the unbearable bassington-第24节

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brewery　for　instance。〃



Francesca　shook　her　head　decisively；　she　could　foresee　the　sort　of　

steady　work　Comus　was　likely　to　accomplish；　with　the　lodestone　of　

Town　and　the　minor　attractions　of　race…meetings　and　similar　

festivities　always　beckoning　to　him　from　a　conveniently　attainable　

distance；　but　apart　from　that　aspect　of　the　case　there　was　a　

financial　obstacle　in　the　way　of　his　obtaining　any　employment　at　

home。



〃Breweries　and　all　those　sort　of　things　necessitate　money　to　start　

with；　one　has　to　pay　premiums　or　invest　capital　in　the　undertaking；　

and　so　forth。　　And　as　we　have　no　money　available；　and　can　scarcely　

pay　our　debts　as　it　is；　it's　no　use　thinking　about　it。〃



〃Can't　we　sell　something？〃　asked　Comus。



He　made　no　actual　suggestion　as　to　what　should　be　sacrificed；　but　

he　was　looking　straight　at　the　Van　der　Meulen。



For　a　moment　Francesca　felt　a　stifling　sensation　of　weakness；　as　

though　her　heart　was　going　to　stop　beating。　　Then　she　sat　forward　

in　her　chair　and　spoke　with　energy；　almost　fierceness。



〃When　I　am　dead　my　things　can　be　sold　and　dispersed。　　As　long　as　I　

am　alive　I　prefer　to　keep　them　by　me。〃



In　her　holy　place；　with　all　her　treasured　possessions　around　her；　

this　dreadful　suggestion　had　been　made。　　Some　of　her　cherished　

household　gods；　souvenirs　and　keepsakes　from　past　days；　would；　

perhaps；　not　have　fetched　a　very　considerable　sum　in　the　auction…

room；　others　had　a　distinct　value　of　their　own；　but　to　her　they　

were　all　precious。　　And　the　Van　der　Meulen；　at　which　Comus　had　

looked　with　impious　appraising　eyes；　was　the　most　sacred　of　them　

all。　　When　Francesca　had　been　away　from　her　Town　residence　or　had　

been　confined　to　her　bedroom　through　illness；　the　great　picture　

with　its　stately　solemn　representation　of　a　long…ago　battle…scene；　

painted　to　flatter　the　flattery…loving　soul　of　a　warrior…king　who　

was　dignified　even　in　his　campaigns　…　this　was　the　first　thing　she　

visited　on　her　return　to　Town　or　convalescence。　　If　an　alarm　of　

fire　had　been　raised　it　would　have　been　the　first　thing　for　whose　

safety　she　would　have　troubled。　　And　Comus　had　almost　suggested　

that　it　should　be　parted　with；　as　one　sold　railway　shares　and　other　

soulless　things。



Scolding；　she　had　long　ago　realised；　was　a　useless　waste　of　time　

and　energy　where　Comus　was　concerned；　but　this　evening　she　unloosed　

her　tongue　for　the　mere　relief　that　it　gave　to　her　surcharged　

feelings。　　He　sat　listening　without　comment；　though　she　purposely　

let　fall　remarks　that　she　hoped　might　sting　him　into　self…defence　

or　protest。　　It　was　an　unsparing　indictment；　the　more　damaging　in　

that　it　was　so　irrefutably　true；　the　more　tragic　in　that　it　came　

from　perhaps　the　one　person　in　the　world　whose　opinion　he　had　ever　

cared　for。　　And　he　sat　through　it　as　silent　and　seemingly　unmoved　

as　though　she　had　been　rehearsing　a　speech　for　some　drawing…room　

comedy。　　When　she　had　had　her　say　his　method　of　retort　was　not　the　

soft　answer　that　turneth　away　wrath　but　the　inconsequent　one　that　

shelves　it。



〃Let's　go　and　dress　for　dinner。〃



The　meal；　like　so　many　that　Francesca　and　Comus　had　eaten　in　each　

other's　company　of　late；　was　a　silent　one。　　Now　that　the　full　

bearings　of　the　disaster　had　been　discussed　in　all　its　aspects　

there　was　nothing　more　to　be　said。　　Any　attempt　at　ignoring　the　

situation；　and　passing　on　to　less　controversial　topics　would　have　

been　a　mockery　and　pretence　which　neither　of　them　would　have　

troubled　to　sustain。　　So　the　meal　went　forward　with　its　dragged…out　

dreary　intimacy　of　two　people　who　were　separated　by　a　gulf　of　

bitterness；　and　whose　hearts　were　hard　with　resentment　against　one　

another。



Francesca　felt　a　sense　of　relief　when　she　was　able　to　give　the　maid　

the　order　to　serve　her　coffee　upstairs。　　Comus　had　a　sullen　scowl　

on　his　face；　but　he　looked　up　as　she　rose　to　leave　the　room；　and　

gave　his　half…mocking　little　laugh。



〃You　needn't　look　so　tragic；〃　he　said；　〃You're　going　to　have　your　

own　way。　　I'll　go　out　to　that　West　African　hole。〃







CHAPTER　XIII







COMUS　found　his　way　to　his　seat　in　the　stalls　of　the　Straw　Exchange　

Theatre　and　turned　to　watch　the　stream　of　distinguished　and　

distinguishable　people　who　made　their　appearance　as　a　matter　of　

course　at　a　First　Night　in　the　height　of　the　Season。　　Pit　and　

gallery　were　already　packed　with　a　throng；　tense；　expectant　and　

alert；　that　waited　for　the　rise　of　the　curtain　with　the　eager　

patience　of　a　terrier　watching　a　dilatory　human　prepare　for　outdoor　

exercises。　　Stalls　and　boxes　filled　slowly　and　hesitatingly　with　a　

crowd　whose　component　units　seemed　for　the　most　part　to　recognise　

the　probability　that　they　were　quite　as　interesting　as　any　play　

they　were　likely　to　see。　　Those　who　bore　no　particular　face…value　

themselves　derived　a　certain　amount　of　social　dignity　from　the　near　

neighbourhood　of　obvious　notabilities；　if　one　could　not　obtain　

recognition　oneself　there　was　some　vague　pleasure　in　being　able　to　

recognise　notoriety　at　intimately　close　quarters。



〃Who　is　that　woman　with　the　auburn　hair　and　a　rather　effective　

belligerent　gleam　in　her　eyes？〃　asked　a　man　sitting　just　behind　

Comus；　〃she　looks　as　if　she　might　have　created　the　world　in　six　

days　and　destroyed　it　on　the　seventh。〃



〃I　forget　her　name；〃　said　his　neighbour；　〃she　writes。　　She's　the　

author　of　that　book；　'The　Woman　who　wished　it　was　Wednesday；'　you　

know。　　It　used　to　be　the　convention　that　women　writers　should　be　

plain　and　dowdy；　now　we　have　gone　to　the　other　extreme　and　build　

them　on　extravagantly　decorative　lines。〃



A　buzz　of　recognition　came　from　the　front　rows　of　the　pit；　together　

with　a　craning　of　necks　on　the　part　of　those　in　less　favoured　

seats。　　It　heralded　the　arrival　of　Sherard　Blaw；　the　dramatist　who　

had　discovered　himself；　and　who　had　given　so　ungrudgingly　of　his　

discovery　to　the　world。　　Lady　Caroline；　who　was　already　directing　

little　conversational　onslaughts　from　her　box；　gazed　gently　for　a　

moment　at　the　new　arrival；　and　then　turned　to　the　silver…haired　

Archdeacon　sitting　beside　her。



〃They　say　the　poor　man　is　haunted　by　the　fear　that　he　will　die　

during　a　general　election；　and　that　his　obituary　notices　will　be　

seriously　curtailed　by　the　space　taken　up　by　the　election　results。　　

The　curse　of　our　party　system；　from　his　point　of　view；　is　that　it　

takes　up　so　much　room　in　the　press。〃



The　Archdeacon　smiled　indulgently。　　As　a　man　he　was　so　exquisitely　

worldly　that　he　fully　merited　the　name　of　the　Heavenly　Worldling　

bestowed　on　him　by　an　admiring　duchess；　and　withal　his　texture　was　

shot　with　a　pattern　of　such　genuine　saintliness　that　one　felt　that　

whoever　else　might　hold　the　keys　of　Paradise　he；　at　least；　

possessed　a　private　latchkey　to　that　abode。



〃Is　it　not　significant　of　the　altered　grouping　of　things；〃　he　

observed；　〃that　the　Church；　as　represented　by　me；　sympathises　with　

the　message　of　Sherard　Blaw；　while　neither　the　man　nor　his　message　

find　acceptance　with　unbelievers　like　you；　Lady　Caroline。〃



Lady　Caroline　blinked　her　eyes。　　〃My　dear　Archdeacon；〃　she　said；　

〃no　one　can　be　an　unbeliever　nowadays。　　The　Christian　Apologists　

have　left　one　nothing　to　disbelieve。〃



The　Archdeacon　rose　with　a　delighted　chuckle。　　〃I　must　go　and　tell　

that　to　De　la　Poulett；〃　he　said；　indicating　a　clerical　figure　

sitting　in　the　third　row　of　the　stalls；　〃he　spends　his　life　

explaining　from　his　pulpit　that　the　glory　of　Christianity　consists　

in　the　fact　that　though　it　is　not　true　it　has　been　found　necessary　

to　invent　it。〃



The　door　of　the　box　opened　and　Courtenay　Youghal　entered；　bringing　

with　him　subtle　suggestion　of　chaminade　and　an　atmosphere　of　

political　tension。　　The　Government　had　fallen　out　of　the　good　

graces　of　a　section　of　its　supporters；　and　those　who　were　not　in　

the　know　were　busy　predicting　a　serious　crisis　over　a　forthcoming　

division　in　the　Committee　stage　of　an　important　Bill。　　This　was　

Saturday　night；　and　unless　some　successful　cajolery　were　effected　

between　now　and　Monday　afternoon；　Ministers　would　be；　seemingly；　in　

danger　of　defeat。



〃Ah；　here　is　Youghal；〃　said　the　Archdeacon；　〃he　will　be　able　to　

tell　us　what　is　going　to　happen　in　the　next　forty…eight　hours。　　I　

hear　the　Prime　Minister　says　it　is　a　matter　of　conscience；　and　they　

will　stand　or　fall　by　it。〃



His　hopes　and　sympathies　were　notoriously　on　the　Ministerial　side。



Youghal　greeted　Lady　Caroline　and　subsided　gracefully　into　a　chair　

well　in　the　front　of　the　box。　　A　buzz　of　recognition　rippled　slowly　

across　the　house。



〃For　the　Government　to　fall　on　a　matter　of　conscience；〃　he　said；　

〃would　be　like　a　man　cutting　himself　with　a　safety　razor。〃



Lady　Caroline　purred　a　gentle　approval。



〃I'm　afraid　it's　true；　Archdeacon；〃　she　said。



No　one　can　effectively　defend　a　Government　when　it's　been　in　offi