Doctor Syn on the High Seas - Thorndike Russell - Страница 25
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voyage.”
And she made her husband sit down there and then pen a letter to
Spain. To this she put a postscript in Spanish:
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You will please be obedient, and not fail us. I cannot leave Oxford
without my mantilla and guitar, and my Doctor wants his book. But more
than all we want to see and talk with you, Nikola Tappittero of Spain.
How I have laughed at that! If you see us before we go to Romney Marsh,
you will escape the mists of winter here. Oxford is bad enough. Oh,
what a climate! I wonder sometimes how Englishmen are as lively as they
are. I hope you wil l bring us the latest songs of Spain.
Which postscript somewhat distressed the good Doctor. But he said
nothing. After all, Nicholas was no Spaniard.
Though many of the students who visited them were lively enough,
Imogene found Oxford people conn ected with the University took like and
themselves very seriously. Even Doctor Syn, by reason of being the
youngest Don, has automatically adopted a gravity of manner suitable to
his responsibilities. To Imogene the subjects that he taught were
deathly dull: dead languages and Ecclesiastical Law. To cope with such
grave writings, he seemed to her to have wrapped his soul in too somber
a cloak. The only thing that he approached with a lightness of spirit
was his study of Spanish. Here he was the student and the teacher, and
it annoyed her that he did not attach the same importance to her living
language as he did to his own dead ones. This fault, although she did
not realize it, was largely of her own making, for unconsciously she
talked so much of Nicholas and Spain, that in Doctor Syn there began to
grow a jealousy. Not owning this even to himself, he gave her no
warning that such a thing existed. During Spanish lessons she adopted
his own manner of teaching. She railed against the smallest mistakes,
and pronounced his accent as execrable.
He excused himself by saying: “It is the fault of our cold English
voices, my dear. We cannot speak a foreign tongue to the manner born.
We are perhaps too aloof to be good imitators. In the colder languages
of the North we might become convincing, but French, Italian and your
Spanish need a warmer voicing than we can give, and I think no Britisher
would ever deceive a native.”
Her answer irritated him. “Nonsense!” she cried. “Nicholas speaks
Spanish like a Spaniard.”
“He has lived in Spain,” he argued sharply. “And what do we know of
his parents? He never speaks of them. If he is fully English, I am much
deceived. Think of his complexion. There is surely foreign blood in
such swarthiness.”
“If you compare him to your Tony,” she replied, “he may not look so
English. But why be so ungenerous to your good friend? Is the English
complexion the only perfection?”
She looked so scornful in saying it that he took her in his arms and
whispered: “Yours is the most perfect complexion in the world. We both
agree on that, at least.”
“No doubt it will become more English,” she answered, “when beaten by
those flying mists on Romney Marsh.”
The Southern sun in you will drive our mists away,” he said. “And I
am sorry if I appeared ill-tempered I had no right to disparge Nicholas.
You have much in common, and for that I like him, and like you to like
him. But tell me that you love me?”
“I love you, Christopher.” Then she kissed him and smiled. “And
might even love you better still, if you would only laugh as much as
Nicholas.”
“It suits his gay clothes better than my black cloth,” he said. “But
I’ll be livelier when away from all these pompous Colleges. The sooner
we leave, the sooner will you se e the change in me.”
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“But you are not leaving till Nicholas comes,” she said teasingly.
“You have given me your word on that.”
“Not that I recollect,” he laughed. “But since I can refuse you
nothing, there, I promise you. I’ll make the rogue my curate, if you
like. You could keep him well in order as his Vicar’s wife.”
And at the thought they both laughed and were happy.
To atone for this argument, Doctor Syn constantly talked of Nicholas,
expressing hopes for his speedy return, and for the same reason of
contrition, Imogene appeared to have lost interest in him.
It had been arranged meantime that Doctor Syn should be inducted into
his Living on the day week following the closing of the Oxford Term. As
the time approached with no news from Spain, the Doctor became anxious,
for he had not calculated that either business or contrary winds could
delay Nicholas so long, and he had given his promise to Imogene not to
leave, and yet he knew the inconvenience he would cause should he not be
in Dymchurch for the Induction. He therefore told Imogene of his
anxiety, and found, much to his relief, that she attached small
importance to it.
“But you must go, of course, my dear,” she said. “We will both go.
The Vicarage is finished. There is nothing to delay us. . Nicholas
must blame himself if he is so tardy. If he wishes to see us at
all, he must take the long ridge to Kent. We have at least
built a Spanish porch to accommodate him and his guitar.”
“You mean that we will go together?” asked Syn, delighted.
“Am I married to you or to Nicholas?” she asked.
“To me, and thank God for it,” he exclaimed.
“Then there is no more to be said, but I like you all the
more for offering to keep your promise.”
Battered by heavy seas and hampered by headwinds in the
Channel, Nicholas returned to Oxford but two days before Doctor Syn and
Imogene were due to set out by coach. Owing to his wife’s change of
attitude towards Nicholas, Doctor Syn generously welcomed the voyager
with more enthusiasm.
“There is no need to inquire after your happiness, Doctor,” said
Nicholas, “for I never saw you so gay in manner. But what has befallen
Imogene? She appears mighty solemn. I trust he is not taking her duties
as a parson’s wife too seriously?”
“She is delighted with your gifts, Nicholas,” he answered. “Believe
me, she had been most anxious to see you before we had to leave.”
Seeing that he had now no cause for jealousy, Doctor Syn reproved his
wife in private for the cold attitude she was showing toward their
friend.
“I am in a mood to be irritated by him,” she explained. “He is so
vastly pleased with himself. Also I am not feeling well. I have the
heaviest head imaginable, my nerves are all jangled, and with your
permission there is nothing I should like more than to spend the day in
bed.”
Having handed her over to the care of the motherly landlady, who was
very fond of her, Doctor Syn was very glad to be able to give Nicholas a
solid reason for Imogene’s indifference, for he did not like to see such
a jolly rogue so dismally cast down. One the advice of the landlady, a
physician was summoned, who reported that although there was no cause
for alarm, the patient was nevertheless suffering from a nervous
disorder and there could be no question of allowing her to undertake the
strain of a long coach journey to Kent. On the contrary, he insisted
that she must be confined to the house for at least a week.
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Doctor Syn, in his anxiety, first thought of canceling the ceremony of
his induction till such time as his wife could recover. In this,
however, he was overruled not only by Imogene herself, but also by the
landlady, who avowed that the young husband would be better out of the
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