the unbearable bassington-第16章

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charwomen's　troubles　with　increased　cheerfulness。　　None　of　them；　at　

any　rate；　had　spent　an　afternoon　with　Lady　Caroline。



Francesca　cut　in　at　another　table　and　with　better　fortune　attending　

on　her；　succeeded　in　winning　back　most　of　her　losses。　　A　sense　of　

satisfaction　was　distinctly　dominant　as　she　took　leave　of　her　

hostess。　　St。　Michael's　gossip；　or　rather　the　manner　in　which　it　

had　been　received；　had　given　her　a　clue　to　the　real　state　of　

affairs；　which；　however　slender　and　conjectural；　at　least　pointed　

in　the　desired　direction。　　At　first　she　had　been　horribly　afraid　

lest　she　should　be　listening　to　a　definite　announcement　which　would　

have　been　the　death…blow　to　her　hopes；　but　as　the　recitation　went　

on　without　any　of　those　assured　little　minor　details　which　St。　

Michael　so　loved　to　supply；　she　had　come　to　the　conclusion　that　it　

was　merely　a　piece　of　intelligent　guesswork。　　And　if　Lady　Caroline　

had　really　believed　in　the　story　of　Elaine　de　Frey's　virtual　

engagement　to　Courtenay　Youghal　she　would　have　taken　a　malicious　

pleasure　in　encouraging　St。　Michael　in　his　confidences；　and　in　

watching　Francesca's　discomfiture　under　the　recital。　　The　irritated　

manner　in　which　she　had　cut　short　the　discussion　betrayed　the　fact；　

that；　as　far　as　the　old　woman's　information　went；　it　was　Comus　and　

not　Courtenay　Youghal　who　held　the　field。　　And　in　this　particular　

case　Lady　Caroline's　information　was　likely　to　be　nearer　the　truth　

than　St。　Michael's　confident　gossip。



Francesca　always　gave　a　penny　to　the　first　crossing…sweeper　or　

match…seller　she　chanced　across　after　a　successful　sitting　at　

bridge。　　This　afternoon　she　had　come　out　of　the　fray　some　fifteen　

shillings　to　the　bad；　but　she　gave　two　pennies　to　a　crossing…

sweeper　at　the　north…west　corner　of　Berkeley　Square　as　a　sort　of　

thank…offering　to　the　Gods。







CHAPTER　VIII







IT　was　a　fresh　rain…repentant　afternoon；　following　a　morning　that　

had　been　sultry　and　torrentially　wet　by　turns；　the　sort　of　

afternoon　that　impels　people　to　talk　graciously　of　the　rain　as　

having　done　a　lot　of　good；　its　chief　merit　in　their　eyes　probably　

having　been　its　recognition　of　the　art　of　moderation。　　Also　it　was　

an　afternoon　that　invited　bodily　activity　after　the　convalescent　

languor　of　the　earlier　part　of　the　day。　　Elaine　had　instinctively　

found　her　way　into　her　riding…habit　and　sent　an　order　down　to　the　

stables　…　a　blessed　oasis　that　still　smelt　sweetly　of　horse　and　hay　

and　cleanliness　in　a　world　that　reeked　of　petrol；　and　now　she　set　

her　mare　at　a　smart　pace　through　a　succession　of　long…stretching　

country　lanes。　　She　was　due　some　time　that　afternoon　at　a　garden…

party；　but　she　rode　with　determination　in　an　opposite　direction。　　

In　the　first　place　neither　Comus　or　Courtenay　would　be　at　the　

party；　which　fact　seemed　to　remove　any　valid　reason　that　could　be　

thought　of　for　inviting　her　attendance　thereat；　in　the　second　place　

about　a　hundred　human　beings　would　be　gathered　there；　and　human　

gatherings　were　not　her　most　crying　need　at　the　present　moment。　　

Since　her　last　encounter　with　her　wooers；　under　the　cedars　in　her　

own　garden；　Elaine　realised　that　she　was　either　very　happy　or　

cruelly　unhappy；　she　could　not　quite　determine　which。　　She　seemed　

to　have　what　she　most　wanted　in　the　world　lying　at　her　feet；　and　

she　was　dreadfully　uncertain　in　her　more　reflective　moments　whether　

she　really　wanted　to　stretch　out　her　hand　and　take　it。　　It　was　all　

very　like　some　situation　in　an　Arabian　Nights　tale　or　a　story　of　

Pagan　Hellas；　and　consequently　the　more　puzzling　and　disconcerting　

to　a　girl　brought　up　on　the　methodical　lines　of　Victorian　

Christianity。　　Her　appeal　court　was　in　permanent　session　these　last　

few　days；　but　it　gave　no　decisions；　at　least　none　that　she　would　

listen　to。　　And　the　ride　on　her　fast　light…stepping　little　mare；　

alone　and　unattended；　through　the　fresh…smelling　leafy　lanes　into　

unexplored　country；　seemed　just　what　she　wanted　at　the　moment。　　The　

mare　made　some　small　delicate　pretence　of　being　roadshy；　not　the　

staring　dolt…like　kind　of　nervousness　that　shows　itself　in　an　

irritating　hanging…back　as　each　conspicuous　wayside　object　presents　

itself；　but　the　nerve…flutter　of　an　imaginative　animal　that　merely　

results　in　a　quick　whisk　of　the　head　and　a　swifter　bound　forward。　　

She　might　have　paraphrased　the　mental　attitude　of　the　immortalised　

Peter　Bell　into





A　basket　underneath　a　tree

A　yellow　tiger　is　to　me；

If　it　is　nothing　more。





The　more　really　alarming　episodes　of　the　road；　the　hoot　and　whir　of　

a　passing　motor…car　or　the　loud　vibrating　hum　of　a　wayside　

threshing…machine；　were　treated　with　indifference。



On　turning　a　corner　out　of　a　narrow　coppice…bordered　lane　into　a　

wider　road　that　sloped　steadily　upward　in　a　long　stretch　of　hill　

Elaine　saw；　coming　toward　her　at　no　great　distance；　a　string　of　

yellow…painted　vans；　drawn　for　the　most　part　by　skewbald　or　

speckled　horses。　　A　certain　rakish　air　about　these　oncoming　road…

craft　proclaimed　them　as　belonging　to　a　travelling　wild…beast　show；　

decked　out　in　the　rich　primitive　colouring　that　one's　taste　in　

childhood　would　have　insisted　on　before　it　had　been　schooled　in　the　

artistic　value　of　dulness。　　It　was　an　unlooked…for　and　distinctly　

unwelcome　encounter。　　The　mare　had　already　commenced　a　sixfold　

scrutiny　with　nostrils；　eyes　and　daintily…pricked　ears；　one　ear　

made　hurried　little　backward　movements　to　hear　what　Elaine　was　

saying　about　the　eminent　niceness　and　respectability　of　the　

approaching　caravan；　but　even　Elaine　felt　that　she　would　be　unable　

satisfactorily　to　explain　the　elephants　and　camels　that　would　

certainly　form　part　of　the　procession。　　To　turn　back　would　seem　

rather　craven；　and　the　mare　might　take　fright　at　the　manoeuvre　and　

try　to　bolt；　a　gate　standing　ajar　at　the　entrance　to　a　farmyard　

lane　provided　a　convenient　way　out　of　the　difficulty。



As　Elaine　pushed　her　way　through　she　became　aware　of　a　man　standing　

just　inside　the　lane；　who　made　a　movement　forward　to　open　the　gate　

for　her。



〃Thank　you。　　I'm　just　getting　out　of　the　way　of　a　wild…beast　show；〃　

she　explained；　〃my　mare　is　tolerant　of　motors　and　traction…engines；　

but　I　expect　camels　…　hullo；〃　she　broke　off；　recognising　the　man　as　

an　old　acquaintance；　〃I　heard　you　had　taken　rooms　in　a　farmhouse　

somewhere。　　Fancy　meeting　you　in　this　way。〃



In　the　not　very　distant　days　of　her　little…girlhood；　Tom　Keriway　

had　been　a　man　to　be　looked　upon　with　a　certain　awe　and　envy；　

indeed　the　glamour　of　his　roving　career　would　have　fired　the　

imagination；　and　wistful　desire　to　do　likewise；　of　many　young　

Englishmen。　　It　seemed　to　be　the　grown…up　realisation　of　the　games　

played　in　dark　rooms　in　winter　fire…lit　evenings；　and　the　dreams　

dreamed　over　favourite　books　of　adventure。　　Making　Vienna　his　

headquarters；　almost　his　home；　he　had　rambled　where　he　listed　

through　the　lands　of　the　Near　and　Middle　East　as　leisurely　and　

thoroughly　as　tamer　souls　might　explore　Paris。　　He　had　wandered　

through　Hungarian　horse…fairs；　hunted　shy　crafty　beasts　on　lonely　

Balkan　hillsides；　dropped　himself　pebble…wise　into　the　stagnant　

human　pool　of　some　Bulgarian　monastery；　threaded　his　way　through　

the　strange　racial　mosaic　of　Salonika；　listened　with　amused　

politeness　to　the　shallow　ultra…modern　opinions　of　a　voluble　editor　

or　lawyer　in　some　wayside　Russian　town；　or　learned　wisdom　from　a　

chance　tavern　companion；　one　of　the　atoms　of　the　busy　ant…stream　of　

men　and　merchandise　that　moves　untiringly　round　the　shores　of　the　

Black　Sea。　　And　far　and　wide　as　he　might　roam　he　always　managed　to　

turn　up　at　frequent　intervals；　at　ball　and　supper　and　theatre；　in　

the　gay　Hauptstadt　of　the　Habsburgs；　haunting　his　favourite　cafes　

and　wine…vaults；　skimming　through　his　favourite　news…sheets；　

greeting　old　acquaintances　and　friends；　from　ambassadors　down　to　

cobblers　i