A CUP OF TEA
Date: 2015-10-07; view: 1163.
After Katherine Mansfield
Rosemary Fell was not beautiful. Pretty? Well, if you took her to pieces ..1 She was young, brilliant, modern, very well dressed and well read in the newest of the new books.
Rosemary had been married two years. She had a wonderful son. And her husband loved her very much. They were rich, really rich. If Rosemary wanted to shop, she went to Paris. If she wanted to buy flowers, her car stopped at the perfect shop in Regent Street, and in the shop Rosemary looked at different flowers and said: "I want those and those and those. Give me that basket of roses. Yes, I'll have all the roses in the basket. No, no lilac. I don't like lilac." The shopman bowed and put the lilac away. "Give me those little tulips. Those red and white ones."2 A thin shop-girl took the flowers and brought them to the car.
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One winter afternoon she was buying something in a little shop in Curzon Street. It was a shop she liked. The man who kept it liked to serve her. He smiled when she came in, he was so glad to see her that he could hardly speak. He flattered her, of course. All the same,3 she liked it.
"You see, madam," he used to say4 in his low tones, "I love my things. I don't want to sell them to somebody who does not appreciate them."
Today it was a little box. He had kept it for her. He had shown it to nobody yet. It was a beautiful thing. Rosemary took her hands out of her long gloves. She always took off her gloves to examine such things. Yes, she liked the box very much. She loved it; it was a wonderful thing. She must have it. She turned the box, opened it and closed it again. But what was the prize? There was a pause, then the shopman's voice reached her. "Twenty-eight guineas, madam." "Twenty-eight guineas." Rosemary gave no sign. She put the little box down. Then she put on her gloves again. Twenty-eight guineas. Even if you are rich ... She didn't
1 if you took her to pieces — åñëè ðàçîáðàòü êàæäóþ åå ÷åðòó â
îòäåëüíîñòè
2 Those red and white ones. — Òå êðàñíûå è áåëûå. Ìåñòîèìå
íèå ones çàìåíÿåò ðàíåå óïîìÿíóòîå ñóùåñòâèòåëüíîå tulips.
3 all the same — âñå ðàâíî
4 used to say — îáû÷íî ãîâîðèë; ñì. êîì. 2 ñòð. 18.
know what to do. Her voice was dreamy as she answered: "Well, keep it for me, please. I'll...."
But the shopman had already bowed. He was ready to keep it for her. The door closed. She was outside. Rain was falling, and with the rain the dark came too. The air was cold, and the lamps in the street looked sad. The lights in the houses opposite were sad too. And people passed by with umbrellas in their hands.
Rosemary felt a sharp, sudden feeling. She wished she had the little box.1 Of course the car was there. She had only to cross the pavement. But still she waited. It was better to go home and have a cup of tea. But at that moment a young girl, thin, dark — where had she come from? — was standing near Rosemary and a voice like a sigh; almost like a sob said: "Madam, may I speak to you a moment?"
"Speak to me?" Rosemary turned. She saw a little thin figure with very large eyes; the girl was quite young, no older than Rosemary. The girl was cold and held her coat-collar with her hands.
"Madam," said the voice, "will you give me the price of a cup of tea?"
"A cup of tea?" There was something in the girl's voice that touched Rosemary. "Then have you no money at all?" asked Rosemary.
"No, madam," came the answer.
"How strange!" Rosemary looked at the girl and the girl looked back at her. How more than strange! And suddenly it seemed to Rosemary such an adventure. This meeting in the dark was like something out of a novel of Dostoevsky. "What will happen if I take the girl home?" she thought. She had often read about such things. She knew she would surprise her friends when she said: "I simply took her home with me." Rosemary said to the girl beside her: "Come home to tea with me."
The girl drew back, she was much surprised. Rosemary touched her hand. "I ask you," she said and smiled. And she felt how simple and kind her smile was. "Why don't you want to go? Come home with me now in my car and have tea."
"You—you are not serious, madam," said the girl, and there was pain in her voice.
"But I am," cried Rosemary. "Let's go." The girl looked at Rosemary with open eyes. "You are— you are not taking me to the police station?" she asked.
"The police station!" Rosemary laughed. "Why? I am not so cruel! No, I only want to make you warm and to hear— anything you like to tell me."
The driver opened the door of the car, and a moment later they were driving through the dark.
"Well!" said Rosemary. She was going to prove to this girl that—wonderful things really happened in life, that-rich people were really kind, and that women were sisters.
She turned to the girl and said: "Don't be afraid. We are both women. If I am happier, you can think..." She did not know how to finish the sentence.
At that moment the car stopped. Rosemary rang the bell, the door opened and Rosemary drew the girl into the hall. She watched how the girl took warmth, light, all those beautiful things which were so familiar to Rosemary that she never even thought about them.
"Come, come upstairs," said Rosemary. "Come up to the room."
"Well!" cried she again, as they reached her beautiful big bedroom. The girl stood in the doorway, she was surprised. But Rosemary did not pay attention to that.
She moved the chair to the fire and cried: "Come and sit down in this comfortable chair. Come and get warm. You look so cold."
"I can't, madam," said the girl and stepped back.
"Oh, please," — Rosemary ran up to her, — "you mustn't be afraid, you mustn't, really. Sit down; when I've taken off my coat and hat we shall go into the next room and have tea. Why are you afraid?" And she drew the chair nearer the thin figure. The girl took her seat.
But there was no answer. The girl sat still, her hands were by her sides and her mouth was slightly open. Rosemary said: "Will you take off your hat? Your pretty hair is all wet. And you will be much more comfortable without a hat."
"Very good, madam," said the girl and took off her hat.
"And take off your coat, too," said Rosemary.
The girl stood up. Rosemary helped her to take off the coat. She did not know what to do with the coat, so she left it on' the floor, and the hat too. Rosemary was going to take
a cigarette when the girl said quickly: "I'm very sorry, madam. I shall faint, madam, if I don't have something."
"Oh, how silly I am!" Rosemary rang the bell.
"Tea! Tea at once! And some wine too!"
The maid went away, but the girl almost cried: "No, I don't want wine. I never drink wine. I want only a cup of tea, madam." And she burst into tears.1 It was a terrible moment. Rosemary stepped to her chair.
"Don't cry, poor little thing," she said. "Don't cry." And she gave the girl her handkerchief. The girl's tears really touched her.
Now at last the girl was not afraid. She forgot everything except that they were both women and said: "I can't live like this any longer. I can't bear it. I can't bear it. I shall kill myself. I can't bear it any more."
"You shall not do it. I'll look after you. Don't cry any more. Don't you see what a good thing it was that you met me? We'll have tea and you'll tell me everything. And I shall arrange something, I promise. Don't cry. Please!"
At that moment the tea came. Rosemary told the maid to place the table between them. She offered the poor girl everything, all the sandwiches, all the bread and butter, and every time her cup was empty she filled it with tea and sugar. As for herself she did not eat, she only smoked.
And really the effect of that tea was wonderful. Quite a new girl sat in the big chair. She was looking at the fire. Rosemary lit a cigarette; it was time to begin.
"And when did you eat last?" she asked softly. But at that moment the door opened.
"Rosemary, may I come in?" It was Philip.
"Of course."
He came in. "Oh, I'm so sorry," he said and stopped and looked at them.
"It's quite all right," said Rosemary, she smiled. "This is my friend, Miss—"
"Smith, madam," said the thin figure who was not afraid' now.
"Smith," said Rosemary. "We are going to have a little talk."
"Oh, yes," said Philip and he saw the coat and the hat on the floor. He came over to the fire and turned his back to it.
"It's bad weather," he said. He was still looking at the girl, at her Hands and at her shoes and then at Rosemary again.
"Yes," said Rosemary. "Very bad."
Philip smiled. "I want you for a moment. Come into the library, please. Will Miss Smith excuse us?"
The girl looked at him with her big eyes, but Rosemary
answered for her: "Of course she will." And they went out of
the room.
"I say,"1 said Philip, when they were alone. "Tell me who she is. What does it all mean?"
Rosemary laughed and said: "I found her in Curzon Street. Really. She asked me for the price of a cup of tea, and I brought her home with me."
"But what are you going to do with her?" cried Philip.
"Be nice to her," said Rosemary quickly. "Be very nice to her. Look after her. I don't know how. We haven't talked yet. But show her—make her feel—"
"My dear girl," said Philip, "you are quite mad, you know. It's impossible to do that."
"I knew you would say that," answered Rosemary. "Why not? I want to do that. Isn't that a reason? We are always reading about these things. I decided—"
"But," said Philip slowly, and he cut the end of a cigar, "she is so pretty."
"Pretty?" Rosemary was much surprised. "Do you think so? I—I hadn't thought about it."
"Good Lord!"2 Philip lit the cigar. "She is beautiful. Look again, child. I was much surprised when I came into your room just now. I think you are making a serious mistake. I'm sorry if I'm rude and all that. But let me know if Miss Smith is going to have dinner with us. I need some time to learn her position in society."
"You silly boy!" said Rosemary, and she went out of the library.
But she did not go back to her bedroom. She went to her writing-room and sat down at her desk. Pretty! Beautiful! Her heart beat like a heavy bell. Pretty! Beautiful! She took five pound notes from the desk, looked at them, put two notes back, and with the three in her hand she went back to her bedroom.
30
1 And she burst into tears. — È îíà çàëèëàñü ñëåçàìè.
1 I say — ïîñëóøàé
2 Good Lord! — Áîæå ìîé!
An hour later Philip was still in the library, when Rosemary came in.
"I only wanted to tell you," said she, and she stopped at the door and looked at him with her beautiful eyes, "Miss Smith will not have dinner with us tonight."
Philip put down the magazine. "Oh, what has happened? Is she busy tonight?"
Rosemary came over and sat down beside him. "She wanted to go," said she, "so I gave the poor little thing some money. I couldn't keep her against her will," she said softly.
Rosemary had just done her hair and put on her jewels. She touched Philip's face with her hands.
"Do you like me?" said she, and her tone troubled him.
"I like you very much, " he said. "Kiss me."
There was a pause.
Then Rosemary said dreamily: "I saw a wonderful little box today. It cost twenty-eight guineas. May I have it?"
"You may, my dear," said he.
But that was not really what Rosemary wanted to say.
"Philip," she said in a low voice, "am I pretty?"
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