Submission1 to Inexorable Fate took Kipps to the Anagram Tea.
At any rate he would meet Helen there in the presence of other people, and be able to carry off the worst of the difficulty of explaining his little jaunt2 to London. He had not seen her since his last portentous3 visit to New Romney. He was engaged to her, he would have to marry her, and the sooner he faced her again the better. Before wild plans of turning Socialist4, defying the world and repudiating5 all calling for ever, his heart, on second thoughts, sank. He felt Helen would never permit anything of the sort. As for the Anagrams, he could do no more than his best, and that he was resolved to do. What had happened at the Royal Grand, what had happened at New Romney, he must bury in his memory and begin again at the reconstruction6 of his social position. Ann, Buggins, Chitterlow — all these, seen in the matter-of-fact light of the Folkestone corridor train, stood just as they stood before — people of an inferior social position, who had to be eliminated from his world. It was a bother about Ann, a bother and a pity. His mind rested so for a space on Ann until the memory of those Anagrams drew him away. If he could see Coote that evening he might, he thought, be able to arrange some sort of connivance7 about the anagrams, and his mind was chiefly busy sketching8 proposals for such an arrangement. It would not, of course, be ungentlemanly cheating, but only a little mystification. Coote, very probably might drop him a hint of the solution of one or two of the things — not enough to win a prize, but enough to cover his shame. Or failing that, he might take a humorous, quizzical line, and pretend he was pretending to be very stupid. There were plenty of ways out of it if one kept a sharp lookout9 . . .
The costume Kipps wore to the Anagram Tea was designed as a compromise between the strict letter of high fashion and seaside laxity — a sort of easy semi-state for afternoon. Helen’s first reproof10 had always lingered in his mind. He wore a frockcoat, but mitigated11 it by a Panama hat of romantic shape with a black band, gray gloves, but, for relaxation12, brown button boots. The only other man besides the clergy14 present — a new doctor with an attractive wife — was in full afternoon dress. Coote was not there.
Kipps was a little pale, but quite self-possessed, as he approached Mrs. Bindon Botting’s door. He took a turn while some people went in, and then faced it manfully. The door opened and revealed — Ann!
In the background, through a draped doorway15, behind a big fern in a great art pot, the elder Miss Botting was visible talking to two guests; the auditory background was a froth of feminine voices . . .
Our two young people were much too amazed to give one another any formula of greeting, though they had parted warmly enough. Each was already in a state of extreme tension to meet the demands of this great and unprecedented16 occasion — an Anagram Tea. ‘Lor!’ said Ann, her sole remark; and then the sense of Miss Botting’s eye ruled her straight again. She became very pale, but she took his hat mechanically, and he was already removing his gloves. ‘Ann,’ he said in a low tone, and then ‘Fency!’
The eldest17 Miss Botting knew Kipps was the sort of guest who requires nursing, and she came forward vocalising charm. She said it was ‘awfully18 jolly of him to come — awfully jolly. It was awfully difficult to get any good men!’
She handed Kipps forward, mumbling19, and in a dazed condition, to the drawing-room, and there he encountered Helen, looking unfamiliar20 in an unfamiliar hat. It was as if he had not met her for years.
She astonished him. She didn’t seem to mind in the least his going to London. She held out a shapely hand, and smiled encouragingly. ‘You’ve faced the anagrams?’ she said.
The second Miss Botting accosted21 them, a number of oblong pieces of paper in her hand, mysteriously inscribed22. ‘Take an anagram,’ she said; ‘take an anagram,’ and boldly pinned one of these brief documents to Kipps’ lapel. The letters were ‘Cypshi,’ and Kipps from the very beginning suspected this was an anagram for Cuyps. She also left a thing like a long dance programme, from which dangled23 a little pencil, in his hand. He found himself being introduced to people, and then he was in a corner with the short lady in a big bonnet24, who was pelting25 him with gritty little bits of small talk, that were gone before you could take hold of them and reply.
‘Very hot,’ said this lady. ‘Very hot indeed — hot all the summer — remarkable26 year — all the years remarkable now — don’t know what we’re coming to. Don’t you think so, Mr. Kipps?’
‘Oo, rather,’ said Kipps, and wondered if Ann was still in that hall. Ann!
He ought not to have stared at her like a stuck fish, and pretended not to know her. That couldn’t be right. But what was right?
The lady in the big bonnet proceeded to a second discharge. ‘Hope you’re fond of anagrams, Mr. Kipps — difficult exercise — still, one must do something to bring people together — better than Ludo, anyway. Don’t you think so, Mr. Kipps?’
Ann fluttered past the open door. Her eyes met his in amazed inquiry27. Something had got dislocated in the world for both of them . . .
He ought to have told her he was engaged. He ought to have explained things to her. Perhaps, even now, he might be able to drop her a hint.
‘Don’t you think so, Mr. Kipps?’
‘O, rather,’ said Kipps for the third time.
A lady with a tired smile who was labelled conspicuously28, ‘Wogdelenk,’ drifted towards Kipps’ interlocutor, and the two fell into conversation. Kipps found himself socially aground. He looked about him. Helen was talking to a curate and laughing. Kipps was overcome by a vague desire to speak to Ann. He was for sidling doorward.
‘What are you, please?’ said an extraordinarily29 bold, tall girl, and arrested him while she took down ‘Cypshi.’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what it means,’ she explained ‘I’m Sir Bubh. Don’t you think anagrams are something chronic30?’
Kipps made stockish noises, and the young lady suddenly became the nucleus31 of a party of excited friends who were forming a syndicate to guess, and barred his escape. She took no further notice of him. He found himself jammed against an occasional table and listening to the conversation of Mrs. ‘Wogdelenk’ and his lady with the big bonnet.
‘She packed her two beauties off together,’ said the lady in the big bonnet. ‘Time enough, too. Don’t think much of this girl she’s got as housemaid now. Pretty, of course, but there’s no occasion for a housemaid to be pretty — none whatever. And she doesn’t look particularly up to her work either. Kind of ‘mazed expression.’
‘You never can tell,’ said the lady labelled ‘Wogdelenk’; ‘you never can tell. My wretches32 are big enough, Heaven knows, and do they work? Not a bit of it!’
Kipps felt dreadfully out of it with regard to all these people, and dreadfully in it with Ann.
He scanned the back of the big bonnet, and concluded it was an extremely ugly bonnet indeed. It got jerking forward as each short, dry sentence was snapped off at the end, and a plume33 of osprey on it jerked excessively. ‘She hasn’t guessed even one!’ followed by a shriek34 of girlish merriment, came from the group about the tall, bold girl. They’d shriek at him presently, perhaps! Beyond thinking his own anagram might be Cuyps, he hadn’t a notion. What a chatter35 they were all making! It was just like a summer sale! Just the sort of people who’d give a lot of trouble and swap36 you! And suddenly the smouldering fires of rebellion leapt to flame again. These were a rotten lot of people, and the anagrams were rotten nonsense, and he (Kipps) had been a rotten fool to come. There was Helen away there still laughing with her curate. Pity she couldn’t marry a curate, and leave him (Kipps) alone! Then he’d know what to do. He disliked the whole gathering37, collectively and in detail. Why were they all trying to make him one of themselves? He perceived unexpected ugliness everywhere about him. There were two great pins jabbed through the tall girl’s hat, and the swirls38 of her hair below the brim, with the minutest piece of tape tie-up showing, did not repay close examination. Mrs. ‘Wogdelenk’ wore a sort of mumps39 bandage of lace, and there was another lady perfectly40 dazzling with beads41 and jewels and bits of trimming. They were all flaps and angles and flounces, these women. Not one of them looked as neat and decent a shape as Ann’s clean, trim little figure. Echoes of Masterman woke up in him again. Ladies indeed! Here were all these chattering42 people, with money, with leisure, with every chance in the world, and all they could do was to crowd like this into a couple of rooms and jabber43 nonsense about anagrams.
‘Could Cypshi really mean Cuyps?’ floated like a dissolving wreath of mist across his mind. Abruptly44 resolution stood armed in his heart. He was going to get out of this! ‘‘Scuse me,’ he said, and began to wade45 neck-deep through the bubbling tea-party. He was going to get out of it all!
He found himself close by Helen. ‘I’m orf,’ he said, but she gave him the briefest glance. She did not appear to hear. ‘Still, Mr. Spratlingdown, you must admit there’s a limit even to conformity,’ she was saying . . .
He was in a curtained archway and Ann was before him carrying a tray supporting several small sugar-bowls.
He was moved to speech. ‘What a Lot!’ he said and then mysteriously, ‘I’m engaged to her.’ He indicated Helen’s new hat, and became aware of a skirt he had stepped upon.
Ann stared at him helplessly, borne past in the grip of incomprehensive imperatives46. Why shouldn’t they talk together?
He was in a small room, and then at the foot of the staircase in the hall. He heard the rustle47 of a dress, and what was conceivably his hostess was upon him.
‘But you’re not going, Mr. Kipps?’ she said. ‘I must,’ he said. ‘I got to.’
‘But, Mr. Kipps!’
‘I must,’ he said. ‘I’m not well.’
‘But before the guessing! Without any tea!’
Ann appeared and hovered48 behind him.
‘I got to go,’ said Kipps.
If he parleyed with her Helen might awake to his desperate attempt.
‘Of course, if you must go.’
‘It’s something I’ve forgotten,’ said Kipps, beginning to feel regrets. ‘Reely, I must.’
Mrs. Botting turned with a certain offended dignity, and Ann, in a state of flushed calm that evidently concealed49 much, came forward to open the door.
‘I’m very sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m very sorry,’ half to his hostess and half to her, and was swept past her by superior social forces — like a drowning man in a mill-race — and into the Upper Sandgate Road. He half turned upon the step, and then slam went the door . . .
He retreated along the Leas, a thing of shame and perplexity, Mrs. Botting’s aggrieved50 astonishment51 uppermost in his mind . . .
Something — reinforced by the glances of the people he was passing — pressed its way to his attention through the tumultuous disorder52 of his mind.
He became aware that he was still wearing his little placard with the letters ‘Cypshi.’
‘Desh it!’ he said, clutching off this abomination. In another moment its several letters, their task accomplished53, were scattering54 gleefully before the breeze down the front of the Leas.
2
Kipps was dressed for Mrs. Wace’s dinner half an hour before it was time to start, and he sat waiting until Coote should come to take him round. Manners and Rules of Good Society lay beside him neglected. He had read the polished prose of the Member of the Aristocracy on page 96 as far as,—
‘the acceptance of an invitation is, in the eyes of diners out, a binding55 obligation which only ill-health, family bereavement56, or some all-important reason justifies57 its being set on one side or otherwise evaded’— and then he had lapsed58 into gloomy thoughts.
That afternoon he had had a serious talk with Helen.
He had tried to express something of the change of heart that had happened to him. But to broach59 the real state of the matter had been altogether too terrible for him. He had sought a minor60 issue. ‘I don’t like all this Society,’ he had said.
‘But you must see people,’ said Helen.
‘Yes, but — It’s the sort of people you see.’ He nerved himself. ‘I didn’t think much of that lot at the Enegram.’
‘You have to see all sorts of people if you want to see the world,’ said Helen.
Kipps was silent for a space, and a little short of breath.
‘My dear Arthur,’ she began almost kindly61, ‘I shouldn’t ask you to go to these affairs if I didn’t think it good for you, should I?’
Kipps acquiesced62 in silence.
‘You will find the benefit of it all when we get to London. You learn to swim in a tank before you go out into the sea. These people here are good enough to learn upon. They’re stiff and rather silly, and dreadfully narrow, and not an idea in a dozen of them, but it really doesn’t matter at all. You’ll soon get Savoir Faire.’
He made to speak again, and found his powers of verbal expression lacking. Instead he blew a sigh. ‘You’ll get used to it all very soon,’ said Helen helpfully . . .
As he sat meditating63 over that interview, and over the vistas64 of London that opened before him, on the little flat and teas and occasion, and the constant presence of Brudderkins and all the bright prospect65 of his new and better life, and how he would never see Ann any more, the housemaid entered with a little package, a small, square envelope for ‘Arthur Kipps, Esquire.’
‘A young woman left this, Sir,’ said the housemaid, a little severely66.
‘Eh?’ said Kipps. ‘What young woman?’ and then suddenly began to understand. ‘She looked an ordinary young woman,’ said the housemaid coldly. ‘Ah!’ said Kipps. ‘That’s orlright.’
He waited till the door had closed behind the girl, staring at the envelope in his hand, and then, with a curious feeling of increasing tension, tore it open. As he did so, some quicker sense than sight or touch told him its contents. It was Ann’s half-sixpence. And besides, not a word!
Then she must have heard him —!
He was standing67 with the envelope in his hand when Coote became audible without.
Coote appeared in evening dress, a clean and radiant Coote, with large greenish-white gloves, and a particularly large white tie edged with black. ‘For a third cousin,’ he presently explained, ‘Nace, isn’t it?’ He could see Kipps was pale and disturbed, and put this down to the approaching social trial. ‘You keep your nerve up, Kipps, my dear chap, and you’ll be all right,’ said Coote, with a big brotherly glove on Kipps’ sleeve.
3
The dinner came to a crisis so far as Kipps’ emotions were concerned with Mrs. Bindon Botting’s talk about servants, but before that there had been several things of greater or smaller magnitude to perturb68 and disarrange his social front. One little matter that was mildly insurgent69 throughout the entire meal was, if I may be permitted to mention so intimate a matter, the behaviour of his left brace70. The webbing — which was of a cheerful scarlet71 silk — had slipped away from its buckle72, fastened, no doubt, in agitation73, and had developed a strong tendency to place itself obliquely74, in the manner rather of an official decoration, athwart his spotless front. It first asserted itself before they went in to dinner. He replaced this ornament75 by a dexterous76 thrust when no one was looking, and there-after the suppression of this novel innovation upon the stereotyped77 sombreness of evening dress became a standing preoccupation. On the whole, he was inclined to think his first horror excessive; at any rate, no one remarked upon it. However, you imagine him constantly throughout the evening with one eye and one hand, whatever the rest of him might be doing, predominantly concerned with the weak corner.
But this, I say, was a little matter. What exercised him much more was to discover Helen, quite terribly in evening dress.
The young lady had let her imagination rove Londonward, and this costume was perhaps an anticipation78 of that clever little flat, not too far west, which was to become the centre of so delightful79 a literary and artistic80 set. It was, of all the feminine costumes present, most distinctly an evening dress. One was advised Miss Walshingham had arms and shoulders of a type by no means despicable; one was advised Miss Walshingham was capable not only of dignity but charm, even a certain glow of charm. It was, you know, her first evening dress, a tribute paid by Walshingham finance to her brightening future. Had she wanted keeping in countenance81, she would have had to have fallen back upon her hostess, who was resplendent in black and steel. The other ladies had to a certain extent compromised. Mrs. Walshingham had dressed with just a refined little V, and Mrs. Bindon Botting, except for her dear mottled arms, confided82 scarcely more of her plump charm to the world. The elder Miss Botting stopped short of shoulders, and so did Miss Wace. But Helen didn’t. She was — had Kipps had eyes to see it — a quite beautiful human figure; she knew it, and she met him with a radiant smile that had forgotten all the little difference of the afternoon. But to Kipps her appearance was the last release. With that she had become as remote, as foreign, as incredible as a wife and male, as though the Cnidian Venus herself, in all her simple elegance84, was, before witnesses, declared to be his. If, indeed, she had ever been credible83 as a wife and mate!
She ascribed his confusion to modest reverence85, and, having blazed smiling upon him for a moment, turned a shapely shoulder towards him and exchanged a remark with Mrs. Bindon Botting. Ann’s poor half-sixpence came against Kipps’ fingers in his pocket, and he clutched at it suddenly as though it was a talisman86. Then he abandoned it to suppress his Order of the Brace. He was affected87 by a cough. ‘Miss Wace tells me Mr. Revel88 is coming,’ Mrs. Botting was saying.
‘Isn’t it delightful?’ said Helen. ‘We saw him last night. He’s stopped on his way to Paris. He’s going to meet his wife there.’
Kipps’ eyes rested for a moment on Helen’s dazzling deltoid, and then went inquiringly, accusingly, almost, to Coote’s face.
Where in the presence of this terrible emergence89 was the gospel of suppression now? that Furtive90 treatment of Religion and Politics, and Birth and Death, and Bathing and Babies and ‘all those things,’ which constitute your True Gentleman? He had been too modest even to discuss this question with his Mentor91, but surely, surely this quintessence of all that is good and nice could regard these unsolicited confidences only in one way. With something between relief and the confirmation92 of his worst fears he perceived, by a sort of twitching93 of the exceptionally abundant muscles about Coote’s lower jaw94, in a certain deliberate avoidance of one particular direction by those pale but resolute95 gray eyes, by the almost convulsive grip of the ample, greenish-white gloves behind him, a grip broken at times for controlling pats at the black-bordered tie and the back of that spacious96 head, and by a slight but increasing disposition97 to cough, that Coote did not approve!
To Kipps Helen had once supplied a delicately beautiful dream, a thing of romance and unsubstantial mystery. But this was her final materialisation, and the last thin wreath of glamour98 about her was dispelled99. In some way (he had forgotten how, and it was perfectly incomprehensible) he was bound to this dark, solid and determined100 young person, whose shadow and suggestion he had once loved. He had to go through with the thing as a gentleman should. Still —
And then he was sacrificing Ann!
He wouldn’t stand this sort of thing, whatever else he stood . . . Should he say something about her dress to her — tomorrow?
He could put his foot down firmly. He could say, ‘Look ’ere. I don’t care. I ain’t going to stand it. See?’ She’d say something unexpected, of course. She always did say something unexpected. Suppose, for once, he overrode101 what she said, and simply repeated his point.
He found these thoughts battling with certain conversational102 aggressions from Mrs. Wace, and then Revel arrived and took the centre of the stage.
The author of that brilliant romance, Red Hearts a-Beating, was a less imposing103 man than Kipps had anticipated, but he speedily effaced104 that disappointment by his predominating manners. Although he lived habitually105 in the vivid world of London, his collar and lie were in no way remarkable, and he was neither brilliantly handsome nor curly, nor long-haired. His personal appearance suggested arm-chairs rather than the equestrian106 exercises and amorous107 toyings and passionate108 intensities109 of his masterpiece; he was inclined to be fat, with whitish flesh, muddy-coloured straight hair; he had a rather shapeless and truncated110 nose, and his chin was asymmetrical111. One eye was more inclined to stare than the other. He might have been esteemed112 a little undistinguished-looking were it not for his beeswaxed moustache, which came amidst his features with a pleasing note of incongruity113, and the whimsical wrinkles above and about his greater eye. His regard sought and found Helen’s as he entered the room, and they shook hands presently with an air of intimacy114 Kipps, for no clear reason, found objectionable. He saw them clasp their hands, heard Coote’s characteristic cough — a sound rather more like a very, very old sheep a quarter of a mile away being blown to pieces by a small charge of gunpowder115 than anything else in the world — did some confused beginnings of a thought, and then they were all going in to dinner, and Helen’s shining bare arm lay along his sleeve. Kipps was in no state for conversation. She glanced at him, and, though he did not know it, very slightly pressed his elbow. He struggled with strange respiratory dislocations. Before them went Coote, discoursing116 in amiable117 reverberations to Mrs. Walshingham, and at the head of the procession was Mrs. Bindon Botting, talking fast and brightly beside the erect118 military figure of little Mr. Wace (He was not a soldier really, but he had caught a martinet119 bearing by living so close to Shorncliffe.) Revel came at last, in charge of Mrs. Wace’s queenly black and steel, politely admiring in a flute-like cultivated voice the mellow120 wall-paper of the staircase. Kipps marvelled121 at everybody’s self-possession.
From the earliest spoonful of soup it became evident that Revel considered himself responsible for the tabletalk. And before the soup was over it was almost as manifest that Mrs. Bindon Botting inclined to consider his sense of responsibility excessive. In her circle Mrs. Bindon Botting was esteemed an agreeable rattle122, her manner and appearance were conspicuously vivacious123 for one so plump, and she had an almost Irish facility for humorous description. She would keep people amused all through an afternoon call with the story of how her jobbing gardener had got himself married and what his home was like, or how her favourite butt13, Mr. Stigson Warder, had all his unfortunate children taught almost every conceivable instrument because they had the phrenological bump of music abnormally large. The family itself was also abnormally large. ‘They got to trombones, my dear!’ she would say, with her voice coming to a climax124. Usually her friends conspired125 to draw her out, but on this occasion they neglected to do so, a thing that militated against her keen desire to shine in Revel’s eyes. After a time she perceived that the only thing for her to do was to cut in on the talk, on her own account, and this she began to do. She made several ineffectual snatches at the general attention, and then Revel drifted towards a topic she regarded as particularly her own — the ordering of households.
They came to the thing through talk about localities. ‘We are leaving our house in the Boltons,’ said Revel, ‘and taking a little place at Wimbledon, and I think of having rooms in Dane’s Inn. It will be more convenient in many ways. My wife is furiously addicted126 to golf and exercise of all sorts, and I like to sit about in clubs — I haven’t the strength necessary for these hygienic proceedings127 — and the old arrangement suited neither of us. And besides, no one could imagine the demoralisation the domestics of West London have undergone during the last three years.’
‘It’s the same everywhere,’ said Mrs. Bindon Botting.
‘Very possibly it is. A friend of mine calls it the servile tradition in decay, and regards it all as a most hopeful phenomenon —’
‘He ought to have had my last two criminals,’ said Mrs. Bindon Botting.
She turned to Mrs. Wace, while Revel came again a little too late with a ‘Possibly —’
‘And I haven’t told you, my dear,’ she said, speaking with voluble rapidity, ‘I’m in trouble again.’
‘That last girl?’
‘The last girl. Before I can get a cook, my hard-won housemaid’— she paused —‘chucks it.’
‘Panic?’ asked young Walshingham.
‘Mysterious grief! Everything merry as a marriage bell until my Anagram Tea! Then in the evening a portentous rigour of bearing, a word or so from my aunt, and immediately — Floods of Tears and Notice!’ For a moment her eye rested thoughtfully on Kipps as she said, ‘Is there anything heartrending about Anagrams?’
‘I find them so,’ said Revel. ‘I—’
But Mrs. Bindon Botting got away again. ‘For a time it made me quite uneasy —’
Kipps jabbed his lip with his fork rather painfully, and was recalled from a fascinated glare at Mrs. Botting to the immediate128 facts of dinner.
‘— whether anagrams might not have offended the good domestic’s Moral Code — you never can tell. We made inquiries129. No. No. No. She must go, and that’s all!’
‘One perceives,’ said Revel, ‘in these disorders130, dimly and distantly, the last dying glow of the age of Romance. Let us suppose, Mrs. Botting, let us at least try to suppose — it is Love.’
Kipps clattered131 with his knife and fork.
‘It’s love,’ said Mrs. Botting; what else can it be? Beneath the orderly humdrum132 of our lives these romances are going on, until at last they bust133 up and give Notice and upset our humdrum altogether. Some fatal, wonderful soldier —’
‘The passions of the common or house-domestic —’ began Revel, and recovered possession of the table.
Upon the troubled disorder of Kipps’ table manners, there had supervened a quietness, an unusual calm. For once in his life he had distinctly made up his mind on his own account. He listened no more to Revel. He put down his knife and fork and refused everything that followed. Coote regarded him with tactful concern and Helen flushed a little.
About half-past nine that night there came a violent pull at the bell of Mrs. Bindon Botting, and a young man in a dress-suit and a gibus and other marks of exalted134 social position stood without. Athwart his white expanse of breast lay a ruddy bar of patterned silk that gave him a singular distinction and minimised the glow of a few small stains of Burgundy. His gibus was thrust back, and exposed a disorder of hair that suggested a reckless desperation. He had, in fact, burnt his boats and refused to join the ladies. Coote, in the subsequent conversation, had protested quietly, ‘You’re going on all right, you know,’ to which Kipps had answered he didn’t care a ‘Eng’ about that, and so, after a brief tussle135 with Walshingham’s detaining arm, had got away. ‘I got something to do,’ he said. ‘‘Ome.’ And here he was — panting an extraordinary resolve. The door opened, revealing the pleasantly furnished hall of Mrs. Bindon Botting, lit by rose-tinted lights, and in the centre of the picture, neat and pretty in black and white, stood Ann. At the sight of Kipps her colour vanished.
‘Ann,’ said Kipps,’ I want to speak to you. I got something to say to you right away. See? I’m —’
‘This ain’t the door to speak to me at,’ said Ann.
‘But, Ann! It’s something special.’
‘You spoke136 enough,’ said Ann.
‘Ann!’
‘Besides, that’s my door, down there. Basement. If I was caught talking at this door —!’
‘But, Ann, I’m —’
‘Basement after nine. Them’s my hours. I’m a servant, and likely to keep one. If you’re calling here, what name, please? But you got your friends and I got mine, and you mustn’t go talking to me.’
‘But, Ann, I want to ask you —’
Some one appeared in the hall behind Ann. ‘Not here,’ said Ann. ‘Don’t know any one of that name,’ and incontinently slammed the door in his face.
‘What was that, Ann?’ said Mrs. Bindon Botting’s invalid137 aunt.
‘Ge’m a little intoxicated138, Ma’am — asking for the wrong name, Ma’am.’
‘What name did he want?’ asked the lady doubtfully.
‘No name that we know, Ma’am’ said Ann, hustling139 along the hall towards the kitchen stairs. ‘I hope you weren’t too short with him, Ann.’
‘No shorter than he deserved, considering ‘ow he be’aved,’ said Ann, with her bosom140 heaving.
And Mrs. Bindon Botting’s invalid aunt, perceiving suddenly that this call had some relation to Ann’s private and sentimental141 trouble, turned, after one moment of hesitating scrutiny142, away.
She was an extremely sympathetic lady was Mrs. Bindon Botting’s invalid aunt; she look an interest in the servants, imposed piety143, extorted144 confessions145 and followed human nature, blushing and lying defensively to its reluctantly revealed recesses147; but Ann’s sense of privacy was strong, and her manner, under drawing-out and encouragement, sometimes even alarming . . .
So the poor old lady went upstairs again.
5
The basement door opened, and Kipps came into the kitchen. He was flushed and panting. He struggled for speech.
‘‘Ere,’ he said, and held out two half-sixpences.
Ann stood behind the kitchen table — face pale and eyes round, and now — and it simplified Kipps very much — he could see she had indeed been crying.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘Don’t you see?’
Ann moved her head slightly.
‘I kep’ it all these years.’
‘You kep’ it too long.’
His mouth closed and his flush died away. He looked at her. The amulet148, it seemed, had failed to work.
‘Ann!’ he said. ‘Well?’
‘Ann.’
The conversation still hung fire.
‘Ann,’ he said; made a movement with his hands that suggested appeal and advanced a step.
Ann shook her head more definitely, and became defensive146.
‘Look here, Ann,’ said Kipps. ‘I been a fool.’
They stared into each other’s miserable149 eyes.
‘Ann,’ he said. ‘I want to marry you.’
Ann clutched the table edge. ‘You can’t,’ she said faintly.
He made as if to approach her round the table, and she took a step that restored their distance.
‘I must,’ he said.
‘You can’t.’
‘I must. You got to marry me, Ann.’
‘You can’t go marrying everybody. You got to marry ‘er.’
‘I shan’t.’
Ann shook her head. ‘You’re engaged to that girl. Lady, rather. You can’t be engaged to me.’
‘I don’t want to be engaged to you. I been engaged. I want to be married to you. See? Right away.’ Ann turned a shade paler. ‘But what d’you mean?’ she asked.
‘Come right off to London and marry me. Now.’
‘What d’you mean?’
Kipps became extremely lucid150 and earnest.
‘I mean, come right off and marry me now before any one else can. See?’
‘In London?’
‘In London.’
They stared at one another again. They took things for granted in the most amazing way. ‘I couldn’t,’ said Ann. ‘For one thing, my month’s not up for mor’n free weeks yet.’ They hung before that for a moment as though it was insurmountable.
‘Look ’ere, Ann! Arst to go. Arst to go!’’
‘She wouldn’t,’ said Ann.
‘Then come without arsting,’ said Kipps.
‘She’d keep my box —’
‘She won’t.’
‘She will.’
‘She won’t.’
‘You don’t know ‘er.’
‘Well, desh ‘er — let ‘er! LET ‘ER! Who cares? I’ll buy you a ‘undred boxes if you’ll come.’
‘It wouldn’t be right towards Her.’
‘It isn’t Her you got to think about, Ann. It’s me.’
‘And you ‘aven’t treated me properly,’ she said. ‘You ‘aven’t treated me properly, Artie. You didn’t ought to ‘ave —’
‘I didn’t say I ‘ad,’ he interrupted, ‘did I? Ann,’ he appealed, ‘I didn’t come to arguefy. I’m all wrong. I never said I wasn’t. It’s yes or no. Me or not . . . I been a fool. There! See? I been a fool. Ain’t that enough? I got myself all tied up with every one and made a fool of myself all round . . . ’
He pleaded, ‘It isn’t as if we didn’t care for one another, Ann.’ She seemed impassive, and he resumed his discourse151.
‘I thought I wasn’t likely ever to see you again, Ann. I reely did. It isn’t as though I was seein’ you all the time. I didn’t know what I wanted, and I went and be’aved like a fool — jest as any one might. I know what I want, and I know what I don’t want now.
‘Ann!’
‘Well?’
‘Will you come? . . . Will you come? . . . ’ Silence.
‘If you don’t answer me, Ann — I’m desprit — if you don’t answer me now, if you don’t say you’ll come, I’ll go right out now —’
He turned doorward passionately152 as he spoke, with his threat incomplete.
‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘I ‘aven’t a friend in the world! I been and throwed everything away. I don’t know why I done things and why I ‘aven’t. All I know is I can’t stand nothing in the world any more.’ He choked. ‘The pier,’ he said.
He fumbled153 with the door-latch, grumbling154 some inarticulate self-pity, as if he sought a handle, and then he had it open.
Clearly he was going.
‘Artie!‘said Ann sharply.
He turned about, and the two hung white and tense. ‘I’ll do it,’ said Ann.
His face began to work, he shut the door and came a step back to her, staring; his face became pitiful, and then suddenly they moved together. ‘Artie!’ she cried, ‘don’t go!’ and held out her arms, weeping. They clung close to one another . . .
‘Oh, I been so mis’bel!’ cried Kipps, clinging to his lifebuoy; and suddenly his emotion, having no further serious work in hand, burst its way to a loud boohoo! His fashionable and expensive gibus flopped155 off, and fell and rolled and lay neglected on the floor.
‘I been so mis’bel,’ said Kipps, giving himself vent156, ‘Oh, I been so mis’bel, Ann!’
‘Be quiet,’ said Ann, holding his poor blubbering head tightly to her heaving shoulder, herself all a-quiver; ‘be quiet. She’s there! Listenin’. She’ll ‘ear you, Artie, on the stairs . . . ’
6
Ann’s last words when, an hour later, they parted — Mrs. and Miss Bindon Botting having returned very audibly upstairs — deserve a section to themselves.
‘I wouldn’t do this for every one, mind you,’ whispered Ann.
点击收听单词发音
1 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 jaunt | |
v.短程旅游;n.游览 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 portentous | |
adj.不祥的,可怕的,装腔作势的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 socialist | |
n.社会主义者;adj.社会主义的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 repudiating | |
v.(正式地)否认( repudiate的现在分词 );拒绝接受;拒绝与…往来;拒不履行(法律义务) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 reconstruction | |
n.重建,再现,复原 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 connivance | |
n.纵容;默许 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 sketching | |
n.草图 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 lookout | |
n.注意,前途,瞭望台 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 reproof | |
n.斥责,责备 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 mitigated | |
v.减轻,缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 relaxation | |
n.松弛,放松;休息;消遣;娱乐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 clergy | |
n.[总称]牧师,神职人员 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 unprecedented | |
adj.无前例的,新奇的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 awfully | |
adv.可怕地,非常地,极端地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 mumbling | |
含糊地说某事,叽咕,咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 accosted | |
v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 );跟…搭讪;(乞丐等)上前向…乞讨;(妓女等)勾搭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 inscribed | |
v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 dangled | |
悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 pelting | |
微不足道的,无价值的,盛怒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 conspicuously | |
ad.明显地,惹人注目地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 extraordinarily | |
adv.格外地;极端地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 chronic | |
adj.(疾病)长期未愈的,慢性的;极坏的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 nucleus | |
n.核,核心,原子核 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 wretches | |
n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 );可怜的人;恶棍;坏蛋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 plume | |
n.羽毛;v.整理羽毛,骚首弄姿,用羽毛装饰 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 shriek | |
v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 chatter | |
vi./n.喋喋不休;短促尖叫;(牙齿)打战 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 swap | |
n.交换;vt.交换,用...作交易 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 swirls | |
n.旋转( swirl的名词复数 );卷状物;漩涡;尘旋v.旋转,打旋( swirl的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 mumps | |
n.腮腺炎 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 beads | |
n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 chattering | |
n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 jabber | |
v.快而不清楚地说;n.吱吱喳喳 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 wade | |
v.跋涉,涉水;n.跋涉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 imperatives | |
n.必要的事( imperative的名词复数 );祈使语气;必须履行的责任 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 rustle | |
v.沙沙作响;偷盗(牛、马等);n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 aggrieved | |
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) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
51 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
52 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
53 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
54 scattering | |
n.[物]散射;散乱,分散;在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的;分散在不同范围的;广泛扩散的;(选票)数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式);散布;驱散 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
55 binding | |
有约束力的,有效的,应遵守的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
56 bereavement | |
n.亲人丧亡,丧失亲人,丧亲之痛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
57 justifies | |
证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 ); 为…辩护; 对…作出解释; 为…辩解(或辩护) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
58 lapsed | |
adj.流失的,堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
59 broach | |
v.开瓶,提出(题目) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
60 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
61 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
62 acquiesced | |
v.默认,默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
63 meditating | |
a.沉思的,冥想的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
64 vistas | |
长条形景色( vista的名词复数 ); 回顾; 展望; (未来可能发生的)一系列情景 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
65 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
66 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
67 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
68 perturb | |
v.使不安,烦扰,扰乱,使紊乱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
69 insurgent | |
adj.叛乱的,起事的;n.叛乱分子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
70 brace | |
n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
71 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
72 buckle | |
n.扣子,带扣;v.把...扣住,由于压力而弯曲 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
73 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
74 obliquely | |
adv.斜; 倾斜; 间接; 不光明正大 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
75 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
76 dexterous | |
adj.灵敏的;灵巧的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
77 stereotyped | |
adj.(指形象、思想、人物等)模式化的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
78 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
79 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
80 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
81 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
82 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
83 credible | |
adj.可信任的,可靠的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
84 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
85 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
86 talisman | |
n.避邪物,护身符 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
87 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
88 revel | |
vi.狂欢作乐,陶醉;n.作乐,狂欢 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
89 emergence | |
n.浮现,显现,出现,(植物)突出体 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
90 furtive | |
adj.鬼鬼崇崇的,偷偷摸摸的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
91 mentor | |
n.指导者,良师益友;v.指导 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
92 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
93 twitching | |
n.颤搐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
94 jaw | |
n.颚,颌,说教,流言蜚语;v.喋喋不休,教训 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
95 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
96 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
97 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
98 glamour | |
n.魔力,魅力;vt.迷住 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
99 dispelled | |
v.驱散,赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
100 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
101 overrode | |
越控( override的过去式 ); (以权力)否决; 优先于; 比…更重要 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
102 conversational | |
adj.对话的,会话的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
103 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
104 effaced | |
v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 );抹去;超越;使黯然失色 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
105 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
106 equestrian | |
adj.骑马的;n.马术 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
107 amorous | |
adj.多情的;有关爱情的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
108 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
109 intensities | |
n.强烈( intensity的名词复数 );(感情的)强烈程度;强度;烈度 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
110 truncated | |
adj.切去顶端的,缩短了的,被删节的v.截面的( truncate的过去式和过去分词 );截头的;缩短了的;截去顶端或末端 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
111 asymmetrical | |
adj.不均匀的,不对称的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
112 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
113 incongruity | |
n.不协调,不一致 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
114 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
115 gunpowder | |
n.火药 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
116 discoursing | |
演说(discourse的现在分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
117 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
118 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
119 martinet | |
n.要求严格服从纪律的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
120 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
121 marvelled | |
v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
122 rattle | |
v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
123 vivacious | |
adj.活泼的,快活的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
124 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
125 conspired | |
密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 ); 搞阴谋; (事件等)巧合; 共同导致 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
126 addicted | |
adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
127 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
128 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
129 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
130 disorders | |
n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 );凌乱;骚乱;(身心、机能)失调 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
131 clattered | |
发出咔哒声(clatter的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
132 humdrum | |
adj.单调的,乏味的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
133 bust | |
vt.打破;vi.爆裂;n.半身像;胸部 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
134 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
135 tussle | |
n.&v.扭打,搏斗,争辩 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
136 spoke | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
137 invalid | |
n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
138 intoxicated | |
喝醉的,极其兴奋的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
139 hustling | |
催促(hustle的现在分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
140 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
141 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
142 scrutiny | |
n.详细检查,仔细观察 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
143 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
144 extorted | |
v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 );曲解 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
145 confessions | |
n.承认( confession的名词复数 );自首;声明;(向神父的)忏悔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
146 defensive | |
adj.防御的;防卫的;防守的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
147 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
148 amulet | |
n.护身符 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
149 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
150 lucid | |
adj.明白易懂的,清晰的,头脑清楚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
151 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
152 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
153 fumbled | |
(笨拙地)摸索或处理(某事物)( fumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 乱摸,笨拙地弄; 使落下 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
154 grumbling | |
adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
155 flopped | |
v.(指书、戏剧等)彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 );(因疲惫而)猛然坐下;(笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地)移动或落下;砸锅 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
156 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |