Programming Languages Principles and Practices 3rd Edition Louden Test Bank
Programming Languages Principles and Practices 3rd Edition Louden Test Bank
Programming Languages Principles and Practices 3rd Edition Louden Test Bank
Programming Languages Principles and Practices 3rd Edition Louden Test Bank
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5. Chapter 10: Control II - Procedures and Environments
TRUE/FALSE
1. Procedures were first introduced when memory was scarce, as a way of splitting a program into
small, separately compiled pieces.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 444
2. An activation record is a stored log recording each time a procedure or function is activated.
ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 445
3. A procedure specification includes its name, the names and types of its formal parameters and its
return type, if any.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 445
4. You call a procedure by stating its name, together with arguments to the call.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 445
5. A procedure is a mechanism for abstracting a group of actions or computations.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 445
6. A call to a procedure transfers control to the beginning of the body of the called procedure.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 446
7. A procedure declaration creates a constant procedure value and associates a symbolic name with
that value.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 447
8. An activation of a block cannot communicate with the rest of the program.
ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 449
9. Another name for activation record is stack record.
ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 448
10. When you define a procedure, the parameters you list in the interface are the formal parameters.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 450
11. When parameters are passed by value, the arguments are expressions that are evaluated at the time
of the call, with the arguments’ values becoming the values of the parameters during the execution
of the procedure.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 451
6. 12. In C and Java, parameters passed by value behave as local variables of the procedure.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 452
13. Pass by value implies that changes cannot occur outside the procedure through the use of
parameters.
ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 452
14. Pass by value is the default mechanism in C++ and Pascal.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 452
15. If a pointer is passed by value, the procedure cannot modify the contents of the pointer.
ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 452
16. Pass by reference is also known as copy-restore.
ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 454
17. Pass by value-result is also known as copy-in, copy-out.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 454
18. Pass by name can be described as an advanced inlining process for procedures.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 455
19. Pass by name is included in all Algol60 descendants.
ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 455
20. In pass by name parameter passing, arguments are not evaluated until their actual use as
parameters in the procedure.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 455
21. In Ada, parameters can be declared as in or out, but not both.
ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 458
22. In strongly typed languages, procedure calls must be checked so that the arguments agree in type
and number with the parameters of the procedure.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 459
23. Recursion is allowed in Fortran77.
ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 459
24. Reference counting is a lazy method of storage reclamation.
7. ANS: F PTS: 1 REF: 475
25. Mark and sweep is a lazy method of storage reclamation.
ANS: T PTS: 1 REF: 476
MULTIPLE CHOICE
1. A ____ is a mechanism in programming for abstracting a group of actions or computations.
a. statement c. block
b. procedure d. method
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 445
2. The group of actions in a procedure is called the ____ of the procedure.
a. parameters c. activation record
b. arguments d. body
ANS: D PTS: 1 REF: 445
3. A procedure is defined by providing a(n) ____ and a body.
a. name c. activation record
b. interface d. error handler
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 445
4. ____ are used to revert control back to a method caller.
a. Return-statements c. Control-statements
b. Revert-statements d. Redirect-statements
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 446
5. A procedure communicates with the rest of the program through its parameters and through ____.
a. constants c. nonlocal references
b. functions d. overloaded variables
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 447
6. The ____ determines the allocation of memory.
a. stack c. memory manager
b. environment d. translator
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 447
7. The ____ is the memory allocated for the local objects of a procedure block.
a. call record c. activation heap
b. activation record d. heap record
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 448
8. The ____ environment houses global variables.
a. calling c. defining
b. dynamic d. universal
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 449
8. 9. Variables declared in the calling method are said to be in the ____ environment.
a. calling c. static
b. defining d. stack
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 449
10. A procedure communicates with its calling environment through ____.
a. parameters c. constants
b. local variables d. shared memory
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 450
11. ____ are known as actual parameters.
a. Arguments c. Control statements
b. Global variables d. Normal parameters
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 450
12. A procedure with no nonlocal dependencies is considered to be in ____ form.
a. independent c. control
b. closed d. structured
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 450
13. If a parameter behaves as a constant value during execution, the parameter is passed ___.
a. by address c. by type
b. by reference d. by value
ANS: D PTS: 1 REF: 451
14. If the parameter becomes an alias for the argument, the parameter is passed ____.
a. by reference c. by value
b. by address d. by type
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 452
15. Pass ____ copies in the parameter value, and at the end of execution, copies out the final value of
the parameter.
a. by value c. by value-result
b. by reference d. by address
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 454
16. Historically, the interpretation of pass by name arguments as functions to be evaluated was
expressed by referring to them as ____.
a. chunks c. thunks
b. objects d. expressions
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 456
17. In a(n) ____ environment, all memory allocation can be performed at load time, and the location of
all variables are fixed for the duration of program execution.
a. dynamic c. global
b. universal d. fully static
ANS: D PTS: 1 REF: 459
9. 18. The ____ maintains the location of the current activation record.
a. environment pointer c. stack pointer
b. activation pointer d. stack register
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 462
19. The pointer to the previous activation record is the ____ link.
a. reverse c. control
b. history d. return
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 462
20. The local variable ____ stores the distance from the environment pointer.
a. distance c. offset
b. locator d. pointer
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 464
21. The access link provides access to ____.
a. local variables c. parameters
b. nonlocal variables d. imported variables
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 467
22. ____ occurs when multiple access links must be followed to arrive at a nonlocal variable.
a. Access chaining c. Environmental linking
b. Lexical chaining d. Global linking
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 468
23. In a(n) ____ environment, activation records are not removed as long as there are references to any
of its local objects.
a. closed c. type safe
b. fully dynamic d. fully static
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 472
24. The process of joining a block of free memory with immediately adjacent blocks to form a larger
contiguous block of free memory is called ____.
a. consolidation c. reference counting
b. defragmenting d. coalescing
ANS: D PTS: 1 REF: 474
25. Reference counting is a form of ____.
a. tracking parameter use
b. reclamation of storage that is no longer referenced
c. allocating memory
d. accessing nonlocal variables
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 475
11. 36. THE HOUSE IN TOWN
Returning by way of Knollsea, where she remained a week or two,
Ethelberta appeared one evening at the end of September before
her house in Exonbury Crescent, accompanied by a pair of cabs with
the children and luggage; but Picotee was left at Knollsea, for
reasons which Ethelberta explained when the family assembled in
conclave. Her father was there, and began telling her of a surprising
change in Menlove-an unasked-for concession to their cause, and a
vow of secrecy which he could not account for, unless any friend of
Ethelberta's had bribed her.
'O no-that cannot be,' said she. Any influence of Lord Mountclere
to that effect was the last thing that could enter her thoughts.
'However, what Menlove does makes little difference to me now.'
And she proceeded to state that she had almost come to a decision
which would entirely alter their way of living.
'I hope it will not be of the sort your last decision was,' said her
mother.
'No; quite the reverse. I shall not live here in state any longer. We
will let the house throughout as lodgings, while it is ours; and you
and the girls must manage it. I will retire from the scene altogether,
and stay for the winter at Knollsea with Picotee. I want to consider
my plans for next year, and I would rather be away from town.
Picotee is left there, and I return in two days with the books and
papers I require.'
'What are your plans to be?'
'I am going to be a schoolmistress-I think I am.'
'A schoolmistress?'
'Yes. And Picotee returns to the same occupation, which she ought
never to have forsaken. We are going to study arithmetic and
geography until Christmas; then I shall send her adrift to finish her
12. term as pupil-teacher, while I go into a training-school. By the time I
have to give up this house I shall just have got a little country
school.'
'But,' said her mother, aghast, 'why not write more poems and sell
'em?'
'Why not be a governess as you were?' said her father.
'Why not go on with your tales at Mayfair Hall?' said Gwendoline.
'I'll answer as well as I can. I have decided to give up romancing
because I cannot think of any more that pleases me. I have been
trying at Knollsea for a fortnight, and it is no use. I will never be a
governess again: I would rather be a servant. If I am a
schoolmistress I shall be entirely free from all contact with the great,
which is what I desire, for I hate them, and am getting almost as
revolutionary as Sol. Father, I cannot endure this kind of existence
any longer; I sleep at night as if I had committed a murder: I start
up and see processions of people, audiences, battalions of lovers
obtained under false pretences-all denouncing me with the finger of
ridicule. Mother's suggestion about my marrying I followed out as far
as dogged resolution would carry me, but during my journey here I
have broken down; for I don't want to marry a second time among
people who would regard me as an upstart or intruder. I am sick of
ambition. My only longing now is to fly from society altogether, and
go to any hovel on earth where I could be at peace.'
'What-has anybody been insulting you?' said Mrs. Chickerel.
'Yes; or rather I sometimes think he may have: that is, if a
proposal of marriage is only removed from being a proposal of a
very different kind by an accident.'
'A proposal of marriage can never be an insult,' her mother
returned.
'I think otherwise,' said Ethelberta.
'So do I,' said her father.
'Unless the man was beneath you, and I don't suppose he was
that,' added Mrs. Chickerel.
13. 'You are quite right; he was not that. But we will not talk of this
branch of the subject. By far the most serious concern with me is
that I ought to do some good by marriage, or by heroic performance
of some kind; while going back to give the rudiments of education to
remote hamleteers will do none of you any good whatever.'
'Never you mind us,' said her father; 'mind yourself.'
'I shall hardly be minding myself either, in your opinion, by doing
that,' said Ethelberta dryly. 'But it will be more tolerable than what I
am doing now. Georgina, and Myrtle, and Emmeline, and Joey will
not get the education I intended for them; but that must go, I
suppose.'
'How full of vagaries you are,' said her mother. 'Why won't it do to
continue as you are? No sooner have I learnt up your schemes, and
got enough used to 'em to see something in 'em, than you must
needs bewilder me again by starting some fresh one, so that my
mind gets no rest at all.'
Ethelberta too keenly felt the justice of this remark, querulous as
it was, to care to defend herself. It was hopeless to attempt to
explain to her mother that the oscillations of her mind might arise as
naturally from the perfection of its balance, like those of a logan-
stone, as from inherent lightness; and such an explanation, however
comforting to its subject, was little better than none to simple hearts
who only could look to tangible outcrops.
'Really, Ethelberta,' remonstrated her mother, 'this is very odd.
Making yourself miserable in trying to get a position on our account
is one thing, and not necessary; but I think it ridiculous to rush into
the other extreme, and go wilfully down in the scale. You may just
as well exercise your wits in trying to swim as in trying to sink.'
'Yes; that's what I think,' said her father. 'But of course Berta
knows best.'
'I think so too,' said Gwendoline.
'And so do I,' said Cornelia. 'If I had once moved about in large
circles like Ethelberta, I wouldn't go down and be a schoolmistress-
not I.'
14. 'I own it is foolish-suppose it is,' said Ethelberta wearily, and with
a readiness of misgiving that showed how recent and hasty was the
scheme. 'Perhaps you are right, mother; anything rather than
retreat. I wonder if you are right! Well, I will think again of it to-
night. Do not let us speak more about it now.'
She did think of it that night, very long and painfully. The
arguments of her relatives seemed ponderous as opposed to her
own inconsequent longing for escape from galling trammels. If she
had stood alone, the sentiment that she had begun to build but was
not able to finish, by whomsoever it might have been entertained,
would have had few terrors; but that the opinion should be held by
her nearest of kin, to cause them pain for life, was a grievous thing.
The more she thought of it, the less easy seemed the justification of
her desire for obscurity. From regarding it as a high instinct she
passed into a humour that gave that desire the appearance of a
whim. But could she really set in train events, which, if not abortive,
would take her to the altar with Viscount Mountclere?
In one determination she never faltered; to commit her sin
thoroughly if she committed it at all. Her relatives believed her
choice to lie between Neigh and Ladywell alone. But once having
decided to pass over Christopher, whom she had loved, there could
be no pausing for Ladywell because she liked him, or for Neigh in
that she was influenced by him. They were both too near her level
to be trusted to bear the shock of receiving her from her father's
hands. But it was possible that though her genesis might tinge with
vulgarity a commoner's household, susceptible of such depreciation,
it might show as a picturesque contrast in the family circle of a peer.
Hence it was just as well to go to the end of her logic, where
reasons for tergiversation would be most pronounced. This thought
of the viscount, however, was a secret for her own breast alone.
Nearly the whole of that night she sat weighing-first, the question
itself of marrying Lord Mountclere; and, at other times, whether, for
safety, she might marry him without previously revealing family
particulars hitherto held necessary to be revealed-a piece of conduct
she had once felt to be indefensible. The ingenious Ethelberta, much
15. more prone than the majority of women to theorize on conduct, felt
the need of some soothing defence of the actions involved in any
ambiguous course before finally committing herself to it.
She took down a well-known treatise on Utilitarianism which she
had perused once before, and to which she had given her adherence
ere any instance had arisen wherein she might wish to take it as a
guide. Here she desultorily searched for argument, and found it; but
the application of her author's philosophy to the marriage question
was an operation of her own, as unjustifiable as it was likely in the
circumstances.
'The ultimate end,' she read, 'with reference to and for the sake of
which all other things are desirable (whether we are considering our own
good or that of other people) is an existence exempt as far as possible from
pain, and as rich as possible in enjoyments, both in point of quantity and
quality. . . . This being, according to the utilitarian opinion, the end of
human action, is necessarily also the standard of morality.'
It was an open question, so far, whether her own happiness should
or should not be preferred to that of others. But that her personal
interests were not to be considered as paramount appeared further on:-
'The happiness which forms the standard of what is right in conduct is
not the agent's own happiness but that of all concerned. As between his own
happiness and that of others, utilitarianism requires him to be as strictly
impartial as a disinterested and benevolent spectator.'
As to whose happiness was meant by that of 'other people,' 'all
concerned,' and so on, her luminous moralist soon enlightened her:-
'The occasions on which any person (except one in a thousand) has it in
his power to do this on an extended scale-in other words, to be a public
benefactor-are but exceptional; and on these occasions alone is he called on
to consider public utility; in every other case private utility, the
interest or happiness of some few persons, is all he has to attend to.'
And that these few persons should be those endeared to her by
every domestic tie no argument was needed to prove. That their
happiness would be in proportion to her own well-doing, and power
to remove their risks of indigence, required no proving either to her
now.
By a sorry but unconscious misapplication of sound and wide
reasoning did the active mind of Ethelberta thus find itself a solace.
16. At about the midnight hour she felt more fortified on the expediency
of marriage with Lord Mountclere than she had done at all since
musing on it. In respect of the second query, whether or not, in that
event, to conceal from Lord Mountclere the circumstances of her
position till it should be too late for him to object to them, she found
her conscience inconveniently in the way of her theory, and the
oracle before her afforded no hint. 'Ah-it is a point for a casuist!' she
said.
An old treatise on Casuistry lay on the top shelf. She opened it-
more from curiosity than from guidance this time, it must be
observed-at a chapter bearing on her own problem, 'The disciplina
arcani, or, the doctrine of reserve.'
Here she read that there were plenty of apparent instances of this
in Scripture, and that it was formed into a recognized system in the
early Church. With reference to direct acts of deception, it was
argued that since there were confessedly cases where killing is no
murder, might there not be cases where lying is no sin? It could not
be right-or, indeed, anything but most absurd-to say in effect that no
doubt circumstances would occur where every sound man would tell
a lie, and would be a brute or a fool if he did not, and to say at the
same time that it is quite indefensible in principle. Duty was the key
to conduct then, and if in such cases duties appeared to clash they
would be found not to do so on examination. The lesser duty would
yield to the greater, and therefore ceased to be a duty.
This author she found to be not so tolerable; he distracted her.
She put him aside and gave over reading, having decided on this
second point, that she would, at any hazard, represent the truth to
Lord Mountclere before listening to another word from him. 'Well, at
last I have done,' she said, 'and am ready for my role.'
In looking back upon her past as she retired to rest, Ethelberta
could almost doubt herself to be the identical woman with her who
had entered on a romantic career a few short years ago. For that
doubt she had good reason. She had begun as a poet of the Satanic
school in a sweetened form; she was ending as a pseudo-utilitarian.
Was there ever such a transmutation effected before by the action of
17. a hard environment? It was not without a qualm of regret that she
discerned how the last infirmity of a noble mind had at length nearly
departed from her. She wondered if her early notes had had the
genuine ring in them, or whether a poet who could be thrust by
realities to a distance beyond recognition as such was a true poet at
all. Yet Ethelberta's gradient had been regular: emotional poetry,
light verse, romance as an object, romance as a means, thoughts of
marriage as an aid to her pursuits, a vow to marry for the good of
her family; in other words, from soft and playful Romanticism to
distorted Benthamism. Was the moral incline upward or down?
18. 37. KNOLLSEA-AN ORNAMENTAL
VILLA
Her energies collected and fermented anew by the results of the
vigil, Ethelberta left town for Knollsea, where she joined Picotee the
same evening. Picotee produced a letter, which had been addressed
to her sister at their London residence, but was not received by her
there, Mrs. Chickerel having forwarded it to Knollsea the day before
Ethelberta arrived in town.
The crinkled writing, in character like the coast-line of Tierra del
Fuego, was becoming familiar by this time. While reading the note
she informed Picotee, between a quick breath and a rustle of frills,
that it was from Lord Mountclere, who wrote on the subject of
calling to see her, suggesting a day in the following week. 'Now,
Picotee,' she continued, 'we shall have to receive him, and make the
most of him, for I have altered my plans since I was last in Knollsea.'
'Altered them again? What are you going to be now-not a poor
person after all?'
'Indeed not. And so I turn and turn. Can you imagine what Lord
Mountclere is coming for? But don't say what you think. Before I
reply to this letter we must go into new lodgings, to give them as
our address. The first business to-morrow morning will be to look for
the gayest house we can find; and Captain Flower and this little
cabin of his must be things we have never known.'
The next day after breakfast they accordingly sallied forth.
Knollsea had recently begun to attract notice in the world. It had
this year undergone visitation from a score of professional
gentlemen and their wives, a minor canon, three marine painters,
seven young ladies with books in their hands, and nine-and-thirty
babies. Hence a few lodging-houses, of a dash and pretentiousness
19. far beyond the mark of the old cottages which formed the original
substance of the village, had been erected to meet the wants of
such as these. To a building of this class Ethelberta now bent her
steps, and the crush of the season having departed in the persons of
three-quarters of the above-named visitors, who went away by a
coach, a van, and a couple of wagonettes one morning, she found
no difficulty in arranging for a red and yellow streaked villa, which
was so bright and glowing that the sun seemed to be shining upon it
even on a cloudy day, and the ruddiest native looked pale when
standing by its walls. It was not without regret that she renounced
the sailor's pretty cottage for this porticoed and balconied dwelling;
but her lines were laid down clearly at last, and thither she removed
forthwith.
From this brand-new house did Ethelberta pen the letter fixing the
time at which she would be pleased to see Lord Mountclere.
When the hour drew nigh enormous force of will was required to
keep her perturbation down. She had not distinctly told Picotee of
the object of the viscount's visit, but Picotee guessed nearly enough.
Ethelberta was upon the whole better pleased that the initiative had
again come from him than if the first step in the new campaign had
been her sending the explanatory letter, as intended and promised.
She had thought almost directly after the interview at Rouen that to
enlighten him by writing a confession in cold blood, according to her
first intention, would be little less awkward for her in the method of
telling than in the facts to be told.
So the last hair was arranged and the last fold adjusted, and she
sat down to await a new page of her history. Picotee sat with her,
under orders to go into the next room when Lord Mountclere should
call; and Ethelberta determined to waste no time, directly he began
to make advances, in clearing up the phenomena of her existence to
him; to the end that no fact which, in the event of his taking her to
wife, could be used against her as an example of concealment,
might remain unrelated. The collapse of his attachment under the
test might, however, form the grand climax of such a play as this.
20. The day was rather cold for the season, and Ethelberta sat by a
fire; but the windows were open, and Picotee was amusing herself
on the balcony outside. The hour struck: Ethelberta fancied she
could hear the wheels of a carriage creeping up the steep ascent
which led to the drive before the door.
'Is it he?' she said quickly.
'No,' said Picotee, whose indifference contrasted strangely with the
restlessness of her who was usually the coolest. 'It is a man shaking
down apples in the garden over the wall.'
They lingered on till some three or four minutes had gone by.
'Surely that's a carriage?' said Ethelberta, then.
'I think it is,' said Picotee outside, stretching her neck forward as
far as she could. 'No, it is the men on the beach dragging up their
boats; they expect wind to-night.'
'How wearisome! Picotee, you may as well come inside; if he
means to call he will; but he ought to be here by this time.'
It was only once more, and that some time later that she again
said 'Listen!'
'That's not the noise of a carriage; it is the fizz of a rocket. The
coastguardsmen are practising the life-apparatus to-day, to be ready
for the autumn wrecks.'
'Ah!' said Ethelberta, her face clearing up. Hers had not been a
sweetheart's impatience, but her mood had intensified during these
minutes of suspense to a harassing mistrust of her man-compelling
power, which was, if that were possible, more gloomy than
disappointed love. 'I know now where he is. That operation with the
cradle-apparatus is very interesting, and he is stopping to see it. . . .
But I shall not wait indoors much longer, whatever he may be
stopping to see. It is very unaccountable, and vexing, after moving
into this new house too. We were much more comfortable in the old
one. In keeping any previous appointment in which I have been
concerned he has been ridiculously early.'
'Shall I run round?' said Picotee, 'and if he is not watching them
we will go out.'
21. 'Very well,' said her sister.
The time of Picotee's absence seemed an age. Ethelberta heard
the roar of another rocket, and still Picotee did not return. 'What can
the girl be thinking of?' she mused. . . . 'What a half-and-half policy
mine has been! Thinking of marrying for position, and yet not
making it my rigid plan to secure the man the first moment that he
made his offer. So I lose the comfort of having a soul above
worldliness, and my compensation for not having it likewise!' A
minute or two more and in came Picotee.
'What has kept you so long-and how excited you look,' said
Ethelberta.
'I thought I would stay a little while, as I had never seen a rocket-
apparatus,' said Picotee, faintly and strangely.
'But is he there?' asked her sister impatiently.
'Yes-he was. He's gone now!'
'Lord Mountclere?'
'No. There is no old man there at all. Mr Julian was there.'
A little 'Ah!' came from Ethelberta, like a note from a storm-bird at
night. She turned round and went into the back room. 'Is Mr. Julian
going to call here?' she inquired, coming forward again.
'No-he's gone by the steamboat. He was only passing through on
his way to Sandbourne, where he is gone to settle a small business
relating to his father's affairs. He was not in Knollsea ten minutes,
owing to something which detained him on the way.'
'Did he inquire for me?'
'No. And only think, Ethelberta-such a remarkable thing has
happened, though I nearly forgot to tell you. He says that coming
along the road he was overtaken by a carriage, and when it had just
passed him one of the horses shied, pushed the other down a slope,
and overturned the carriage. One wheel came off and trundled to
the bottom of the hill by itself. Christopher of course ran up, and
helped out of the carriage an old gentleman-now do you know
what's likely?'
22. 'It was Lord Mountclere. I am glad that's the cause,' said
Ethelberta involuntarily.
'I imagined you would suppose it to be Lord Mountclere. But Mr.
Julian did not know the gentleman, and said nothing about who he
might be.'
'Did he describe him?'
'Not much-just a little.'
'Well?'
'He said he was a sly old dog apparently, to hear how he swore in
whispers. This affair is what made Mr. Julian so late that he had no
time to call here. Lord Mountclere's ankle-if it was Lord Mountclere-
was badly sprained. But the servants were not injured beyond a
scratch on the coachman's face. Then they got another carriage and
drove at once back again. It must be he, or else why is he not
come? It is a pity, too, that Mr. Julian was hindered by this, so that
there was no opportunity for him to bide a bit in Knollsea.'
Ethelberta was not disposed to believe that Christopher would
have called, had time favoured him to the utmost. Between himself
and her there was that kind of division which is more
insurmountable than enmity; for estrangements produced by good
judgment will last when those of feeling break down in smiles. Not
the lovers who part in passion, but the lovers who part in friendship,
are those who most frequently part for ever.
'Did you tell Mr. Julian that the injured gentleman was possibly
Lord Mountclere, and that he was coming here?' said Ethelberta.
'I made no remark at all-I did not think of him till afterwards.'
The inquiry was hardly necessary, for Picotee's words would dry
away like a brook in the sands when she held conversation with
Christopher.
As they had anticipated, the sufferer was no other than their
intending visitor. Next morning there was a note explaining the
accident, and expressing its writer's suffering from the cruel delay as
23. greater than that from the swollen ankle, which was progressing
favourably.
Nothing further was heard of Lord Mountclere for more than a
week, when she received another letter, which put an end to her
season of relaxation, and once more braced her to the contest. This
epistle was very courteously written, and in point of correctness,
propriety, and gravity, might have come from the quill of a bishop.
Herein the old nobleman gave a further description of the accident,
but the main business of the communication was to ask her if, since
he was not as yet very active, she would come to Enckworth Court
and delight himself and a small group of friends who were visiting
there.
She pondered over the letter as she walked by the shore that day,
and after some hesitation decided to go.
24. 38. ENCKWORTH COURT
It was on a dull, stagnant, noiseless afternoon of autumn that
Ethelberta first crossed the threshold of Enckworth Court. The
daylight was so lowered by the impervious roof of cloud overhead
that it scarcely reached further into Lord Mountclere's entrance-hall
than to the splays of the windows, even but an hour or two after
midday; and indoors the glitter of the fire reflected itself from the
very panes, so inconsiderable were the opposing rays.
Enckworth Court, in its main part, had not been standing more
than a hundred years. At that date the weakened portions of the
original mediaeval structure were pulled down and cleared away, old
jambs being carried off for rick-staddles, and the foliated timbers of
the hall roof making themselves useful as fancy chairs in the
summer-houses of rising inns. A new block of masonry was built up
from the ground of such height and lordliness that the remnant of
the old pile left standing became as a mere cup-bearer and culinary
menial beside it. The rooms in this old fragment, which had in times
past been considered sufficiently dignified for dining-hall,
withdrawing-room, and so on, were now reckoned barely high
enough for sculleries, servants' hall, and laundries, the whole of
which were arranged therein.
The modern portion had been planned with such a total disregard
of association, that the very rudeness of the contrast gave an
interest to the mass which it might have wanted had perfect
harmony been attempted between the old nucleus and its adjuncts,
a probable result if the enlargement had taken place later on in time.
The issue was that the hooded windows, simple string-courses, and
random masonry of the Gothic workman, stood elbow to elbow with
the equal-spaced ashlar, architraves, and fasciae of the Classic
addition, each telling its distinct tale as to stage of thought and
domestic habit without any of those artifices of blending or
25. restoration by which the seeker for history in stones will be utterly
hoodwinked in time to come.
To the left of the door and vestibule which Ethelberta passed
through rose the principal staircase, constructed of a freestone so
milk-white and delicately moulded as to be easily conceived in the
lamplight as of biscuit-ware. Who, unacquainted with the secrets of
geometrical construction, could imagine that, hanging so airily there,
to all appearance supported on nothing, were twenty or more tons
dead weight of stone, that would have made a prison for an
elephant if so arranged? The art which produced this illusion was
questionable, but its success was undoubted. 'How lovely!' said
Ethelberta, as she looked at the fairy ascent. 'His staircase alone is
worth my hand!'
Passing along by the colonnade, which partly fenced the staircase
from the visitor, the saloon was reached, an apartment forming a
double cube. About the left-hand end of this were grouped the
drawing-rooms and library; while on the right was the dining-hall,
with billiard, smoking, and gun rooms in mysterious remoteness
beyond.
Without attempting to trace an analogy between a man and his
mansion, it may be stated that everything here, though so dignified
and magnificent, was not conceived in quite the true and eternal
spirit of art. It was a house in which Pugin would have torn his hair.
Those massive blocks of red-veined marble lining the hall-emulating
in their surface-glitter the Escalier de Marbre at Versailles-were
cunning imitations in paint and plaster by workmen brought from
afar for the purpose, at a prodigious expense, by the present
viscount's father, and recently repaired and re-varnished. The dark
green columns and pilasters corresponding were brick at the core.
Nay, the external walls, apparently of massive and solid freestone,
were only veneered with that material, being, like the pillars, of brick
within.
To a stone mask worn by a brick face a story naturally
appertained-one which has since done service in other quarters.
When the vast addition had just been completed King George visited
26. Enckworth. Its owner pointed out the features of its grand
architectural attempt, and waited for commendation.
'Brick, brick, brick,' said the king.
The Georgian Lord Mountclere blushed faintly, albeit to his very
poll, and said nothing more about his house that day. When the king
was gone he sent frantically for the craftsmen recently dismissed,
and soon the green lawns became again the colour of a Nine-Elms
cement wharf. Thin freestone slabs were affixed to the whole series
of fronts by copper cramps and dowels, each one of substance
sufficient to have furnished a poor boy's pocket with pennies for a
month, till not a speck of the original surface remained, and the
edifice shone in all the grandeur of massive masonry that was not
massive at all. But who remembered this save the builder and his
crew? and as long as nobody knew the truth, pretence looked just as
well.
What was honest in Enckworth Court was that portion of the
original edifice which still remained, now degraded to subservient
uses. Where the untitled Mountclere of the White Rose faction had
spread his knees over the brands, when the place was a castle and
not a court, the still-room maid now simmered her preserves; and
where Elizabethan mothers and daughters of that sturdy line had
tapestried the love-scenes of Isaac and Jacob, boots and shoes were
now cleaned and coals stowed away.
Lord Mountclere had so far recovered from the sprain as to be
nominally quite well, under pressure of a wish to receive guests. The
sprain had in one sense served him excellently. He had now a
reason, apart from that of years, for walking with his stick, and took
care to let the reason be frequently known. To-day he entertained a
larger number of persons than had been assembled within his walls
for a great length of time.
Until after dinner Ethelberta felt as if she were staying at an hotel.
Few of the people whom she had met at the meeting of the Imperial
Association greeted her here. The viscount's brother was not
present, but Sir Cyril Blandsbury and his wife were there, a lively
27. pair of persons, entertaining as actors, and friendly as dogs. Beyond
these all the faces and figures were new to her, though they were
handsome and dashing enough to satisfy a court chronicler.
Ethelberta, in a dress sloped about as high over the shoulder as
would have drawn approval from Reynolds, and expostulation from
Lely, thawed and thawed each friend who came near her, and sent
him or her away smiling; yet she felt a little surprise. She had
seldom visited at a country-house, and knew little of the ordinary
composition of a group of visitors within its walls; but the present
assemblage seemed to want much of that old-fashioned stability and
quaint monumental dignity she had expected to find under this
historical roof. Nobody of her entertainer's own rank appeared. Not a
single clergyman was there. A tendency to talk Walpolean scandal
about foreign courts was particularly manifest. And although tropical
travellers, Indian officers and their wives, courteous exiles, and
descendants of Irish kings, were infinitely more pleasant than Lord
Mountclere's landed neighbours would probably have been, to such
a cosmopolite as Ethelberta a calm Tory or old Whig company would
have given a greater treat. They would have struck as gratefully
upon her senses as sylvan scenery after crags and cliffs, or silence
after the roar of a cataract.
It was evening, and all these personages at Enckworth Court were
merry, snug, and warm within its walls. Dinner-time had passed, and
everything had gone on well, when Mrs. Tara O'Fanagan, who had a
gold-clamped tooth, which shone every now and then, asked
Ethelberta if she would amuse them by telling a story, since nobody
present, except Lord Mountclere, had ever heard one from her lips.
Seeing that Ethelberta had been working at that art as a
profession, it can hardly be said that the question was conceived
with tact, though it was put with grace. Lord Mountclere evidently
thought it objectionable, for he looked unhappy. To only one person
in the brilliant room did the request appear as a timely accident, and
that was to Ethelberta herself. Her honesty was always making war
upon her manoeuvres, and shattering their delicate meshes, to her
great inconvenience and delay. Thus there arose those devious
28. impulses and tangential flights which spoil the works of every would-
be schemer who instead of being wholly machine is half heart. One
of these now was to show herself as she really was, not only to Lord
Mountclere, but to his friends assembled, whom, in her ignorance,
she respected more than they deserved, and so get rid of that self-
reproach which had by this time reached a morbid pitch, through her
over-sensitiveness to a situation in which a large majority of women
and men would have seen no falseness.
Full of this curious intention, she quietly assented to the request,
and laughingly bade them put themselves in listening order.
'An old story will suit us,' said the lady who had importuned her.
'We have never heard one.'
'No; it shall be quite new,' she replied. 'One not yet made public;
though it soon will be.'
The narrative began by introducing to their notice a girl of the
poorest and meanest parentage, the daughter of a serving-man, and
the fifth of ten children. She graphically recounted, as if they were
her own, the strange dreams and ambitious longings of this child
when young, her attempts to acquire education, partial failures,
partial successes, and constant struggles; instancing how, on one of
these occasions, the girl concealed herself under a bookcase of the
library belonging to the mansion in which her father served as
footman, and having taken with her there, like a young Fawkes,
matches and a halfpenny candle, was going to sit up all night
reading when the family had retired, until her father discovered and
prevented her scheme. Then followed her experiences as nursery-
governess, her evening lessons under self-selected masters, and her
ultimate rise to a higher grade among the teaching sisterhood. Next
came another epoch. To the mansion in which she was engaged
returned a truant son, between whom and the heroine an
attachment sprang up. The master of the house was an ambitious
gentleman just knighted, who, perceiving the state of their hearts,
harshly dismissed the homeless governess, and rated the son, the
consequence being that the youthful pair resolved to marry secretly,
and carried their resolution into effect. The runaway journey came
29. next, and then a moving description of the death of the young
husband, and the terror of the bride.
The guests began to look perplexed, and one or two exchanged
whispers. This was not at all the kind of story that they had
expected; it was quite different from her usual utterances, the
nature of which they knew by report. Ethelberta kept her eye upon
Lord Mountclere. Soon, to her amazement, there was that in his face
which told her that he knew the story and its heroine quite well.
When she delivered the sentence ending with the professedly
fictitious words: 'I thus was reduced to great distress, and vainly
cast about me for directions what to do,' Lord Mountclere's manner
became so excited and anxious that it acted reciprocally upon
Ethelberta; her voice trembled, she moved her lips but uttered
nothing. To bring the story up to the date of that very evening had
been her intent, but it was beyond her power. The spell was broken;
she blushed with distress and turned away, for the folly of a
disclosure here was but too apparent.
Though every one saw that she had broken down, none of them
appeared to know the reason why, or to have the clue to her
performance. Fortunately Lord Mountclere came to her aid.
'Let the first part end here,' he said, rising and approaching her.
'We have been well entertained so far. I could scarcely believe that
the story I was listening to was utterly an invention, so vividly does
Mrs. Petherwin bring the scenes before our eyes. She must now be
exhausted; we will have the remainder to-morrow.'
They all agreed that this was well, and soon after fell into groups,
and dispersed about the rooms. When everybody's attention was
thus occupied Lord Mountclere whispered to Ethelberta tremulously,
'Don't tell more: you think too much of them: they are no better
than you! Will you meet me in the little winter garden two minutes
hence? Pass through that door, and along the glass passage.' He
himself left the room by an opposite door.
She had not set three steps in the warm snug octagon of glass
and plants when he appeared on the other side.
30. 'You knew it all before!' she said, looking keenly at him. 'Who told
you, and how long have you known it?'
'Before yesterday or last week,' said Lord Mountclere. 'Even before
we met in France. Why are you so surprised?'
Ethelberta had been surprised, and very greatly, to find him, as it
were, secreted in the very rear of her position. That nothing she
could tell was new to him was a good deal to think of, but it was
little beside the recollection that he had actually made his first
declaration in the face of that knowledge of her which she had
supposed so fatal to all her matrimonial ambitions.
'And now only one point remains to be settled,' he said, taking her
hand. 'You promised at Rouen that at our next interview you would
honour me with a decisive reply-one to make me happy for ever.'
'But my father and friends?' said she.
'Are nothing to be concerned about. Modern developments have
shaken up the classes like peas in a hopper. An annuity, and a
comfortable cottage-'
'My brothers are workmen.'
'Manufacture is the single vocation in which a man's prospects
may be said to be illimitable. Hee-hee!-they may buy me up before
they die! And now what stands in the way? It would take fifty
alliances with fifty families so little disreputable as yours, darling, to
drag mine down.'
Ethelberta had anticipated the scene, and settled her course; what
had to be said and done here was mere formality; yet she had been
unable to go straight to the assent required. However, after these
words of self-depreciation, which were let fall as much for her own
future ease of conscience as for his present warning, she made no
more ado.
'I shall think it a great honour to be your wife,' she said simply.
32. 39. KNOLLSEA-MELCHESTER
The year was now moving on apace, but Ethelberta and Picotee
chose to remain at Knollsea, in the brilliant variegated brick and
stone villa to which they had removed in order to be in keeping with
their ascending fortunes. Autumn had begun to make itself felt and
seen in bolder and less subtle ways than at first. In the morning
now, on coming downstairs, in place of a yellowish-green leaf or two
lying in a corner of the lowest step, which had been the only
previous symptoms around the house, she saw dozens of them
playing at corkscrews in the wind, directly the door was opened.
Beyond, towards the sea, the slopes and scarps that had been
muffled with a thick robe of cliff herbage, were showing their chill
grey substance through the withered verdure, like the background of
velvet whence the pile has been fretted away. Unexpected breezes
broomed and rasped the smooth bay in evanescent patches of
stippled shade, and, besides the small boats, the ponderous lighters
used in shipping stone were hauled up the beach in anticipation of
the equinoctial attack.
A few days after Ethelberta's reception at Enckworth, an improved
stanhope, driven by Lord Mountclere himself, climbed up the hill until
it was opposite her door. A few notes from a piano softly played
reached his ear as he descended from his place: on being shown in
to his betrothed, he could perceive that she had just left the
instrument. Moreover, a tear was visible in her eye when she came
near him.
They discoursed for several minutes in the manner natural
between a defenceless young widow and an old widower in Lord
Mountclere's position to whom she was plighted-a great deal of
formal considerateness making itself visible on her part, and of
extreme tenderness on his. While thus occupied, he turned to the
piano, and casually glanced at a piece of music lying open upon it.
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