pgw.threemenandamaid- 第1节

　
　Through　the　curtained　windows　of　the　furnished　apartment　which　Mrs。　Horace　Hignett　had　rented　for　her　stay　in　New　York　rays　of　golden　sunlight　peeped　in　like　the　foremost　spies　of　some　advancing　army。　It　was　a　fine　summer　morning。　The　hands　of　the　Dutch　clock　in　the　hall　pointed　to　thirteen　minutes　past　nine；　those　of　the　ormolu　clock　in　the　sitting…room　to　eleven　minutes　past　ten；　those　of　the　carriage　clock　on　the　bookshelf　to　fourteen　minutes　to　six。　In　other　words；　it　was　exactly　eight；　and　Mrs。　Hignett　acknowledged　the　fact　by　moving　her　head　on　the　pillow；　opening　her　eyes；　and　sitting　up　in　bed。　She　always　woke　at　eight　precisely。
　Was　this　Mrs。　Hignett　　the　　Mrs。　Hignett；　the　world…famous　writer　on　Theosophy；　the　author　of　〃The　Spreading　Light；〃　〃What　of　the　Morrow；〃　and　all　the　rest　of　that　well…known　series？　I'm　glad　you　asked　me。　Yes；　she　was。　She　had　e　over　to　America　on　a　lecturing　tour。
　The　year　1921；　it　will　be　remembered；　was　a　trying　one　for　the　inhabitants　of　the　United　States。　Every　boat　that　arrived　from　England　brought　a　fresh　swarm　of　British　lecturers　to　the　country。　Novelists；　poets；　scientists；　philosophers；　and　plain；　ordinary　bores；　some　herd　instinct　seemed　to　affect　them　all　simultaneously。　It　was　like　one　of　those　great　race　movements　of　the　Middle　Ages。　Men　and　women　of　widely　differing　views　on　religion；　art；　politics；　and　almost　every　other　subject；　on　this　one　point　the　intellectuals　of　Great　Britain　were　single…minded；　that　there　was　easy　money　to　be　picked　up　on　the　lecture　platforms　of　America　and　that　they　might　just　as　well　grab　it　as　the　next　person。
　Mrs。　Hignett　had　e　over　with　the　first　batch　of　immigrants；　for；　spiritual　as　her　writings　were；　there　was　a　solid　streak　of　business　sense　in　this　woman　and　she　meant　to　get　hers　while　the　getting　was　good。　She　was　half　way　across　the　Atlantic　with　a　plete　itinerary　booked　before　90　per　cent。　of　the　poets　and　philosophers　had　finished　sorting　out　their　clean　collars　and　getting　their　photographs　taken　for　the　passport。
　She　had　not　left　England　without　a　pang；　for　departure　had　involved　sacrifices。　More　than　anything　else　in　the　world　she　loved　her　charming　home；　Windles；　in　the　county　of　Hampshire；　for　so　many　years　the　seat　of　the　Hignett　family。　Windles　was　as　the　breath　of　life　to　her。　Its　shady　walks；　its　silver　lake；　its　noble　elms；　the　old　grey　stone　of　its　wallsthese　were　bound　up　with　her　very　being。　She　felt　that　she　belonged　to　Windles；　and　Windles　to　her。　Unfortunately；　as　a　matter　of　cold；　legal　accuracy；　it　did　not。　She　did　but　hold　it　in　trust　for　her　son；　Eustace；　until　such　time　as　he　should　marry　and　take　possession　of　it　himself。　There　were　times　when　the　thought　of　Eustace　marrying　and　bringing　a　strange　woman　to　Windles　chilled　Mrs。　Hignett　to　her　very　marrow。　Happily；　her　firm　policy　of　keeping　her　son　permanently　under　her　eye　at　home　and　never　permitting　him　to　have　speech　with　a　female　below　the　age　of　fifty　had　averted　the　peril　up　till　now。
　Eustace　had　acpanied　his　mother　to　America。　It　was　his　faint　snores　which　she　could　hear　in　the　adjoining　room；　as；　having　bathed　and　dressed；　she　went　down　the　hall　to　where　breakfast　awaited　her。　She　smiled　tolerantly。　She　had　never　desired　to　convert　her　son　to　her　own　early　rising　habits；　for；　apart　from　not　allowing　him　to　call　his　soul　his　own；　she　was　an　indulgent　mother。　Eustace　would　get　up　at　half…past　nine；　long　after　she　had　finished　breakfast；　read　her　mail；　and　started　her　duties　for　the　day。
　Breakfast　was　on　the　table　in　the　sitting…room；　a　modest　meal　of　rolls；　cereal；　and　imitation　coffee。　Beside　the　pot　containing　this　hell…brew　was　a　little　pile　of　letters。　Mrs。　Hignett　opened　them　as　she　ate。　The　majority　were　from　disciples　and　dealt　with　matters　of　purely　theosophical　interest。　There　was　an　invitation　from　the　Butterfly　Club　asking　her　to　be　the　guest　of　honour　at　their　weekly　dinner。　There　was　a　letter　from　her　brother　MallabySir　Mallaby　Marlowe；　the　eminent　London　lawyersaying　that　his　son　Sam；　of　whom　she　had　never　approved；　would　be　in　New　York　shortly；　passing　through　on　his　way　back　to　England；　and　hoping　that　she　would　see　something　of　him。　Altogether　a　dull　mail。　Mrs。　Hignett　skimmed　through　it　without　interest；　setting　aside　one　or　two　of　the　letters　for　Eustace；　who　acted　as　her　unpaid　secretary；　to　answer　later　in　the　day。
　She　had　just　risen　from　the　table　when　there　was　a　sound　of　voices　in　the　hall；　and　presently　the　domestic　staff；　a　gaunt　Irish　lady　of　advanced　years；　entered　the　room。
　〃Ma'am；　there　was　a　gentleman。〃
　Mrs。　Hignett　was　annoyed。　Her　mornings　were　sacred。
　〃Didn't　you　tell　him　I　was　not　to　be　disturbed？〃
　〃I　did　not。　I　loosed　him　into　the　parlor。〃
　The　staff　remained　for　a　moment　in　melancholy　silence；　then　resumed。　〃He　says　he's　your　nephew。　His　name's　Marlowe。〃
　Mrs。　Hignett　experienced　no　diminution　of　her　annoyance。　She　had　not　seen　her　nephew　Sam　for　ten　years　and　would　have　been　willing　to　extend　the　period。　She　remembered　him　as　an　untidy　small　boy　who；　once　or　twice；　during　his　school　holidays；　had　disturbed　the　cloistral　peace　of　Windles　with　his　beastly　presence。　However；　blood　being　thicker　than　water；　and　all　that　sort　of　thing；　she　supposed　she　would　have　to　give　him　five　minutes。　She　went　into　the　sitting…room　and　found　there　a　young　man　who　looked　more　or　less　like　all　other　young　men；　though　perhaps　rather　fitter　than　most。　He　had　grown　a　good　deal　since　she　had　last　met　him；　as　men　will　do　between　the　ages　of　fifteen　and　twenty…five；　and　was　now　about　six　feet　in　height；　about　forty　inches　round　the　chest；　and　in　weight　about　one　hundred　and　eighty　pounds。　He　had　a　brown　and　amiable　face；　marred　at　the　moment　by　an　expression　of　disfort　somewhat　akin　to　that　of　a　cat　in　a　strange　alley。
　〃Hallo；　Aunt　Adeline！〃　he　said　awkwardly。
　〃Well；　Samuel！〃　said　Mrs。　Hignett。
　There　was　a　pause。　Mrs。　Hignett；　who　was　not　fond　of　young　men　and　disliked　having　her　mornings　broken　into；　was　thinking　that　he　had　not　improved　in　the　slightest　degree　since　their　last　meeting；　and　Sam；　who　imagined　that　he　had　long　since　grown　to　man's　estate　and　put　off　childish　things；　was　embarrassed　to　discover　that　his　aunt　still　affected　him　as　of　old。　That　is　to　say；　she　made　him　feel　as　if　he　had　omitted　to　shave；　and；　in　addition　to　that；　had　swallowed　some　drug　which　had　caused　him　to　swell　unpleasantly；　particularly　about　the　hands　and　feet。
　〃Jolly　morning；〃　said　Sam；　perseveringly。
　〃So　I　imagine。　I　have　not　yet　been　out。〃
　〃Thought　I'd　look　in　and　see　how　you　were。〃
　〃That　was　very　kind　of　you。　The　morning　is　my　busy　time；　but　。。。　yes；　that　was　very　kind　of　you！〃
　There　was　another　pause。
　〃How　do　you　like　America？〃　said　Sam。
　〃I　dislike　it　exceedingly。〃
　〃Yes？　Well；　of　course　some　people　do。　Prohibition　and　all　that。　Personally；　it　doesn't　affect　me。　I　can　take　it　or　leave　it　alone。〃
　〃The　reason　I　dislike　America〃　began　Mrs。　Hignett　bridling。
　〃I　like　it　myself；〃　said　Sam。　〃I've　had　a　wonderful　time。　Everybody's　treated　me　like　a　rich　uncle。　I've　been　in　Detroit；　you　know；　and　they　practically　gave　me　the　city　and　asked　me　if　I'd　like　another　to　take　home　in　my　pocket。　Never　saw　anything　like　it。　I　might　have　been　the　missing　heir。　I　think　America's　the　greatest　invention　on　record。〃
　〃And　what　brought　you　to　America？〃　said　Mrs。　Hignett；　unmoved　by　this　rhapsody。
　〃Oh；　I　came　over　to　play　golf。　In　a　tournament；　you　know。〃
　〃Surely　at　your　age；〃　said　Mrs。　Hignett；　disapprovingly；　〃you　could　be　better　occupied。　Do　you　spend　your　whole　time　playing　golf？〃
　〃Oh；　no。　I　hunt　a　bit　and　shoot　a　bit　and　I　swim　a　good　lot；　and　I　still　play　football　occasionally。〃
　〃I　wonder　your　father　does　not　insist　on　your　doing　some　useful　work。〃
　〃He　is　beginning　to　harp　on　the　subject　rather。　I　suppose　I　shall　take　a　stab　at　it　sooner　or　later。　Father　says　I　ought　to　get　married；　too。〃
　〃He　is　perfectly　right。〃
　〃I　suppose　old　Eustace　will　be　getting　hitched　up　one　of　these　days？〃　said　Sam。
　Mrs。　Hignett　started　violently。
　〃Why　do　you　say　that？〃
　〃Eh？〃
　〃What　makes　you　say　that？〃
　〃Oh；　well；　he's　a　romantic　sort　of　fellow。　Writes　poetry　and　all　that。〃
　〃There　is　no　li