Novel 1. The Man of Property - PART

Novel 1. The Man of Property - PART II - CHAPTER XIII. PERFECTION OF THE HOUSE

'One mockturtle, clear; one oxtail; two glasses of port.'

In the upper room at French's, where a Forsyte could still get heavy English food, James and his son were sitting down to lunch.

Of all eating-places James liked best to come here; there was something unpretentious, well-flavoured, and filling about it, and though he had been to a certain extent corrupted by the necessity for being fashionable, and the trend of habits keeping pace with an income that would increase, he still hankered in quiet City moments after the tasty fleshpots of his earlier days. Here you were served by hairy English waiters in aprons; there was sawdust on the floor, and three round gilt looking-glasses hung just above the line of sight. They had only recently done away with the cubicles, too, in which you could have your chop, prime chump, with a floury-potato, without seeing your neighbours, like a gentleman.

He tucked the top corner of his napkin behind the third button of his waistcoat, a practice he had been obliged to abandon years ago in the West End. He felt that he should relish his soup--the entire morning had been given to winding up the estate of an old friend.

After filling his mouth with household bread, stale, he at once began: "How are you going down to Robin Hill? You going to take Irene? You'd better take her. I should think there'll be a lot that'll want seeing to."

Without looking up, Soames answered: "She won't go."

"Won't go? What's the meaning of that? She's going to live in the house, isn't she?"

Soames made no reply.

"I don't know what's coming to women nowadays," mumbled James; "I never used to have any trouble with them. She's had too much liberty. She's spoiled...."

Soames lifted his eyes: "I won't have anything said against her," he said unexpectedly.

The silence was only broken now by the supping of James's soup.

The waiter brought the two glasses of port, but Soames stopped him.

"That's not the way to serve port," he said; "take them away, and bring the bottle."

Rousing himself from his reverie over the soup, James took one of his rapid shifting surveys of surrounding facts.

"Your mother's in bed," he said; "you can have the carriage to take you down. I should think Irene'd like the drive. This young Bosinney'll be there, I suppose, to show you over."

Soames nodded.

"I should like to go and see for myself what sort of a job he's made finishing off," pursued James. "I'll just drive round and pick you both up."

"I am going down by train," replied Soames. "If you like to drive round and see, Irene might go with you, I can't tell."

He signed to the waiter to bring the bill, which James paid.

They parted at St. Paul's, Soames branching off to the station, James taking his omnibus westwards.

He had secured the corner seat next the conductor, where his long legs made it difficult for anyone to get in, and at all who passed him he looked resentfully, as if they had no business to be using up his air.

He intended to take an opportunity this afternoon of speaking to Irene. A word in time saved nine; and now that she was going to live in the country there was a chance for her to turn over a new leaf! He could see that Soames wouldn't stand very much more of her goings on!

It did not occur to him to define what he meant by her 'goings on'; the expression was wide, vague, and suited to a Forsyte. And James had more than his common share of courage after lunch.

On reaching home, he ordered out the barouche, with special instructions that the groom was to go too. He wished to be kind to her, and to give her every chance.

When the door of No.62 was opened he could distinctly hear her singing, and said so at once, to prevent any chance of being denied entrance.

Yes, Mrs. Soames was in, but the maid did not know if she was seeing people.

James, moving with the rapidity that ever astonished the observers of his long figure and absorbed expression, went forthwith into the drawing-room without permitting this to be ascertained. He found Irene seated at the piano with her hands arrested on the keys, evidently listening to the voices in the hall. She greeted him without smiling.

"Your mother-in-law's in bed," he began, hoping at once to enlist her sympathy. "I've got the carriage here. Now, be a good girl, and put on your hat and come with me for a drive. It'll do you good!"

Irene looked at him as though about to refuse, but, seeming to change her mind, went upstairs, and came down again with her hat on.

"Where are you going to take me?" she asked.

"We'll just go down to Robin Hill," said James, spluttering out his words very quick; "the horses want exercise, and I should like to see what they've been doing down there."

Irene hung back, but again changed her mind, and went out to the carriage, James brooding over her closely, to make quite sure.

It was not before he had got her more than half way that he began: "Soames is very fond of you--he won't have anything said against you; why don't you show him more affection?"

Irene flushed, and said in a low voice: "I can't show what I haven't got."

James looked at her sharply; he felt that now he had her in his own carriage, with his own horses and servants, he was really in command of the situation. She could not put him off; nor would she make a scene in public.

"I can't think what you're about," he said. "He's a very good husband!"

Irene's answer was so low as to be almost inaudible among the sounds of traffic. He caught the words: "You are not married to him!"

"What's that got to do with it? He's given you everything you want. He's always ready to take you anywhere, and now he's built you this house in the country. It's not as if you had anything of your own."

"No."

Again James looked at her; he could not make out the expression on her face. She looked almost as if she were going to cry, and yet....

"I'm sure," he muttered hastily, "we've all tried to be kind to you."

Irene's lips quivered; to his dismay James saw a tear steal down her cheek. He felt a choke rise in his own throat.

"We're all fond of you," he said, "if you'd only"--he was going to say, "behave yourself," but changed it to--"if you'd only be more of a wife to him."

Irene did not answer, and James, too, ceased speaking. There was something in her silence which disconcerted him; it was not the silence of obstinacy, rather that of acquiescence in all that he could find to say. And yet he felt as if he had not had the last word. He could not understand this.

He was unable, however, to long keep silence.

"I suppose that young Bosinney," he said, "will be getting married to June now?"

Irene's face changed. "I don't know," she said; "you should ask her."

"Does she write to you?" No.

"How's that?" said James. "I thought you and she were such great friends."

Irene turned on him. "Again," she said, "you should ask her!"

"Well," flustered James, frightened by her look, "it's very odd that I can't get a plain answer to a plain question, but there it is."

He sat ruminating over his rebuff, and burst out at last:

"Well, I've warned you. You won't look ahead. Soames he doesn't say much, but I can see he won't stand a great deal more of this sort of thing. You'll have nobody but yourself to blame, and, what's more, you'll get no sympathy from anybody."

Irene bent her head with a little smiling bow. "I am very much obliged to you."

James did not know what on earth to answer.

The bright hot morning had changed slowly to a grey, oppressive afternoon; a heavy bank of clouds, with the yellow tinge of coming thunder, had risen in the south, and was creeping up.

The branches of the trees dropped motionless across the road without the smallest stir of foliage. A faint odour of glue from the heated horses clung in the thick air; the coachman and groom, rigid and unbending, exchanged stealthy murmurs on the box, without ever turning their heads.

To James' great relief they reached the house at last; the silence and impenetrability of this woman by his side, whom he had always thought so soft and mild, alarmed him.

The carriage put them down at the door, and they entered.

The hall was cool, and so still that it was like passing into a tomb; a shudder ran down James's spine. He quickly lifted the heavy leather curtains between the columns into the inner court.

He could not restrain an exclamation of approval.

The decoration was really in excellent taste. The dull ruby tiles that extended from the foot of the walls to the verge of a circular clump of tall iris plants, surrounding in turn a sunken basin of white marble filled with water, were obviously of the best quality. He admired extremely the purple leather curtains drawn along one entire side, framing a huge white-tiled stove. The central partitions of the skylight had been slid back, and the warm air from outside penetrated into the very heart of the house.

He stood, his hands behind him, his head bent back on his high, narrow shoulders, spying the tracery on the columns and the pattern of the frieze which ran round the ivory-coloured walls under the gallery. Evidently, no pains had been spared. It was quite the house of a gentleman. He went up to the curtains, and, having discovered how they were worked, drew them asunder and disclosed the picture-gallery, ending in a great window taking up the whole end of the room. It had a black oak floor, and its walls, again, were of ivory white. He went on throwing open doors, and peeping in. Everything was in apple-pie order, ready for immediate occupation.

He turned round at last to speak to Irene, and saw her standing over in the garden entrance, with her husband and Bosinney.

Though not remarkable for sensibility, James felt at once that something was wrong. He went up to them, and, vaguely alarmed, ignorant of the nature of the trouble, made an attempt to smooth things over.

"How are you, Mr.

Kết quả (Việt) 1:

Tiểu thuyết 1. Người đàn ông của bất động sản - phần II - chương XIII. HOÀN HẢO CỦA NHÀ' Một trong những mockturtle, rõ ràng; một oxtail; hai ly cổng.'Trong phòng trên tại của tiếng Pháp, nơi một Forsyte có thể vẫn nhận được thực phẩm Anh nặng, James và con trai ông đã ngồi ăn trưa.Của tất cả eating-places James thích tốt nhất để đến đây; có một cái gì đó khiêm tốn, đầy đủ hương vị, và điền về nó, và mặc dù ông đã đến một mức độ nhất định mà bị hỏng bởi sự cần thiết cho người thời trang và xu hướng của thói quen giữ tốc độ với một thu nhập mà sẽ tăng, ông vẫn hankered trong khoảnh khắc yên tĩnh của thành phố sau khi fleshpots ngon của ngày trước đó của mình. Ở đây bạn được phục vụ bởi lông Anh bồi bàn trong tạp dề; đã có mùn cưa trên sàn nhà và ba vòng mạ tìm kính treo ngay trên đường ngắm. Họ chỉ mới đã làm đi với các phòng, quá, mà bạn có thể có của bạn chop, nguyên tố một đoạn, với một-bột khoai tây, mà không nhìn thấy hàng xóm của bạn, như một quý ông.Anh giấu góc trên cùng của khăn ăn của mình phía sau các nút thứ ba của áo của mình, một thực tế ông đã buộc phải từ bỏ năm trước đây ở West End. Ông cảm thấy rằng ông nên thưởng súp của mình - toàn bộ buổi sáng đã được trao cho quanh co lên các bất động sản của một người bạn cũ.Sau khi làm thủ tục miệng của mình với bánh mì gia dụng, cu, ông cùng một lúc bắt đầu: "làm thế nào bạn sẽ Robin Hill? Bạn sẽ mất Irene? Bạn sẽ tốt hơn có cô ấy. Tôi nên nghĩ rằng sẽ có rất nhiều sẽ muốn nhìn thấy đến."Mà không nhìn lên, Soames trả lời: "Cô sẽ không đi.""Sẽ không đi? Ý nghĩa của đó là gì? Cô ấy sẽ sống trong nhà, đúng không?"Soames thực hiện không có trả lời."Tôi không biết những gì đang đến cho phụ nữ ngày nay," mumbled James; "Tôi không bao giờ sử dụng để có bất kỳ vấn đề với họ. Cô ấy đã có quá nhiều tự do. Cô hư hỏng..."Soames nâng lên đôi mắt của mình: "Tôi sẽ không có bất cứ điều gì nói đối với cô ấy," ông nói bất ngờ.Sự im lặng được chỉ tháo bây giờ bởi supping của James súp.Những người phục vụ đưa hai ly của cảng, nhưng Soames dừng lại anh ta."Đó là không cách để phục vụ cảng," ông nói; "đưa họ đi, và mang theo chai."Hót mình từ sự mơ tưởng của mình trong súp, James lấy một cuộc điều tra chuyển dịch nhanh chóng của mình xung quanh sự kiện."Mẹ của giường," ông nói; "bạn có thể có vận chuyển để đưa bạn. Tôi nên nghĩ rằng Irene muốn các ổ đĩa. Bosinney này trẻ sẽ có, tôi cho rằng, để hiển thị cho bạn qua."Soames gật đầu."Tôi nên muốn đi và xem cho bản thân mình những gì sắp xếp của một công việc ông đã thực hiện xong hết," theo đuổi James. "Tôi sẽ chỉ cần lái xe vòng và nhận bạn cả hai.""Tôi đang đi xuống bằng tàu hỏa," trả lời Soames. "Nếu bạn muốn lái xe vòng và xem, Irene có thể đi với bạn, tôi không thể nói."Ông đã ký những người phục vụ để mang lại các hóa đơn, James trả tiền.Họ chia tay tại St. Paul, Soames phân nhánh đến ga, James tham gia của ông về phía tây Sound.He had secured the corner seat next the conductor, where his long legs made it difficult for anyone to get in, and at all who passed him he looked resentfully, as if they had no business to be using up his air.He intended to take an opportunity this afternoon of speaking to Irene. A word in time saved nine; and now that she was going to live in the country there was a chance for her to turn over a new leaf! He could see that Soames wouldn't stand very much more of her goings on!It did not occur to him to define what he meant by her 'goings on'; the expression was wide, vague, and suited to a Forsyte. And James had more than his common share of courage after lunch.On reaching home, he ordered out the barouche, with special instructions that the groom was to go too. He wished to be kind to her, and to give her every chance.When the door of No.62 was opened he could distinctly hear her singing, and said so at once, to prevent any chance of being denied entrance.Yes, Mrs. Soames was in, but the maid did not know if she was seeing people.James, moving with the rapidity that ever astonished the observers of his long figure and absorbed expression, went forthwith into the drawing-room without permitting this to be ascertained. He found Irene seated at the piano with her hands arrested on the keys, evidently listening to the voices in the hall. She greeted him without smiling."Your mother-in-law's in bed," he began, hoping at once to enlist her sympathy. "I've got the carriage here. Now, be a good girl, and put on your hat and come with me for a drive. It'll do you good!"Irene looked at him as though about to refuse, but, seeming to change her mind, went upstairs, and came down again with her hat on."Where are you going to take me?" she asked."We'll just go down to Robin Hill," said James, spluttering out his words very quick; "the horses want exercise, and I should like to see what they've been doing down there."Irene hung back, but again changed her mind, and went out to the carriage, James brooding over her closely, to make quite sure.It was not before he had got her more than half way that he began: "Soames is very fond of you--he won't have anything said against you; why don't you show him more affection?"Irene flushed, and said in a low voice: "I can't show what I haven't got."James looked at her sharply; he felt that now he had her in his own carriage, with his own horses and servants, he was really in command of the situation. She could not put him off; nor would she make a scene in public."I can't think what you're about," he said. "He's a very good husband!"Irene's answer was so low as to be almost inaudible among the sounds of traffic. He caught the words: "You are not married to him!""What's that got to do with it? He's given you everything you want. He's always ready to take you anywhere, and now he's built you this house in the country. It's not as if you had anything of your own.""No."Again James looked at her; he could not make out the expression on her face. She looked almost as if she were going to cry, and yet...."I'm sure," he muttered hastily, "we've all tried to be kind to you."Irene's lips quivered; to his dismay James saw a tear steal down her cheek. He felt a choke rise in his own throat."We're all fond of you," he said, "if you'd only"--he was going to say, "behave yourself," but changed it to--"if you'd only be more of a wife to him."Irene did not answer, and James, too, ceased speaking. There was something in her silence which disconcerted him; it was not the silence of obstinacy, rather that of acquiescence in all that he could find to say. And yet he felt as if he had not had the last word. He could not understand this.He was unable, however, to long keep silence."I suppose that young Bosinney," he said, "will be getting married to June now?"Irene's face changed. "I don't know," she said; "you should ask her.""Does she write to you?" No."How's that?" said James. "I thought you and she were such great friends."Irene turned on him. "Again," she said, "you should ask her!""Well," flustered James, frightened by her look, "it's very odd that I can't get a plain answer to a plain question, but there it is."He sat ruminating over his rebuff, and burst out at last:"Well, I've warned you. You won't look ahead. Soames he doesn't say much, but I can see he won't stand a great deal more of this sort of thing. You'll have nobody but yourself to blame, and, what's more, you'll get no sympathy from anybody."Irene bent her head with a little smiling bow. "I am very much obliged to you."James did not know what on earth to answer.The bright hot morning had changed slowly to a grey, oppressive afternoon; a heavy bank of clouds, with the yellow tinge of coming thunder, had risen in the south, and was creeping up.The branches of the trees dropped motionless across the road without the smallest stir of foliage. A faint odour of glue from the heated horses clung in the thick air; the coachman and groom, rigid and unbending, exchanged stealthy murmurs on the box, without ever turning their heads.To James' great relief they reached the house at last; the silence and impenetrability of this woman by his side, whom he had always thought so soft and mild, alarmed him.The carriage put them down at the door, and they entered.The hall was cool, and so still that it was like passing into a tomb; a shudder ran down James's spine. He quickly lifted the heavy leather curtains between the columns into the inner court.He could not restrain an exclamation of approval.The decoration was really in excellent taste. The dull ruby tiles that extended from the foot of the walls to the verge of a circular clump of tall iris plants, surrounding in turn a sunken basin of white marble filled with water, were obviously of the best quality. He admired extremely the purple leather curtains drawn along one entire side, framing a huge white-tiled stove. The central partitions of the skylight had been slid back, and the warm air from outside penetrated into the very heart of the house.
He stood, his hands behind him, his head bent back on his high, narrow shoulders, spying the tracery on the columns and the pattern of the frieze which ran round the ivory-coloured walls under the gallery. Evidently, no pains had been spared. It was quite the house of a gentleman. He went up to the curtains, and, having discovered how they were worked, drew them asunder and disclosed the picture-gallery, ending in a great window taking up the whole end of the room. It had a black oak floor, and its walls, again, were of ivory white. He went on throwing open doors, and peeping in. Everything was in apple-pie order, ready for immediate occupation.

He turned round at last to speak to Irene, and saw her standing over in the garden entrance, with her husband and Bosinney.

Though not remarkable for sensibility, James felt at once that something was wrong. He went up to them, and, vaguely alarmed, ignorant of the nature of the trouble, made an attempt to smooth things over.

"How are you, Mr.