Chapter 4 Four

In those days, there was no one like Ross.Waterford took such care of me.She has both the wit of a man and the eccentricity of a woman.The novels she wrote are very unique, and you can't calm down when you read them.It was at her house that I met Charles.Mrs. Strickland.Miss Waterford had a tea party that day, and in one of her little rooms there were more guests than usual.Everyone seemed to be talking to everyone else, and I was the only one sitting there quietly, embarrassed; and since the guests were talking about themselves in twos and threes, I was ashamed to squeeze my way into the crowd.Miss Waterford, a very considerate hostess, noticed my embarrassment and came up to me.

I want you to go and talk to Mrs. Strickland, she says she has a great admiration for your book. What does she do?I asked. I know I'm ignorant, and if Strickland is a famous writer, I'd better find out before talking to her. In order to impress me with his answer, Waterford deliberately lowered his eyelids and assumed a serious look. She specializes in entertaining people for lunch.As long as you don't be so shy and brag a little more about yourself, she will definitely treat you to dinner. Ross.Waterford takes a cynical approach to life.She sees life as an opportunity for her to write fiction, using the world as material for her work.If any of her readers appreciated her talents and entertained her generously, she sometimes entertained them at her home.These people's admiration for writers made her feel both amused and contemptuous, but she dealt with them, fully showing the demeanor of a famous female writer.

I was brought before Mrs. Strickland, and spoke to her for some ten minutes.I didn't find anything special about her except her voice was very pleasant.She has a house in Westminster, facing the unfinished cathedral.Because I also live in that area, the two of us felt closer.To all those who live between the Thames and St James's Park, the Army and Navy Store seems to be the link that unites them.Mrs. Strickland asked for my address, and a few days later I had an invitation from her to lunch. I don't have many dates and I jumped at the invitation.When I arrived at her house a little late, because I was afraid of going too early, I made three circles around the cathedral first.After entering the door, I realized that all the guests had arrived.Waterford was one of them, along with Mrs. Jay, Richard.Twining and George.Loud.Everyone here is a writer.It was a day in early spring, the weather was fine and everyone was in high spirits.We talked about everything, about everything.Miss Waterford could not make up her mind whether to go to a dinner party in the elegant dress of her younger days, in gray and green, with a daffodil in her hand, or to show a little of the beauty of her older years; , then put on high heels and a Parisian top.After hesitating for a long time, she only wore a hat.The hat put her in high spirits, and I never heard her speak so harshly of a friend we both knew well.Mrs. Jay knew very well that transgressive words are the soul of wit, and now and then she said something in a voice not higher than a whisper that would have made the white tablecloth blush.Richard.Twining spouted outrageous nonsense.George.Lou De knew that his amazing wit was well known to everyone, and he didn't need to show his talents, so every time he opened his mouth, he just added food to his mouth.Mrs. Strickland didn't talk much, but she had a lovely knack for directing the conversation around a common theme; and when there was an awkward moment, she always found a suitable word to keep the conversation going.Mrs. Strickland was thirty-seven years old, tall and plump, but not too fat.She was not beautiful, but she had a pleasant face, which may be owed chiefly to her brown, very kind eyes.Her complexion is not very good, and her black hair is very delicately combed.Among the three women, she is the only one who does not wear makeup, but compared with others, this makes her look more plain and natural.

The dining-room was furnished in the artistic fashion of the time, and was very plain.The white wainscoting was high, and on the green wallpaper hung an etching of Whistler in an elegant black frame.Lines of green curtains printed with peacocks hung straight.The carpet is also green, and the picture of white rabbits playing in the rich shade of the carpet on the carpet reminds people of William.The influence of Morris [Note 2].White-glazed and blue earthenware stood on the mantelpiece.There must have been five hundred restaurants in London at the time with exactly the same decor, elegant, chic, and somewhat dull.

【Note 1】James.Abbott.McNair.Whistler: (1834︱1903), American painter and etcher, settled in England for a long time. 【Note 2】William.Morris: (1834︱1896), British poet and artist. Miss Waterford was with me when I left Mrs. Strickland's.As the weather was fine, and her new hat heightened her spirits, we decided to take a walk from St. James's Park. The party just now was great.I said. You don't think the food is bad, don't you?I told her that if she wanted to keep company with writers she had to treat them to good food. It's a very good idea you've given her, I answered, but why should she associate with a writer?

Miss Waterford shrugged her shoulders. She finds the writer interesting.She wants to be trendy.I think she's a little simple-minded, poor thing, she thinks we writers are great people.In any case, she liked to treat us to dinner, and we had no aversion to it.I love her for that. In retrospect, Mrs. Strickland was, in retrospect, the most innocent of those accustomed to the society of men of letters, who, in order to catch their prey, went from the secluded ivory towers of Hampstead. I searched all the way to the shabby and dilapidated studio on China Street.Mrs. Strickland lived in the quiet country when she was young. The books borrowed from the Moody Library not only enabled her to read many romantic stories, but also filled her mind with the image of the big city of London. Romance.She loved reading at heart (a rarity among her kind, most of whom were more interested in writers than in books they wrote, and in painters than in pictures they painted), and she created a fantasy for herself Living in a small world, I feel the freedom that I can't enjoy in daily life.After she got acquainted with the writer, she had a feeling that she was on the stage that she could only look at through the footlights in the past, but this time she stepped on it herself.It was as if her own life had been enlarged by the sight of these people, for not only had she given them a feast, but she had actually broken into their locked retreats.She thinks there is nothing wrong with the creed of these people's game life, but she herself does not want to adjust her life according to their way for a minute.The moral and ethical eccentricities of these people, like their strange clothes and absurd remarks, amused her very much, but had no effect on her own principles of conduct.

Is there a Mr. Strickland?I asked. Why not.He works in London.I think a stockbroker.Nothing funny. Are they on good terms? The two respect and love each other.If you have dinner at their house, you will meet him.But she rarely invites people to dinner.He was not very talkative, and he was not at all interested in literature and art. Why do nice women always marry stupid people? Because smart men don't marry nice women. I could think of no rebuttal, so I turned the conversation away and inquired whether Mrs. Strickland had any children. Yes, a boy and a girl.Both are in school. There is no more to say on this subject.We talked about something else.