“No, by George! I forgot it.” Mr. Laurence half paused, his tall figure arrested in the act of putting on his overcoat in the front hall, to which his wife had followed him, napkin in hand, from the breakfast table.
“Oh, Will! and I told you the day before, so that you’d have plenty of time.” Mrs. Laurence’s brows expressed tragic1 disappointment, her tone, if affectionate, was despairing. “I never saw any one like you, you never remember a thing I ask you to, any more. You don’t seem to have a mind for anything but that old law business. You’ll have to order the coal this morning.”
“But, Nan”—Mr. Laurence, with his overcoat on and hat in hand, bent2 his fine, thin face over his watch. “I don’t see how I can, possibly; I’ve an appointment in town, and I must go around by Herkimer Street on my way to the station to see if Lalor’s got the papers he promised me.”
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“I thought you were going there to-night.” Mrs. Laurence held the door-knob fast.
“I am, but I want the papers first. Couldn’t you send one of the maids to order the coal?”
“Yes, I could, but I won’t,” said his wife. Her dark eyes flashed, her tone had the conscious defiance4 of the loved woman, who can trade on her charm enough to be belligerent5 if she feels like it. “It’s got to the place where I see to every single article we eat or wear or use in this house but the coal! And I just won’t order that. I told you about it three days ago and we must have it this morning, with all this snow on the ground, whether it makes you late for your appointment or not.”
“Then let me go now,” said Mr. Laurence tersely6, putting aside the arms with which she sought to encircle him as he swooped7 hastily over to kiss her on his way out. The open door let in a rush of cold air, as almost visibly keen and sparkling as a scimitar, that clove8 the lungs for a moment, before it was closed behind him, and his wife went back to the breakfast table where her ten-year-old son awaited her to glean9 the information about his history lesson which he should have looked up for himself the day[105] before. It was, perhaps, the trouble with Mrs. Laurence that her brightness and her intelligence served to help only by taking the whole burden of a thing upon herself; it might be indeed the reason why Mr. Laurence’s official duties in the household had dwindled10 down to the ordering of coal, and the minor11 courtesy of getting a glass of water for her himself before she went to bed; it might be because she had never been able to see him do anything without doing it too. In the days when he had ostensibly locked up for the night she always followed around after him to see that the windows and doors were really bolted, so that gradually he left it all to her; if he poked12 the fire she snatched up the poker13 from where he had laid it to do the work over again. If he were sitting down she carried her own chair near the lamp rather than draw his attention to her need. Yet, sometimes, she had begun to have a little hurt feeling that he let her do so much. As to this matter of the coal—she could have sent Teresa to Harner’s, of course—it was before that revelling14 era of house-to-house telephoning on the Ridge15—yet even at the thought she stiffened16 a little. There are certain unnoticed beams and girders that hold up an edifice17; if one of these is out of plumb18 the whole building sags19.
[106]
If Will really refused to order the coal he couldn’t be quite her Will any more.
Mr. Laurence, leaving the house, had debated momently in which of two opposite directions he should proceed, then he turned up Herkimer Street; to get the papers from Lalor was part of that “business” which, to a man, comes first. The air did not mellow20 after that initial plunge21 into it, it became almost unbearably22 keen not only in the blue shadows that lay along the freezing snow, but even where the sunshine set it glittering. Half of the walks were shovelled23 to make a narrow, icy pathway, but where there were unoccupied lots the drifts lay white and high, broken only by the deep leg-prints of commuters. As he strode swiftly on men shot from several houses; a very fat man, a tall one, a short one, their black figures sprinting24 madly in line across the white expanse towards the sound of a train slowing into the station.
Mr. Laurence’s brows contracted unconsciously—he ought to be on that train himself. If it were not for getting that paper from Lalor—the case was an important one, a good deal of Mr. Laurence’s future depended on it; he had taken it up rather against the advice of his closest friends, they thought it would be impossible to win it, but[107] he had that little inner conviction, that intangible sense of mastery that often spells success. It gave him a nervous power that on occasion seemed to have no end, but just because it was a matter of highly strung nerves a tiny obstruction25 jarred them out of use; the tension was gone beyond immediate26 recall—it might take hours or days even to get the instrument back to that pitch—it might never get there. It was sometimes almost in the nature of self-preservation when he shut himself off from the minor pressure, the minor affairs. In this present instance, as he strode along his mind was bent on Lalor, whose former subordinate connection with the incriminated corporation seemed to have been forgotten by every one but himself. Lalor was a shifty, uncertain genius, not to be depended on, yet from whom some central facts would have to be wrested27; the trouble was to keep hold of him; he required constant bolstering28 up.
“Why, Mrs. Lalor!”
Laurence stopped short as he nearly collided with a very slight woman, blown at him at the turn of the corner by a sweeping29 gale30 that devastated31 the sunshine. “Here, turn around for a moment until that blast is over.”
He steadied her where she stood panting[108] and breathless, looking down at the top of her light-blue chiffon hat, which had rather a pale and chilly32 early-morning effect in connection with a tight-fitting tan jacket. In lieu of furs she wore a white, pink-flowered silk scarf tied around her throat, the long fringed ends depending below her waist. Her figure was that of a young girl, but when she raised her small, long-chinned face you saw that she was considerably33 older; there were innumerable fine wrinkles around her pretty eyes—which had a soft haze34 over them, as if she had cried a great deal—and her abundant fair hair seemed a shade or two lighter35 than any nature could have intended it. She had an indescribable effect of artificiality counteracted36 rather appealingly by something bright and courageous37 in her gaze. Opinion halted about Mrs. Lalor, who, as a Southern woman was not only alien in habit to the Northern community to which she had lately come, but was also looked upon debatingly by the small society of Southerners in the place, usually hospitably38 ready to welcome any one from home.
It was unquestionable that she came of a good family, which counted for very much, but it was rumoured39 that she had married against the family wishes. No one knew anything of Mr. Lalor—who, in appearance,[109] was a tall, handsome man with a drooping41, reddish-brown mustache—except that he was unpleasingly dissipated and always in difficulties; it seemed to discredit42 his wife in some way that she lived with him. She had, besides a little flirting43, attractive manner to men, a sort of an echo of past belleship, which might have been all right if she had a nice husband, but was felt to be a little stepping over the line when she hadn’t. A few women averred44 that there was something in her that they really liked, of whom tender-hearted little Mrs. Ramsey was one, and her neighbour, Mrs. Laurence another. The latter was by nature both generous and romantic, and with an unselfish, intelligent insight into lives that were different from her own.
There was a trustfulness in Mrs. Lalor’s attitude now which appealed to Laurence. He let go his hold of her as the wind subsided45, to say:
“What are you out so early for this bitter morning? I’m just on my way to your house. Is Lalor in?”
“If you were going for those papers”—Mrs. Lalor began tugging46 at the breast of her jacket for a visible package—“My husband meant to bring them around last night, but he’s in bed—with a cold.” Every one knew what Mr. Lalor’s “colds” implied. “I thought[110] you might need them to-day; I was so afraid I wouldn’t catch you in time.” She drew a sharp breath that showed how she had been hurrying.
“It was awfully47 good of you,” said Mr. Laurence warmly, as they turned down another street together. “Lalor will be well enough to be seen this evening, I hope?”
“Yes, I’m sure he will,” said Mrs. Lalor, in a tone that guaranteed it. “But I want to ask you, Mr. Laurence”—her face became suddenly fixed48 and expressionless—“in seeing that you get the evidence you want, my husband will not be—prominent in any way?”
“His name need not appear at all,” said Laurence promptly49. His arm hovered50 spasmodically near her as she went slipping and lurching alternately beside him—“Take care! You’d better not walk any farther.”
“Oh, I have to go as far as Harner’s to order a ton of furnace coal.”
“I’ll stop and order it for you, if that’s all,” said Mr. Laurence. His eyes, lightly comprehensive, took note of the clock in the church tower. “I’ve got a good five minutes before my train. You go straight home, Mrs. Lalor.”
He looked down protectingly to meet her upward gaze, which was relieved and coquettish[111] and yet, somehow, a little sad, as she answered:
“Well, if you will——! I never do anything for myself if there’s a gentleman to do it for me.”
He raised his hat before starting on, and when he looked back she waved her hand to him. The large advancing figure of Mrs. Stone—on her way home from wresting51 the early chop from the butcher—amply furred and heavily goloshed, her beaver52 hat as well as her face swathed in a thick, brown veil, threw into high relief the tawdry lightness of Mrs. Lalor’s attire53.
He recollected54 that if he ever objected to a thin jacket on his wife she invariably professed55 to be “warm underneath56.” Mrs. Lalor might also be warm underneath, but he had a masculine preference for having people look warm in winter-time.
Poor little woman! He shook his head as he thought of Lalor, with a quick compression of his lips. Then a long whistle from up the track sent him tearing ahead in the teeth of the wind, to thrust his head at last inside of Harner’s office and call out:
“Send a ton of furnace coal to Mrs. Lalor, 36 Herkimer Street, and be quick about it,” before settling down into that swift run back that carried him swinging up by the guard[112] rail onto the slippery steps of the last car, and out into that region where women and household matters are not.
The first thing Mrs. Laurence said when she came in at lunch time, after a morning spent abroad, was:
“How freezing cold this house is! Hasn’t the coal come yet, Teresa?”
“No, ma’am.”
“How provoking!” Mrs. Laurence stopped short in disgust. “I never saw such a place; it’s as much as your life’s worth to get anything delivered when you want it. Is that Timothy I hear in the cellar now?” Timothy was the furnace man of the Ridge. “Tell him not to let the fire go entirely57 out; we’ll have to manage it some way. If he comes back between two and three the coal will certainly be here then.”
But two o’clock, three o’clock, four o’clock passed, and no coal wagon58 backed up to the sidewalk in front, of the Laurences, though a succession of them passed funereally59 through the white street, en route for more fortunate householders. At a quarter after four she gave a joyful60 exclamation—one had stopped, at last, opposite her door; but the joy was short-lived—the wagon honked61 further along, tentatively, until it stopped at Mrs. Spicer’s half-way down the block.
[113]
In a minute more Mrs. Laurence could see the dark legs of alternate men outlined against the drifts, as they carried buckets of the precious fuel to the opening in the cellar at the side of the Spicer villa62. Something seemed to shatter through her—an iconoclastic63 blast, that she had been striving to shut out. Could Will have possibly forgotten between the house and the station? But no, that could not be!
She dressed hastily, in the later stages of her toilet vibrating between the silver-decked dressing-table, and the window, from behind the curtains of which she took recurrent peeps. At her last look she ran hastily down the stairs and opened the front door for Mrs. Stone, who was temporarily garbed64 in a polo cap and her husband’s spring overcoat, into the pockets of which she had thrust her hands.
“I saw you coming along! It’s too cold to be kept waiting on anybody’s door-step. Walk right in, tea will be ready in a moment.”
“I thought I’d be sure to find you in now,” said Mrs. Stone comfortably, shedding her masculine apparel in the hall on her way to the drawing-room where she established herself with the ease of custom in a Turkish chair by the gas logs. The Ridge was apt to assemble informally at Mrs. Laurence’s for five o’clock tea; it was known that she really[114] had it whether there was any one there or not; there was always something pleasantly cosy65 about the little function.
Mrs. Stone watched her hostess lazily as she drew the low, china-laden table nearer the fire, and lighted the lamp under the brass66 kettle just brought in, her dark, graceful67 head bent over to watch it, and her hands showing very white against the dull red of her gown.
“It’s such a relief to get in here,” said the visitor, breaking the silence as she took the steaming cup of fragrant68 tea offered her, and helped herself to a tiny hot buttered scone69, from a blue Canton dish. “They are getting in coal at the Budds’ this morning, and now they’re at it at the Spicers’—the noise nearly sets me crazy, the houses are so near together. O Mrs. Spicer, I didn’t hear you come in!”
Mrs. Stone looked up with a start to see another visitor walking, unannounced, into the room, a little woman in a long fur wrap with a lace scarf thrown over her head. “I was just saying—perhaps you heard me—what a noise your coal makes when it’s being put in.”
“Oh, don’t speak of it!” said Mrs. Spicer. She seemed to greet her hostess, shed her outer garments, perch70 herself on a little, straight-backed sofa, and take her cup of tea[115] at one and the same moment with a swiftness of movement accelerated in her further speech, which tumbled forth71 like a small cataract72. “Don’t speak of it, no one knows what I went through last summer, when you were at the seashore and your coal was laid in. I couldn’t sit on the piazza73 at all, and the thermometer was in the nineties. At the end of the third day I nearly had nervous prostration74. Ernest Spicer was really worried about me. I never find it any economy to lay in a stock of coal; you use it up so much faster; it seems as if you were paying out for enough to last you until you died, and then, just at the time you didn’t count on taking the money for it you have to buy more. If we laid in a mine full in July we’d have to order coal in February.”
“Well, I wish I were laying it in now,” interposed Mrs. Laurence deftly75, with a sigh. “Mr. Laurence ordered some this morning, and it hasn’t come yet. I would have sent a message to Harner’s, but I have been expecting the coal wagon every moment.”
“I saw your husband speaking to Mrs. Lalor as I came back from the butcher’s,” said Mrs. Stone. She paused significantly. “Isn’t she the most noticeable thing you ever saw! She never seems to have any morning clothes.”
[116]
“I don’t believe she has any money for new ones,” suggested Mrs. Laurence gently.
“No, I don’t suppose she has, but even then—— Of course, I’m sorry for her, we all are; every one knows what Mr. Lalor is, but do you know, the other day when I attempted to allude76 to all that she must have to bear up under—I felt so sympathetic towards her, after what the Bents told us—she stiffened up at once; she acted as if she hadn’t the slightest idea of what I was driving at. Now that’s absurd. To hear Mrs. Lalor talk about ‘Bennie’ you’d think he was the king-pin, as Mr. Stone expresses it.”
“Oh, but I think that’s really fine of her,” said Mrs. Laurence, with proselyting zeal77. “There’s a courage, a devotion about her that always appeals to me; you can’t help seeing that she’s had such a hard time. I’m sure if you knew her better you’d like her.”
“She may be devoted78 to her husband,” said Mrs. Spicer very fast, “but if you’d see her going in on the train—Ernest Spicer says he always avoids her when he can; he does hate to be made conspicuous79. I don’t care whether she comes of a good family or not; I think she’s common.”
Mrs. Laurence shook her head wisely. “I’m sure that you’re mistaken, not that[117] I’m so well acquainted with her myself, but still——”
She took occasion later on to detain Mrs. Stone whisperingly a moment by the front door as both visitors were making their exit.
“I thought I wouldn’t say it before her—but why don’t you and Mr. Stone make a call at the Lalors to-night? Will has a little business with Mr. Lalor, and I’ll go with him. Do come.”
“Well, I’ll see,” temporized80 Mrs. Stone with a softening81 inflection.
Mrs. Stone was, as her hostess well knew, the kind of a person who, after disapproving82 publicly of a neighbour, privately83 sends her pickles84. She hastened down the steps now to join her friend, her large, mannish figure in the overcoat and cap wobbling ludicrously on the narrow, slippery length of drift-bordered sidewalk under the gas-lamps that were already lighted.
The wind had gone down, but so had the mercury; the air was “bitter chill.” As Mrs. Laurence turned back into her hall the atmosphere there seemed only a few degrees warmer. Gas logs made but slight impression on the general temperature of a house in this weather; the hand that she held over the register received but the faintest, scarce-warm breath upon it. Mrs. Laurence still[118] looked for a belated rattling85 coal-wagon, but the hour seemed long until her husband’s return; her heart bounded romantically at the sound of his footsteps now, just as it had done when she was a girl. His face was ruefully smiling as he said after the kiss of greeting:
“You don’t know what you’ve missed—all my fault, too! I bought you a two-dollar bunch of violets—— Now wait till I get through—and left them in the train.”
“Oh, Will!” His wife’s brows drooped86 tragically87. “That’s so like you! You’re getting too absent-minded to live. My lovely violets!” she mourned tenderly.
“Isn’t the house very cold to-night?”
“Well, I should think it might be! It’s freezing.” Mrs. Laurence’s accumulated wrath88 poured forth. “There hasn’t been a sign of the coal you ordered this morning, and I’ve been waiting for it all day. It’s a perfect outrage89, and I want you to tell Harner so, Will. You did order it, didn’t you?”
“Why, ye——” An extraordinary expression stole over Mr. Laurence’s thin face, it was as if his consciousness had been suddenly arrested in mid-air. Well as his wife knew his expressions and what they covered, this surprisingly baffled her. He drummed with[119] his finger-tips on the edge of the dressing-table before relaxing enough to say guardedly, after a moment:
“By George! I don’t believe I did. I knew there was something—I’m awfully sorry, Anna, indeed I am.”
“You didn’t order it!—Will, please don’t drum on things that way, you know it drives me wild. Well, if you can’t remember one thing I ask you to do—if you can’t keep a single promise that you make me—— It isn’t the coal I care about—though my feet have been like stones all day—but it’s the fact that I can’t depend on you for anything. Please don’t whistle. You can attend to business matters well enough, but when it comes to the comfort of your wife and child——” an unforeseen sob90 broke across the words. “Of course, it’s been warm enough in your steam-heated office to-day. I’m glad it has been, I wouldn’t have had you cold for anything.” In spite of her tears she was following after him as he searched in his chiffonier drawer for a clean collar. “You’ve done it all so many times! You carried that important letter to Hetty in your pocket for six weeks before you told me.”
“Yes, and if you’re going on like this every time I tell you anything, I’ll stop it,” said Mr. Laurence doggedly91. “You don’t[120] give me any credit for owning up, Nan. You wouldn’t know half the time when I make mistakes, if I didn’t tell you.”
“I don’t see what else you could have said when I asked you if you had ordered the coal.”
“I could have lied about it, I suppose,” said Mr. Laurence impatiently.
“O Will!” she gasped92 with horror. Her white chin went up, her dark eyes looked at him full of agitation93. She put her hands on his shoulders and shook him ineffectively. “You wouldn’t—you couldn’t do that! You always tell me the truth, don’t you—all of it?”
“Usually,” assented94 her husband. He had finished settling his tie and now put his arms around her. “But if it’s going to make you any happier if I don’t——”
“No, no, no! You know I never could mean that—never! I could forgive you anything as long as you told me the truth.”
She clung to him as they went down to dinner together, and she forbore to allude to the state of the atmosphere, except by shivering once or twice—the gas logs sent forth a chill, blue flare95. There was an odd return to that arrested, baffling expression on Mr. Laurence’s face, however, when his wife announced her intention of going around to the Lalors’ with him afterwards.
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“Don’t you think it is too cold for you to go out to-night?” he asked, and she answered with a playful gleam of the sarcasm96 she couldn’t keep from using. “No, I think it’s too cold for me to stay in.”
It was a matter for ejaculating surprise on arriving at the Lalors’ to find the unexpected Spicers instead of the Stones, who, however, appeared in a few minutes. Mr. Spicer had a slender, correct elegance97 of aspect, while Mr. Stone was large, grayish, and rather portly. Beside the Spicers, a Mrs. Frere and her son, a dumb, immature98 youth, were already in possession of the field. Mrs. Frere’s position as a church worker carried her into connection with people whom she might not otherwise have met; the chief effect that she produced on every one now was an ardent99 desire that she should go. She sat in utter silence with folded hands, but her dumbness differed from that of her son in a patently avid100 appreciation101 of everything that was said or done.
Mrs. Lalor, in a low-throated, faded light green gown covered with beautiful old lace, was loud in expression of her surprise and delight at this haphazard102 gathering103. Mr. Lalor, tall, handsome and with wandering dissipated eyes and the same droop40 alike to his reddish mustache and to his figure,[122] came forward also with hospitable104 welcome, while his wife volubly ordered not only him but the other men in behalf of her guests:
“Bennie, get that armchair out of the corner for Mrs. Laurence; be careful the top doesn’t fall off of it—we break all our things moving so often! Mr. Stone, won’t you put that footstool under Mrs. Spicer’s feet, I’m sure she’s not comfortable. Mr. Spicer, if you’ll kindly105 move the table near me to make more room—Bennie, run up-stairs and get the little feather hand-screen for Mrs. Stone—I know that lamp’s shining in your eyes.” She pronounced it “Shinin’ in yo’ eyes,” with a caressing106, indolent inflection to her soft voice. “It’s not the least trouble for him, Mrs. Stone—Bennie always waits on me.”
There was a seductive air of luxury about Mrs. Lalor in spite of the fact that the cheap, shabby upholstered chairs and sofa were profusely107 covered with cheaper “drapings” on such portions as were most subject to wear, and that the mantelpiece, also draped, was simply decorated with a single pink-mouthed grinning conch shell—yet the latter was indeed under an old, old painting of a low-browed woman whose white throat and rounded cheek gleamed out from rich brown shadows—a woman who, even thus dimly[123] seen, seemed to match the lace on Mrs. Lalor’s gown.
“I only came because I thought you’d like me to,” whispered Mrs. Spicer to Mrs. Laurence in a pause of the later conversation. Mrs. Stone gave an affectionate little squeeze to her neighbour’s hand. “I thought Ernest would object, but he seemed quite willing. I wish that Mrs. Frere wasn’t here, you have to be so careful what you say before her.”
“We won’t stay very long,” murmured Mrs. Laurence assentingly. Mr. Lalor and her husband had apologetically disappeared behind closed doors to transact108 their business together, the latter with that last look at her over the heads of the others that meant their own special farewell. Mrs. Lalor had insisted on supplying every one with hot lemonade, on account of the coldness of the weather, calling the three men back and forth in her services and holding a little couet with them afterwards as she sat reclined in a rocking-chair.
“I reckon Mr. Eddie was right bored with only me to talk to before you all came in,” she announced with a smile directed at young Mr. Frere. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you gentlemen here. I enjoy gentlemen’s society so much. Of course, I’ve always had it till I came up No’th, and I miss it so[124] much. I wish you could have seen our po’ch at home in the old times on a Sunday evenin’, with my sister Mollie’s friends, and Emma Lily’s, and mine, all lined up waiting for us to come down.”
“Indeed!” said Mrs. Stone.
“I told Bennie when I married him I never could settle down to just one.” Mrs. Lalor paused lightly. “I was engaged to six before that. But he always said—‘George’ my name is George—‘I want you should enjoy gentleman’s society just the same as you always did.’ I was engaged first when I was fourteen.”
“Oh, Southern engagements!” said Mrs. Laurence indulgently, with a gesture that disclaimed109 their seriousness of intent to Mrs. Stone’s startled gaze. There seemed to be an unforeseen electrical quality in the air; she had felt it even when she first came in, but every lightest speech was oddly charged with it, you couldn’t tell what was coming. Instead of vindicating110 her confidence in Mrs. Lalor, the latter seemed bent on a self destruction that might drag any one else down with her. She went on now happily.
“Of course, though I always cared most for Bennie—he was such a beautiful waltzer. Sometimes even now, after breakfast, if I’m a little blue, he says, ‘Come, George, let’s have[125] a waltz,’ and he just spins me around the room while he whistles the tune111. I don’t think there’s anything like dancing for keeping up the spirits. I don’t know what I’d do without Bennie up No’th here, he’s so thoughtful of me!”
“How extraordinary!” breathed little Mrs. Spicer to Mrs. Stone, athwart the rapt gaze of the silent Mrs. Frere. It was evident that neither Mr. Stone nor Mr. Spicer felt appalled112, both men seemed to be impalpably walled off from the jurisdiction113 of their wives, as they sat smiling with interested indulgence at their hostess, with young Mr. Frere, open-mouthed, behind them.
In spite of the semi-artificiality of her aspect, Mrs. Lalor had an undoubted charm; her face looked younger and less drawn114 by lamplight, and her pretty, tear-soft eyes had their coquettish gleam in them, her careless attitude was full of lazy grace. She thrust out a slippered115 foot with its hanging length of ribbon, and gave an appealing glance at the man nearest her.
“I know you want to tie my shoe for me, Mr. Stone—no, Mr. Spicer, I didn’t say you.”
She laughed gleefully as they both jumped for position, Mr. Stone’s large bulk going down heavily on one knee with exaggerated gallantry.
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“Let me fan you while he’s doing it,” cried Mr. Spicer eagerly, seizing the required implement116 from the table.
“You’d better fan Mrs. Stone, she looks so warm,” suggested Mrs. Lalor. “The house is so heated, it makes one’s face burn after the cold air. Wouldn’t you like a little powder to cool it?” She jumped up hospitably, leaving Mr. Stone still upon the floor. “It isn’t the slightest trouble to get it, I always keep it in this little cupboard, with a puff117 and a handglass—and some rouge118,” she explained in a confidential119 tone. “Not that I care for rouge myself, Bennie doesn’t like it, but some people always use it for the evenin’.”
Mrs. Stone gasped.
“Thank you, I need nothing of the kind,” she said hastily. She, the mother of four, a member of the Guild120 and the Vittoria Colonna Club to be spoken to in connection with rouge! Even Mrs. Laurence’s white chin went up—this did seem “common.”
“And I really think we’ll have to be going,” added Mrs. Stone with decision, rising as she spoke121, a signal imitated by Mrs. Spicer, though Mrs. Frere sat fast.
“Oh, do wait for us,” pleaded Mrs. Laurence eagerly. “Here is my husband now. You’re ready to go now, aren’t you, Will?”
“Yes, as soon as I wrap up those documents,”[127] he assented, with an unconscious exhilaration of tone that caught her ear. He disappeared into the opposite room once more. Mr. Lalor had just walked out of it, and down the length of the bare hall, with echoing steps.
“Oh, you must stay and have some more hot lemonade,” Mrs. Lalor begged warmly, and stopped suddenly short; a faint colour came into her cheek; it was as if she listened, not to the chorus, “No, not to-night——” “Thank you just the same——” “We really must go——” but to something impalpable, unguessed.
“Excuse me for just one moment,” she said and vanished swiftly into the narrow passage, leaving behind her a surprised, disapproving silence—even Mrs. Frere stood up; there was a queer, unexpected sensation that something was happening. Mrs. Laurence went out nervously122 to get her cloak. In that oblique123 glimpse down the hall to the dining-room she saw—or didn’t she really see anything?—a man’s arm stretched wildly out as if to reach something—a woman’s hand grasping it—the wavering shadow as of a struggle—and the faintest sound as of a key turning as it might be in a sideboard lock. Something must be happening——! Though only, indeed, one unimportant scene of a[128] tragedy such as these happy, protected women had no knowledge of, that long, exquisitely124 heart-racking, unmentionable strain of living that companies the degradation125 of one who is loved.
“Did your coal come to-day, Mrs. Laurence?” asked Mrs. Stone in a chill, unnatural126 voice. They were all getting on their wraps now.
“No, it didn’t,” answered Mrs. Laurence. Justice compelled her to add, with an effort: “It wasn’t Harner’s fault, after all. Will forgot to order it on his way to the station; he felt so badly about it, but he’s had so much business on his mind lately that I really think I mustn’t ask him to do anything more.”
“You’re more lenient127 than my wife would have been,” said Mr. Stone jovially128. “I’d have gotten it in the neck.”
“You’d have deserved it,” agreed Mr. Spicer.
“I feel dreadfully because you’re all going so soon,” said Mrs. Lalor appearing once more, clinging with both little hands to the arm of her husband, who, sullen129 and dejected, towered above her. She looked wan3 and thin, as if some ageing mist had settled over her, but the wrinkles that had deepened around her pretty eyes did not keep them[129] from being indomitably flirtatious130 as she glanced back to the man who had followed them in.
“Mr. Laurence and I haven’t had a chance to tell any secrets at all!—What did you say, Mrs. Spicer? Yes, the house is warm, thanks to Mr. Laurence,” she assented gayly. “He insisted on orderin’ my coal for me this mornin’.”
There was a dead silence. To her dying day Mrs. Laurence could see that whole scene definitely before her—the embarrassed attitudes of the men; the arrested, guilty expression on her husband’s face that all might read; Mrs. Frere’s greedy joy; the compassionate131 gaze of Mrs. Stone and Mrs. Spicer after their swift flash of comprehension.—Yet after that one paralyzing moment she rose staunchly superior to the petty, yet excruciating entanglement132 of the situation. She stepped forward and kissed Mrs. Lalor good-bye in the face of her little world, with a hand-pressure that emphasized the words:
“I’m so glad Mr. Laurence could be of service to you,” before she made her exit with him. Yet there were those who felt that they were not deceived and the eyes of Mr. Stone and Mr. Spicer met as the door closed behind the husband and wife—and it[130] was a glance that confided133 a sinister134 and mutual135 thankfulness of escape.
The two in question walked swiftly away in silence on the starlit, drift-bordered path; the wind had gone down but it was infinitely136 cold. They went, part of the time, in single file, but she ignored his tentative pressure on her arm; there seemed to be an icy chasm137 between them. The distance to the house was short, and it was not until they were inside it that she broke forth hotly, as if they had been talking together all the way, her crimson138 cheeks and blazing eyes facing his tall, reluctant figure as she threw off her wraps.
“It wasn’t as if I could ever say anything to those people to explain! Oh, it’s so perfectly139 horrid140, so maddening, so utterly141 ridiculous on the face of it!—They’ll think I’m jealous of her—they’ll be sorry for me. Sorry! As if I could possibly be jealous of her. They’ll think you keep everything from me, and that they know more about you than I do. How could you have put me in such a position when just a word——” She made a little sound that was half a moan. “Why you didn’t have the decency142 to tell me before we went there I can’t see.” Her voice rose higher. “Yes I can—you were afraid; afraid of your wife! It does seem pretty[131] bad to have you remember to do things for other people, when you can’t remember them for me, but that isn’t the point I mind most, it’s not the real thing—what I can’t stand is you not having the courage to own up, to tell me the truth. Why don’t you say something?”
“Because you’re saying it all.”
“O Will!” She gazed at him hopelessly as he stood in front of her, her hand laid detainingly on his arm. He looked very high-bred, very much a gentleman, with that air of aloof143 hauteur144; there were circles under his dark eyes, and his lips had a compression that she well knew. If there was anything that Mr. Laurence hated temperamentally it was a shrewish woman; the ice of the winter’s night couldn’t freeze harder than he when she stormed, even though he allowed that she had righteous reason for her wrath. He spoke now, in answer to her appeal, with stiff, prideful humility145:
“You know very well that I’m extremely sorry about the whole matter. As for ordering that coal for Mrs. Lalor, I meant to have told you about it when we got back, you know I never can keep anything from you; I don’t want to. I forgot it when I first came home—and then you took me by surprise, someway. And now don’t you think[132] we’ve perhaps had enough of this? I’m tired.”
“No, no; don’t go yet!” Mrs. Laurence’s hand pinioned146 him fast. She had known all along that she would forgive him when she had spoken her mind—what else can one do but forgive when one loves? Oh, that was but a little part of it—the forgiveness! The real need all the time was that he should be reinstated on the pedestal from which his own act had driven him. He must be, not the Will whom she forgave, but the Will whom she adored. Her certainty dropped from her; she began reasonably, to grow more and more tremulously beseeching147.
“Will, please listen! I can’t bear it when you look at me as if you didn’t like me. Of course, I knew all the time that you were sorry—I knew you meant to tell me the truth! Of course, you can’t always think of it at the moment when I take you by surprise and fly at you and scold you—nobody could! I don’t wonder that you hate to tell me things, when I make it so hard for you. I ought to be a hundred times nicer than I am. When I saw her husband standing148 there to-night you looked so fine and beautiful and good—and truthful”—a sob, not tears, but just a sob broke athwart the words—“I[133] thank God every day on my knees that I’m married to you!”
Her arms dropped from their hold, but his were around her now, pressing her closer, and still closer; the eyes he bent upon the upturned face were smiling, yet a little moist, too—his tender voice had in it every admission that she longed for as he whispered:
“Oh, Nan—foolish, foolish Nan! Such a sweet woman——!”
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收听单词发音
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1
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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2
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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3
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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4
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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5
belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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6
tersely
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| adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
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7
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
clove
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| n.丁香味 | |
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9
glean
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| v.收集(消息、资料、情报等) | |
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10
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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12
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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13
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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14
revelling
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| v.作乐( revel的现在分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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15
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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16
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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17
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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18
plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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19
sags
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| 向下凹或中间下陷( sag的第三人称单数 )； 松弛或不整齐地悬着 | |
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20
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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21
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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22
unbearably
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| adv.不能忍受地，无法容忍地；慌 | |
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23
shovelled
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| v.铲子( shovel的过去式和过去分词 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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24
sprinting
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| v.短距离疾跑( sprint的现在分词 ) | |
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25
obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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26
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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27
wrested
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| （用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
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28
bolstering
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| v.支持( bolster的现在分词 )；支撑；给予必要的支持；援助 | |
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29
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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30
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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31
devastated
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
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32
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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33
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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34
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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35
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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36
counteracted
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| 对抗，抵消( counteract的过去式 ) | |
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37
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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38
hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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39
rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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40
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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41
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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42
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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43
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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44
averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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45
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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46
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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47
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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48
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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49
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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50
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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51
wresting
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| 动词wrest的现在进行式 | |
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52
beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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53
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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54
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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56
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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57
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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58
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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59
funereally
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| adj.送葬的，悲哀的，适合葬礼的 | |
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60
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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61
honked
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| v.（使）发出雁叫似的声音，鸣（喇叭），按（喇叭）( honk的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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63
iconoclastic
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| adj.偶像破坏的，打破旧习的 | |
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64
garbed
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| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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66
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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67
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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68
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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69
scone
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| n.圆饼，甜饼，司康饼 | |
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70
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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71
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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72
cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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73
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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74
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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75
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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76
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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77
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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78
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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79
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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80
temporized
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| v.敷衍( temporize的过去式和过去分词 )；拖延；顺应时势；暂时同意 | |
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81
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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82
disapproving
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| adj.不满的，反对的v.不赞成( disapprove的现在分词 ) | |
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83
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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84
pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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85
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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86
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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88
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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89
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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90
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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91
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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92
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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93
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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94
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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96
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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97
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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98
immature
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| adj.未成熟的，发育未全的，未充分发展的 | |
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99
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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100
avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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101
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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102
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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103
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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104
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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108
transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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disclaimed
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| v.否认( disclaim的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vindicating
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的现在分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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114
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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slippered
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| 穿拖鞋的 | |
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116
implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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118
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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guild
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| n.行会，同业公会，协会 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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jovially
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| adv.愉快地，高兴地 | |
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129
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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flirtatious
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| adj.爱调情的，调情的，卖俏的 | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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132
entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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133
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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142
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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143
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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144
hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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145
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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146
pinioned
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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