In the big blue and gold drawing room at Gorston Hall, Alfred Lee and Lydia, his wife, sat
discussing their plans for Christmas. Alfred was a squarely built man of middle age with a gentle
face and mild brown eyes. His voice when he spoke1 was quiet and precise with a very clear
enunciation2. His head was sunk into his shoulders and he gave a curious impression of inertia3.
Lydia, his wife, was an energetic, lean greyhound of a woman. She was amazingly thin, but all her
movements had a swift, startled grace about them.
There was no beauty in her careless, haggard face, but it had distinction. Her voice was
charming.
Alfred said:
“Father insists! There’s nothing else to it.”
Lydia controlled a sudden impatient movement. She said:
“Must you always give in to him?”
“He’s a very old man, my dear—”
“Oh, I know—I know!”
“He expects to have his own way.”
Lydia said dryly:
“Naturally, since he has always had it! But some time or other, Alfred, you will have to make
a stand.”
“What do you mean, Lydia?”
He stared at her, so palpably upset and startled, that for a moment she bit her lip and seemed
doubtful whether to go on.
Alfred Lee repeated:
“What do you mean, Lydia?”
She shrugged4 her thin, graceful5 shoulders.
She said, trying to choose her words cautiously:
“Your father is—inclined to be—tyrannical—”
“He’s old.”
“And will grow older. And consequently more tyrannical. Where will it end? Already he
dictates6 our lives to us completely. We can’t make a plan of our own! If we do, it is always liable
to be upset.”
Alfred said:
“Father expects to come first. He is very good to us, remember.”
“Oh! good to us!”
“Very good to us.”
Alfred spoke with a trace of sternness.
“Lydia said calmly:
“You mean financially?”
“Yes. His own wants are very simple. But he never grudges7 us money. You can spend what
you like on dress and on this house, and the bills are paid without a murmur8. He gave us a new car
only last week.”
“As far as money goes, your father is very generous, I admit,” said Lydia. “But in return he
expects us to behave like slaves.”
“Slaves?”
“That’s the word I used. You are his slave, Alfred. If we have planned to go away and Father
suddenly wishes us not to go, you cancel your arrangements and remain without a murmur! If the
whim9 takes him to send us away, we go . . . We have no lives of our own—no independence.”
Her husband said distressfully:
“I wish you wouldn’t talk like this, Lydia. It is very ungrateful. My father has done
everything for us. . . .”
She bit off a retort that was on her lips. She shrugged those thin, graceful shoulders once
more.
Alfred said:
“You know, Lydia, the old man is very fond of you—”
His wife said clearly and distinctly:
“I am not at all fond of him.”
“Lydia, it distresses10 me to hear you say things like that. It is so unkind—”
“Perhaps. But sometimes a compulsion comes over one to speak the truth.”
“If Father guessed—”
“Your father knows perfectly11 well that I do not like him! It amuses him, I think.”
“Really, Lydia, I am sure you are wrong there. He has often told me how charming your
manner to him is.”
“Naturally I’ve always been polite. I always shall be. I’m just letting you know what my real
feelings are. I dislike your father, Alfred. I think he is a malicious12 and tyrannical old man. He
bullies13 you and presumes on your affection for him. You ought to have stood up to him years ago.”
Alfred said sharply:
“That will do, Lydia. Please don’t say any more.”
She sighed.
“I’m sorry. Perhaps I was wrong . . . Let’s talk of our Christmas arrangements. Do you think
your brother David will really come?”
“Why not?”
She shook her head doubtfully.
“David is—queer. He’s not been inside the house for years, remember. He was so devoted14 to
your mother—he’s got some feeling about this place.”
“David always got on Father’s nerves,” said Alfred, “with his music and his dreamy ways.
Father was, perhaps, a bit hard on him sometimes. But I think David and Hilda will come all right.
Christmastime, you know.”
“Peace and goodwill,” said Lydia. Her delicate mouth curved ironically. “I wonder! George
and Magdalene are coming. They said they would probably arrive tomorrow. I’m afraid
Magdalene will be frightfully bored.”
Alfred said with some slight annoyance15:
“Why my brother George ever married a girl twenty years younger than himself I can’t think!
George was always a fool!”
“He’s very successful in his career,” said Lydia. “His constituents16 like him. I believe
Magdalene works quite hard politically for him.”
Alfred said slowly:
“I don’t think I like her very much. She is very good-looking—but I sometimes think she is
like one of those beautiful pears one gets—they have a rosy17 flush and a rather waxen appearance
—” He shook his head.
“And they’re bad inside?” said Lydia. “How funny you should say that, Alfred!”
“Why funny?”
She answered:
“Because—usually—you are such a gentle soul. You hardly ever say an unkind thing about
anyone. I get annoyed with you sometimes because you’re not sufficiently—oh, what shall I say?
—sufficiently suspicious—not worldly enough!”
Her husband smiled.
“The world, I always think, is as you yourself make it.”
Lydia said sharply:
“No! Evil is not only in one’s mind. Evil exists! You seem to have no consciousness of the
evil in the world. I have. I can feel it. I’ve always felt it—here in this house—” She bit her lip and
turned away.
Alfred said, “Lydia—”
But she raised a quick admonitory hand, her eyes looking past him at something over his
shoulder. Alfred turned.
A dark man with a smooth face was standing18 there deferentially19.
Lydia said sharply:
“What is it, Horbury?”
Horbury’s voice was low, a mere21 deferential20 murmur.
“It’s Mr. Lee, madam. He asked me to tell you that there would be two more guests arriving
for Christmas, and would you have rooms prepared for them.”
Lydia said, “Two more guests?”
Horbury said smoothly22, “Yes, madam, another gentleman and a young lady.”
Alfred said wonderingly: “A young lady?”
“That’s what Mr. Lee said, sir.”
Lydia said quickly:
“I will go up and see him—”
Horbury made one little step, it was a mere ghost of a movement but it stopped Lydia’s rapid
progress automatically.
“Excuse me, madam, but Mr. Lee is having his afternoon sleep. He asked specifically that he
should not be disturbed.”
“I see,” said Alfred. “Of course we won’t disturb him.”
“Thank you, sir.” Horbury withdrew.
Lydia said vehemently23:
“How I dislike that man! He creeps about the house like a cat! One never hears him going or
coming.”
“I don’t like him very much either. But he knows his job. It’s not so easy to get a good male
nurse attendant. And Father likes him, that’s the main thing.”
“Yes, that’s the main thing, as you say. Alfred, what is this about a young lady? What young
lady?”
Her husband shook his head.
“I can’t imagine. I can’t even think of anyone it might be likely to be.”
They stared at each other. Then Lydia said, with a sudden twist of her expressive24 mouth:
“Do you know what I think, Alfred?”
“What?”
“I think your father has been bored lately. I think he is planning a little Christmas diversion
for himself.”
“By introducing two strangers into a family gathering25?”
“Oh! I don’t know what the details are—but I do fancy that your father is preparing to—
amuse himself.”
“I hope he will get some pleasure out of it,” said Alfred gravely. “Poor old chap, tied by the
leg, an invalid—after the adventurous26 life he has led.”
Lydia said slowly:
“After the—adventurous life he has led.”
The pause she made before the adjective gave it some special though obscure significance.
Alfred seemed to feel it. He flushed and looked unhappy.
She cried out suddenly:
“How he ever had a son like you, I can’t imagine! You two are poles apart. And he fascinates
you—you simply worship him!”
Alfred said with a trace of vexation:
“Aren’t you going a little far, Lydia? It’s natural, I should say, for a son to love his father. It
would be very unnatural27 not to do so.”
Lydia said:
“In that case, most of the members of this family are—unnatural! Oh, don’t let’s argue! I
apologize. I’ve hurt your feelings, I know. Believe me, Alfred, I really didn’t mean to do that. I
admire you enormously for your—your—fidelity. Loyalty28 is such a rare virtue29 in these days. Let
us say, shall we, that I am jealous? Women are supposed to be jealous of their mothers-in-law—
why not, then, of their fathers-in-law?”
He put a gentle arm round her.
“Your tongue runs away with you, Lydia. There’s no reason for you to be jealous.”
She gave him a quick remorseful30 kiss, a delicate caress31 on the tip of his ear.
“I know. All the same, Alfred, I don’t believe I should have been in the least jealous of your
mother. I wish I’d known her.”
“She was a poor creature,” he said.
His wife looked at him interestedly.
“So that’s how she struck you . . . as a poor creature . . . That’s interesting.”
He said dreamily:
“I remember her as nearly always ill . . . Often in tears . . .” He shook his head. “She had no
spirit.”
Still staring at him, she murmured very softly:
“How odd. . . .”
But as he turned a questioning glance on her, she shook her head quickly and changed the
subject.
“Since we are not allowed to know who our mysterious guests are I shall go out and finish
my garden.”
“It’s very cold, my dear, a biting wind.”
“I’ll wrap up warmly.”
She left the room. Alfred Lee, left alone, stood for some minutes motionless, frowning a little
to himself, then he walked over to the big window at the end of the room. Outside was a terrace
running the whole length of the house. Here, after a minute or two, he saw Lydia emerge, carrying
a flat basket. She was wearing a big blanket coat. She set down the basket and began to work at a
square stone sink slightly raised above ground level.
Her husband watched for some time. At last he went out of the room, fetched himself a coat
and muffler, and emerged on to the terrace by a side door. As he walked along he passed various
other stone sinks arranged as miniature gardens, all the products of Lydia’s agile32 fingers.
One represented a desert scene with smooth yellow sand, a little clump33 of green palm trees in
coloured tin, and a procession of camels with one or two little Arab figures. Some primitive34 mud
houses had been constructed of plasticine. There was an Italian garden with terraces and formal
beds with flowers in coloured sealing wax. There was an Arctic one, too, with clumps35 of green
glass for icebergs36, and a little cluster of penguins37. Next came a Japanese garden with a couple of
beautiful little stunted38 trees, looking glass arranged for water, and bridges modelled out of
plasticine.
He came at last to stand beside her where she was at work. She had laid down blue paper and
covered it over with glass. Round this were lumps of rock piled up. At the moment she was
pouring out coarse pebbles39 from a little bag and forming them into a beach. Between the rocks
were some small cactuses.
Lydia was murmuring to herself:
“Yes, that’s exactly right—exactly what I want.”
Alfred said:
“What’s this latest work of art?”
She started, for she had not heard him come up.
“This? Oh, it’s the Dead Sea, Alfred. Do you like it?”
He said, “It’s rather arid40, isn’t it? Oughtn’t there to be more vegetation?”
She shook her head.
“It’s my idea of the Dead Sea. It is dead, you see—”
“It’s not so attractive as some of the others.”
“It’s not meant to be specially41 attractive.”
Footsteps sounded on the terrace. An elderly butler, white-haired and slightly bowed, was
coming towards them.
“Mrs. George Lee on the telephone, madam. She says will it be convenient if she and Mr.
George arrive by the five twenty tomorrow?”
“Yes, tell her that will be quite all right.”
“Thank you, madam.”
The butler hurried away. Lydia looked after him with a softened42 expression on her face.
“Dear old Tressilian. What a standby he is! I can’t imagine what we should do without him.”
Alfred agreed.
“He’s one of the old school. He’s been with us nearly forty years. He’s devoted to us all.”
Lydia nodded.
“Yes. He’s like the faithful old retainers of fiction. I believe he’d lie himself blue in the face
if it was necessary to protect one of the family!”
Alfred said:
“I believe he would . . . Yes, I believe he would.”
Lydia smoothed over the last bit of her shingle43.
“There,” she said. “That’s ready.”
“Ready?” Alfred looked puzzled.
She laughed.
“For Christmas, silly! For this sentimental44 family Christmas we’re going to have.”
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收听单词发音
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1
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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2
enunciation
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| n.清晰的发音；表明，宣言；口齿 | |
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3
inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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4
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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5
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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6
dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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7
grudges
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| 不满，怨恨，妒忌( grudge的名词复数 ) | |
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8
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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9
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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10
distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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11
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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12
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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13
bullies
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| n.欺凌弱小者, 开球 vt.恐吓, 威胁, 欺负 | |
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14
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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15
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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16
constituents
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| n.选民( constituent的名词复数 )；成分；构成部分；要素 | |
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17
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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18
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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19
deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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20
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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21
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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22
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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24
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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25
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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26
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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27
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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28
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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29
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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30
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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31
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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32
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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33
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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34
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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35
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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36
icebergs
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| n.冰山，流冰( iceberg的名词复数 ) | |
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37
penguins
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| n.企鹅( penguin的名词复数 ) | |
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38
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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39
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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40
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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41
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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42
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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43
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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44
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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