Evan Harrington — Complete. George Meredith

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ that?' and he assumed the Major's voice, and strutted in imitation of the stalwart marine. 'Major—a—Strike! of the Royal Marines! returned from China! covered with glory!—a hero, Van! We can't expect him to be much of a mourner. And we shan't have him to dine with us to-day—that's something.' He sank his voice: 'I hope the widow 'll bear it.'

      'I hope to God my mother is well!' Evan groaned.

      'That'll do,' said Mr. Andrew. 'Don't say any more.'

      As he spoke, he clapped Evan kindly on the back.

      A message was brought from the ladies, requiring Evan to wait on them. He returned after some minutes.

      'How do you think Harriet's looking?' asked Mr. Andrew. And, not waiting for an answer, whispered,

      'Are they going down to the funeral, my boy?'

      Evan's brow was dark, as he replied: 'They are not decided.'

      'Won't Harriet go?'

      'She is not going—she thinks not.'

      'And the Countess—Louisa's upstairs, eh?—will she go?'

      'She cannot leave the Count—she thinks not.'

      'Won't Caroline go? Caroline can go. She—he—I mean—Caroline can go?'

      'The Major objects. She wishes to.'

      Mr. Andrew struck out his arm, and uttered, 'the Major!'—a compromise for a loud anathema. But the compromise was vain, for he sinned again in an explosion against appearances.

      'I'm a brewer, Van. Do you think I'm ashamed of it? Not while I brew good beer, my boy!—not while I brew good beer! They don't think worse of me in the House for it. It isn't ungentlemanly to brew good beer, Van. But what's the use of talking?'

      Mr. Andrew sat down, and murmured, 'Poor girl! poor girl!'

      The allusion was to his wife; for presently he said: 'I can't see why Harriet can't go. What's to prevent her?'

      Evan gazed at him steadily. Death's levelling influence was in Evan's mind. He was ready to say why, and fully.

      Mr. Andrew arrested him with a sharp 'Never mind! Harriet does as she likes. I'm accustomed to—hem! what she does is best, after all. She doesn't interfere with my business, nor I with hers. Man and wife.'

      Pausing a moment or so, Mr. Andrew intimated that they had better be dressing for dinner. With his hand on the door, which he kept closed, he said, in a businesslike way, 'You know, Van, as for me, I should be very willing—only too happy—to go down and pay all the respect I could.' He became confused, and shot his head from side to side, looking anywhere but at Evan. 'Happy now and to-morrow, to do anything in my power, if Harriet—follow the funeral—one of the family—anything I could do: but—a—we 'd better be dressing for dinner.' And out the enigmatic little man went.

      Evan partly divined him then. But at dinner his behaviour was perplexing. He was too cheerful. He pledged the Count. He would have the Portuguese for this and that, and make Anglican efforts to repeat it, and laugh at his failures. He would not see that there was a father dead. At a table of actors, Mr. Andrew overdid his part, and was the worst. His wife could not help thinking him a heartless little man.

      The poor show had its term. The ladies fled to the boudoir sacred to grief. Evan was whispered that he was to join them when he might, without seeming mysterious to the Count. Before he reached them, they had talked tearfully over the clothes he should wear at Lymport, agreeing that his present foreign apparel, being black, would be suitable, and would serve almost as disguise, to the inhabitants at large; and as Evan had no English wear, and there was no time to procure any for him, that was well. They arranged exactly how long he should stay at Lymport, whom he should visit, the manner he should adopt toward the different inhabitants. By all means he was to avoid the approach of the gentry. For hours Evan, in a trance, half stupefied, had to listen to the Countess's directions how he was to comport himself in Lymport.

      'Show that you have descended among them, dear Van, but are not of them. Our beautiful noble English poet expresses it so. You have come to pay the last mortal duties, which they will respect, if they are not brutes, and attempt no familiarities. Allow none: gently, but firmly. Imitate Silva. You remember, at Dona Risbonda's ball? When he met the Comte de Dartigues, and knew he was to be in disgrace with his Court on the morrow? Oh! the exquisite shade of difference in Silva's behaviour towards the Comte. So finely, delicately perceptible to the Comte, and not a soul saw it but that wretched Frenchman! He came to me: “Madame,” he said, “is a question permitted?” I replied, “As-many as you please, M. le Comte, but no answers promised.” He said: “May I ask if the Courier has yet come in?”—“Nay, M. le Comte,” I replied, “this is diplomacy. Inquire of me, or better, give me an opinion on the new glace silk from Paris.”—“Madame,” said he, bowing, “I hope Paris may send me aught so good, or that I shall grace half so well.” I smiled, “You shall not be single in your hopes, M. le Comte. The gift would be base that you did not embellish.” He lifted his hands, French-fashion: “Madame, it is that I have received the gift.”—“Indeed! M. le Comte.”—“Even now from the Count de Saldar, your husband.” I looked most innocently, “From my husband, M. le Comte?”—“From him, Madame. A portrait. An Ambassador without his coat! The portrait was a finished performance.” I said: “And may one beg the permission to inspect it?”—“Mais,” said he, laughing: “were it you alone, it would be a privilege to me.” I had to check him. “Believe me, M. le Comte, that when I look upon it, my praise of the artist will be extinguished by my pity for the subject.” He should have stopped there; but you cannot have the last word with a Frenchman—not even a woman. Fortunately the Queen just then made her entry into the saloon, and his mot on the charity of our sex was lost. We bowed mutually, and were separated.' (The Countess employed her handkerchief.) 'Yes, dear Van! that is how you should behave. Imply things. With dearest Mama, of course, you are the dutiful son. Alas! you must stand for son and daughters. Mama has so much sense! She will understand how sadly we are placed. But in a week I will come to her for a day, and bring you back.'

      So much his sister Louisa. His sister Harriet offered him her house for a home in London, thence to project his new career. His sister Caroline sought a word with him in private, but only to weep bitterly in his arms, and utter a faint moan of regret at marriages in general. He loved this beautiful creature the best of his three sisters (partly, it may be, because he despised her superior officer), and tried with a few smothered words to induce her to accompany him: but she only shook her fair locks and moaned afresh. Mr. Andrew, in the farewell squeeze of the hand at the street-door, asked him if he wanted anything. He negatived the requirement of anything whatever, with an air of careless decision, though he was aware that his purse barely contained more than would take him the distance, but the instincts of this amateur gentleman were very fine and sensitive on questions of money. His family had never known him beg for a shilling, or admit his necessity for a penny: nor could he be made to accept money unless it was thrust into his pocket. Somehow his sisters had forgotten this peculiarity of his. Harriet only remembered it when too late.

      'But I dare say Andrew has supplied him,' she said.

      Andrew being interrogated, informed her what had passed between them.

      'And you think a Harrington would confess he wanted money!' was her scornful exclamation. 'Evan would walk—he would die rather. It was treating him like a mendicant.'

      Andrew had to shrink in his brewer's skin.

      By СКАЧАТЬ