pgw.uneasymoney-第12节

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ent　ring　during　the　voyage。　But　she　had　not　pletely　lost　sight　of　the　fact　that　she　was　engaged　to　Bill。　Another　thing　that　caused　her　to　hesitate　was　the　fact　that　Dudley　Pickering；　however　wealthy；　was　a　most　colossal　bore。　As　far　as　Claire　could　ascertain　on　their　short　acquaintance；　he　had　but　one　subject　of　conversationautomobiles。
　To　Claire　an　automobile　was　a　shiny　thing　with　padded　seats；　in　which　you　rode　if　you　were　lucky　enough　to　know　somebody　who　owned　one。　She　had　no　wish　to　go　more　deeply　into　the　matter。　Dudley　Pickering's　attitude　towards　automobiles；　on　the　other　hand；　more　nearly　resembled　that　of　a　surgeon　towards　the　human　body。　To　him　a　car　was　something　to　dissect；　something　with　an　interior　both　interesting　to　explore　and　fascinating　to　talk　about。　Claire　listened　with　a　radiant　display　of　interest；　but　she　had　her　doubts　as　to　whether　any　amount　of　money　would　make　it　worth　while　to　undergo　this　sort　of　thing　for　life。　She　was　still　in　this　hesitant　frame　of　mind　when　she　entered　Reigelheimer's　Restaurant；　and　it　perturbed　her　that　she　could　not　e　to　some　definite　decision　on　Mr　Pickering；　for　those　subtle　signs　which　every　woman　can　recognize　and　interpret　told　her　that　the　latter；　having　paved　the　way　by　talking　machinery　for　a　week；　was　about　to　boil　over　and　speak　of　higher　things。
　At　the　very　next　opportunity；　she　was　certain；　he　intended　to　propose。
　The　presence　of　Lady　Wetherby　acted　as　a　temporary　check　on　the　development　of　the　situation；　but　after　they　had　been　seated　at　their　table　a　short　time　the　lights　of　the　restaurant　were　suddenly　lowered；　a　coloured　limelight　became　manifest　near　the　roof；　and　classical　music　made　itself　heard　from　the　fiddles　in　the　orchestra。
　You　could　tell　it　was　classical；　because　the　banjo　players　were　leaning　back　and　chewing　gum；　and　in　New　York　restaurants　only　death　or　a　classical　speciality　can　stop　banjoists。
　There　was　a　spatter　of　applause；　and　Lady　Wetherby　rose。
　'This；'　she　explained　to　Claire；　'is　where　I　do　my　stunt。　Watch　it。　I　invented　the　steps　myself。　Classical　stuff。　It's　called　the　Dream　of　Psyche。'
　It　was　difficult　for　one　who　knew　her　as　Claire　did　to　associate　Polly　Wetherby　with　anything　classical。　On　the　road；　in　England；　when　they　had　been　fellow…members　of　the　Number　Two　pany　of　_The　Heavenly　Waltz_；　Polly　had　been　remarkable　chiefly　for　a　fund　of　humorous　anecdote　and　a　gift；　amounting　almost　to　genius；　for　doing　battle　with　militant　landladies。　And　renewing　their　intimacy　after　a　hiatus　of　a　little　less　than　a　year　Claire　had　found　her　unchanged。
　It　was　a　truculent　affair；　this　Dream　of　Psyche。　It　was　not　so　much　dancing　as　shadow　boxing。　It　began　mildly　enough　to　the　acpaniment　of　_pizzicato_　strains　from　the　orchestraPsyche　in　her　training　quarters。　_Rallentando_Psyche　punching　the　bag。　_Diminuendo_Psyche　using　the　medicine　ball。　_Presto_Psyche　doing　road　work。　_Forte_The　night　of　the　fight。　And　then　things　began　to　move　to　a　climax。　With　the　fiddles　working　themselves　to　the　bone　and　the　piano　bounding　under　its　persecutor's　blows；　Lady　Wetherby　ducked；　side…stepped；　rushed；　and　sprang；　moving　her　arms　in　a　manner　that　may　have　been　classical　Greek；　but　to　the　untrained　eye　looked　much　more　like　the　last　round　of　some　open…air　bout。
　It　was　half…way　through　the　exhibition；　when　you　could　smell　the　sawdust　and　hear　the　seconds　shouting　advice　under　the　ropes；　that　Claire；　who；　never　having　seen　anything　in　her　life　like　this　extraordinary　performance；　had　been　staring　spellbound；　awoke　to　the　realization　that　Dudley　Pickering　was　proposing　to　her。　It　required　a　woman's　intuition　to　divine　this　fact；　for　Mr　Pickering　was　not　coherent。　He　did　not　go　straight　to　the　point。　He　rambled。　But　Claire　understood；　and　it　came　to　her　that　this　thing　had　taken　her　before　she　was　ready。　In　a　brief　while　she　would　have　to　give　an　answer　of　some　sort；　and　she　had　not　clearly　decided　what　answer　she　meant　to　give。
　Then；　while　he　was　still　skirting　his　subject；　before　he　had　wandered　to　what　he　really　wished　to　say；　the　music　stopped；　the　applause　broke　out　again；　and　Lady　Wetherby　returned　to　the　table　like　a　pugilist　seeking　his　corner　at　the　end　of　a　round。　Her　face　was　flushed　and　she　was　breathing　hard。
　'They　pay　me　money　for　that！'　she　observed；　genially。　'Can　you　beat　it？'
　The　spell　was　broken。　Mr　Pickering　sank　back　in　his　chair　in　a　punctured　manner。　And　Claire；　making　monosyllabic　replies　to　her　friend's　remarks；　was　able　to　bend　her　mind　to　the　task　of　finding　out　how　she　stood　on　this　important　Pickering　issue。　That　he　would　return　to　the　attack　as　soon　as　possible　she　knew；　and　the　next　time　she　must　have　her　attitude　clearly　defined　one　way　or　the　other。
　Lady　Wetherby；　having　got　the　Dance　of　Psyche　out　of　her　system；　and　replaced　it　with　a　glass　of　iced　coffee；　was　inclined　for　conversation。
　'Algie　called　me　up　on　the　phone　this　evening；　Claire。'
　'Yes？'
　Claire　was　examining　Mr　Pickering　with　furtive　side　glances。　He　was　not　handsome；　nor；　on　the　other　hand；　was　he　repulsive。　'Undistinguished'　was　the　adjective　that　would　have　described　him。　He　was　inclined　to　stoutness；　but　not　unpardonably　so；　his　hair　was　thin；　but　he　was　not　aggressively　bald；　his　face　was　dull；　but　certainly　not　stupid。　There　was　nothing　in　his　outer　man　which　his　millions　would　not　offset。　As　regarded　his　other　qualities；　his　conversation　was　certainly　not　exhilarating。　But　that　also　was　not；　under　certain　conditions；　an　unforgivable　thing。　No；　looking　at　the　matter　all　round　and　weighing　it　with　care；　the　real　obstacle；　Claire　decided；　was　not　any　quality　or　lack　of　qualities　in　Dudley　Pickeringit　was　Lord　Dawlish　and　the　simple　fact　that　it　would　be　extremely　difficult；　if　she　discarded　him　in　favour　of　a　richer　man　without　any　ostensible　cause；　to　retain　her　self…respect。
　'I　think　he's　weakening。'
　'Yes？'
　Yes；　that　was　the　crux　of　the　matter。　She　wanted　to　retain　her　good　opinion　of　herself。　And　in　order　to　achieve　that　end　it　was　essential　that　she　find　some　excuse；　however　trivial；　for　breaking　off　the　engagement。
　'Yes？'
　A　waiter　approached　the　table。
　'Mr　Pickering！'
　The　thwarted　lover　came　to　life　with　a　start。
　'Eh？'
　'A　gentleman　wishes　to　speak　to　you　on　the　telephone。'
　'Oh；　yes。　I　was　expecting　a　long…distance　call；　Lady　Wetherby；　and　left　word　I　would　be　here。　Will　you　excuse　me？'
　Lady　Wetherby　watched　him　as　he　bustled　across　the　room。
　'What　do　you　think　of　him；　Claire？'
　'Mr　Pickering？　I　think　he's　very　nice。'
　'He　admires　you　frantically。　I　hoped　he　would。　That's　why　I　wanted　you　to　e　over　on　the　same　ship　with　him。'
　'Polly！　I　had　no　notion　you　were　such　a　schemer。'
　'I　would　just　love　to　see　you　two　fix　it　up；'　continued　Lady　Wetherby；　earnestly。　'He　may　not　be　what　you　might　call　a　genius；　but　he's　a　darned　good　sort；　and　all　his　millions　help；　don't　they？　You　don't　want　to　overlook　these　millions；　Claire！'
　'I　do　like　Mr　Pickering。'
　'Claire；　he　asked　me　if　you　were　engaged。'
　'What！'
　'When　I　told　him　you　weren't；　he　beamed。　Honestly；　you've　only　got　to　lift　your　little　finger　andOh；　good　Lord；　there's　Algie！'
　Claire　looked　up。　A　dapper；　trim　little　man　of　about　forty　was　threading　his　way　among　the　tables　in　their　direction。　It　was　a　year　since　Claire　had　seen　Lord　Wetherby；　but　she　recognized　him　at　once。　He　had　a　red；　weather…beaten　face　with　a　suspicion　of　side…whiskers；　small；　pink…rimmed　eyes　with　sandy　eyebrows；　the　smoothest　of　sandy　hair；　and　a　chin　so　cleanly　shaven　that　it　was　difficult　to　believe　that　hair　had　ever　grown　there。　Although　his　evening…dress　was　perfect　in　every　detail；　he　conveyed　a　subtle　suggestion　of　horsiness。　He　reached　the　table　and　sat　down　without　invitation　in　the　vacant　chair。
　'Pauline！'　he　said；　sorrowfully。
　'Algie！'　said　Lady　Wetherby；　tensely。　'I　don't　know　what　you've　e　here　for；　and　I　don't　remember　asking　you　to　sit　down　and　put　your　elbows　on　that　table；　but　I　want　to　begin　by　saying　that　I　will　not　be　called　Pauline。　My　name's　Polly。　You've　got　a　way　of　saying　Pauline；　as　if　it　were　a　gentlemanly　cuss…word；　that　makes　me　want　to　scream。　And　while　you're　about　it；　why　don't　you　say　how…d'you…do　to　Claire？　You　ought　to　remember　her；　she　was　my　bridesmaid。'
　'How　do　you　do；　Miss　Fenwick。　Of　course；　I　remember　you　perfectly。　I'm　glad　to　see　you　again。'
　'And　now；　Algie；　what　is　it？　Why　have　you　e　here？'　Lord　Wetherby　looked　doubtfully　at　Claire。　'Oh；　that's　all　right；'　said　Lady　Wetherby。　'Claire　knows　all　about　itI　told　her。'
　'Then　I　appeal　to　Miss　Fenwick；　if；　as　you　say；　she　knows　all　the　facts　of　the　case；　to　say　whether　it　is　reasonable　to　expect　a　man　of　my　temperament；　a　nervous；　highly…strung　artist；　to　wele　the　presence　of　snakes　at　the　breakfast…table。　I　trust　that　I　am　not　an　unreasonable　man；　but　I　decline　to　admit　that　a　long；　green　snake　is　a　proper　thing　to　keep　about　the　house。'
　'You　had　no　right　to　strike　the　poor　thing。'
　'In　that　one　respect　I　was　perhaps　a　little　hasty。　I　happened　to　be　stirring　my　tea　at　the　moment　his　head　rose　above　the　edge　of　the　table。　I　was　not　entirely　myself　that　morning。　My　nerves　were　somewhat　disordered。　I　had　lain　awake　much　of　the　night　planning　a　canvas。