the patrician-第42部分

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Her；　apparently　cast…down；　eyes　stored　up　a　wealth　of　little　details；
the　way　his　hair　grew；　the　set　of　his　back；　the　colour　of　his　braces。
But　suddenly　she　said　in　a　surprising　voice：

〃You　haven't　a　photograph　you　could　spare；　sir；　to　leave　behind？　　Mr。
Benton　was　only　saying　to　me　yesterday；　we've　nothing　to　remember　him
by；　in　case　he　shouldn't　come　back。〃

〃Here's　an　old　one。〃

Mrs。　Benton　took　the　photograph。

〃Oh！〃　she　said；　〃you　can　see　who　it　is。〃　　And　holding　it　perhaps　too
tightly；　for　her　fingers　trembled；　she　added：

〃A　note；　please；　sir；　and　the　messenger　boy　is　waiting　foran
answer。〃

While　he　read　the　note　she　noticed　with　concern　how　packing　had
brought　the　blood　into　his　head。。。。

When；　in　response　to　that　note；　Courtier　entered　the　well…known
confectioner's　called　Gustard's；　it　was　still　not　quite　tea…time；　and
there　seemed　to　him　at　first　no　one　in　the　room　save　three　middle…
aged　women　packing　sweets；　then　in　the　corner　he　saw　Barbara。　　The
blood　was　no　longer　in　his　head；　he　was　pale；　walking　down　that
mahogany…coloured　room　impregnated　with　the　scent　of　wedding…cake。
Barbara；　too；　was　pale。

So　close　to　her　that　he　could　count　her　every　eyelash；　and　inhale　the
scent　of　her　hair　and　clothes　to　listen　to　her　story　of　Miltoun；　so
hesitatingly；　so　wistfully　told；　seemed　very　like　being　kept　waiting
with　the　rope　already　round　his　neck；　to　hear　about　another　person's
toothache。　　He　felt　this　to　have　been　unnecessary　on　the　part　of
Fate！　　And　there　came　to　him　perversely　the　memory　of　that　ride　over
the　sun…warmed　heather；　when　he　had　paraphrased　the　old　Sicilian
song：　'Here　will　I　sit　and　sing。'　　He　was　a　long　way　from　singing
now；　nor　was　there　love　in　his　arms。　　There　was　instead　a　cup　of　tea；
and　in　his　nostrils　the　scent　of　cake；　with　now　and　then　a　whiff　of
orange…flower　water。

〃I　see；〃　he　said；　when　she　had　finished　telling　him：　〃'Liberty's　a
glorious　feast！'　You　want　me　to　go　to　your　brother；　and　quote　Bums？
You　know；　of　course；　that　he　regards　me　as　dangerous。〃

〃Yes；　but　he　respects　and　likes　you。〃

〃And　I　respect　and　like　him；〃　answered　Courtier。

One　of　the　middle…aged　females　passed；　carrying　a　large　white　card…
board　box；　and　the　creaking　of　her　stays　broke　the　hush。

〃You　have　been　very　sweet　to　me；〃　said　Barbara；　suddenly。

Courtier's　heart　stirred；　as　if　it　were　turning　over　within　him；　and
gazing　into　his　teacup；　he　answered

〃All　men　are　decent　to　the　evening　star。　　I　will　go　at　once　and　find
your　brother。　　When　shall　I　bring　you　news？〃

〃To…morrow　at　five　I'll　be　at　home。〃

And　repeating；　〃To…morrow　at　five；〃　he　rose。


Looking　back　from　the　door；　he　saw　her　face　puzzled；　rather
reproachful；　and　went　out　gloomily。　　The　scent　of　cake；　and　orange…
flower　water；　the　creaking　of　the　female's　stays；　the　colour　of
mahogany；　still　clung　to　his　nose　and　ears；　and　eyes；　but　within　him
it　was　all　dull　baffled　rage。　　Why　had　he　not　made　the　most　of　this
unexpected　chance；　why　had　he　not　made　desperate　love　to　her？　　A
conscientious　ass！　　And　yetthe　whole　thing　was　absurd！　　She　was　so
young！　　God　knew　he　would　be　glad　to　be　out　of　it。　　If　he　stayed　he
was　afraid　that　he　would　play　the　fool。　　But　the　memory　of　her　words：
〃You　have　been　very　sweet　to　me！〃　　would　not　leave　him；　nor　the
memory　of　her　face；　so　puzzled；　and　reproachful。　　Yes；　if　he　stayed
he　would　play　the　fool！　　He　would　be　asking　her　to　marry　a　man　double
her　age；　of　no　position　but　that　which　he　had　carved　for　himself；　and
without　a　rap。　　And　he　would　be　asking　her　in　such　a　way　that　she
might　possibly　have　some　little　difficulty　in　refusing。　　He　would　be
letting　himself　go。　　And　she　was　only　twentyfor　all　her　woman…of…
the…world　air；　a　child！　　No！　　He　would　be　useful　to　her；　if　possible；
this　once；　and　then　clear　out！




CHAPTER　XXI

When　Miltoun　left　Valleys　House　he　walked　in　the　direction　of
Westminster。　　During　the　five　days　that　he　had　been　back　in　London　he
had　not　yet　entered　the　House　of　Commons。　　After　the　seclusion　of　his
illness；　he　still　felt　a　yearning；　almost　painful；　towards　the
movement　and　stir　of　the　town。　　Everything　he　heard　and　saw　made　an
intensely　vivid　impression。　　The　lions　in　Trafalgar　Square；　the　great
buildings　of　Whitehall；　filled　him　with　a　sort　of　exultation。　　He　was
like　a　man；　who；　after　a　long　sea　voyage；　first　catches　sight　of
land；　and　stands　straining　his　eyes；　hardly　breathing；　taking　in　one
by　one　the　lost　features　of　that　face。　　He　walked　on　to　Westminster
Bridge；　and　going　to　an　embrasure　in　the　very　centre；　looked　back
towards　the　towers。

It　was　said　that　the　love　of　those　towers　passed　into　the　blood。　　It
was　said　that　he　who　had　sat　beneath　them　could　never　again　be　quite
the　same。　　Miltoun　knew　that　it　was　truedesperately　true；　of
himself。　　In　person　he　had　sat　there　but　three　weeks；　but　in　soul　he
seemed　to　have　been　sitting　there　hundreds　of　years。　　And　now　he
would　sit　there　no　more！　　An　almost　frantic　desire　to　free　himself
from　this　coil　rose　up　within　him。　　To　be　held　a　prisoner　by　that
most　secret　of　all　his　instincts；　the　instinct　for　authority！　　To　be
unable　to　wield　authority　because　to　wield　authority　was　to　insult
authority。　　God！　　It　was　hard！　　He　turned　his　back　on　the　towers；　and
sought　distraction　in　the　faces　of　the　passers…by。

Each　of　these；　he　knew；　had　his　struggle　to　keep　self…respect！　　Or
was　it　that　they　were　unconscious　of　struggle　or　of　self…respect；　and
just　let　things　drift？　　They　looked　like　that；　most　of　them！　　And　all
his　inherent　contempt　for　the　average　or　common　welled　up　as　he
watched　them。　　Yes；　they　looked　like　that！　　Ironically；　the　sight　of
those　from　whom　he　had　desired　the　comfort　of　compromise；　served
instead　to　stimulate　that　part　of　him　which　refused　to　let　him
compromise。　　They　looked　soft；　soggy；　without　pride　or　will；　as
though　they　knew　that　life　was　too　much　for　them；　and　had　shamefully
accepted　the　fact。　　They　so　obviously　needed　to　be　told　what　they
might　do；　and　which　way　they　should；　go；　they　would　accept　orders　as
they　accepted　their　work；　or　pleasures：　And　the　thought　that　he　was
now　debarred　from　the　right　to　give　them　orders；　rankled　in　him
furiously。　　They；　in　their　turn；　glanced　casually　at　his　tall　figure
leaning　against　the　parapet；　not　knowing　how　their　fate　was　trembling
in　the　balance。　　His　thin；　sallow　face；　and　hungry　eyes　gave　one　or
two　of　them　perhaps　a　feeling　of　interest　or　discomfort；　but　to　most
he　was　assuredly　no　more　than　any　other　man　or　woman　in　the　hurly…
burly。　　That　dark　figure　of　conscious　power　struggling　in　the　fetters
of　its　own　belief　in　power；　was　a　piece　of　sculpture　they　had　neither
time　nor　wish　to　understand；　having　no　taste　for　tragedyfor
witnessing　the　human　spirit　driven　to　the　wall。

It　was　five　o'clock　before　Miltoun　left　the　Bridge；　and　passed；　like
an　exile；　before　the　gates　of　Church　and　State；　on　his　way　to　his
uncle's　Club。　　He　stopped　to　telegraph　to　Audrey　the　time　he　would　be
coming　to…morrow　afternoon；　and　on　leaving　the　Post…Office；　noticed
in　the　window　of　the　adjoining　shop　some　reproductions　of　old　Italian
masterpieces；　amongst　them　one　of　Botticelli's　'Birth　of　Venus。'　　He
had　never　seen　that　picture；　and；　remembering　that　she　had　told　him
it　was　her　favourite；　he　stopped　to　look　at　it。　　Averagely　well
versed　in　such　matters；　as　became　one　of　his　caste；　Miltoun　had　not
the　power　of　letting　a　work　of　art　insidiously　steal　the　private　self
from　his　soul；　and　replace　it　with　the　self　of　all　the　world；　and　he
examined　this　far…famed　presentment　of　the　heathen　goddess　with
aloofness；　even　irritation。　　The　drawing　of　the　body　seemed　to　him
crude；　the　whole　picture　a　little　flat　and　Early；　he　did　not　like　the
figure　of　the　Flora。　　The　golden　serenity；　and　tenderness；　of　which
she　had　spoken；　left　him　cold。　　Then　he　found　himself　looking　at　the
face；　and　slowly；　but　with　uncanny　certainty；　began　to　feel　that　he
was　looking　at　the　face　of　Audrey　herself。　　The　hair　was　golden　and
different；　the　eyes　grey　and　different；　the　mouth　a　little　fuller；
yetit　was　her　face；　the　same　oval　shape；　the　same　far…apart；　arched
brows；　the　same　strangely　tender；　elusive　spirit。　　And；　as　though
offended；　he　turned　and　walked　on。　　In　the　window　of　that　little　shop
was　the　effigy　of　her　for　whom　he　had　bartered　away　his　lifethe
incarnation　of　passive　and　entwining　love；　that　gentle　creature；　who
had　given　herself　to　him　so　utterly；　for　whom　love；　and　the　flowers；
and　trees；　and　birds；　music；　the　sky；　and　the　quick…flowing　streams；
were　all…sufficing；　and　who；　like　the　goddess　in　the　picture；　seemed
wondering　at　her　own　existence。　　He　had　a　sudden　glimpse　of
understanding；　strange　indeed　in　one　who　had　so　little　power　of
seeing　into　others'　hearts：　Ought　she　ever　to　have　been　born　into　a
world　like　this？　　But　the　flash　of　insight　yielded　quickly　to　that
sickening　consciousness　of　his　own　position；　which　never　left　him
now。　　Whatever　else　he　did；　he　must　get　rid　of　that　malaise！　　But
what　could　he　do　in　that　coming　life？　　Write　books？　　What　sort　of
books　could　he　write？　　Only　such　as　expressed　his　views　of
citizenship；　his　political　and　social　beliefs。　　As　well　remain
sitting　and　speaking　beneath　those　towers！　　He　could　never　join　the
happy　band　of　artists；　those　soft　and　indeterminate　spirits；　for　whom
barriers　had　no　meaning；　content…to　understand；　interpret；　and
create。　　What　should　he　be　doing　in　that　galley？　　The　thought　was
inconceivable。　　A　career　at　the　Baryes；　he　might　take　that　up；　but
to　what　end？　　To　become　a　judge！　　As　well　continue　to　sit　beneath
those　towers！　　Too　late　for　diplomacy。　　Too　late　for　the　Army；
besides；　he　had　not　the　faintest　taste　for　military　glory。　　Bury
himself　in　the　country　like　Uncle　Dennis；　and　administer　one　of　his
father's　estates？　　It　would　be　death。　　Go　amongst　the　poor？　　For　a
moment　he　thought　he　had　found　a　new　vocation。　　But　in　what　capacity
to　order　their　lives；　when　he　himself　could　not　order　his　own；　or；
as　a　mere　conduit　pipe　for　money；　when　he　believed　that　charity　was
rotting　the　nation　to　its　core？　　At　the　head　of　every　avenue　stood　an
angel　or　devil　with　drawn　sword。　　And　then　there　came　to　hi