Reuben allowed his mind to drift at will in this novel, enchanted1 channel for a long time, until the clients outside had taken their departure, and his cigar had burned out, and his partner had sauntered in to mark by some casual talk the fact that the day was done.
What this mind shaped into dreams and desires and pictures in its musings, it would not be an easy matter to detail. The sum of the revery—or, rather, the central goal up to which every differing train of thought somehow managed to lead him—was that Kate Minster was the most beautiful, the cleverest, the dearest, the loveliest, the most to be adored and longed for, of all mortal women.
If he did not say to himself, in so many words, “I love her,” it was because the phraseology was unfamiliar2 to him. That eternal triplet of tender verb and soulful pronouns, which sings itself in our more accustomed hearts to music set by the stress of our present senses—now the gay carol of springtime, sure and confident; now the soft twilight3 song, wherein the very weariness of bliss4 sighs forth5 a blessing6; now the vibrant7, wooing ballad8 of a graver passion, with tears close underlying9 rapture10; now, alas11! the dirge12 of hopeless loss, with wailing13 chords which overwhelm like curses, smitten14 upon heartstrings strained to the breaking—these three little words did not occur to him. But no lover self-confessed could have dreamed more deliciously.
He had spoken with her twice now—once when she was wrapped in furs and wore a bonnet17, and once in her own house, where she was dressed in a creamy white gown, with a cord and tassels18 about the waist. These details were tangible19 possessions in the treasure-house of his memory. The first time she had charmed and gratified his vague notions of what a beautiful and generous woman should be; he had been unspeakably pleased by the enthusiasm with which she threw herself into the plan for helping20 the poor work-girls of the town. On this second occasion she had been concerned only about the safety of her own money, and that of her family, and yet his liking21 for her had flared22 up into something very like a consuming flame. If there was a paradox23 here, the lawyer did not see it.
There floated across his mind now and again stray black motes24 of recollection that she had not seemed altogether pleased with him on this later occasion, but they passed away without staining the bright colors of his meditation25. It did not matter what she had thought or said. The fact of his having been there with her, the existence of that little perfumed letter tenderly locked up in the desk before him, the breathing, smiling, dark-eyed picture of her which glowed in his brain—these were enough.
Once before—once only in his life—the personality of a woman had seized command of his thoughts. Years ago, when he was still the schoolteacher at the Burfield, he had felt himself in love with Annie Fairchild, surely the sweetest flower that all the farm-lands of Dearborn had ever produced. He had come very near revealing his heart—doubtless the girl did know well enough of his devotion—but she was in love with her cousin Seth, and Reuben had come to realize this, and so had never spoken, but had gone away to New York instead.
He could remember that for a time he was unhappy, and even so late as last autumn, after nearly four years had gone by, the mere26 thought that she commended her protégée, Jessica Lawton, to his kindness, had thrilled him with something of the old feeling. But now she seemed all at once to have faded away into indistinct remoteness, like the figure of some little girl he had known in his boyhood and had never seen since.
Curiously27 enough, the apparition28 of Jessica Law-ton rose and took form in his thoughts, as that of Annie Fairchild passed into the shadows of long ago. She, at least, was not a schoolgirl any more, but a full-grown woman. He could remember that the glance in her eyes when she looked at him was maturely grave and searching. She had seemed very grateful to him for calling upon her, and he liked to recall the delightful29 expression of surprised satisfaction which lighted up her face when she found that both Miss Minster and he would help her.
Miss Minster and himself! They two were to work together to further and fulfil this plan of Jessica’s! Oh, the charm of the thought!
Now he came to think of it, the young lady had never said a word to-day about Jessica and the plan—and, oddly enough, too, he had never once remembered it either. But then Miss Minster had other matters on her mind. She was frightened about the mortgages and the trust, and anxious to have his help to set her fears at rest.
Reuben began to wonder once more what there was really in those fears. As he pondered on this, all the latent distrust of his partner which had been growing up for weeks in his mind suddenly swelled30 into a great dislike. There came to him, all at once, the recollection of those mysterious and sinister31 words he had overheard exchanged between his partner and Tenney, and it dawned upon his slow-working consciousness that that strange talk about a “game in his own hands” had never been explained by events. Then, in an instant, he realized instinctively32 that here was the game.
It was at this juncture33 that Horace strolled into the presence of his partner. He had his hands in his trousers pockets, and a cigar between his teeth. This latter he now proceeded to light.
“Ferguson has been here again,” he said, nonchalantly, “and brought his brother with him. He can’t make up his mind whether to appeal the case or not. He’d like to try it, but the expense scares him. I told him at last that I was tired of hearing about the thing, and didn’t give a damn what he did, as long as he only shut up and gave me a rest.”
Reuben did not feel interested in the Fergusons. He looked his partner keenly, almost sternly, in the eye, and said:
“You have never mentioned to me that Mrs. Minster had put her business in your hands.”
Horace flushed a little, and returned the other’s gaze with one equally truculent34.
“It didn’t seem to be necessary,” he replied, curtly35. “It is private business.”
“Nothing was said about your having private business when the firm was established,” commented Reuben.
“That may be,” retorted Horace. “But you have your railroad affairs—a purely36 personal matter. Why shouldn’t I have an equal right?”
“I don’t say you haven’t. What I am thinking of is your secrecy37 in the matter. I hate to have people act in that way, as if I couldn’t be trusted.”
Horace had never heard Reuben speak in this tone before. The whole Minster business had perplexed38 and harassed39 him into a state of nervous irritability40 these last few weeks, and it was easy for him now to snap at provocation41.
“At least I may be trusted to mind my own affairs,” he said, with cutting niceness of enunciation42 and a lowering scowl44 of the brows.
There came a little pause, for Reuben saw himself face to face with a quarrel, and shrank from precipitating45 it needlessly. Perhaps the rupture46 would be necessary, but he would do nothing to hasten it out of mere ill-temper.
“That isn’t the point,” he said at last, looking up with more calmness into the other’s face. “I simply commented on your having taken such pains to keep the whole thing from me. Why on earth should you have thought that essential?”
Horace answered with a question. “Who told you about it?” he asked, in a surly tone.
“Old ’Squire Gedney mentioned it first. Others have spoken of it since.”
“Well, what am I to understand? Do you intend to object to my keeping the business? I may tell you that it was by the special request of my clients that I undertook it alone, and, as they laid so much stress on that, it seemed to me best not to speak of it at all to you.”
“Why?”
“To be frank,” said Horace, with a cold gleam in his eye, “I didn’t imagine that it would be particularly pleasant to you to learn that the Minster ladies desired not to have you associated with their affairs. It seemed one of those things best left unsaid. However, you have it now.”
Reuben felt the disagreeable intention of his partner’s words even more than he did their bearing upon the dreams from which he had been awakened47. He had by this time perfectly48 made up his mind about Horace, and realized that a break-up was inevitable49. The conviction that this young man was dishonest carried with it, however, the suggestion that it would be wise to probe him and try to learn what he was at.
“I wish you would sit down a minute or two,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”
Horace took a chair, and turned the cigar restlessly around in his teeth. He was conscious that his nerves were not quite what they should be.
“It seems to me,” pursued Reuben—“I’m speaking as an older lawyer than you, and an older man—it seems to me that to put a four hundred thousand dollar mortgage on the Minster property is a pretty big undertaking50 for a young man to go into on his own hook, without consulting anybody. Don’t misunderstand me. Don’t think I wish to meddle51. Only it seems to me, if I had been in your place, I should have moved very cautiously and taken advice.
“I did take advice,” said Horace. The discovery that Reuben knew of this mortgage filled him with uneasiness.
“Of whom? Schuyler Tenney?” asked Reuben, speaking calmly enough, but watching with all his eyes.
The chance shot went straight to the mark. Horace visibly flushed, and then turned pale.
“I decline to be catechised in this way,” he said, nervously52 shifting his position on the chair, and then suddenly rising. “Gedney is a damned, meddlesome53, drunken old fool,” he added, with irrelevant54 vehemence55.
“Yes, I’m afraid ‘Cal’ does drink too much,” answered Reuben, with perfect amiability56 of tone. He evinced no desire to continue the conversation, and Horace, after standing57 for an uncertain moment or two in the doorway58, went out and put on his overcoat. Then he came back again.
“Am I to take it that you object to my continuing to act as attorney for these ladies?” he asked from the threshold of the outer room, his voice shaking a little in spite of itself.
“I don’t think I have said that,” replied Reuben.
“No, you haven’t said it,” commented the other.
“To tell the truth, I haven’t quite cleared up in my own mind just what I do object to, or how much,” said Reuben, relighting his cigar, and contemplating59 his boots crossed on the desk-top. “We’ll talk of this again.”
“As you like,” muttered young Mr. Boyce. Then he turned, and went away without saying good-night. The outer door slammed behind him.
Twilight began to close in upon the winter’s day, but Reuben still sat in meditation. He had parted with his colleague in anger, and it was evident enough that the office family was to be broken up; but he gave scarcely a thought to these things. His mind, in fact, seemed by preference to dwell chiefly upon the large twisted silken cord which girdled the waist of that wonderful young woman, and the tasselled ends of which hung against the white front of her gown like the beads60 of a nun43. Many variant61 thoughts about her affairs, about her future, rose in his mind and pleasantly excited it, but they all in turn merged62 vaguely63 into fancies circling around that glossy64 rope and weaving themselves into its strands65.
It was very near tea-time, and darkness had established itself for the night in the offices, before Reuben’s vagrant66 musings prompted him to action. Upon the spur of the moment, he all at once put down his feet, lighted the gas over his desk, took out the perfumed letter from its consecrated67 resting-place, and began hurriedly to write a reply to it. He had suddenly realized that the memorable68 interview that afternoon had been, from her point of view, inconclusive.
Five times he worked his way down nearly to the bottom of the page, and then tore up the sheet. At first he was too expansive; then the contrasted fault of over-reticence jarred upon him. At last he constructed this letter, which obtained a reluctant approval from his critical sense, though it seemed to his heart a pitifully gagged and blindfolded69 missive:
Dear Miss Minster: Unfortunately, I was unable this afternoon to see my way to helping you upon the lines which you suggested. I am afraid that this disappointed you.
Matters have assumed a somewhat different aspect since our talk. By the time that you have mastered the details of what you had on your mind, I may be in a position to consult with you freely upon the whole subject.
I want you to believe that I am very anxious to be of assistance to you, in this as in all other things.
Faithfully yours,
Reuben TRacy.
Reuben locked up the keepsake note again, fondly entertaining the idea as he did so that soon there might be others to bear it company. Then he closed the offices, went down upon the street, and told the first idle boy he met that he could earn fifty cents by carrying a letter at once to the home of the Minsters. The money would be his when he returned to the Dearborn House.
“Will there be any answer?” asked the boy.
This opened up a new idea to the lawyer. “You might wait and see,” he said.
But the messenger came back in a depressingly short space of time, with the word that no answer was required.
He had hurried both ways with a stem concentration of purpose, and now he dashed off once more in an even more strenuous70 face against time with the half-dollar clutched securely inside his mitten15. The Great Occidental Minstrel Combination was in town, and the boy leaped over snowbanks, and slid furiously across slippery places, in the earnestness of his intention not to miss one single joke.
The big man whom he left went wearily up the stairs to his room, and walked therein for aimless hours, and almost scowled71 as he shook his head at the waitress who came up to remind him that he had had no supper.
The two Minster sisters had read Reuben’s note together, in the seclusion72 of their own sitting-room73. They had previously74 discussed the fact of his refusal to assist them—for so it translated itself in Kate’s account of the interview—and had viewed it with almost displeasure.
Ethel was, however, disposed to relent when the letter came.
“At least it might be well to write him a polite note,” she said, “thanking him, and saying that circumstances might arise under which you would be glad to—to avail yourself, and so on.”
“I don’t think I shall write at all,” Kate replied, glancing over the lawyer’s missive again. “He took no interest in the thing whatever. And you see how even now he infers that ‘the lines I suggested’ were dishonorable.”
“I didn’t see that, Kate.”
“Here it is. ‘He was unable to see his way,’ and that sort of thing. And he said himself that the business all seemed regular enough, so far as he could see.—Say that there is no answer,” she added to the maid at the door.
The two girls sat in silence for a moment in the soft, cosey light between the fire-place and the lace-shaded lamp. Then Ethel spoke16 again:
“And you really didn’t like him, Kate? You know you were so enthusiastic about him, that day you came back from the milliner’s shop. I never heard you have so much to say about any other man before.”
“That was different,” mused75 the other. Her voice grew even less kindly76, and the words came swifter as she went on. “Then it was a question of helping the Lawton girl. He was quite excited about that. He didn’t hum and haw, and talk about ‘the lines suggested’ to him, then. He could ‘see his way’ very clearly indeed. Oh, yes, with entire clearness! And I was childish enough to be taken in by it all. I am vexed77 with myself when I think of it.”
“Are you sure you are being quite fair, Kate?” pale Ethel asked, putting her hand caressingly78 on the sister’s knee. “Read the letter again, dear. He says he wants to help you; and he hints, too, that something has happened, or is going to happen, to make him free in the matter. How can we tell what that something is, or how he felt himself bound before? It seems to me that we oughtn’t to leap at the idea of his being unfriendly. I am sure that you believed him to be a wholly good man before. Why assume all at once now that he is not, just because—Men don’t change from good to bad like that.”
“Ah, but was he good before, or did we only think so?”
Ethel went on: “Surely, he knows more about business than we do. And if he was unable to help you, it must have been for some real reason.”
“That is it! I should like to be helped first, and let reasons come afterward79.” The girl’s dark eyes flashed with an imperious light. “What kind of a hero is it who, when you cry for assistance, calmly says: ‘Upon the lines you suggest I do not see my way’? It is high time the books about chivalry80 were burned, if ‘that’ is the modern man.”
“But you did not cry to a hero for assistance. You merely asked the advice of a lawyer about a mortgage—-if mamma is right about its being a mortgage.”
“It is the same thing,” said Kate, pushing the hassock impatiently with her foot.. “Whether the distressed81 maiden82 falls into the water or into debt, the principle is precisely83 the same.”
“He couldn’t do what you asked, because it would be unfair to his partner. Now, isn’t that it exactly? And wasn’t that honorable? Now, be frank, Kate.”
“The partner would have gone into anything headlong, asking no questions, raising no objections, if I had so much ais lifted my finger. He never would have given, partner a thought.”
Kate, confided84 this answer to the firelight. She was conscious of a desire just now not to meet her sister’s glance.
“And you like the man without scruples85 better than the man with them?”
“At least, he is more interesting,” the elder girl said, still with her eyes on the burning logs.
Ethel waited a little for some additional hint as to her sister’s state of mind. When the silence had begun to make itself felt, she said:
“Kate Minster, you don’t mean one word of what you are saying.”
“Ah, but I do.”
“No; listen to me. You really in your heart respect Mr. Tracy very much for his action to-day.”
“For being so much less eager to help me than he was to help the milliner?”
“No; for not being willing to help even you by doing an unfair thing.”
“Well—if you like—respect, yes. But so one respects John Knox, and Increase Mather, and St. Simon What’s-his-name on top of the pillar—all the disagreeable people, in fact. But it isn’t respect that makes the world go round. There is such a thing as caring too much for respect, and too little for warmth of feeling, and generous impulses, and—and so on.”
“You’re a queer girl, Kate,” was all Ethel could think to say.
This time the silence maintained itself so long that the snapping of sparks on the hearth86, and even the rushing suction of air in the lamp-flame, grew to be obvious noises. At last Ethel slid softly from the couch to the carpet, and nestled her head against her sister’s waist. Kate put her arm tenderly over the girl’s shoulder, and drew her closer to her, and the silence had become vocal87 with affectionate mur-murings to them both. It was the younger sister who finally spoke:
“You won’t do anything rash, Kate? Nothing without talking it over with me?” she pleaded, almost sadly.
Kate bent88 over and kissed her twice, thrice, on the forehead, and stroked the silken hair upon this forehead caressingly. Her own eyes glistened89 with the beginnings of tears before she made answer, rising as she spoke, and striving to import into her voice the accent of gayety:
“As if I ever dreamed of doing anything at all without asking you! And please, puss, may I go to bed now?”
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收听单词发音
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1
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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7
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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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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dirge
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| n.哀乐，挽歌，庄重悲哀的乐曲 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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mitten
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| n.连指手套，露指手套 | |
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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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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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motes
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| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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enunciation
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| n.清晰的发音；表明，宣言；口齿 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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44
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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45
precipitating
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| adj.急落的，猛冲的v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的现在分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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46
rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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47
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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48
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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49
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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50
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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51
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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meddlesome
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| adj.爱管闲事的 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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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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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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60
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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variant
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| adj.不同的，变异的；n.变体，异体 | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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blindfolded
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| v.（尤指用布）挡住（某人）的视线( blindfold的过去式 )；蒙住（某人）的眼睛；使不理解；蒙骗 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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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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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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caressingly
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| 爱抚地，亲切地 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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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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85
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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88
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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