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DEATH OF THE LION.TXT-Part6_HENRY JAMES(1843-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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that when I returned I found him under arms and flushed and

feverish, though decorated with the rare flower she had brought him



for his button-hole. He came down to dinner, but Lady Augusta

Minch was very shy of him. To-day he's in great pain, and the



advent of ces dames - I mean of Guy Walsingham and Dora Forbes -

doesn't at all console me. It does Mrs. Wimbush, however, for she



has consented to his remaining in bed so that he may be all right

to-morrow for the listening circle. Guy Walsingham's already on



the scene, and the Doctor for Paraday also arrived early. I

haven't yet seen the author of 'Obsessions,' but of course I've had



a moment by myself with the Doctor. I tried to get him to say that

our invalid must go straight home - I mean to-morrow or next day;



but he quite refuses to talk about the future. Absolute quiet and

warmth and the regular administration of an important remedy are



the points he mainly insists on. He returns this afternoon, and

I'm to go back to see the patient at one o'clock, when he next



takes his medicine. It consoles me a little that he certainly

won't be able to read - an exertion he was already more than unfit



for. Lady Augusta went off after breakfast, assuring me her first

care would be to follow up the lost manuscript. I can see she



thinks me a shocking busybody and doesn't understand my alarm, but

she'll do what she can, for she's a good-natured woman. 'So are



they all honourable men.' That was precisely what made her give

the thing to Lord Dorimont and made Lord Dorimont bag it. What use



HE has for it God only knows. I've the worst forebodings, but

somehow I'm strangely without passion - desperately calm. As I



consider the conscious" target="_blank" title="a.无意识的；不觉察的">unconscious, the well-meaning ravages of our

appreciative circle I bow my head in submission to some great



natural, some universal accident; I'm rendered almost indifferent,

in fact quite gay (ha-ha!) by the sense of immitigable fate. Lady



Augusta promises me to trace the precious object and let me have it

through the post by the time Paraday's well enough to play his part



with it. The last evidence is that her maid did give it to his

lordship's valet. One would suppose it some thrilling number of



THE FAMILY BUDGET. Mrs. Wimbush, who's aware of the accident, is

much less agitated by it than she would doubtless be were she not



for the hour inevitably engrossed with Guy Walsingham."

Later in the day I informed my correspondent, for whom indeed I



kept a loose diary of the situation, that I had made the

acquaintance of this celebrity and that she was a pretty little



girl who wore her hair in what used to be called a crop. She

looked so juvenile and so innocent that if, as Mr. Morrow had



announced, she was resigned to the larger latitude, her superiority

to prejudice must have come to her early. I spent most of the day



hovering about Neil Paraday's room, but it was communicated to me

from below that Guy Walsingham, at Prestidge, was a success.



Toward evening I became conscious somehow that her superiority was

contagious, and by the time the company separated for the night I



was sure the larger latitude had been generally accepted. I

thought of Dora Forbes and felt that he had no time to lose.



Before dinner I received a telegram from Lady Augusta Minch. "Lord

Dorimont thinks he must have left bundle in train - enquire." How



could I enquire - if I was to take the word as a command? I was

too worried and now too alarmed about Neil Paraday. The Doctor



came back, and it was an immensesatisfaction to me to be sure he

was wise and interested. He was proud of being called to so



distinguished a patient, but he admitted to me that night that my

friend was gravely ill. It was really a relapse, a recrudescence



of his old malady. There could be no question of moving him: we

must at any rate see first, on the spot, what turn his condition



would take. Meanwhile, on the morrow, he was to have a nurse. On

the morrow the dear man was easier, and my spirits rose to such



cheerfulness that I could almost laugh over Lady Augusta's second

telegram: "Lord Dorimont's servant been to station - nothing



found. Push enquiries." I did laugh, I'm sure, as I remembered

this to be the mysticscroll I had scarcely allowed poor Mr. Morrow



to point his umbrella at. Fool that I had been: the thirty-seven

influential journals wouldn't have destroyed it, they'd only have



printed it. Of course I said nothing to Paraday.




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