round the red lamp(红灯四周)-第32节
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thought the matter critical。 Still； there is no reason why he should
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influence you。 It is a little responsibility； however。 If you take it all
upon yourself and free me from any of it； so that afterwards〃
〃My dear Clara； how you do croak！〃
〃Oh！ I don't wish to do that； Charles。 But you remember what
happened to Lord Bellamy's child。 She was just Ida's age。 That was
another case in which Sir William's advice was disregarded。〃
Lord Charles groaned impatiently。
〃I have not disregarded it；〃 said he。
〃No； no； of course not。 I know your strong sense； and your good
heart too well； dear。 You were very wisely looking at both sides of the
question。 That is what we poor women cannot do。 It is emotion against
reason； as I have often heard you say。 We are swayed this way and that；
but you men are persistent； and so you gain your way with us。 But I am
so pleased that you have decided for Tangier。〃
〃Have I？〃
〃Well； dear； you said that you would not disregard Sir William。〃
〃Well； Clara； admitting that Ida is to go to Tangier； you will allow that
it is impossible for me to escort her？
〃Utterly。〃
〃And for you？
〃While you are ill my place is by your side。〃
〃There is your sister？〃
〃She is going to Florida。〃
〃Lady Dumbarton； then？〃
〃She is nursing her father。 It is out of the question。〃
〃Well； then； whom can we possibly ask？ Especially just as the
season is commencing。 You see； Clara； the fates fight against Sir
William。〃
His wife rested her elbows against the back of the great red chair； and
passed her fingers through the statesman's grizzled curls； stooping down as
she did so until her lips were close to his ear。
〃There is Lord Arthur Sibthorpe；〃 said she softly。
Lord Charles bounded in his chair； and muttered a word or two such as
were more frequently heard from Cabinet Ministers in Lord Melbourne's
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time than now。
〃Are you mad； Clara！〃 he cried。 〃What can have put such a thought
into your head？〃
〃The Prime Minister。〃 〃Who？ The Prime Minister？〃
〃Yes； dear。 Now do； do be good！ Or perhaps I had better not speak
to you about it any more。〃
〃Well； I really think that you have gone rather too far to retreat。〃
〃It was the Prime Minister； then； who told me that Lord Arthur was
going to Tangier。〃
〃It is a fact； though it had escaped my memory for the instant。〃
〃And then came Sir William with his advice about Ida。 Oh！ Charlie；
it is surely more than a coincidence！〃
〃I am convinced；〃 said Lord Charles； with his shrewd； questioning
gaze； 〃that it is very much more than a coincidence； Lady Clara。 You are
a very clever woman； my dear。 A born manager and organiser。〃
Lady Clara brushed past the compliment。
〃Think of our own young days； Charlie；〃 she whispered； with her
fingers still toying with his hair。 〃What were you then？ A poor man；
not even Ambassador at Tangier。 But I loved you； and believed in you；
and have I ever regretted it？ Ida loves and believes in Lord Arthur； and
why should she ever regret it either？〃
Lord Charles was silent。 His eyes were fixed upon the green
branches which waved outside the window； but his mind had flashed back
to a Devonshire country…house of thirty years ago； and to the one fateful
evening when； between old yew hedges； he paced along beside a slender
girl； and poured out to her his hopes； his fears； and his ambitious。 He
took the white； thin hand and pressed it to his lips。
〃You； have been a good wife to me； Clara；〃 said he。
She said nothing。 She did not attempt to improve upon her advantage。
A less consummate general might have tried to do so； and ruined all。 She
stood silent and submissive； noting the quick play of thought which
peeped from his eyes and lip。 There was a sparkle in the one and a twitch
of amusement in the other； as he at last glanced up at her。
〃Clara；〃 said he； 〃deny it if you can！ You have ordered the
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trousseau。〃
She gave his ear a little pinch。
〃Subject to your approval；〃 said she。
〃You have written to the Archbishop。〃
〃It is not posted yet。〃
〃You have sent a note to Lord Arthur。〃
〃How could you tell that？〃
〃He is downstairs now。〃
〃No； but I think that is his brougham。〃
Lord Charles sank back with a look of half… comical despair。
〃Who is to fight against such a woman？〃 he cried。 〃Oh！ if I could
send you to Novikoff！ He is too much for any of my men。 But； Clara； I
cannot have them up here。〃
〃Not for your blessing？〃
〃No； no！〃
〃It would make them so happy。〃
〃I cannot stand scenes。〃
〃Then I shall convey it to them。〃
〃And pray say no more about itto…day； at any rate。 I have been
weak over the matter。〃
〃Oh！ Charlie； you who are so strong！〃
〃You have outflanked me； Clara。 It was very well done。 I must
congratulate you。〃
〃Well；〃 she murmured； as she kissed him； 〃you know I have been
studying a very clever diplomatist for thirty years。〃
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A MEDICAL DOCUMENT。
Medical men are； as a class； very much too busy to take stock of
singular situations or dramatic events。 Thus it happens that the ablest
chronicler of their experiences in our literature was a lawyer。 A life spent
in watching over death…bedsor over birth…beds which are infinitely more
tryingtakes something from a man's sense of proportion； as constant
strong waters might corrupt his palate。 The overstimulated nerve ceases
to respond。 Ask the surgeon for his best experiences and he may reply
that he has seen little that is remarkable； or break away into the technical。
But catch him some night when the fire has spurted up and his pipe is
reeking； with a few of his brother practitioners for company and an artful
question or allusion to set him going。 Then you will get some raw； green
facts new plucked from the tree of life。
It is after one of the quarterly dinners of the Midland Branch of the
British Medical Association。 Twenty coffee cups； a dozer liqueur glasses；
and a solid bank of blue smoke which swirls slowly along the high； gilded
ceiling gives a hint of a successful gathering。 But the members have
shredded off to their homes。 The line of heavy； bulge…pocketed overcoats
and of stethoscope…bearing top hats is gone from the hotel corridor。
Round the fire in the sitting…room three medicos are still lingering；
however； all smoking and arguing； while a fourth； who is a mere layman
and young at that； sits back at the table。 Under cover of an open journal
he is writing furiously with a stylographic pen； asking a question in an
innocent voice from time to time and so flickering up the conversation
whenever it shows a tendency to wane。
The three men are all of that staid middle age which begins early and
lasts late in the profession。 They are none of them famous； yet each is of
good repute； and a fair type of his particular branch。 The portly man with
the authoritative manner and the white； vitriol splash upon his cheek is
Charley Manson； chief of the Wormley Asylum； and author of the brilliant
monographObscure Nervous Lesions in the Unmarried。 He always
wears his collar high like that； since the half…successful attempt of a
student of Rev
