Soon after dinner one day in the following spring, Mr. Critchlow knocked at Constance's door. She was seated in the rocking-chair in front of the fire in the parlour. She wore a large 'rough' apron1, and with the outlying parts of the apron she was rubbing the moisture out of the coat of a young wire-haired fox-terrier, for whom no more original name had been found than 'Spot.' It is true that he had a spot. Constance had more than once called the world to witness that she would never have a young dog again, because, as she said, she could not be always running about after them, and they ate the stuffing out of the furniture. But her last dog had lived too long; a dog can do worse things than eat furniture; and, in her natural reaction against age in dogs, and also in the hope of postponing3 as long as possible the inevitable4 sorrow and upset which death causes when it takes off a domestic pet, she had not known how to refuse the very desirable fox- terrier aged5 ten months that an acquaintance had offered to her. Spot's beautiful pink skin could be seen under his disturbed hair; he was exquisitely6 soft to the touch, and to himself he was loathsome7. His eyes continually peeped forth8 between corners of the agitated9 towel, and they were full of inquietude and shame.
Amy was assisting at this performance, gravely on the watch to see that Spot did not escape into the coal-cellar. She opened the door to Mr. Critchlow's knock. Mr. Critchlow entered without any formalities, as usual. He did not seem to have changed. He had the same quantity of white hair, he wore the same long white apron, and his voice (which showed however an occasional tendency to shrillness) had the same grating quality. He stood fairly straight. He was carrying a newspaper in his vellum hand.
"Well, missis!" he said.
"That will do, thank you, Amy," said Constance, quietly. Amy went slowly.
"So ye're washing him for her!" said Mr. Critchlow.
"Yes," Constance admitted. Spot glanced sharply at the aged man.
"An' ye seen this bit in the paper about Sophia?" he asked, holding the Signal for her inspection10.
"About Sophia?" cried Constance. "What's amiss?"
"Nothing's amiss. But they've got it. It's in the 'Staffordshire day by day' column. Here! I'll read it ye." He drew a long wooden spectacle-case from his waistcoat pocket, and placed a second pair of spectacles on his nose. Then he sat down on the sofa, his knees sticking out pointedly11, and read: "'We understand that Mrs. Sophia Scales, proprietress of the famous Pension Frensham in the Rue2 Lord Byron, Paris'--it's that famous that nobody in th' Five Towns has ever heard of it--'is about to pay a visit to her native town, Bursley, after an absence of over thirty years. Mrs. Scales belonged to the well-known and highly respected family of Baines. She has recently disposed of the Pension Frensham to a limited company, and we are betraying no secret in stating that the price paid ran well into five figures.' So ye see!" Mr. Critchlow commented.
"How do those Signal people find out things?" Constance murmured.
"Eh, bless ye, I don't know," said Mr. Critchlow.
This was an untruth. Mr. Critchlow had himself given the information to the new editor of the Signal, who had soon been made aware of Critchlow's passion for the press, and who knew how to make use of it.
"I wish it hadn't appeared just to-day," said Constance.
"Why?"
"Oh! I don't know, I wish it hadn't."
"Well, I'll be touring on, missis," said Mr. Critchlow, meaning that he would go.
He left the paper, and descended13 the steps with senile deliberation. It was characteristic that he had shown no curiosity whatever as to the details of Sophia's arrival.
Constance removed her apron,, wrapped Spot up in it, and put him in a corner of the sofa. She then abruptly14 sent Amy out to buy a penny time-table.
"I thought you were going by tram to Knype," Amy observed.
"I have decided15 to go by train," said Constance, with cold dignity, as if she had decided the fate of nations. She hated such observations from Amy, who unfortunately lacked, in an increasing degree, the supreme16 gift of unquestioning obedience17.
When Amy came breathlessly back, she found Constance in her bedroom, withdrawing crumpled18 balls of paper from the sleeves of her second-best mantle19. Constance scarcely ever wore this mantle. In theory it was destined20 for chapel21 on wet Sundays; in practice it had remained long in the wardrobe, Sundays having been obstinately22 fine for weeks and weeks together. It was a mantle that Constance had never really liked. But she was not going to Knype to meet Sophia in her everyday mantle; and she had no intention of donning her best mantle for such an excursion. To make her first appearance before Sophia in the best mantle she had--this would have been a sad mistake of tactics! Not only would it have led to an anti-climax on Sunday, but it would have given to Constance the air of being in awe23 of Sophia. Now Constance was in truth a little afraid of Sophia; in thirty years Sophia might have grown into anything, whereas Constance had remained just Constance. Paris was a great place; and it was immensely far off. And the mere24 sound of that limited company business was intimidating25. Imagine Sophia having by her own efforts created something which a real limited company wanted to buy and had bought! Yes, Constance was afraid, but she did not mean to show her fear in her mantle. After all, she was the elder. And she had her dignity too--and a lot of it--tucked away in her secret heart, hidden within the mildness of that soft exterior26. So she had decided on the second-best mantle, which, being seldom used, had its sleeves stuffed with paper to the end that they might keep their shape and their 'fall.' The little balls of paper were strewed27 over the bed.
"There's a train at a quarter to three, gets to Knype at ten minutes past." said Amy. officiously. "But supposing it was only three minutes late and the London train was prompt, then you might miss her. Happen you'd better take the two fifteen to be on the safe side."
"Let me look," said Constance, firmly. "Please put all this paper in the wardrobe."
She would have preferred not to follow Amy's suggestion, but it was so incontestably wise that she was obliged to accept it.
"Unless ye go by tram," said Amy. "That won't mean starting quite so soon."
But Constance would not go by tram. If she took the tram she would be bound to meet people who had read the Signal, and who would say, with their stupid vacuity28: "Going to meet your sister at Knype?" And then tiresome29 conversations would follow. Whereas, in the train, she would choose a compartment30, and would be far less likely to encounter chatterers.
There was now not a minute to lose. And the excitement which had been growing in that house for days past, under a pretence31 of calm, leapt out swiftly into the light of the sun, and was unashamed. Amy had to help her mistress make herself as comely32 as she could be made without her best dress, mantle, and bonnet33. Amy was frankly34 consulted as to effects. The barrier of class was lowered for a space. Many years had elapsed since Constance had been conscious of a keen desire to look smart. She was reminded of the days when, in full fig12 for chapel, she would dash downstairs on a Sunday morning, and, assuming a pose for inspection at the threshold of the parlour, would demand of Samuel: "Shall I do?" Yes, she used to dash downstairs, like a child, and yet in those days she had thought herself so sedate35 and mature! She sighed, half with lancinating regret, and half in gentle disdain36 of that mercurial37 creature aged less than thirty. At fifty-one she regarded herself as old. And she was old. And Amy had the tricks and manners of an old spinster. Thus the excitement in the house was an 'old' excitement, and, like Constance's desire to look smart, it had its ridiculous side, which was also its tragic38 side, the side that would have made a boor39 guffaw40, and a hysterical41 fool cry, and a wise man meditate42 sadly upon the earth's fashion of renewing itself.
At half-past one Constance was dressed, with the exception of her gloves. She looked at the clock a second time to make sure that she might safely glance round the house without fear of missing the train. She went up into the bedroom on the second-floor, her and Sophia's old bedroom, which she had prepared with enormous care for Sophia. The airing of that room had been an enterprise of days, for, save by a minister during the sittings of the Wesleyan Methodist Conference at Bursley, it had never been occupied since the era when Maria Insull used occasionally to sleep in the house. Cyril clung to his old room on his visits. Constance had an ample supply of solid and stately furniture, and the chamber43 destined for Sophia was lightened in every corner by the reflections of polished mahogany. It was also fairly impregnated with the odour of furniture paste--an odour of which no housewife need be ashamed. Further, it had been re-papered in a delicate blue, with one of the new 'art' patterns. It was a 'Baines' room. And Constance did not care where Sophia came from, nor what Sophia had been accustomed to, nor into what limited company Sophia had been transformed--that room was adequate! It could not have been improved upon. You had only to look at the crocheted44 mats--even those on the washstand under the white-and-gold ewer45 and other utensils46. It was folly47 to expose such mats to the splashings of a washstand, but it was sublime48 folly. Sophia might remove them if she cared. Constance was house-proud; house-pride had slumbered49 within her; now it blazed forth.
A fire brightened the drawing-room, which was a truly magnificent apartment, a museum of valuables collected by the Baines and the Maddack families since the year 1840, tempered by the latest novelties in antimacassars and cloths. In all Bursley there could have been few drawing-rooms to compare with Constance's. Constance knew it. She was not afraid of her drawing-room being seen by anybody.
She passed for an instant into her own bedroom, where Amy was patiently picking balls of paper from the bed.
"Now you quite understand about tea?" Constance asked.
"Oh yes, 'm," said Amy, as if to say: "How much oftener are you going to ask me that question?" "Are you off now, 'm?"
"Yes," said Constance. "Come and fasten the front-door after me."
They descended together to the parlour. A white cloth for tea lay folded on the table. It was of the finest damask that skill could choose and money buy. It was fifteen years old, and had never been spread. Constance would not have produced it for the first meal, had she not possessed50 two other of equal eminence51. On the harmonium were ranged several jams and cakes, a Bursley pork-pie, and some pickled salmon52; with the necessary silver. All was there. Amy could not go wrong. And crocuses were in the vases on the mantelpiece. Her 'garden,' in the phrase which used to cause Samuel to think how extraordinarily53 feminine she was! It was a long time since she had had a 'garden' on the mantelpiece. Her interest in her chronic54 sciatica and in her palpitations had grown at the expense of her interest in gardens. Often, when she had finished the complicated processes by which her furniture and other goods were kept in order, she had strength only to 'rest.' She was rather a fragile, small, fat woman, soon out of breath, easily marred55. This business of preparing for the advent56 of Sophia had appeared to her genuinely colossal57. However, she had come through it very well. She was in pretty good health; only a little tired, and more than a little anxious and nervous, as she gave the last glance.
"Take away that apron, do!" she said to Amy, pointing to the rough apron in the corner of the sofa. "By the way, where is Spot?"
"Spot, m'm?" Amy ejaculated.
Both their hearts jumped. Amy instinctively58 looked out of the window. He was there, sure enough, in the gutter59, studying the indescribabilities of King Street. He had obviously escaped when Amy came in from buying the time-table. The woman's face was guilty.
"Amy, I wonder AT you!" exclaimed Constance, tragically60. She opened the door.
"Well, I never did see the like of that dog!" murmured Amy.
"Spot!" his mistress commanded. "Come here at once. Do you hear me?"
Spot turned sharply and gazed motionless at Constance. Then with a toss of the head he dashed off to the corner of the Square, and gazed motionless again. Amy went forth to catch him. After an age she brought him in, squealing61. He was in a state exceedingly offensive to the eye and to the nose. He had effectively got rid of the smell of soap, which he loathed62. Constance could have wept. It did really appear to her that nothing had gone right that day. And Spot had the most innocent, trustful air. Impossible to make him realize that his aunt Sophia was coming. He would have sold his entire family into servitude in order to buy ten yards of King Street gutter.
"You must wash him in the scullery, that's all there is for it," said Constance, controlling herself. "Put that apron on, and don't forget one of your new aprons63 when you open the door. Better shut him up in Mr. Cyril's bedroom when you've dried him."
And she went, charged with worries, clasping her bag and her umbrella and smoothing her gloves, and spying downwards64 at the folds of her mantle.
"That's a funny way to go to Bursley Station, that is," said Amy, observing that Constance was descending65 King Street instead of crossing it into Wedgwood Street. And she caught Spot 'a fair clout66 on the head,' to indicate to him that she had him alone in the house now.
Constance was taking a round-about route to the station, so that, if stopped by acquaintances, she should not be too obviously going to the station. Her feelings concerning the arrival of Sophia, and concerning the town's attitude towards it, were very complex.
She was forced to hurry. And she had risen that morning with plans perfectly67 contrived68 for the avoidance of hurry. She disliked hurry because it always 'put her about.'
1 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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2 rue | |
n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
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3 postponing | |
v.延期,推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
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4 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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5 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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6 exquisitely | |
adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
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7 loathsome | |
adj.讨厌的,令人厌恶的 | |
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8 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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9 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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10 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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11 pointedly | |
adv.尖地,明显地 | |
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12 fig | |
n.无花果(树) | |
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13 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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14 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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15 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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16 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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17 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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18 crumpled | |
adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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19 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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20 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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21 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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22 obstinately | |
ad.固执地,顽固地 | |
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23 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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24 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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25 intimidating | |
vt.恐吓,威胁( intimidate的现在分词) | |
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26 exterior | |
adj.外部的,外在的;表面的 | |
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27 strewed | |
v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 );散落于;点缀;撒满 | |
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28 vacuity | |
n.(想象力等)贫乏,无聊,空白 | |
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29 tiresome | |
adj.令人疲劳的,令人厌倦的 | |
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30 compartment | |
n.卧车包房,隔间;分隔的空间 | |
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31 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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32 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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33 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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34 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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35 sedate | |
adj.沉着的,镇静的,安静的 | |
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36 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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37 mercurial | |
adj.善变的,活泼的 | |
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38 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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39 boor | |
n.举止粗野的人;乡下佬 | |
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40 guffaw | |
n.哄笑;突然的大笑 | |
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41 hysterical | |
adj.情绪异常激动的,歇斯底里般的 | |
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42 meditate | |
v.想,考虑,(尤指宗教上的)沉思,冥想 | |
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43 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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44 crocheted | |
v.用钩针编织( crochet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45 ewer | |
n.大口水罐 | |
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46 utensils | |
器具,用具,器皿( utensil的名词复数 ); 器物 | |
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47 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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48 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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49 slumbered | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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50 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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51 eminence | |
n.卓越,显赫;高地,高处;名家 | |
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52 salmon | |
n.鲑,大马哈鱼,橙红色的 | |
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53 extraordinarily | |
adv.格外地;极端地 | |
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54 chronic | |
adj.(疾病)长期未愈的,慢性的;极坏的 | |
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55 marred | |
adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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56 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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57 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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58 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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59 gutter | |
n.沟,街沟,水槽,檐槽,贫民窟 | |
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60 tragically | |
adv. 悲剧地,悲惨地 | |
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61 squealing | |
v.长声尖叫,用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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62 loathed | |
v.憎恨,厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 );极不喜欢 | |
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63 aprons | |
围裙( apron的名词复数 ); 停机坪,台口(舞台幕前的部份) | |
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64 downwards | |
adj./adv.向下的(地),下行的(地) | |
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65 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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66 clout | |
n.用手猛击;权力,影响力 | |
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67 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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68 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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