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The Unbearable Bassington-Part18_H.H.Munro(Saki)(1870-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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anywhere else. What do you think of the play? Of course one can



foresee the end; she will come to her husband with the announcement

that their longed-for child is going to be born, and that will



smooth over everything. So convenientlyeffective, to wind up a

comedy with the commencement of someone else's tragedy. And every



one will go away saying 'I'm glad it had a happy ending.'"

Lady Veula moved back to her seat, with her pleasant smile on her



lips and the look of infiniteweariness in her eyes.

The interval, the last interval, was drawing to a close and the



house began to turn with fidgetty attention towards the stage for

the unfolding of the final phase of the play. Francesca sat in



Serena Golackly's box listening to Colonel Springfield's story of

what happened to a pigeon-cote in his compound at Poona. Everyone



who knew the Colonel had to listen to that story a good many times,

but Lady Caroline had mitigated the boredom of the infliction, and



in fact invested it with a certain sporting interest, by offering a

prize to the person who heard it oftenest in the course of the



Season, the competitors being under an honourable understanding not

to lead up to the subject. Ada Spelvexit and a boy in the Foreign



Office were at present at the top of the list with five recitals

each to their score, but the former was suspected of doubtful



adherence to the rules and spirit of the competition.

"And there, dear lady," concluded the Colonel, "were the eleven



dead pigeons. What had become of the bandicoot no one ever knew."

Francesca thanked him for his story, and complacently inscribed the



figure 4 on the margin of her theatre programme. Almost at the

same moment she heard George St. Michael's voice pattering out a



breathless piece of intelligence for the edification of Serena

Golackly and anyone else who might care to listen. Francesca



galvanised into sudden attention.

"Emmeline Chetrof to a fellow in the Indian Forest Department.



He's got nothing but his pay and they can't be married for four or

five years; an absurdly long engagement, don't you think so? All



very well to wait seven years for a wife in patriarchal times, when

you probably had others to go on with, and you lived long enough to



celebrate your own tercentenary, but under modern conditions it

seems a foolish arrangement."



St. Michael spoke almost with a sense of grievance. A marriage

project that tied up all the small pleasant nuptial gossip-items



about bridesmaids and honeymoon and recalcitrant aunts and so

forth, for an indefinite number of years seemed scarcely decent in



his eyes, and there was little satisfaction or importance to be

derived from early and special knowledge of an event which loomed



as far distant as a Presidential Election or a change of Viceroy.

But to Francesca, who had listened with startled apprehension at



the mention of Emmeline Chetrof's name, the news came in a flood of

relief and thankfulness. Short of entering a nunnery and taking



celibate vows, Emmeline could hardly have behaved more conveniently

than in tying herself up to a lover whose circumstances made it



necessary to relegate marriage to the distant future. For four or

five years Francesca was assured of undisturbed possession of the



house in Blue Street, and after that period who knew what might

happen? The engagement might stretch on indefinitely, it might



even come to nothing under the weight of its accumulated years, as

sometimes happened with these protracted affairs. Emmeline might



lose her fancy for her absentee lover, and might never replace him

with another. A golden possibility of perpetual tenancy of her



present home began to float once more through Francesca's mind. As

long as Emmeline had been unbespoken in the marriage market there



had always been the haunting likelihood of seeing the dreaded

announcement, "a marriage has been arranged and will shortly take



place," in connection with her name. And now a marriage had been

arranged and would not shortly take place, might indeed never take



place. St. Michael's information was likely to be correct in this

instance; he would never have invented a piece of matrimonial



intelligence which gave such little scope for supplementary detail

of the kind he loved to supply. As Francesca turned to watch the



fourth act of the play, her mind was singing a paean of

thankfulness and exultation. It was as though some artificer sent



by the Gods had reinforced with a substantial cord the horsehair




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