老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
IV
The next evening Cyril sat at the tea-table in the parlour withhis mother and his aunt. To Constance his presence there hadsomething of the miraculous in it. He had come, after all! Sophiawas in a rich robe, and for ornament wore an old silver-gilt neck-chain, which was clasped at the throat, and fell in double to herwaist, where it was caught in her belt. This chain interestedCyril. He referred to it once or twice, and then he said: "Justlet me have a LOOK at that chain," and put out his hand; andSophia leaned forward so that he could handle it. His fingersplayed with it thus for some seconds; the picture strikinglyaffected Constance. At length he dropped it, and said: "H'm!"After a pause he said: "Louis Sixteenth, eh?" and Sophia said:
"They told me so. But it's nothing; it only cost thirty francs,you know." And Cyril took her up sharply:
"What does that matter?" Then after another pause he asked: "Howoften do you break a link of it?"
"Oh, often," she said. "It's always getting shorter."
And he murmured mysteriously: "H'm!"
He was still mysterious, withdrawn within himself extraordinarilyuninterested in his physical surroundings. But that evening hetalked more than he usually did. He was benevolent, and showed aparticular benevolence towards his mother, apparently exertinghimself to answer her questions with fullness and heartiness, asthough admitting frankly her right to be curious. He praised thetea; he seemed to notice what he was eating. He took Spot on hisknee, and gazed in admiration at Fossette.
"By Jove!" he said, "that's a dog, that is! ... All the same. ..." And he burst out laughing.
"I won't have Fossette laughed at," Sophia warned him.
"No, seriously," he said, in his quality of an amateur of dogs;"she is very fine." Even then he could not help adding: "What youcan see of her!"
Whereupon Sophia shook her head, deprecating such wit. Sophia wasvery lenient towards him. Her leniency could be perceived in hereyes, which followed his movements all the time. "Do you think heis like me, Constance?" she asked.
"I wish I was half as good-looking," said Cyril, quickly; andConstance said:
"As a baby he was very like you. He was a handsome baby. He wasn'tat all like you when he was at school. These last few years he'sbegun to be like you again. He's very much changed since he leftschool; he was rather heavy and clumsy then."
"Heavy and clumsy!" exclaimed Sophia. "Well, I should never havebelieved it!"
"Oh, but he was!" Constance insisted.
"Now, mater," said Cyril, "it's a pity you don't want that cakecutting into. I think I could have eaten a bit of that cake. Butof course if it's only for show ...!"
Constance sprang up, seizing a knife.
"You shouldn't tease your mother," Sophia told him. "He doesn'treally want any, Constance; he's regularly stuffed himself."
And Cyril agreed, "No, no, mater, don't cut it; I really couldn't.I was only gassing."
But Constance could never clearly see through humour of that sort.She cut three slices of cake, and she held the plate towardsCyril.
"I tell you I really couldn't!" he protested.
"Come!" she said obstinately. "I'm waiting! How much longer must Ihold this plate?"
And he had to take a slice. So had Sophia. When she was roused,they both of them had to yield to Constance.
With the dogs, and the splendour of the tea-table under the gas,and the distinction of Sophia and Cyril, and the conversation,which on the whole was gay and free, rising at times to jollygarrulity, the scene in her parlour ought surely to have satisfiedConstance utterly. She ought to have been quite happy, as hersciatica had raised the siege for a space. But she was not quitehappy. The circumstances of Cyril's arrival had disturbed her;they had in fact wounded her, though she would scarcely admit thewound. In the morning she had received a brief letter from Cyrilto say that he had not been able to come, and vaguely promising,or half-promising, to run down at a later date. That letter hadthe cardinal defects of all Cyril's relations with his mother; itwas casual, and it was not candid. It gave no hint of the natureof the obstacle which had prevented him from coming. Cyril hadalways been too secretive. She was gravely depressed by theletter, which she did not show to Sophia, because it impaired herdignity as a mother, and displayed her son in a bad light. Thenabout eleven o'clock a telegram had come for Sophia.
"That's all right," Sophia had said, on reading it. "He'll be herethis evening!" And she had handed over the telegram, which read--
"Very well. Will come same train to-day."
And Constance learned that when Sophia had rushed out just beforetea on the previous evening, it was to telegraph to Cyril.
"What did you say to him?" Constance asked.
last few years he'sbegun to.
"Oh!" said Sophia, with a careless air, "I told him I thought heought to come. After all, you're more important than any business,Constance! And I don't like him behaving like that. I wasdetermined he should come!"
Sophia had tossed her proud head.
Constance had pretended to be pleased and grateful. But theexistence of a wound was incontestable. Sophia, then, could domore with Cyril than she could! Sophia had only met him once, andcould simply twist him round her little finger. He would neverhave done so much for his mother. A fine sort of an obstacle itmust have been, if a single telegram from Sophia could overcome it...! And Sophia, too, was secretive. She had gone out and hadtelegraphed, and had not breathed a word until she got the reply,sixteen hours later. She was secretive, and Cyril was secretive.They resembled one another. They had taken to one another. ButSophia was a curious mixture. When Constance had asked her if sheshould go to the station again to meet Cyril, she had repliedscornfully: "No, indeed! I've done going to meet Cyril. People whodon't arrive must not expect to be met."
When Cyril drove up to the door, Sophia had been in attendance.She hurried down the steps. "Don't say anything about mytelegram," she had rapidly whispered to Cyril; there was no timefor further explanation. Constance was at the top of the steps.Constance had not heard the whisper, but she had seen it; and shesaw a guilty, puzzled look on Cyril's face, afterwards anineffectively concealed conspiratorial look on both their faces.They had 'something between them,' from which she, the mother, wasshut out! Was it not natural that she should be wounded? She wasfar too proud to mention the telegrams. And as neither Cyril norSophia mentioned them, the circumstances leading to Cyril's changeof plan were not referred to at all, which was very curious. ThenCyril was more sociable than he had ever been; he was different,under his aunt's gaze. Certainly he treated his motherfaultlessly. But Constance said to herself: "It is because she ishere that he is so specially nice to me."
When tea was finished and they were going upstairs to the drawing-room, she asked him, with her eye on the 'Stag at Eve' engraving:
"Well, is it a success?"
"What?" His eye followed hers. "Oh, you've changed it! What didyou do that for, mater?"
"You said it would be better like that," she reminded him.
"Did I?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "I don't remember. Ibelieve it is better, though," he added. "It might be even betterstill if you turned it the other way up."
He pulled a face to Sophia, and screwed up his shoulders, as if toindicate: "I've done it, this time!"
"How? The other way up?" Constance queried. Then as shecomprehended that he was teasing her, she said: "Get away withyou!" and pretended to box his ears. "You were fond enough of thatpicture at one time!" she said ironically.
"Yes, I was, mater," he submissively agreed. "There's no gettingover that." And he pressed her cheeks between his hands and kissedher.
In the drawing-room he smoked cigarettes and played the piano--waltzes of his own composition. Constance and Sophia did notentirely comprehend those waltzes. But they agreed that all werewonderful and that one was very pretty indeed. (It soothedConstance that Sophia's opinion coincided with hers.) He said thatthat waltz was the worst of the lot. When he had finished with thepiano, Constance informed him about Amy. "Oh! She told me," hesaid, "when she brought me my water. I didn't mention it because Ithought it would be rather a sore subject." Beneath the casualnessof his tone there lurked a certain curiosity, a willingness tohear details. He heard them.
At five minutes to ten, when Constance had yawned, he threw a bombamong them on the hearthrug.
"Well," he said, "I've got an appointment with Matthew at theConservative Club at ten o'clock. I must go. Don't wait up forme."
Both women protested, Sophia the more vivaciously. It was Sophianow who was wounded.
"It's business," he said, defending himself. "He's going awayearly to-morrow, and it's my only chance." And as Constance didnot brighten he went on: "Business has to be attended to. Youmustn't think I've got nothing to do but enjoy myself."
No hint of the nature of the business! He never explained. As tobusiness, Constance knew only that she allowed him three hundred ayear, and paid his local tailor. The sum had at first seemed toher enormous, but she had grown accustomed to it.
"I should have preferred you to see Mr. Peel-Swynnerton here,"said Constance. "You could have had a room to yourselves. I do notlike you going out at ten o'clock at night to a club."
"Well, good night, mater," he said, getting up. "See you to-morrow. I shall take the key out of the door. It's true my pocketwill never be the same again."
Sophia saw Constance into bed, and provided her with two hot-waterbottles against sciatica. They did not talk much.