crome yellow(克罗姆·耶娄)-第39部分
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〃Delighted to see you again； Mr。 Stone；〃 she said in her rich； husky
voice。 She panted a little as she spoke； like a short… winded lap…dog。 It
was Mrs。 Budge who； having read in the 〃Daily Mirror〃 that the
Government needed peach stoneswhat they needed them for she never
knewhad made the collection of peach stones her peculiar 〃bit〃 of war
work。 She had thirty…six peach trees in her walled garden； as well as four
hot…houses in which trees could be forced； so that she was able to eat
peaches practically the whole year round。 In 1916 she ate 4200 peaches；
and sent the stones to the Government。 In 1917 the military authorities
called up three of her gardeners； and what with this and the fact that it was
a bad year for wall fruit； she only managed to eat 2900 peaches during that
crucial period of the national destinies。 In 1918 she did rather better； for
between January 1st and the date of the Armistice she ate 3300 peaches。
Since the Armistice she had relaxed her efforts； now she did not eat more
than two or three peaches a day。 Her constitution； she complained； had
suffered； but it had suffered for a good cause。
Denis answered her greeting by a vague and polite noise。
〃So nice to see the young people enjoying themselves；〃 Mrs。 Budge
went on。 〃And the old people too； for that matter。 Look at old Lord
Moleyn and dear Mr。 Callamay。 Isn't it delightful to see the way they
enjoy themselves？〃
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Denis looked。 He wasn't sure whether it was so very delightful after
all。 Why didn't they go and watch the sack races？ The two old
gentlemen were engaged at the moment in congratulating the winner of
the race； it seemed an act of supererogatory graciousness； for； after all； she
had only won a heat。
〃Pretty little thing； isn't she？〃 said Mrs。 Budge huskily； and panted two
or three times。
〃Yes；〃 Denis nodded agreement。 Sixteen； slender； but nubile； he said
to himself； and laid up the phrase in his memory as a happy one。 Old Mr。
Callamay had put on his spectacles to congratulate the victor； and Lord
Moleyn； leaning forward over his walking… stick； showed his long ivory
teeth； hungrily smiling。
〃Capital performance； capital；〃 Mr。 Callamay was saying in his deep
voice。
The victor wriggled with embarrassment。 She stood with her hands
behind her back； rubbing one foot nervously on the other。 Her wet
bathing…dress shone； a torso of black polished marble。
〃Very good indeed；〃 said Lord Moleyn。 His voice seemed to come
from just behind his teeth； a toothy voice。 It was as though a dog should
suddenly begin to speak。 He smiled again； Mr。 Callamay readjusted his
spectacles。
〃When I say 'Go；' go。 Go！〃
Splash！ The third heat had started。
〃Do you know； I never could learn to swim；〃 said Mrs。 Budge。
〃Really？〃
〃But I used to be able to float。〃
Denis imagined her floatingup and down； up and down on a great
green swell。 A blown black bladder； no； that wasn't good； that wasn't
good at all。 A new winner was being congratulated。 She was
atrociously stubby and fat。 The last one； long and harmoniously；
continuously curved from knee to breast； had been an Eve by Cranach； but
this； this one was a bad Rubens。
〃。。。gogogo！〃 Henry Wimbush's polite level voice once more
pronounced the formula。 Another batch of young ladies dived in。
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Grown a little weary of sustaining a conversation with Mrs。 Budge；
Denis conveniently remembered that his duties as a steward called him
elsewhere。 He pushed out through the lines of spectators and made his
way along the path left clear behind them。 He was thinking again that his
soul was a pale； tenuous membrane； when he was startled by hearing a
thin； sibilant voice； speaking apparently from just above his head；
pronounce the single word 〃Disgusting！〃
He looked up sharply。 The path along which he was walking passed
under the lee of a wall of clipped yew。 Behind the hedge the ground
sloped steeply up towards the foot of the terrace and the house； for one
standing on the higher ground it was easy to look over the dark barrier。
Looking up； Denis saw two heads overtopping the hedge immediately
above him。 He recognised the iron mask of Mr。 Bodiham and the pale；
colourless face of his wife。 They were looking over his head； over the
heads of the spectators； at the swimmers in the pond。
〃Disgusting！〃 Mrs。 Bodiham repeated； hissing softly。
The rector turned up his iron mask towards the solid cobalt of the sky。
〃How long？〃 he said； as though to himself； 〃how long？〃 He lowered his
eyes again； and they fell on Denis's upturned curious face。 There was an
abrupt movement； and Mr。 and Mrs。 Bodiham popped out of sight behind
the hedge。
Denis continued his promenade。 He wandered past the merry…go…
round； through the thronged streets of the canvas village； the membrane of
his soul flapped tumultuously in the noise and laughter。 In a roped…off
space beyond； Mary was directing the children's sports。 Little creatures
seethed round about her； making a shrill； tinny clamour； others clustered
about the skirts and trousers of their parents。 Mary's face was shining in
the heat； with an immense output of energy she started a three…legged race。
Denis looked on in admiration。
〃You're wonderful；〃 he said； coming up behind her and touching her
on the arm。 〃I've never seen such energy。〃
She turned towards him a face； round； red； and honest as the setting
sun； the golden bell of her hair swung silently as she moved her head and
quivered to rest。
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〃Do you know； Denis；〃 she said； in a low； serious voice； gasping a
little as she spoke〃do you know that there's a woman here who has had
three children in thirty…one months？〃
〃Really；〃 said Denis； making rapid mental calculations。
〃It's appalling。 I've been telling her about the Malthusian League。
One really ought。。。〃
But a sudden violent renewal of the metallic yelling announced the
fact that somebody had won the race。 Mary became once more the centre
of a dangerous vortex。 It was time； Denis thought； to move on； he might
be asked to do something if he stayed too long。
He turned back towards the canvas village。 The thought of tea was
making itself insistent in his mind。 Tea； tea； tea。 But the tea…tent was
horribly thronged。 Anne； with an unusual expression of grimness on her
flushed face； was furiously working the handle of the urn； the brown
liquid spurted incessantly into the proffered cups。 Portentous； in the
farther corner of the tent； Priscilla； in her royal toque； was encouraging the
villagers。 In a momentary lull Denis could hear her deep； jovial laughter
and her manly voice。 Clearly； he told himself； this was no place for one
who wanted tea。 He stood irresolute at the entrance to the tent。 A
beautiful thought suddenly came to him； if he went back to the house；
went unobtrusively； without being observed； if he tiptoed into the dining…
room and noiselessly opened the little doors of the sideboardah； then！
In the cool recess within he would find bottles and a siphon； a bottle of
crystal gin and a quart of soda water； and then for the cups that inebriate as
well as cheer。。。
A minute later he was walking briskly up the shady yew…tree walk。
Within the house it was deliciously quiet and cool。 Carrying his well…
filled tumbler with care； he went into the library。 There； the glass on the
corner of the table beside him； he settled into a chair with a volume of
Sainte…Beuve。 There was nothing； he found； like a Causerie du Lundi for
settling and soothing the troubled spirits。 That tenuous membrane of his
had been too rudely buffeted by the afternoon's emotions； it required a
rest。
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CHAPTER XXVIII。
Towards sunset the fair itself became quiescent。 It was the hour for
the dancing to begin。 At one side of the village of tents a space had been
roped off。 Acetylene lamps； hung round it on posts； cast a piercing white
light。 In one corner sat the band； and； obedient to its scraping and
blowi
