"Now, now, Elise, it's my own little kettle of fish, and you must keep out of it. You see, it makes a difference who does a thing. If Ray Rose were an intimate friend of mine, I should resent her performance and make a fuss about it. But she is such a casual acquaintance,—why, probably I shall never see her again after I go away from Lakewood,—and so I consider it better judgment2 to ignore her silly prank3, rather than stir up a fuss about it."
"I don't agree with you, you're all wrong; but tell me the whole story.
What did she do?"
"You see, she was determined4 to do that hoop5 dance, and the only way she could think of, to get me out of it, was to get me over to her house and lock me up there. It was a slim chance I had of getting out, but I managed it. She called me over by telephone, and then locked me in her bedroom. How did she get my clothes?"
"Sent a maid over here, saying that you were at her house and wanted your costume sent over. I thought you were helping6 her, in your usual idiotic7 'helping hand' way, and I sent the dress and all the belongings8."
"Well, of course, I knew nothing about all that. So, I suppose the little minx dressed herself and put on the long cloak and walked off. She is boss in her own home, I know that, and, as I learned later, her father and mother were out to dinner, so she ordered the servants to pay no attention to any call or disturbance9 I might make. I sized it up, and I felt pretty sure no screaming or yelling or battering10 at the door would do any good, so I pondered on a move of strategy. But I couldn't think of anything for a long time, and had just about made up my mind to spend the evening there, when I made one desperate attempt and it succeeded. I wrote a note to Sarah to come over there and say she had to give me a certain medicine at that hour, or I would be ill. And I told her to wear a thick veil and a long cloak. She did all this, and I just slipped into her cloak and hat and veil and came out the door in her place, leaving her behind. They thought it was Sarah who came out, of course."
"Fine! Patty, you're a genius! How did you get the note to Sarah?"
"Tied it to Ray's hairbrush and threw it at the feet of a young man who was going by. On the outside I wrote, 'Please take this quickly to Sarah Moore at George Farrington's,' and gave the address. I added, 'Hurry, as it is a matter of tremendous importance!' And I'd like to know who that young man was."
"Where's the hairbrush?"
"Sarah brought it back with her, and left it where it belongs. I knew it might be broken or lost, but I could have replaced it, so I took that chance. And nothing else seemed just right to throw."
"But, Patty, it was an awful thing for Ray to do to you."
"Oh, don't fuss, Elise. Consider the circumstances. I had given her permission, in a sort of way, to keep me from that stunt11 if she could, and she had said, 'If I do, remember you said I might.' So you see, she was within her rights, in a way, and beside, I tell you I don't want to stir up a hornets' nest about it. The incident is beneath notice; and, do you know, I can't help admiring the girl's daring and ingenuity12."
"Oh, you'd admire a Grizzly13 Bear, if he succeeded in eating you up!
You're a good-natured goose, Patty."
"Maybe. But I know the difference between a foolish prank and a real offence, that must be resented. You're the goose, Elise, not to see how silly it would be to raise a row against a girl who means nothing to me, and whom I shall never see again after this visit is over."
"All right, Pattikins, have it your own way. Ray Rose is a sort of law unto herself, and she has lots of friends who would take her part."
"It isn't that, exactly. If I wanted to raise the issue, I'm sure my side of the matter would be the side of right and justice. But it isn't worth my time or trouble to take it up. And, then, I did tell her to go ahead and outwit me, if she could, so there's that on her side. Now, Elise, about going home. I must go soon, for I want to be in New York a week before the wedding, and you do, too."
"Yes, I do. Suppose we stay down here for the skating party day after tomorrow, and then go to New York the day after that."
"I think so. Your mother will be going up about then, and the days will fairly fly until the fifteenth. It seems funny to think of Roger being married, doesn't it? He's such a boy."
"I know it. Mona seems older than he, though she isn't."
"A girl always seems older than a man, even of the same age. I want to have 'a shower' for Mona before the wedding."
"Oh, Patty, a shower is so—so——"
"So chestnutty? I know it. But Mona wants it. Of course she didn't say so right out, but I divined it. It isn't that she wants the presents, you know, but Mona has a queer sort of an idea that she must have everything that anybody else has. And Lillian Van Arsdale had a shower, so Mona wants one, and I'm going to give it for her."
"All right. What kind?"
"Dunno yet, but something strikingly novel and original. I shall set my great intellect to work on it at once, and invite the people by notes from here, before I go back to New York."
"All right, my lady, but if you don't get to bed now, you'll be pale and holler-eyed tomorrow, and that will upset your placid14 vanity."
"Wretch15! As if I had a glimmer16 of a trace of a vestige17 of that deadly sin!"
The girls were very busy during the last few days of Patty's stay in Lakewood. There were many matters to attend to in connection with the approaching wedding. Also, Patty had become a favourite in the social circle and many parties were made especially for her.
And the day before their departure, Elise gave a little farewell tea, to which were bidden only the people Patty liked best.
The Blaneys were there, and, capturing Patty, Sam took her from the laughing crowd and led her to a secluded18 alcove19 of the veranda20. It was a pleasant nook, enclosed with glass panes21, and filled with ferns and palms.
"Sit thee down," said Blaney, arranging a few cushions in a long low wicker chair.
"I'm glad to," and Patty dropped into the seat. "I do think teas are the limit for tiring people out."
"You oughtn't to waste yourself on teas. It's a crime," and Blaney looked positively22 indignant.
"What would be the proper caper23 for my indefatigable24 energy?"
"You oughtn't to be energetic at all. For you, just to be, is enough."
"Not much it isn't! Why, if I just be'd, and didn't do anything else, I should die of that extreme bored feeling. And, it isn't like you to recommend such an existence, anyway."
"I shouldn't for any one else. But you, oh, my lily-fair girl, you are so beautiful, so peerless——"
"Good gracious, Mr. Blaney, what has come over you?" Patty sat up straight, in dismay, for she had no intention of being talked to in that vein25 by Sam Blaney.
"The spell of your presence," he replied; "the spell of your beauty,—your charm, your——"
"Please don't," said Patty, "please don't talk to me like that! I don't like it."
"No? Then of course I'll stop. But the spell remains26. The witchery of your face, your voice——"
"There you go again! You promised to stop."
"How can I, with you as inspiration? My soul expands,—my heart beats in lilting rhythms, you seem to me a flame goddess——"
"Just what is a flame goddess?" interrupted Patty, who wanted to giggle27, but was too polite.
"I see your soul as a flame of fire,—a lambent flame, with tongues of red and yellow——"
And now Patty did laugh outright28. She couldn't help it. "Oh, my soul hasn't tongues," she protested. "I'm sure it hasn't, Mr. Blaney."
"Yes," he repeated, "tongues, silent, untaught tongues,—but with unknown, unvoiced melodies that await but the torch of sympathy to sound, lyrically, upon the waiting air."
"Am I really like that? Do you think I could voice lyrics29, myself? I mean it,—write poetry, you know. I've always wanted to. Do you think I could, Mr. Blaney?"
"I know it. Unfolding one's soul in song is not an art, as some suppose, to be learned,—it is a natural, irrepressible expression of the inner ego30, it is a response to the melodic31 urge——"
"Oh, wait a minute, you're getting beyond me. What do all these things mean? It's so much Greek to me."
"But you want to learn?"
"Yes; that is, I'm interested in it. I always did think I'd like to write poetry. But I don't know the rules."
"There are no rules. Unfetter your soul, take a pencil,—the words will come."
"Really? Can you do that, Mr. Blaney? Could you take a pencil, now,—and just write out your soul, and produce a poem?"
Patty was very much in earnest. Sam Blaney looked at her, the eager pleading face urged him, the blue eyes dared a refusal, and the hovering33 smile seemed to doubt his ability to prove his own proposition.
"Of course I could!" he replied. "With you for inspiration, I could write a poem that would throb34 and thrill with the eternal heart of the radiance of the soul's starshine."
"Then do it," cried Patty; "I believe you, I thoroughly35 believe you, but I want to see it. I want the poem for myself. Give it to me."
Slowly Blaney took a pencil and notebook from his pocket. He sat gazing at her, and Patty, fairly beaming with eager interest, waited. For some minutes he sat, silent, almost motionless, and she began to grow restless.
"I don't want to hurry you," she said, at last, "but I mustn't stay here too long. Please write it now, Mr. Blaney. I'm sure you can do it,—why delay?"
"Yes, I can do it," he said, "but I want to get the highest, the divinest inspiration, in order to produce a gem36 worthy37 of your acceptance."
"Well, don't wait longer for that. Give me your second best, if need be,—only write something. I've always wanted to see a real, true poet write a real true poem. I never had a chance before. Now, don't dare disappoint me!"
Patty looked very sweet and coaxing38, and her voice was earnestly pleading, not at all implying doubt of his ability or willingness.
Still Blaney sat, thoughtfully regarding her.
"Come, come," she said, after another wait, "I shall begin to think you can't be inspired by my presence, after all! If you are, genius ought to burn by this time. If not, I suppose we'll have to give it up,—but it will disappoint me horribly."
The blue eyes were full of reproach, and Patty began to draw her scarf round her shoulders and seemed about to rise.
"No, no," protested Blaney, putting out a hand to detain her, "a moment,—just a moment,—stay, I have it!"
He began to scribble39 rapidly, and, fascinated, Patty watched him. Occasionally he glanced at her, but it was with a faraway look in his eyes, and an exalted40 expression on his face.
He wrote fast, but not steadily41, now and then pausing, as if waiting for the right word, and then doing two or three lines without hesitation42. Finally, he drew a long sigh, and the poem seemed to be finished.
"It is done," he said, "not worthy of your acceptance, but made for you. Shall I read it to you?"
"Yes, do," and Patty was thrilled by the fervour in his tones.
In the soft, low voice that was one of his greatest charms, Blaney read these lines:
"I loved her.—Why? I never knew.—Perhaps
Because her face was fair; perhaps because
Her eyes were blue and wore a weary air;—
Perhaps . . . perhaps because her limpid43 face
Was eddied44 with a restless tide, wherein
The dimples found no place to anchor and
Abide45; perhaps because her tresses beat
A froth of gold about her throat, and poured
In splendour to the feet that ever seemed
Afloat. Perhaps because of that wild way
Her sudden laughter overleapt propriety46;
Or—who will say?—perhaps the way she wept."
The lovely voice ceased, and its musical vibrations47 seemed to hover32 in the air after the sound was stilled.
"It's beautiful," Patty said, at last, in an awed48 tone; "I had no idea you could write like that! Why, it's real poetry."
"You're real poetry," said Blaney, simply, as he put the written paper in his pocket.
"No, no," cried Patty, "give it to me. It's mine. You made it for me and it's mine. Nobody ever made a real poem for me before. I want it."
"Oh, nonsense, you don't want it."
"Indeed I do. I must have it."
"Will you promise not to show it to anybody?"
"'Course not! I'll show it to everybody!"
"Then you can't have it. I'm sensitive, I admit, but I can't bear to have the children of my brain bruited49 to the world——"
"I haven't a notion what bruited means, but I promise you I won't do that. I'll keep it sacredly guarded from human eyes, and read it to myself when I'm all alone. Why, Mr. Blaney, it's a wonderful poem. I've simply got to have it, and that's all there is about that!"
"I give it to you, then, but don't,—please don't show it to the hilarious50 populace. It is for you only."
"All right. I'll keep it for me only. But I haven't half thanked you for it. I do appreciate it, I assure you, and I feel guilty because I underrated your talent. But perhaps it is because I saw you do it, that I care so very much for it. Anyway, I thank you."
Patty held out her hand in genuine gratitude51, and, taking it gently, Blaney held it a moment as he said, "I claim my reward. May I come to see you in New York?"
"Yes, indeed, I'll be awfully glad to have you. And Alla must come, too. I'll make a party for you as soon as the wedding is over. Will you be at that?"
"At the reception, yes. And I shall see you there?"
"Of course. I say, Mr. Blaney, why don't you write a wedding poem for Miss Galbraith? She'd love it! She wants everything for her wedding that can possibly be procured52."
"No. A poem of mine cannot be ordered, as from a caterer53!"
"Oh, forgive me! I didn't mean that. But, I thought you might write one, because I asked you."
"No, Miss Fairfield. Anything you want for yourself, but not for others. A thousand times no! You understand?"
"Yes, of course. I oughtn't to have asked you. But I'm so delighted with this poem of mine, that I spoke54 unthinkingly. Now, I must run away; Elise is beckoning55 frantically56, and I daresay the guests are taking leave of me, and I'm not there! Good-bye, Mr. Blaney, until we meet in New York. And thank you more than I can say for your gift, your ever-to-be treasured gift."
"It is my privilege to have offered it and for me to thank you for the opportunity."
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1
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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prank
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| n.开玩笑，恶作剧；v.装饰；打扮；炫耀自己 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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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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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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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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battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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13
grizzly
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| adj.略为灰色的，呈灰色的；n.灰色大熊 | |
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14
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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17
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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19
alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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caper
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| v.雀跃，欢蹦；n.雀跃，跳跃；续随子，刺山柑花蕾；嬉戏 | |
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indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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29
lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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melodic
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| adj.有旋律的，调子美妙的 | |
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32
hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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34
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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35
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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36
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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37
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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39
scribble
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| v.潦草地书写，乱写，滥写；n.潦草的写法，潦草写成的东西，杂文 | |
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40
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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41
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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eddied
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| 起漩涡，旋转( eddy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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46
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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47
vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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48
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bruited
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| v.传播（传说或谣言）( bruit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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51
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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52
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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53
caterer
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| n. 备办食物者，备办宴席者 | |
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54
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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55
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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56
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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