Chapter 11 Chapter Two Such a Good Night

Supper began in silence; the two women sat facing each other, as did the two men. In silence, a soup was finished—very nice, but a little too thick; and the fish was brought.Pass it to everyone in silence. Bosinney ventured to say, "Today is the first day of spring." Irene echoed softly, "Yes—the first day is like spring." "Spring!" said Joan, "so sullen that there's not even a breath of air!" No one answered.The fish was removed, but it was a pity that there was a pot of Duffer's fresh flatfish.Belleson brought champagne, the neck of which was full of froth.

Said Soames, "You'll find the wine to be very good." When the young chickens came up, each drumstick was wrapped in red crumpled paper.Joan didn't want to eat, and the seat fell silent again. Soames said: "You'd better have a piece, Joan, there's nothing down there." But Joan still wouldn't take it; the chick took it away.Later, Irene asked, "Philip, have you heard my crow call?" Bosinney replied, "Of course I heard it--a hunting song it sang. I heard it over the square when I came over." "It's such a baby!" "Would you like a salad, sir?" The chick withdrew.

But Soames was talking: "Asparagus is bad. Bosinney, have a glass of sherry to go with the dessert? Joan, you don't drink at all!" Joan said, "You know I never drink. Alcohol is a nasty thing!" And apple pie was brought up in a silver basin.Erin smiled and said, "This year's rhododendrons are blooming so well!" Following this sentence, Bosinney murmured: "It's great! It's very fragrant!" Joan said, "How can you like this scent? Sugar, Belleson." The candy was offered to her, and Soames said, "That's a nice apple pie!"

The apple pie was gone.A long silence followed.Irene waved her hand, and said, "Take out this rhododendron, Belleson, Miss Joan can't bear the smell." "Don't. Put it here," Joan said. French olives and Russian caviar were served in small plates.Soames said, "Why are there no Spanish olives?" But there was no answer. The olives were removed.Joan picked up the glass and said, "Give me some water, please." The water was given to her.Bring up a silver basin of German plums.For a long time, everyone was silent, and they all ate plums in one movement.

Bosinney counted up Lee: "This year—next year—when—" Erin finished for him softly: "Never. Today's sunset is so brilliant. The sky is still burning red—it's so beautiful!" Bosinney replied, "Just under the night." The eyes of the two met, and Joan said loudly and disdainfully: "Sunset glow in London!" Egyptian cigarettes were delivered in silver boxes.Soames took one and said: "When does your play begin?" No one answered, and Turkish coffee was served in cloisonné cups. Erin smiled and said, "If I could—" "Can what?" Joan said.

"If only it could be spring forever!" The brandy came; pale and stale. Soames said: "Bosinney, have some brandy." Bosinney took a drink; all rose. "Would you like a cab?" asked Soames. Joan said, "No. Please bring my coat, Belle." The coat was brought to her. Irene murmured from the window: "Such a lovely evening! The stars are out!" Soames continued: "I hope you two enjoy yourself." Joan replied at the door: "Thanks. Come on, Phil." "Here I am," Bosinney called. Soames smiled haughtily and said: "Good luck!"

At the door, Erin watched them go. Bosinney called: "Good night!" "Good night!" she said softly. Joan asked her lover to take her on the upper deck of the coach, saying she wanted to get some air; she sat there in silence, with her face to the wind. Once or twice the driver turned his head and was about to say something, but after thinking about it, he didn't say anything.What a pair of lively lovers!Spring was in his blood too; he felt the need to vent his chest, so he clicked his tongue, whipped his whip, and turned the horses; even the two horses, poor things, smelled of spring Breath, there is such a short half an hour to step briskly on the stone road.

The whole city is alive with life; the branches of the trees are adorned with clusters of young leaves, upturned, waiting for the spring wind to bring them some favor.The new street lamps were getting brighter and brighter, and the intense light turned the faces of the crowd pale; high above, large white clouds moved quickly and lightly across the dark purple sky. Men in tuxedoes had opened their coats and trotted briskly up the steps of the club; workers were prowling the streets; women—those who were especially lonely at this time of night—walked eastward in solitary clusters. To go--walking waddlingly, expectantly in his demeanor, dreaming of good wine and a good supper, or, for a minute now and then, a kiss of love.

All these endless beings, going their separate ways under the street lamps and the moving sky, all without exception felt a certain blissful invigoration from the turmoil of spring; Shaking off some of their own class, creed, and fashion, or wearing their hat on one side, or walking briskly, or laughing, or being silent, they show that they are all of the same kind under the enthusiasm of heaven. . Bosinney and Joan walked silently into the theater and climbed into their balcony seats.The play had just started, and in the semi-dark place, rows of people were all staring in one direction, looking like many flowers in a big garden facing the sun.

Joan had never sat upstairs in the back seat.From the age of fifteen, she often sat in the main hall with her grandfather, and it was not an ordinary main hall, it was the best seat, the third row in the middle; old Jolyon came back from the business district a few days ago, Ordered a pack from Grogan; he hid the theater tickets in his overcoat pocket with his cigar case and old sheepskin gloves, and left them with Joan until that evening.The grandparents and grandchildren sat in the front row like this—one was an old man with a straight waist and white hair trimmed, and the other was a thin, energetic, itchy, red-gold hair—and everything was going on. and on the way home, old Jolyon would often say of the leading man: "Ah, he's very bad! If you've ever seen Little Bouson!"

Joan had been looking forward to this evening with great joy; it was stolen, led by no elders, and it would never have occurred to Stanup Gate that she was at Soames' house.She had lied this time for her lover's sake, and she had hoped to be paid for it; she had hoped that by doing so she would break through the dense, cold clouds, and make the relationship between the two of them—so bewildering and painful of late— ——Back to the sunshine and simplicity before winter.She came out this time intending to talk about something personal; she looked at the stage, her brows were furrowed, she couldn't see anything, her hands were on her knees and tightly clenched; her heart was filled with suspicion and jealousy, like countless Bees sting her frequently.It's hard to say whether Bosinney was considerate of her difficulties, but he didn't show it at all. under the curtain.The first play is over. "It's too hot here!" said the girl; "I want to go out." She was pale, and knew—she could see it all when she was so excited—that he was feeling uneasy and guilty. Behind the theater there was a terrace facing the street; she ran to the terrace and leaned against the railing, waiting for him to speak. Finally she couldn't take it anymore. "I have something to tell you, Fili," she said. "yes?" The defensive tone in his voice caused her cheeks to flush, and she couldn't help blurting out: "You don't give me a chance to make out with you; you haven't done this in a long, long time!" Bosinney stared down at the street.He didn't answer. Joan said excitedly, "You know I'm going to give you my all - I'm going to be your all -" There was a hum in the street, pierced by a sharp tinkling: the curtain-raising bell rang.Joan didn't move.She was struggling desperately.Would she say it all?Would she directly challenge the power, the temptation that drew him away from her?She was aggressive by nature, so she said, "Filly, show me that house on Sunday!" There was a quivering, intermittent smile on her lips, and she was trying—what an effort—not to look like she was watching him, searching for the expression on his face, seeing that face hesitating, hesitating, seeing the frown frown. There was a slit, and his face flushed red.He replied, "Not on Sunday, dear; another day!" "Why not on Sunday? I'm out of the way on Sunday." He seemed very embarrassed, reluctantly said: "I have a date." "You're going to take—" There was anger in his eyes; he shrugged and replied, "I have an appointment, so I can't show you the house!" Joan bit her lips until the blood came out, and returned to her seat without saying a word, but she was so angry and angry that she couldn't help crying.Fortunately, the lights in the arena had been turned off at this time, so no one saw her distressed situation. Yet in this world of Forsyte one must not think that one has escaped the eye of the beholder. Just in the third row at the back, Euphemia, Nikolai's youngest daughter, and her married sister, Mrs. Dividman, were watching attentively. When they got to Timothy's they told everyone about seeing Joan and her fiancé at the theater. "Are you sitting in the main hall?" "No, it's not—" "Oh, it's upstairs, of course. It seems to be very fashionable among young people these days?" Well, it can't be considered a box either.It's sitting——.In short, this engagement will not last long.They had never seen a person look as angry as Xiaoqiong!With tears of joy in their eyes, they recounted how Joan came back to her seat in the middle of an act, how she had kicked a man's hat, and how the man had made a face.Euphemia was famously silent with laughter, and the most disappointing thing was a scream at the end of the laugh; on this day when Mrs. Small heard this, she raised her hands and said, "My God! Is it a hat?" Euphemia let out so many screams that people used smelling salts to wake her up.As she was leaving, she said to Mrs. DeVideman: "'Kicked the man's hat!' Ah! I was dying of laughter." Take "Little Qiong" as an example, that night should have been a good time, but it never came back disappointed.Thanks to her efforts to suppress the anger, suspicion and jealousy in her heart! She parted from Bosinney at old Jolyon's door, and did not weep without disgrace; and the intensity of her determination to subdue her lover sustained her till the sound of Bosinney's departing footsteps was heard. Make her truly realize the extent of her pain. The silent "Shanji" came to open the door for her.She would have slipped quietly upstairs to the bedroom, but old Jolyon, hearing her entry, was already standing in the dining-room door. "Come in for your milk," he said. "It's cooking for you. It's late. Where have you been?" Joan stood by the fire, with one foot on the charcoal and one arm on the grate, just as her grandfather had done that night when he came home from the opera.She's on the verge of breaking down, so tell him she doesn't care. "We dined at Soames'." "Hmph! The property man! Is his wife there--and Bosinney?" "correct." Old Jolyon looked at her, and you couldn't hide anything from his piercing gaze; but she wasn't looking at him; and when she turned, old Jolyon stopped looking.He had seen a lot, seen too much.He stooped to get her the glass of milk from the fire, and turning himself away, muttered, "You shouldn't be out so late; it's going to ruin your body." He hid his face behind the paper now, and made it loud on purpose; but when Joan came up to kiss him, he said, "Sleep, boy," in a trembling and unexpectedly tender voice, which Joan almost I couldn't bear it anymore, and hurried out of the dining room and back to my room, where I cried all night. As the door closed, old Jolyon dropped the newspaper, and stared anxiously for a long time. "The bastard!" he said to himself. "I always knew she would have trouble with him!" Doubts and uneasiness filled his mind; all the more so by the feeling that he was powerless to stop and control the course of events.Will this guy throw her away?He would have liked to go and find him, and say to him: "Listen, sir! Are you going to throw away my granddaughter?" But how could he go?He knew too little, or nothing at all; yet he was savvy enough to say that he was right, that there must be something.He wondered if Bosinney was walking around the Montberger Square too often. "This guy," thought he, "maybe not a bad man; he doesn't have a face like a bad man, but he's queer. I never know what kind of man he is. I'll never know what he's like." Kind of man! I'm told he works like an ox, but I don't see any good in it. He's impractical and unorganized in his work. Come here, it's like a monkey sitting there muffled. I asked him what he drank, and he always said, 'Anything, thank you.' I offered him cigars, and he smoked them like German cigars for two pennies apiece. I never I saw that little bit of affection in his eyes when he looked at Joan; however, he was not chasing her money. As long as Joan showed a little bit, he would terminate the contract with her the next day. But Joan would not—Joan would never Ken! She's going to nail him! She's as stubborn as fate—won't let go!" Old Jolyon sighed deeply, and turned the papers; perhaps it happened that he could find some comfort in the columns. Upstairs, Joan stood at the window of her bedroom; the spring breeze came in through the window, after intoxicating in the park, to cool her fiery cheeks, but to burn her chest.