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The Unbearable Bassington-Part4_H.H.Munro(Saki)(1870-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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Tigris valley with less difficulty and finance-stretching than he



encountered in contriving a week-end at Brighton.

Gaiety and good-looks had carried Comus successfully and, on the



whole, pleasantly, through schooldays and a recurring succession of

holidays; the same desirable assets were still at his service to



advance him along his road, but it was a disconcerting experience

to find that they could not be relied on to go all distances at all



times. In an animal world, and a fiercelycompetitive animal world

at that, something more was needed than the decorative ABANDON of



the field lily, and it was just that something more which Comus

seemed unable or unwilling to provide on his own account; it was



just the lack of that something more which left him sulking with

Fate over the numerous breakdowns and stumbling-blocks that held



him up on what he expected to be a triumphal or, at any rate,

unimpeded progress.



Francesca was, in her own way, fonder of Comus than of anyone else

in the world, and if he had been browning his skin somewhere east



of Suez she would probably have kissed his photograph with genuine

fervour every night before going to bed; the appearance of a



cholera scare or rumour of native rising in the columns of her

daily news-sheet would have caused her a flutter of anxiety, and



she would have mentally likened herself to a Spartan mother

sacrificing her best-beloved on the altar of State necessities.



But with the best-beloved installed under her roof, occupying an

unreasonable amount of cubic space, and demanding daily sacrifices



instead of providing the raw material for one, her feelings were

tinged with irritation rather than affection. She might have



forgiven Comus generously for misdeeds of some gravity committed in

another continent, but she could never overlook the fact that out



of a dish of five plovers' eggs he was certain to take three. The

absent may be always wrong, but they are seldom in a position to be



inconsiderate.

Thus a wall of ice had grown up gradually between mother and son, a



barrier across which they could hold converse, but which gave a

wintry chill even to the sparkle of their lightest words. The boy



had the gift of being irresistibly amusing when he chose to exert

himself in that direction, and after a long series of moody or



jangling meal-sittings he would break forth into a torrential flow

of small talk, scandal and maliciousanecdote, true or more



generally invented, to which Francesca listened with a relish and

appreciation, that was all the more flattering from being so



unwillingly bestowed.

"If you chose your friends from a rather more reputable set you



would be doubtless less amusing, but there would be compensating

advantages."



Francesca snapped the remark out at lunch one day when she had been

betrayed into a broader smile than she considered the circumstances



of her attitude towards Comus warranted.

"I'm going to move in quite decent society to-night," replied Comus



with a pleased chuckle; "I'm going to meet you and Uncle Henry and

heaps of nice dull God-fearing people at dinner."



Francesca gave a little gasp of surprise and annoyance.

"You don't mean to say Caroline has asked you to dinner to-night?"



she said; "and of course without telling me. How exceedingly like

her!"



Lady Caroline Benaresq had reached that age when you can say and do




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