Джон Голсуорси - The Silver Spoon

“How do you spell that name, Mr. Bullfry?”

“With two p’s, two y’s, two n’s and two r’s, my lord.”

“I see.”

Soames looked at the owner of the name. Good-looking woman of the flibberty-gibbet type! He listened to her evidence with close attention. Her account of the incident in Fleur’s drawing-room seemed substantially correct. She had received the libellous letter two days later; had thought it her duty, as a friend, to inform Miss Ferrar. Should say, as a woman in Society, that this incident and these letters had done Miss Ferrar harm. Had talked it over with a good many people. A public incident. Much feeling excited. Had shown her letter to Mrs. Maltese, and been shown one that she had received. Whole matter had become current gossip. H’m!

Bullfry down, and Foskisson up!

Soames adjusted himself. Now to see how the fellow shaped—the manner of a cross-examiner was so important! Well, he had seen worse—the eye, like frozen light, fixed on unoccupied space while the question was being asked, and coming round on to the witness for the answer; the mouth a little open, as if to swallow it; the tongue visible at times on the lower lip, the unoccupied hand clasping something under the gown behind.

“Now, Mrs. – er—Ppynrryn. This incident, as my friend has called it, happened at the house of Mrs. Mont, did it not? And how did you come there? As a friend. Quite so! And you have nothing against Mrs. Mont? No. And you thought it advisable and kind, madam, to show this letter to the plaintiff and to other people—in fact, to foment this little incident to the best of your ability?” Eyes round!

“If a friend of mine received such a letter about me, I should expect her to tell me that the writer was going about abusing me.”

“Even if your friend knew of the provocation and was also a friend of the letter-writer?”

“Yes.”

“Now, madam, wasn’t it simply that the sensation of this little quarrel was too precious to be burked? It would have been so easy, wouldn’t it, to have torn the letter up and said nothing about it? You don’t mean to suggest that it made you think any the worse of Miss Ferrar—you knew her too well, didn’t you?”

“Ye-es.”

“Exactly. As a friend of both parties you knew that these expressions were just spleen and not to be taken seriously.”

“I can’t say that.”

“Oh! You regarded them as serious? Am I to take it that you thought they touched the ham-bone? In other words, that they were true?”

“Certainly not.”

“Could they do Miss Ferrar any harm if they were palpably untrue?”

“I think they could.”

“Not with you—you were a friend?”

“Not with me.”

“But with other people, who would never have heard of them but for you. In fact, madam, you enjoyed the whole thing. Did you?”

“Enjoyed? No.”

“You regarded it as your duty to spread this letter? Don’t you enjoy doing your duty?”

The dry cackle within Soames stopped at his lips.

Foskisson down, and Bullfry up!

“It is, in fact, your experience, Mrs. Ppynrryn, as well as that of most of us not so well constituted, perhaps, as my learned friend, that duty is sometimes painful.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. Mrs. Edward Maltese.”

During the examination of this other young woman, who seemed to be dark and solid, Soames tried to estimate the comparative effect produced by Fleur and ‘that cat’ on the four jurymen whose eyes seemed to stray towards beauty. He had come to no definite conclusion, when Sir James Foskisson rose to cross-examine.

“Tell me, Mrs. Maltese, which do you consider the most serious allegation among those complained of?”

“The word ‘treacherous’ in my letter, and the expression ‘a snake of the first water’ in the letter to Mrs. Ppynrryn.”

“More serious than the others?”

“Yes.”

“That is where you can help me, madam. The circle you move in is not exactly the plaintiff’s, perhaps?”

“Not exactly.”

“Intersecting, um?”

“Yes.”

“Now, in which section, yours or the plaintiff’s, would you say the expression ‘she hasn’t a moral about her’ would be the more, or shall we say the less, damning?”

“I can’t say.”

“I only want your opinion. Do you think your section of Society as advanced as Miss Ferrar’s?”

“Perhaps not.”

“It’s well known, isn’t it, that her circle is very free and easy?”

“I suppose so.”

“Still, YOUR section is pretty advanced—I mean, you’re not ‘stuffy’?”

“Not what, Sir James?”

“Stuffy, my lord; it’s an expression a good deal used in modern Society.”

“What does it mean?”

“Strait-laced, my lord.”

“I see. Well, he’s asking you if you’re stuffy?”

“No, my lord. I hope not.”

“You hope not. Go on, Sir James.”

“Not being stuffy, you wouldn’t be exactly worried if somebody said to you: ‘My dear, you haven’t a moral about you’?”

“Not if it was said as charmingly as that.”

“Now come, Mrs. Maltese, does such an expression, said charmingly or the reverse, convey any blame to you or to your friends?”

“If the reverse, yes.”

“Am I to take it that the conception of morality in your circle is the same as in-my lord’s?”

“How is the witness to answer that, Sir James?”

“Well, in your circle are you shocked when your friends are divorced, or when they go off together for a week in Paris, say, or wherever they find convenient?”

“Shocked? Well, I suppose one needn’t be shocked by what one wouldn’t do oneself.”

“In fact, you’re not shocked?”

“I don’t know that I’m shocked by anything.”

“That would be being stuffy, wouldn’t it?”

“Perhaps.”

“Well, will you tell me then—if that’s the state of mind in your circle; and you said, you know, that your circle is less free and easy than the plaintiff’s—how it is possible that such words as ‘she hasn’t a moral about her’ can have done the plaintiff any harm?”

“The whole world isn’t in our circles.”

“No. I suggest that only a very small portion of the world is in your circles. But do you tell me that you or the plaintiff pay any—?”

“How can she tell, Sir James, what the plaintiff pays?”

“That YOU, then, pay any attention to what people outside your circle think?”

Soames moved his head twice. The fellow was doing it well. And his eye caught Fleur’s face turned towards the witness; a little smile was curling her lip.

“I don’t personally pay much attention even to what anybody IN my circle thinks.”

“Have you more independence of character than the plaintiff, should you say?”

“I dare say I’ve got as much.”

“Is she notoriously independent?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Maltese.”

Foskisson down, Bullfry up!

“I call the plaintiff, my lord.”

Soames uncrossed his legs.

Marjorie Ferrar stepped into the Box, not exactly nervous, and only just ‘made-up.’ The papers would record a black costume with chinchilla fur and a black hat. She kissed the air in front of the book, took a deep breath, and turned to Mr. Bullfry.

For the last five days she had resented more and more the way this case had taken charge of her. She had initiated it, and it had completely deprived her of initiative. She had, in fact, made the old discovery, that when the machinery of quarrel is once put in motion, much more than pressure of the starting button is required to stop its revolutions. She was feeling that it would serve Alec and the lawyers right if all went wrong.