Dinner parties were not now given at James’ in Park Lane — to every house the moment comes when Master or Mistress is no longer ‘up to it’; no more can nine courses be served to twenty mouths above twenty fine white expanses; nor does the household cat any longer wonder why she is suddenly shut up.
So with something like excitement Emily — who at seventy would still have liked a little feast and fashion now and then — ordered dinner for six instead of two, herself wrote a number of foreign words on cards, and arranged the flowers — mimosa from the Riviera, and white Roman hyacinths not from Rome. There would only be, of course, James and herself, Soames, Winifred, Val, and Imogen — but she liked to pretend a little and dally1 in imagination with the glory of the past. She so dressed herself that James remarked:
“What are you putting on that thing for? You’ll catch cold.”
But Emily knew that the necks of women are protected by love of shining, unto fourscore years, and she only answered:
“Let me put you on one of those dickies I got you, James; then you’ll only have to change your trousers, and put on your velvet2 coat, and there you’ll be. Val likes you to look nice.”
“Dicky!” said James. “You’re always wasting your money on something.”
But he suffered the change to be made till his neck also shone, murmuring vaguely3:
“He’s an extravagant4 chap, I’m afraid.”
A little brighter in the eye, with rather more colour than usual in his cheeks, he took his seat in the drawing-room to wait for the sound of the front-door bell.
“I’ve made it a proper dinner party,” Emily said comfortably; “I thought it would be good practice for Imogen — she must get used to it now she’s coming out.”
James uttered an indeterminate sound, thinking of Imogen as she used to climb about his knee or pull Christmas crackers6 with him.
“She’ll be pretty,” he muttered, “I shouldn’t wonder.”
“She is pretty,” said Emily; “she ought to make a good match.”
“There you go,” murmured James; “she’d much better stay at home and look after her mother.” A second Dartie carrying off his pretty granddaughter would finish him! He had never quite forgiven Emily for having been as much taken in by Montague Dartie as he himself had been.
“Where’s Warmson?” he said suddenly. “I should like a glass of Madeira to-night.”
James shook his head. “No body,” he said; “I can’t get any good out of it.”
Emily reached forward on her side of the fire and rang the bell.
“Your master would like a bottle of Madeira opened, Warmson.”
“No, no!” said James, the tips of his ears quivering with vehemence8, and his eyes fixed9 on an object seen by him alone. “Look here, Warmson, you go to the inner cellar, and on the middle shelf of the end bin10 on the left you’ll see seven bottles; take the one in the centre, and don’t shake it. It’s the last of the Madeira I had from Mr. Jolyon when we came in here — never been moved; it ought to be in prime condition still; but I don’t know, I can’t tell.”
“Very good, sir,” responded the withdrawing Warmson.
“I was keeping it for our golden wedding,” said James suddenly, “but I shan’t live three years at my age.”
“Nonsense, James,” said Emily, “don’t talk like that.”
“I ought to have got it up myself,” murmured James, “he’ll shake it as likely as not.” And he sank into silent recollection of long moments among the open gas-jets, the cobwebs and the good smell of wine-soaked corks11, which had been appetiser to so many feasts. In the wine from that cellar was written the history of the forty odd years since he had come to the Park Lane house with his young bride, and of the many generations of friends and acquaintances who had passed into the unknown; its depleted12 bins13 preserved the record of family festivity — all the marriages, births, deaths of his kith and kin5. And when he was gone there it would be, and he didn’t know what would become of it. It’d be drunk or spoiled, he shouldn’t wonder!
From that deep reverie the entrance of his son dragged him, followed very soon by that of Winifred and her two eldest14.
They went down arm-in-arm — James with Imogen, the debutante15, because his pretty grandchild cheered him; Soames with Winifred; Emily with Val, whose eyes lighting16 on the oysters17 brightened. This was to be a proper full ‘blowout’ with ‘fizz’ and port! And he felt in need of it, after what he had done that day, as yet undivulged. After the first glass or two it became pleasant to have this bombshell up his sleeve, this piece of sensational18 patriotism19, or example, rather, of personal daring, to display — for his pleasure in what he had done for his Queen and Country was so far entirely20 personal. He was now a ‘blood,’ indissolubly connected with guns and horses; he had a right to swagger — not, of course, that he was going to. He should just announce it quietly, when there was a pause. And, glancing down the menu, he determined21 on ‘Bombe aux fraises’ as the proper moment; there would be a certain solemnity while they were eating that. Once or twice before they reached that rosy22 summit of the dinner he was attacked by remembrance that his grandfather was never told anything! Still, the old boy was drinking Madeira, and looking jolly fit! Besides, he ought to be pleased at this set-off to the disgrace of the divorce. The sight of his uncle opposite, too, was a sharp incentive23. He was so far from being a sportsman that it would be worth a lot to see his face. Besides, better to tell his mother in this way than privately24, which might upset them both! He was sorry for her, but after all one couldn’t be expected to feel much for others when one had to part from Holly25.
His grandfather’s voice travelled to him thinly. “Val, try a little of the Madeira with your ice. You won’t get that up at college.”
Val watched the slow liquid filling his glass, the essential oil of the old wine glazing26 the surface; inhaled27 its aroma28, and thought: ‘Now for it!’ It was a rich moment. He sipped29, and a gentle glow spread in his veins30, already heated. With a rapid look round, he said, “I joined the Imperial Yeomanry to-day, Granny,” and emptied his glass as though drinking the health of his own act.
“What!” It was his mother’s desolate31 little word.
“Young Jolly Forsyte and I went down there together.”
“You didn’t sign?” from Uncle Soames.
“Rather! We go into camp on Monday.”
“I say!” cried Imogen.
All looked at James. He was leaning forward with his hand behind his ear.
“What’s that?” he said. “What’s he saying? I can’t hear.”
Emily reached forward to pat Val’s hand.
“It’s only that Val has joined the Yeomanry, James; it’s very nice for him. He’ll look his best in uniform.”
“Joined the — rubbish!” came from James, tremulously loud. “You can’t see two yards before your nose. He — he’ll have to go out there. Why! he’ll be fighting before he knows where he is.”
Val saw Imogen’s eyes admiring him, and his mother still and fashionable with her handkerchief before her lips.
“You’re under age.”
“I thought of that,” smiled Val; “I gave my age as twenty-one.”
He heard his grandmother’s admiring, “Well, Val, that was plucky33 of you;” was conscious of Warmson deferentially34 filling his champagne glass; and of his grandfather’s voice moaning: “I don’t know what’ll become of you if you go on like this.”
Imogen was patting his shoulder, his uncle looking at him sidelong; only his mother sat unmoving, till, affected35 by her stillness, Val said:
“It’s all right, you know; we shall soon have them on the run. I only hope I shall come in for something.”
He felt elated, sorry, tremendously important all at once. This would show Uncle Soames, and all the Forsytes, how to be sportsmen. He had certainly done something heroic and exceptional in giving his age as twenty-one.
Emily’s voice brought him back to earth.
“You mustn’t have a second glass, James. Warmson!”
“Won’t they be astonished at Timothy’s!” burst out Imogen. “I’d give anything to see their faces. Do you have a sword, Val, or only a popgun?”
“What made you?”
His uncle’s voice produced a slight chill in the pit of Val’s stomach. Made him? How answer that? He was grateful for his grandmother’s comfortable:
“Well, I think it’s very plucky of Val. I’m sure he’ll make a splendid soldier; he’s just the figure for it. We shall all be proud of him.”
“What had young Jolly Forsyte to do with it? Why did you go together?” pursued Soames, uncannily relentless36. “I thought you weren’t friendly with him?”
“I’m not,” mumbled37 Val, “but I wasn’t going to be beaten by him.” He saw his uncle look at him quite differently, as if approving. His grandfather was nodding too, his grandmother tossing her head. They all approved of his not being beaten by that cousin of his. There must be a reason! Val was dimly conscious of some disturbing point outside his range of vision; as it might be, the unlocated centre of a cyclone38. And, staring at his uncle’s face, he had a quite unaccountable vision of a woman with dark eyes, gold hair, and a white neck, who smelt39 nice, and had pretty silken clothes which he had liked feeling when he was quite small. By Jove, yes! Aunt Irene! She used to kiss him, and he had bitten her arm once, playfully, because he liked it — so soft. His grandfather was speaking:
“What’s his father doing?”
“He’s away in Paris,” Val said, staring at the very queer expression on his uncle’s face, like — like that of a snarling40 dog.
“Artists!” said James. The word coming from the very bottom of his soul, broke up the dinner.
Opposite his mother in the cab going home, Val tasted the after-fruits of heroism41, like medlars over-ripe.
She only said, indeed, that he must go to his tailor’s at once and have his uniform properly made, and not just put up with what they gave him. But he could feel that she was very much upset. It was on his lips to console her with the spoken thought that he would be out of the way of that beastly divorce, but the presence of Imogen, and the knowledge that his mother would not be out of the way, restrained him. He felt aggrieved42 that she did not seem more proud of him. When Imogen had gone to bed, he risked the emotional.
“I’m awfully43 sorry to have to leave you, Mother.”
“Well, I must make the best of it. We must try and get you a commission as soon as we can; then you won’t have to rough it so. Do you know any drill, Val?”
“I hope they won’t worry you much. I must take you about to get the things to-morrow. Good-night; kiss me.”
With that kiss, soft and hot, between his eyes, and those words, ‘I hope they won’t worry you much,’ in his ears, he sat down to a cigarette, before a dying fire. The heat was out of him — the glow of cutting a dash. It was all a damned heart-aching bore. ‘I’ll be even with that chap Jolly,’ he thought, trailing up the stairs, past the room where his mother was biting her pillow to smother45 a sense of desolation which was trying to make her sob46.
And soon only one of the diners at James’ was awake — Soames, in his bedroom above his father’s.
So that fellow Jolyon was in Paris — what was he doing there? Hanging round Irene! The last report from Polteed had hinted that there might be something soon. Could it be this? That fellow, with his beard and his cursed amused way of speaking — son of the old man who had given him the nickname ‘Man of Property,’ and bought the fatal house from him. Soames had ever resented having had to sell the house at Robin47 Hill; never forgiven his uncle for having bought it, or his cousin for living in it.
Reckless of the cold, he threw his window up and gazed out across the Park. Bleak48 and dark the January night; little sound of traffic; a frost coming; bare trees; a star or two. ‘I’ll see Polteed to-morrow,’ he thought. ‘By God! I’m mad, I think, to want her still. That fellow! If . . .? Um! No!’
收听单词发音 |
1
dally
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| v.荒废(时日)，调情 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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corks
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| n.脐梅衣；软木( cork的名词复数 )；软木塞 | |
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depleted
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| adj. 枯竭的, 废弃的 动词deplete的过去式和过去分词 | |
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bins
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| n.大储藏箱( bin的名词复数 )；宽口箱（如面包箱，垃圾箱等）v.扔掉，丢弃( bin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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debutante
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| n.初入社交界的少女 | |
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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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oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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glazing
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| n.玻璃装配业；玻璃窗；上釉；上光v.装玻璃( glaze的现在分词 )；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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31
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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32
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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plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cyclone
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| n.旋风，龙卷风 | |
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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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snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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46
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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