the patrician-第4部分

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Very　graceful　head　with　its　dark　hair　waved　back　from　the　middle　over
either　templevery　charming　figure；　no　lumber　of　any　sort！　　Bouquet
about　her！　　Some　story　or　other；　no　doubtno　affair　of　his！　　Always
sorry　for　that　sort　of　woman！

A　regiment　of　Territorials　returning　from　a　march　stayed　the　progress
of　his　car。　　He　leaned　forward　watching　them　with　much　the　same
contained；　shrewd；　critical　look　he　would　have　bent　on　a　pack　of
hounds。　　All　the　mistiness　and　speculation　in　his　mind　was　gone　now。
Good　stamp　of　man；　would　give　a　capital　account　of　themselves！　　Their
faces；　flushed　by　a　day　in　the　open；　were　masked　with　passivity；　or；
with　a　half…aggressive；　half…jocular　self…consciousness；　they　were
clearly　not　troubled　by　abstract　doubts；　or　any　visions　of　the
horrors　of　war。

Someone　raised　a　cheer　'for　the　Terriers！'　Lord　Valleys　saw　round　him
a　little　sea　of　hats；　rising　and　falling；　and　heard　a　sound；　rather
shrill　and　tentative；　swell　into　hoarse；　high　clamour；　and　suddenly
die　out。　　〃Seem　keen　enough！〃　he　thought。　　〃Very　little　does　it！
Plenty　of　fighting　spirit　in　the　country。〃　　　And　again　a　thrill　of
pleasure　shot　through　him。

Then；　as　the　last　soldier　passed；　his　car　slowly　forged　its　way
through　the　straggling　crowd；　pressing　on　behind　the　regimentmen　of
all　ages；　youths；　a　few　women；　young　girls；　who　turned　their　eyes　on
him　with　a　negligent　stare　as　if　their　lives　were　too　remote　to
permit　them　to　take　interest　in　this　passing　man　at　ease。




CHAPTER　IV

At　Monkland；　that　same　hour；　in　the　little　whitewashed　'withdrawing…
room'　of　a　thatched；　whitewashed　cottage；　two　men　sat　talking；　one　on
either　side　of　the　hearth；　and　in　a　low　chair　between　them　a　dark…
eyed　woman　leaned　back；　watching；　the　tips　of　her　delicate　thin
fingers　pressed　together；　or　held　out　transparent　towards　the　fire。
A　log；　dropping　now　and　then；　turned　up　its　glowing　underside；　and
the　firelight　and　the　lamplight　seemed　so　to　have　soaked　into　the
white　walls　that　a　wan　warmth　exuded。　　Silvery　dun　moths；　fluttering
in　from　the　dark　garden；　kept　vibrating；　like　spun　shillings；　over　a
jade…green　bowl　of　crimson　roses；　and　there　was　a　scent；　as　ever　in
that　old　thatched　cottage；　of　woodsmoke；　flowers；　and　sweetbriar。

The　man　on　the　left　was　perhaps　forty；　rather　above　middle　height；
vigorous；　active；　straight；　with　blue　eyes　and　a　sanguine　face　that
glowed　on　small　provocation。　　His　hair　was　very　bright；　almost　red；
and　his　fiery　moustaches　which　descended　to　the　level　of　his　chin；
like　Don　Quixote's　seemed　bristling　and　charging。

The　man　on　the　right　was　nearer　thirty；　evidently　tall；　wiry；　and
very　thin。　　He　sat　rather　crumpled；　in　his　low　armchair；　with　hands
clasped　round　a　knee；　and　a　little　crucified　smile　haunted　the　lips
of　his　lean　face；　which；　with　its　parchmenty；　tanned；　shaven　cheeks；
and　deep…set；　very　living　eyes；　had　a　certain　beauty。

These　two　men；　so　extravagantly　unlike；　looked　at　each　other　like
neighbouring　dogs；　who；　having　long　decided　that　they　are　better
apart；　suddenly　find　that　they　have　met　at　some　spot　where　they
cannot　possibly　have　a　fight。　　And　the　woman　watched；　the　owner；　as
it　were；　of　one；　but　who；　from　sheer　love　of　dogs；　had　always　stroked
and　patted　the　other。

〃So；　Mr。　Courtier；〃　said　the　younger　man；　whose　dry；　ironic　voice；
like　his　smile；　seemed　defending　the　fervid　spirit　in　his　eyes；　〃all
you　say　only　amounts；　you　see；　to　a　defence　of　the　so…called　Liberal
spirit；　and；　forgive　my　candour；　that　spirit；　being　an　importation
from　the　realms　of　philosophy　and　art；　withers　the　moment　it　touches
practical　affairs。

The　man　with　the　red　moustaches　laughed；　the　sound　was　queerat　once
so　genial　and　so　sardonic。

〃Well　put！〃　he　said：　〃And　far　be　it　from　me　to　gainsay。　　But　since
compromise　is　the　very　essence　of　politics；　high…priests　of　caste　and
authority；　like　you；　Lord　Miltoun；　are　every　bit　as　much　out　of　it　as
any　Liberal　professor。〃

〃I　don't　agree！〃

〃Agree　or　not；　your　position　towards　public　affairs　is　very　like　the
Church's　attitude　towards　marriage　and　divorce；　as　remote　from　the
realities　of　life　as　the　attitude　of　the　believer　in　Free　Love；　and
not　more　likely　to　catch　on。　　The　death　of　your　point　of　view　lies　in
itselfit's　too　dried…up　and　far　from　things　ever　to　understand
them。　　If　you　don't　understand　you　can　never　rule。　　You　might　just　as
well　keep　your　hands　in　your　pockets；　as　go　into　politics　with　your
notions！〃

〃I　fear　we　must　continue　to　agree　to　differ。〃

〃Well；　perhaps　I　do　pay　you　too　high　a　compliment。　　After　all；　you
are　a　patrician。〃

〃You　speak　in　riddles；　Mr。　Courtier。〃

The　dark…eyed　woman　stirred；　her　hands　gave　a　sort　of　flutter；　as
though　in　deprecation　of　acerbity。

Rising　at　once；　and　speaking　in　a　deferential　voice；　the　elder　man
said

〃We're　tiring　Mrs。　Noel。　　Good…night；　Audrey；　It's　high　time　I　was
off。〃　　　Against　the　darkness　of　the　open　French　window；　he　turned
round　to　fire　a　parting　shot。

〃What　I　meant；　Lord　Miltoun；　was　that　your　class　is　the　driest　and
most　practical　in　the　Stateit's　odd　if　it　doesn't　save　you　from　a
poet's　dreams。　　Good…night！〃　　He　passed　out　on　to　the　lawn；　and
vanished。

The　young　man　sat　unmoving；　the　glow　of　the　fire　had　caught　his　face；
so　that　a　spirit　seemed　clinging　round　his　lips；　gleaming　out　of　his
eyes。　　Suddenly　he　said：

〃Do　you　believe　that；　Mrs。　Noel？〃

For　answer　Audrey　Noel　smiled；　then　rose　and　went　over　to　the　window。

〃Look　at　my　dear　toad！　　It　comes　here　every　evening！〃
On　a　flagstone　of　the　verandah；　in　the　centre　of　the　stream　of
lamplight；　sat　a　little　golden　toad。　　As　Miltoun　came　to　look；　it
waddled　to　one　side；　and　vanished。

〃How　peaceful　your　garden　is！〃　he　said；　then　taking　her　hand；　he　very
gently　raised　it　to　his　lips；　and　followed　his　opponent　out　into　the
darkness。

Truly　peace　brooded　over　that　garden。　　The　Night　seemed　listening
all　lights　out；　all　hearts　at　rest。　　It　watched；　with　a　little　white
star　for　every　tree；　and　roof；　and　slumbering　tired　flower；　as　a
mother　watches　her　sleeping　child；　leaning　above　him　and　counting
with　her　love　every　hair　of　his　head；　and　all　his　tiny　tremors。

Argument　seemed　child's　babble　indeed　under　the　smile　of　Night。　　And
the　face　of　the　woman；　left　alone　at　her　window；　was　a　little　like
the　face　of　this　warm；　sweet　night。　　It　was　sensitive；　harmonious；
and　its　harmony　was　not；　as　in　some　faces；　coldbut　seemed　to
tremble　and　glow　and　flutter；　as　though　it　were　a　spirit　which　had
found　its　place　of　resting。

In　her　garden；all　velvety　grey；　with　black　shadows　beneath　the　yew…
trees；　the　white　flowers　alone　seemed　to　be　awake；　and　to　look　at　her
wistfully。　　The　trees　stood　dark　and　still。　　Not　even　the　night　birds
stirred。　　Alone；　the　little　stream　down　in　the　bottom　raised　its
voice；　privileged　when　day　voices　were　hushed。

It　was　not　in　Audrey　Noel　to　deny　herself　to　any　spirit　that　was
abroad；　to　repel　was　an　art　she　did　not　practise。　　But　this　night；
though　the　Spirit　of　Peace　hovered　so　near；　she　did　not　seem　to　know
it。　　Her　hands　trembled；　her　cheeks　were　burning；　her　breast　heaved；
and　sighs　fluttered　from　her　lips；　just　parted。




CHAPTER　V

Eustace　Cardoc；　Viscount　Miltoun；　had　lived　a　very　lonely　life；　since
he　first　began　to　understand　the　peculiarities　of　existence。　　With
the　exception　of　Clifton；　his　grandmother's　'majordomo；'　he　made；　as
a　small　child；　no　intimate　friend。　　His　nurses；　governesses；　tutors；
by　their　own　confession　did　not　understand　him；　finding　that　he　took
himself　with　unnecessary　seriousness；　a　little　afraid；　too；　of　one
whom　they　discovered　to　be　capable　of　pushing　things　to　the　point　of
enduring　pain　in　silence。　　Much　of　that　early　time　was　passed　at
Ravensham；　for　he　had　always　been　Lady　Casterley's　favourite
grandchild。　　She　recognized　in　him　the　purposeful　austerity　which　had
somehow　been　omitted　from　the　composition　of　her　daughter。　　But　only
to　Clifton；　then　a　man　of　fifty　with　a　great　gravity　and　long　black
whiskers；　did　Eustace　relieve　his　soul。　　〃I　tell　you　this；　Clifton；〃
he　would　say；　sitting　on　the　sideboard；　or　the　arm　of　the　big　chair
in　Clifton's　room；　or　wandering　amongst　the　raspberries；　〃because　you
are　my　friend。〃

And　Clifton；　with　his　head　a　little　on　one　side；　and　a　sort　of　wise
concern　at　his　'friend's'　confidences；　which　were　sometimes　of　an
embarrassing　description；　would　answer　now　and　then：　〃Of　course；　my
lord；〃　but　more　often：　〃Of　course；　my　dear。〃

There　was　in　this　friendship　something　fine　and　suitable；　neither　of
these　'friends'　taking　or　suffering　liberties；　and　both　being
interested　in　pigeons；　which　they　would　stand　watching　with　a
remarkable　attention。

In　course　of　time；　following　the　tradition　of　his　family；　Eustace
went　to　Harrow。　　He　was　there　five　yearsalways　one　of　those　boys　a
little　out　at　wrists　and　ankles；　who　may　be　seen　slouching；　solitary；
along　the　pavement　to　their　own　haunts；　rather　dusty；　and　with　one
shoulder　slightly　raised　above　the　other；　from　the　habit　of　carrying
something　beneath　one　arm。　　Saved　from　being　thought　a　'smug；'　by　his
title；　his　lack　of　any　conspicuous　scholastic　ability；　his　obvious
independence　of　what　was　thought　of　him；　and　a　sarcastic　tongue；
which　no　one　was　eager　to　encounter；　he　remained　the　ugly　duckling
who　refused　to　paddle　properly　in　the　green　ponds　of　Public　School
tradition。　　He　played　games　so　badly　that　in　sheer　self…defence　his
fellows　permitted　him　to　play　without　them。　　Of　'fives'　they　made　an
exception；　for　in　this　he　attained　much　proficiency；　owing　to　a
certain　windmill…like　quality　of　limb。　　He　was　noted　too　for　daring
chemical　experiments；　of　which　he　usually　had　one　or　two　brewing；
surreptitiously　at　first；　and　afterwards　by　special　permission　of　his
house…master；　on　the　principle　that　if　a　room　must　smell；　it　had
better　smell　openly。　　He　made　few　friendships；　but　these　were
lasting。

His　Latin　was　so　poor；　and　his　Greek　verse　so　vile；　that　all　had　been
surprised　when　towards　the　finish　of　his　career　he　showed　a　very
considerable　power　of　writing　and　speaking　his　own　language。　　He　left
school　without　a　pang。　　But　when　in　the　train　he　saw　the　old　Hill　and