Doctor Syn on the High Seas - Thorndike Russell - Страница 25

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