when their tour was over he was going home to buy back one of the old Delaney farms near Richmond, and settle down there. The kind of life he wanted to lead was just what his father and grandfather had led before him: breed a few trotting-horses, and have a little shooting behind a couple of good dogs. He guessed that was as far as he’d ever got in the way of ambition. . .
Vance listened curiously63. This man, who had been so familiar a part of his early memories, now detached himself as an alien being, never really identified with Euphoria, and nursing an indolent contempt for place and people even when these most righteously looked down on him. “Funny — I never could get any kick out of all that moral urge,” he said with a reminiscent smile.
Vance laughed, and Delaney, his tongue loosened by the Burgundy he affected64 not to appreciate, went on more confidentially65: “Fact is, I see now that I enjoy money as much as any of your model citizens; the only difference is that I never thought it worth sweating for. Floss, now — well, she wouldn’t agree. She says money’s her god, and I guess it is . . . She says it’s the only thing that’ll get her what she wants; and what she wants is the earth, or pretty near. Anything that stands out, that sticks up so that you can see it from way off — brains or titles or celebrity66. I guess there’s nothing on God’s earth as undemocratic as a good-looking American girl.” Mr. Delaney paused to go through the agreeable operation of cutting and lighting67 a fresh Corona68. “Sometimes I feel like saying to all these grandees69 she’s got round her: You think she’s all impulse, do you? Got to get things the very minute she wants ’em? Well . . . you wait and see her stow away those impulses if they interfere70 with any of her plans. Sometimes, you know, Weston, I think the inside of my daughter is a combination of a ticker and a refrigerator. Of course I don’t say this for her old friends . . . but when I see these Counts and Marquises getting worked up about her, well, I have to lean back and laugh.”
He did lean back and laugh, fixing his watery71 eyes on Vance. Floss, it appeared, the very day he’d made his unexpected turn~over, had taken command of it — and of him. Why, Vance wouldn’t believe it maybe, but she’d invested and re-invested that money so that the capital had already doubled. And when she brought him the result of the first year’s earnings she made him buy an annuity72 for himself, and draw up a deed turning over all the rest to her. Well, perhaps he’d been a little rash . . . but, as Vance knew, a quiet life was all he’d ever asked for. And Floss was a good daughter — a devoted73 daughter — if only you let her have her way. She’d try to break him of his bad habits — whisky and poker74 — and when she found she couldn’t she just read the riot act, and before he knew it he’d signed the papers, and now they were on the best of terms, and she was glad enough to have him around with her. “Says it looks better — besides, you know, damn it, the child’s fond of me,” Mr. Delaney concluded emotionally.
Vance listened under a painful fascination75. He could not reconcile Mr. Delaney’s picture — or, rather, perhaps, he did not want to — with the capricious girl, cynical76 yet passionate77, who had set him aflame in a past already so remote. But he reflected that Delaney’s was probably a one-sided version. Floss, aware of her father’s failings, had naturally wanted to put their suddenly acquired wealth out of his reach, and Delaney, for all his affected indifference78, doubtless resented her domination. But Vance could not talk of her with her father. Too many memories stirred in him; and when he had finished his coffee he got up and took his leave. His host seemed surprised and disappointed. “Off already? Why, what’s your hurry?” he said plaintively79. “I never know how to get through these blamed everlasting80 days. Nothing doing in the baccarat rooms before five.” But happily two middle-aged81 gentlemen with expensive clothes and red innocent-looking faces came up and hailed him, and Mr. Delaney, explaining that they were two fellows from Buffalo82 that he’d made friends with in Egypt, moved on with them contentedly83 to the nearest bar.
Vance had promised Floss to be at her hotel at eight. She had told him she would stop there to pick him up on her way from Cannes to Sir Felix Oster’s dinner at La Turbie. “Unless,” she mocked, “you’d rather go with Mrs. Glaisher?”
“Well, I would, unless you’ll promise to have nobody else with you.” As he spoke84, the blood rushed to his temples, and he thought: “You fool — what did you say that for?” But she returned, in her cool unsmiling way: “Come and see,” and at the challenge his blood hummed. After all, if she didn’t turn up, or if she had some of the other men with her, he would just turn on his heel and go off and dine by himself. This decision made him feel extraordinarily85 resolute86 and self-confident.
His self-confidence waned87 during the unavailing search for Chris. He had decided, in any case, to return to Oubli the next morning, leaving the quest to the police; and to fortify88 his resolve had telegraphed the hour of his arrival to Halo. But meanwhile the sense of depending on Floss Delaney’s whim89 made the time weigh on him as heavily as it did on her father, and long before eight he was in the lounge of her hotel.
The hour came and passed; but twenty minutes later her motor drove up, and Vance saw that she was alone. He was astonished at his own excitement as he plunged90 down the steps to meet her. He saw her lean forward to wave to him, the porter opened the door, he was at her side, and they were driving away. “It won’t last ten minutes,” the pulses in his temples kept dinning91 into his brain. He had found out where La Turbie was, had looked up at the new restaurant from the Casino square. On its towering cliff it glittered close above them like a giant light-house — a few turns of the wheels, and the motor would be there. And the next morning he would be on his way back to Oubli — what a trifle to have made all this fuss about!
“Well — am I a good girl?” his companion said, touching92 his arm as the motor began to work its way through the crowd about the Casino.
“When you asked me to go with you I didn’t know the place we’re going to was just up that hill,” he growled93. “We’ll be there before we can turn round.”
“Well, I can’t help that, can I?”
“If there’d been a longer way to go you’d have taken one of the other fellows . . . Why didn’t you wait last night, and drive me to Mrs. Glaisher’s, as you said you would?”
“Why, I wanted to — honest I did. But Spartivento said I’d promised to try out his new Bugatti racer with him.”
“Promising don’t cost you much — never did. You’d promised me.”
“I’ll promise now to go off with you tomorrow for the whole afternoon — just you and me: we’ll go wherever you like. Will that satisfy you?”
He laughed impatiently. “It won’t make any difference one way or the other. I’ve got to go home tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, — HOME,” she mimicked94, with an undefinable accent in which irony95 seemed blent with a just perceptible resentment96.
“Yes; home,” he repeated with insistence97.
She gave a low laugh. “Why, Van, your voice sounds just the way it did the days I was late, when we used to meet down by the river. But I guess you’re so celebrated98 now you don’t remember.”
“So celebrated —!” He felt a lump in his throat. She ought not to have reminded him of those meetings — she ought not to. . .
“Well, you are celebrated, aren’t you? Everybody’s talking about you. I don’t know why you should remember me; but I want you to.” She leaned nearer, her hand on his. “Van, don’t be cross. I was the first, wasn’t I? Say you remember.”
“I remember well enough the day I saw you down there with — somebody else,” he said in a choking voice.
“Oh, Van — ” She swung suddenly round on him. “All I remember is the days I was there with you. Those first days . . . how hot it was that summer . . . and there was a weed or grass that smelt99 so good . . . Van, say you remember!” Her bare arms were about him, her lips on his. The old glory flooded him, and everything was full of bells chiming, and stars dancing through wind-swayed trees. “Tomorrow,” she said against his lips.
收听单词发音 |
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alders
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| n.桤木( alder的名词复数 ) | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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absconding
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| v.（尤指逃避逮捕）潜逃，逃跑( abscond的现在分词 ) | |
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prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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infinitely
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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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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appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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dilate
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| vt.使膨胀，使扩大 | |
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primitives
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| 原始人（primitive的复数形式） | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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grandee
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| n.贵族；大公 | |
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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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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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jealousy
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prey
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fugitive
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loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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delicacies
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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awnings
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assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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obsequiously
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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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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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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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ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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proprietary
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| n.所有权，所有的；独占的；业主 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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blanches
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| v.使变白( blanch的第三人称单数 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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corona
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| n.日冕 | |
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grandees
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| n.贵族，大公，显贵者( grandee的名词复数 ) | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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annuity
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| n.年金；养老金 | |
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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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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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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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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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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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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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dinning
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| vt.喧闹（din的现在分词形式） | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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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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mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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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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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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