"Dorothy, my dear, permit me to introduce an old friend—Mr. Kirkwood. Kirkwood, this is my daughter."
"Miss Calendar," acknowledged Kirkwood.
The girl bowed, her eyes steady upon his own. "Mr. Kirkwood is very kind," she said gravely.
"That's right!" Calendar exclaimed blandly1. "He's promised to see you home. Now both of you will pardon my running away, I know."
"Yes," assented2 Kirkwood agreeably.
The elder man turned and hurried toward the main entrance.
Kirkwood took the chair he had vacated. To his disgust he found himself temporarily dumb. No flicker3 of thought illuminated4 the darkness of his confusion. How was he to open a diverting conversation with a young woman whom he had met under auspices5 so extraordinary? Any attempt to gloze the situation, he felt, would be futile6. And, somehow, he did not care to render himself ridiculous in her eyes, little as he knew her.
Inanely7 dumb, he sat watching her, smiling fatuously8 until it was borne in on him that he was staring like a boor9 and grinning like an idiot. Convinced, he blushed for himself; something which served to make him more tongue-tied than ever.
As for his involuntary protégée, she exhibited such sweet composure that he caught himself wondering if she really appreciated the seriousness of her parent's predicament; if, for that matter, its true nature were known to her at all. Calendar, he believed, was capable of prevarication10, polite and impolite. Had he lied to his daughter? or to Kirkwood? To both, possibly; to the former alone, not improbably. That the adventurer had told him the desperate truth, Kirkwood was quite convinced; but he now began to believe that the girl had been put off with some fictitious11 explanation. Her tranquillity12 and self-control were remarkable13, otherwise; she seemed very young to possess those qualities in such eminent14 degree.
She was looking wearily past him, her gaze probing some unguessed abyss of thought. Kirkwood felt himself privileged to stare in wonder. Her na?ve aloofness15 of poise16 gripped his imagination powerfully,—the more so, perhaps, since it seemed eloquent17 of her intention to remain enigmatic,—but by no means more powerfully than the unaided appeal of her loveliness.
Presently the girl herself relieved the tension of the situation, fairly startling the young man by going straight to the heart of things. Without preface or warning, lifting her gaze to his, "My name is really Dorothy Calendar," she observed. And then, noting his astonishment18, "You would be privileged to doubt, under the circumstances," she added. "Please let us be frank."
"Well," he stammered19, "if I didn't doubt, let's say I was unprejudiced."
His awkward, well-meant pleasantry, perhaps not conceived in the best of taste, sounded in his own ears wretchedly flat and vapid20. He regretted it spontaneously; the girl ignored it.
"You are very kind," she iterated the first words he had heard from her lips. "I wish you to understand that I, for one, appreciate it."
"Not kind; I have done nothing. I am glad.... One is apt to become interested when Romance is injected into a prosaic21 existence." Kirkwood allowed himself a keen but cheerful glance.
She nodded, with a shadowy smile. He continued, purposefully, to distract her, holding her with his honest, friendly eyes.
"Since it is to be confidences" (this she questioned with an all but imperceptible lifting of the eyebrows), "I don't mind telling you my own name is really Philip Kirkwood."
"And you are an old friend of my father's?"
He opened his lips, but only to close them without speaking. The girl moved her shoulders with a shiver of disdain22.
"I knew it wasn't so."
"You know it would be hard for a young man like myself to be a very old friend," he countered lamely23.
"How long, then, have you known each other?"
"Must I answer?"
"Please."
"Between three and four hours."
"I thought as much." She stared past him, troubled. Abruptly25 she said: "Please smoke."
"Shall I? If you wish it, of course...."
She repeated: "Please."
"We were to wait ten minutes or so," she continued.
He produced his cigarette-case.
"If you care to smoke it will seem an excuse." He lighted his cigarette.
"And then, you may talk to me," she concluded calmly.
"I would, gladly, if I could guess what would interest you."
"Yourself. Tell me about yourself," she commanded.
"It would bore you," he responded tritely26, confused.
"No; you interest me very much." She made the statement quietly, contemptuous of coquetry.
"Very well, then; I am Philip Kirkwood, an American."
"Nothing more?"
"Little worth retailing27."
"I'm sorry."
"Why?" he demanded, piqued28.
"Because you have merely indicated that you are a wealthy American."
"Why wealthy?"
"If not, you would have some aim in life—a calling or profession."
"And you think I have none?"
"Unless you consider it your vocation29 to be a wealthy American."
"I don't. Besides, I'm not wealthy. In point of fact, I ..." He pulled up short, on the verge30 of declaring himself a pauper31. "I am a painter."
Her eyes lightened with interest. "An artist?"
"I hope so. I don't paint signs—or houses," he remarked.
Amused, she laughed softly. "I suspected it," she declared.
"Not really?"
"It was your way of looking at—things, that made me guess it: the painter's way. I have often noticed it."
"As if mentally blending colors all the time?"
"Yes; that and—seeing flaws."
"I have discovered none," he told her brazenly32.
But again her secret cares were claiming her thoughts, and the gay, inconsequential banter33 died upon her scarlet34 lips as a second time her glance ranged away, sounding mysterious depths of anxiety.
Provoked, he would have continued the chatter35. "I have confessed," he persisted. "You know everything of material interest about me. And yourself?"
"I am merely Dorothy Calendar," she answered.
"Nothing more?" He laughed.
"That is all, if you please, for the present."
"I am to content myself with the promise of the future?"
"The future," she told him seriously, "is to-morrow; and to-morrow ..." She moved restlessly in her chair, eyes and lips pathetic in their distress36. "Please, we will go now, if you are ready."
"I am quite ready, Miss Calendar."
He rose. A waiter brought the girl's cloak and put it in Kirkwood's hands. He held it until, smoothing the wrists of her long white gloves, she stood up, then placed the garment upon her white young shoulders, troubled by the indefinable sense of intimacy37 imparted by the privilege. She permitted him this personal service! He felt that she trusted him, that out of her gratitude38 had grown a simple and almost childish faith in his generosity39 and considerateness.
As she turned to go her eyes thanked him with an unfathomable glance. He was again conscious of that esoteric disturbance40 in his temples. Puzzled, hazily41 analyzing42 the sensation, he followed her to the lobby.
A page brought him his top-coat, hat and stick; tipping the child from sheer force of habit, he desired a gigantic porter, impressively ornate in hotel livery, to call a hansom. Together they passed out into the night, he and the girl.
Beneath a permanent awning43 of steel and glass she waited patiently, slender, erect44, heedless of the attention she attracted from wayfarers45.
The night was young, the air mild. Upon the sidewalk, muddied by a million feet, two streams of wayfarers flowed incessantly46, bound west from Green Park or east toward Piccadilly Circus; a well-dressed throng47 for the most part, with here and there a man in evening dress. Between the carriages at the curb48 and the hotel doors moved others, escorting fluttering butterfly women in elaborate toilets, heads bare, skirts daintily gathered above their perishable49 slippers50. Here and there meaner shapes slipped silently through the crowd, sinister51 shadows of the city's proletariat, blotting52 ominously53 the brilliance54 of the scene.
A cab drew in at the block. The porter clapped an arc of wickerwork over its wheel to protect the girl's skirts. She ascended55 to the seat.
Kirkwood, dropping sixpence in the porter's palm, prepared to follow; but a hand fell upon his arm, peremptory56, inexorable. He faced about, frowning, to confront a slight, hatchet-faced man, somewhat under medium height, dressed in a sack suit and wearing a derby well forward over eyes that were hard and bright.
"Mr. Calendar?" said the man tensely. "I presume I needn't name my business. I'm from the Yard—"
"My name is not Calendar."
The detective smiled wearily. "Don't be a fool, Calendar," he began. But the porter's hand fell upon his shoulder and the giant bent57 low to bring his mouth close to the other's ear. Kirkwood heard indistinctly his own name followed by Calendar's, and the words: "Never fear. I'll point him out."
"But the woman?" argued the detective, unconvinced, staring into the cab.
"Am I not at liberty to have a lady dine with me in a public restaurant?" interposed Kirkwood, without raising his voice.
The hard eyes looked him up and down without favor. Then: "Beg pardon, sir. I see my mistake," said the detective brusquely.
"I am glad you do," returned Kirkwood grimly. "I fancy it will bear investigation58."
He mounted the step. "Imperial Theater," he told the driver, giving the first address that occurred to him; it could be changed. For the moment the main issue was to get the girl out of the range of the detective's interest.
He slipped into his place as the hansom wheeled into the turgid tide of west-bound traffic.
So Calendar had escaped, after all! Moreover, he had told the truth to Kirkwood.
By his side the girl moved uneasily. "Who was that man?" she inquired.
Kirkwood sought her eyes, and found them wholly ingenuous59. It seemed that Calendar had not taken her into his confidence, after all. She was, therefore, in no way implicated60 in her father's affairs. Inexplicably61 the young man's heart felt lighter62. "A mistake; the fellow took me for some one he knew," he told her carelessly.
The assurance satisfied her. She rested quietly, wrapped up in personal concerns. Her companion pensively63 contemplated64 an infinity65 of arid66 and hansom-less to-morrows. About them the city throbbed67 in a web of misty68 twilight69, the humid farewell of a dismal70 day. In the air a faint haze71 swam, rendering72 the distances opalescent73. Athwart the western sky the after-glow of a drenched74 sunset lay like a wash of rose-madder. Piccadilly's asphalt shone like watered silk, black and lustrous75, reflecting a myriad76 lights in vibrant77 ribbons of party-colored radiance. On every hand cab-lamps danced like fire-flies; the rumble78 of wheels blended with the hollow pounding of uncounted hoofs79, merging80 insensibly into the deep and solemn roar of London-town.
Suddenly Kirkwood was recalled to a sense of duty by a glimpse of Hyde Park Corner. He turned to the girl. "I didn't know where you wished to go—?"
She seemed to realize his meaning with surprise, as one, whose thoughts have strayed afar, recalled to an imperative81 world.
"Oh, did I forget? Tell him please to drive to Number Nine, Frognall Street, Bloomsbury."
Kirkwood poked82 his cane83 through the trap, repeating the address. The cab wheeled smartly across Piccadilly, swung into Half Moon Street, and thereafter made better time, darting84 briskly down abrupt24 vistas85 of shining pavement, walled in by blank-visaged houses, or round two sides of one of London's innumerable private parks, wherein spring foliage86 glowed a tender green in artificial light; now and again it crossed brilliant main arteries87 of travel, and eventually emerged from a maze88 of backways into Oxford89 Street, to hammer eastwards90 to Tottenham Court Road.
Constraint91 hung like a curtain between the two; a silence which the young man forbore to moderate, finding more delight that he had cared (or dared) confess to, in contemplation of the pure girlish profile so close to him.
She seemed quite unaware92 of him, lost in thought, large eyes sober, lips serious that were fashioned for laughter, round little chin firm with some occult resolution. It was not hard to fancy her nerves keyed to a high pitch of courage and determination, nor easy to guess for what reason. Watching always, keenly sensitive to the beauty of each salient line betrayed by the flying lights, Kirkwood's own consciousness lost itself in a profitless, even a perilous93 labyrinth94 of conjecture95.
The cab stopped. Both occupants came to their senses with a little start. The girl leaned out over; the apron96, recognized the house she sought in one swift glance, testified to the recognition with a hushed exclamation97, and began to arrange her skirts. Kirkwood, unheeding her faint-hearted protests, jumped out, interposing his cane between her skirts and the wheel. Simultaneously98 he received a vivid mental photograph of the locality.
Frognall Street proved to be one of those by-ways, a short block in length, which, hemmed99 in on all sides by a meaner purlieu, has (even in Bloomsbury!) escaped the sordid100 commercial eye of the keeper of furnished lodgings101, retaining jealously something of the old-time dignity and reserve that were its pride in the days before Society swarmed102 upon Mayfair and Belgravia.
Its houses loomed103 tall, with many windows, mostly lightless—materially aggravating104 that air of isolate105, cold dignity which distinguishes the Englishman's castle. Here and there stood one less bedraggled than its neighbors, though all, without exception, spoke106 assertively107 of respectability down-at-the-heel but fighting tenaciously108 for existence. Some, vanguards of that imminent109 day when the boarding-house should reign110 supreme111, wore with shamefaced air placards of estate-agents, advertising112 their susceptibility to sale or lease. In the company of the latter was Number 9.
The American noted113 the circumstance subconsciously114, at a moment when Miss Calendar's hand, small as a child's, warm and compact in its white glove, lay in his own. And then she was on the sidewalk, her face, upturned to his, vivacious115 with excitement.
"You have been so kind," she told him warmly, "that one hardly knows how to thank you, Mr. Kirkwood."
"I have done nothing—nothing at all," he mumbled116, disturbed by a sudden, unreasoning alarm for her.
She passed quickly to the shelter of the pillared portico117. He followed clumsily. On the door-step she turned, offering her hand. He took and retained it.
"Good night," she said.
"I'm to understand that I'm dismissed, then?" he stammered ruefully.
She evaded118 his eyes. "I—thank you—I have no further need—"
"You are quite sure? Won't you believe me at your service?"
She laughed uneasily. "I'm all right now."
"I can do nothing more? Sure?"
"Nothing. But you—you make me almost sorry I can't impose still further upon your good nature."
"Please don't hesitate ..."
"Aren't you very persistent119, Mr. Kirkwood?" Her fingers moved in his; burning with the reproof120, he released them, and turned to her so woebegone a countenance121 that she repented122 of her severity. "Don't worry about me, please. I am truly safe now. Some day I hope to be able to thank you adequately. Good night!"
Her pass-key grated in the lock. Opening, the door disclosed a dark and uninviting entry-hall, through which there breathed an air heavy with the dank and dusty odor of untenanted rooms. Hesitating on the threshold, over her shoulder the girl smiled kindly123 upon her commandeered esquire; and stepped within.
He lifted his hat automatically. The door closed with an echoing slam. He turned to the waiting cab, fumbling124 for change.
"I'll walk," he told the cabby, paying him off.
The hansom swept away to a tune125 of hammering hoofs; and quiet rested upon the street as Kirkwood turned the nearest corner, in an unpleasant temper, puzzled and discontented. It seemed hardly fair that he should have been dragged into so promising126 an adventure, by his ears (so to put it), only to be thus summarily called upon to write "Finis" beneath the incident.
He rounded the corner and walked half-way to the next street, coming to an abrupt and rebellious127 pause by the entrance to a covered alleyway, of two minds as to his proper course of action.
In the background of his thoughts Number 9, Frognall Street, reared its five-story fa?ade, sinister and forbidding. He reminded himself of its unlighted windows; of its sign, "To be let"; of the effluvia of desolation that had saluted128 him when the door swung wide. A deserted129 house; and the girl alone in it!—was it right for him to leave her so?
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1
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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inanely
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fatuously
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| adv.愚昧地，昏庸地，蠢地 | |
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boor
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| n.举止粗野的人；乡下佬 | |
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prevarication
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| n.支吾；搪塞；说谎；有枝有叶 | |
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fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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17
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vapid
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| adj.无味的；无生气的 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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tritely
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| adv.平凡地，陈腐地 | |
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retailing
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| n.零售业v.零售(retail的现在分词) | |
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piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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brazenly
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| adv.厚颜无耻地；厚脸皮地肆无忌惮地 | |
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banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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hazily
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| ad. vaguely, not clear | |
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analyzing
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| v.分析；分析( analyze的现在分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析n.分析 | |
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awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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wayfarers
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| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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perishable
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| adj.（尤指食物）易腐的，易坏的 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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52
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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55
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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57
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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61
inexplicably
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| adv.无法说明地，难以理解地，令人难以理解的是 | |
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62
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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63
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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64
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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69
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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71
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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72
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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73
opalescent
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| adj.乳色的，乳白的 | |
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74
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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75
lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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76
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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77
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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78
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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79
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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80
merging
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| 合并（分类） | |
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81
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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82
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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83
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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84
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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85
vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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86
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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87
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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88
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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89
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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90
eastwards
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| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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92
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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93
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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94
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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95
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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96
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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98
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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99
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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100
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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101
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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102
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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103
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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104
aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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105
isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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106
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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107
assertively
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| 断言地，独断地 | |
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108
tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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109
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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110
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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111
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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112
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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113
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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114
subconsciously
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| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
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115
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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116
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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118
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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119
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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120
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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121
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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122
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
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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124
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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125
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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126
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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127
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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128
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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129
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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