In the year 1893 there was a new and strange man living at No. 4, St. Luke's Square. Many people remarked on the phenomenon. Very few of his like had ever been seen in Bursley before. One of the striking things about him was the complex way in which he secured himself by means of glittering chains. A chain stretched across his waistcoat, passing through a special button-hole, without a button, in the middle. To this cable were firmly linked a watch at one end and a pencil-case at the other; the chain also served as a protection against a thief who might attempt to snatch the fancy waistcoat entire. Then there were longer chains, beneath the waistcoat, partly designed, no doubt, to deflect1 bullets, but serving mainly to enable the owner to haul up penknives, cigarette-cases, match-boxes, and key-rings from the profundities2 of hip-pockets. An essential portion of the man's braces3, visible sometimes when he played at tennis, consisted of chain, and the upper and nether4 halves of his cuff-links were connected by chains. Occasionally he was to be seen chained to a dog.
A reversion, conceivably, to a mediaeval type! Yes, but also the exemplar of the excessively modern! Externally he was a consequence of the fact that, years previously5, the leading tailor in Bursley had permitted his son to be apprenticed6 in London. The father died; the son had the wit to return and make a fortune while creating a new type in the town, a type of which multiple chains were but one feature, and that the least expensive if the most salient. For instance, up to the historic year in which the young tailor created the type, any cap was a cap in Bursley, and any collar was a collar. But thenceforward no cap was a cap, and no collar was a collar, which did not exactly conform in shape and material to certain sacred caps and collars guarded by the young tailor in his back shop. None knew why these sacred caps and collars were sacred, but they were; their sacredness endured for about six months, and then suddenly--again none knew why--they fell from their estate and became lower than offal for dogs, and were supplanted7 on the altar. The type brought into existence by the young tailor was to be recognized by its caps and collars, and in a similar manner by every other article of attire8, except its boots. Unfortunately the tailor did not sell boots, and so imposed on his creatures no mystical creed9 as to boots. This was a pity, for the boot-makers of the town happened not to be inflamed10 by the type-creating passion as the tailor was, and thus the new type finished abruptly11 at the edges of the tailor's trousers.
The man at No. 4, St. Luke's Square had comparatively small and narrow feet, which gave him an advantage; and as he was endowed with a certain vague general physical distinction he managed, despite the eternal untidiness of his hair, to be eminent12 among the type. Assuredly the frequent sight of him in her house flattered the pride of Constance's eye, which rested on him almost always with pleasure. He had come into the house with startling abruptness13 soon after Cyril left school and was indentured14 to the head-designer at "Peel's," that classic earthenware15 manufactory. The presence of a man in her abode16 disconcerted Constance at the beginning; but she soon grew accustomed to it, perceiving that a man would behave as a man, and must be expected to do so. This man, in truth, did what he liked in all things. Cyril having always been regarded by both his parents as enormous, one would have anticipated a giant in the new man; but, queerly, he was slim, and little above the average height. Neither in enormity nor in many other particulars did he resemble the Cyril whom he had supplanted. His gestures were lighter17 and quicker; he had nothing of Cyril's ungainliness; he had not Cyril's limitless taste for sweets, nor Cyril's terrific hatred18 of gloves, barbers, and soap. He was much more dreamy than Cyril, and much busier. In fact, Constance only saw him at meal-times. He was at Peel's in the day and at the School of Art every night. He would dream during a meal, even; and, without actually saying so, he gave the impression that he was the busiest man in Bursley, wrapped in occupations and preoccupations as in a blanket--a blanket which Constance had difficulty in penetrating19.
Constance wanted to please him; she lived for nothing but to please him; he was, however, exceedingly difficult to please, not in the least because he was hypercritical and exacting20, but because he was indifferent. Constance, in order to satisfy her desire of pleasing, had to make fifty efforts, in the hope that he might chance to notice one. He was a good man, amazingly industrious--when once Constance had got him out of bed in the morning; with no vices21; kind, save when Constance mistakenly tried to thwart22 him; charming, with a curious strain of humour that Constance only half understood. Constance was unquestionably vain about him, and she could honestly find in him little to blame. But whereas he was the whole of her universe, she was merely a dim figure in the background of his. Every now and then, with his gentle, elegant raillery, he would apparently24 rediscover her, as though saying: "Ah! You're still there, are you?" Constance could not meet him on the plane where his interests lay, and he never knew the passionate25 intensity26 of her absorption in that minor27 part of his life which moved on her plane. He never worried about her solitude28, or guessed that in throwing her a smile and a word at supper he was paying her meagrely for three hours of lone29 rocking in a rocking-chair.
The worst of it was that she was quite incurable30. No experience would suffice to cure her trick of continually expecting him to notice things which he never did notice. One day he said, in the midst of a silence: "By the way, didn't father leave any boxes of cigars?" She had the steps up into her bedroom and reached down from the dusty top of the wardrobe the box which she had put there after Samuel's funeral. In handing him the box she was doing a great deed. His age was nineteen and she was ratifying31 his precocious32 habit of smoking by this solemn gift. He entirely33 ignored the box for several days. She said timidly: "Have you tried those cigars?" "Not yet," he replied. "I'll try 'em one of these days." Ten days later, on a Sunday when he chanced not to have gone out with his aristocratic friend Matthew Peel- Swynnerton, he did at length open the box and take out a cigar. "Now," he observed roguishly, cutting the cigar, "we shall see, Mrs. Plover34!" He often called her Mrs. Plover, for fun. Though she liked him to be sufficiently35 interested in her to tease her, she did not like being called Mrs. Plover, and she never failed to say: "I'm not Mrs. Plover." He smoked the cigar slowly, in the rocking-chair, throwing his head back and sending clouds to the ceiling. And afterwards he remarked: "The old man's cigars weren't so bad." "Indeed!" she answered tartly36, as if maternally37 resenting this easy patronage38. But in secret she was delighted. There was something in her son's favourable39 verdict on her husband's cigars that thrilled her.
And she looked at him. Impossible to see in him any resemblance to his father! Oh! He was a far more brilliant, more advanced, more complicated, more seductive being than his homely40 father! She wondered where he had come from. And yet ...! If his father had lived, what would have occurred between them? Would the boy have been openly smoking cigars in the house at nineteen?
She laboriously41 interested herself, so far as he would allow, in his artistic42 studies and productions. A back attic43 on the second floor was now transformed into a studio--a naked apartment which smelt44 of oil and of damp clay. Often there were traces of clay on the stairs. For working in clay he demanded of his mother a smock, and she made a smock, on the model of a genuine smock which she obtained from a country-woman who sold eggs and butter in the Covered Market. Into the shoulders of the smock she put a week's fancy-stitching, taking the pattern from an old book of embroidery45. One day when he had seen her stitching morn, noon, and afternoon, at the smock, he said, as she rocked idly after supper: "I suppose you haven't forgotten all about the smock I asked you for, have you, mater?" She knew that he was teasing her; but, while perfectly46 realizing how foolish she was, she nearly always acted as though his teasing was serious; she picked up the smock again from the sofa. When the smock was finished he examined it intently; then exclaimed with an air of surprise: "By Jove! That's beautiful! Where did you get this pattern? "He continued to stare at it, smiling in pleasure. He turned over the tattered47 leaves of the embroidery-book with the same naive48, charmed astonishment49, and carried the book away to the studio. "I must show that to Swynnerton," he said. As for her, the epithet50 'beautiful' seemed a strange epithet to apply to a mere23 piece of honest stitchery done in a pattern, and a stitch with which she had been familiar all her life. The fact was she understood his 'art' less and less. The sole wall decoration of his studio was a Japanese print, which struck her as being entirely preposterous51, considered as a picture. She much preferred his own early drawings of moss-roses and picturesque52 castles--things that he now mercilessly contemned53. Later, he discovered her cutting out another smock. "What's that for?" he inquired. "Well," she said, "you can't manage with one smock. What shall you do when that one has to go to the wash?" "Wash!" he repeated vaguely54. "There's no need for it to go to the wash." "Cyril," she replied, "don't try my patience! I was thinking of making you half-a-dozen." He whistled. "With all that stitching?" he questioned, amazed at the undertaking55. "Why not?" she said. In her young days, no seamstress ever made fewer than half-a-dozen of anything, and it was usually a dozen; it was sometimes half-a-dozen dozen. "Well," he murmured, "you have got a nerve! I'll say that." Similar things happened whenever he showed that he was pleased. If he said of a dish, in the local tongue: "I could do a bit of that!" or if he simply smacked56 his lips over it, she would surfeit57 him with that dish.
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deflect
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| v.(使)偏斜，(使)偏离，(使)转向 | |
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profundities
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| n.深奥，深刻，深厚( profundity的名词复数 )；堂奥 | |
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braces
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| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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apprenticed
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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supplanted
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| 把…排挤掉，取代( supplant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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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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abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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indentured
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| v.以契约束缚（学徒）( indenture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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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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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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ratifying
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| v.批准，签认（合约等）( ratify的现在分词 ) | |
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precocious
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| adj.早熟的；较早显出的 | |
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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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plover
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| n.珩，珩科鸟，千鸟 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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maternally
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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40
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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42
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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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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45
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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48
naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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49
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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50
epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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52
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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53
contemned
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| v.侮辱，蔑视( contemn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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surfeit
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| v.使饮食过度；n.(食物)过量，过度 | |
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