Through a sunny passageway they could look into Ailsa's bedroom—formerly the children's nursery—where her maid sat sewing.
Outside the open windows, seen between breezy curtains, new buds already clothed the great twisted ropes of pendant wistaria with a silvery-green down.
The street was quiet under its leafless double row of trees, maple4, ailanthus, and catalpa; the old man who trudged5 his rounds regularly every week was passing now with his muffled6 shout:
Any old hats
Old coats
Old boots!
Any old mats
Old suits,
Old flutes7! Ca-ash!
And, leaning near to the sill, Ailsa saw him shuffling8 along, green-baize bag bulging9, a pyramid of stove-pipe hats crammed10 down over his ears.
At intervals12 from somewhere in the neighbourhood sounded the pleasant bell of the scissors grinder, and the not unmusical call of "Glass put in!" But it was really very tranquil13 there in the sunshine of Fort Greene Place, stiller even for the fluted14 call of an oriole aloft in the silver maple in front of the stoop.
He was a shy bird even though there were no imported sparrows to drive this lovely native from the trees of a sleepy city; and he sat very still in the top branches, clad in his gorgeous livery of orange and black, and scarcely stirred save to slant15 his head and peer doubtfully at last year's cocoons16, which clung to the bark like shreds17 of frosted cotton.
Very far away, from somewhere in the harbour, a deep sound jarred the silence. Ailsa raised her head, needle suspended, listened for a moment, then resumed her embroidery with an unconscious sigh.
Her sister-in-law glanced sideways at her.
"I was thinking of Major Anderson, Celia," she said absently.
"So was I, dear. And of those who must answer for his gove'nment's madness,—God fo'give them."
There was no more said about the Major or his government. After a few moments Ailsa leaned back dreamily, her gaze wandering around the sunny walls of the room. In Ailsa Paige's eyes there was always a gentle caress19 for homely20 things. Just now they caressed21 the pictures of "Night" and "Morning," hanging there in their round gilt22 frames; the window boxes where hyacinths blossomed; the English ivy23 festooned to frame the window beside her sister-in-law's writing-desk; the melancholy24 engraving25 over the fireplace—"The Motherless Bairn"—a commonplace picture which harrowed her, but which nobody thought of discarding in a day when even the commonplace was uncommon26.
She smiled in amused reminiscence of the secret tears she had wept over absurd things—of the funerals held for birds found dead—of the "Three Grains of Corn" poem which, when a child, elicited27 from her howls of anguish28.
Little golden flashes of recollection lighted the idle path as her thoughts wandered along hazy29 ways which led back to her own nursery days; and she rested there, in memory, dreaming through the stillness of the afternoon.
She missed the rattle30 and noise of New York. It was a little too tranquil in Fort Greene Place; yet, when she listened intently, through the city's old-fashioned hush31, very far away the voices of the great seaport32 were always audible—a ceaseless harmony of river whistles, ferry-boats signalling on the East River, ferry-boats on the North River, perhaps some mellow33, resonant34 blast from the bay, where an ocean liner was heading for the Narrows. Always the street's stillness held that singing murmur35, vibrant36 with deep undertones from dock and river and the outer sea.
Strange spicy37 odours, too, sometimes floated inland from the sugar wharves38, miles away under the Heights, to mingle39 with the scent40 of lilac and iris41 in quiet, sunny backyards where whitewashed42 fences reflected the mid-day glare, and cats dozed43 in strategical positions on grape trellis and tin roofs of extensions, prepared for war or peace, as are all cats always, at all times.
"Celia!"
Celia Craig looked up tranquilly44.
"Has anybody darned Paige's stockings?"
"No, she hasn't, Honey-bell. Paige and Marye must keep their stockings da'ned. I never could do anything fo' myse'f, and I won't have my daughters brought up he'pless."
Ailsa glanced humorously across at her sister-in-law.
"You sweet thing," she said, "you can do anything, and you know it!"
"But I don't like to do anything any mo' than I did befo' I had to," laughed Celia Craig; and suddenly checked her mirth, listening with her pretty close-set ears.
"That is the do'-bell," she remarked, "and I am not dressed."
"It's almost too early for anybody to call," said Ailsa tranquilly.
But she was wrong, and when, a moment later, the servant came to announce Mr. Berkley, Ailsa regarded her sister-in-law in pink consternation45.
"I did not ask him," she said. "We scarcely exchanged a dozen words. He merely said he'd like to call—on you—and now he's done it, Celia!"
Mrs. Craig calmly instructed the servant to say that they were at home, and the servant withdrew.
"Do you approve his coming—this way—without anybody inviting47 him?" asked Ailsa uneasily.
"Of co'se, Honey-bell. He is a Berkley. He should have paid his respects to us long ago."
"It was for him to mention the relationship when I met him. He did not speak of it, Celia."
"No, it was fo' you to speak of it first," said Celia Craig gently.
"But you did not know that."
"Why?"
"There are reasons, Honey-bud."
"What reasons?"
"They are not yo' business, dear," said her sister-in-law quietly.
Ailsa had already risen to examine herself in the mirror. Now she looked back over her shoulder and down into Celia's pretty eyes—eyes as unspoiled as her own.
In Celia Craig remained that gracious and confident faith in kinship which her Northern marriage had neither extinguished nor chilled. The young man who waited below was a Berkley, a kinsman48. Name and quality were keys to her hospitality. There was also another key which this man possessed49, and it fitted a little locked compartment50 in Celia Craig's heart. But Ailsa had no knowledge of this. And now Mrs. Craig was considering the advisability of telling her—not all, perhaps,—but something of how matters stood between the House of Craig and the House of Berkley. But not how matters stood with the House of Arran.
"Honey-bud," she said, "you must be ve'y polite to this young man."
"I expect to be. Only I don't quite understand why he came so unceremoniously——"
"It would have been ruder to neglect us, little Puritan! I want to see Connie Berkley's boy. I'm glad he came."
Celia Craig, once Celia Marye Ormond Paige, stood watching her taller sister-in-law twisting up her hair and winding51 the thick braid around the crown of her head a la coronal. Little wonder that these two were so often mistaken for own sisters—the matron not quite as tall as the young widow, but as slender, and fair, and cast in the same girlish mould.
Both inherited from their Ormond ancestry52 slightly arched and dainty noses and brows, delicate hands and feet, and the same splendid dull-gold hair—features apparently53 characteristic of the line, all the women of which had been toasts of a hundred years ago, before Harry54 Lee hunted men and the Shadow of the Swamp Fox flitted through the cypress55 to a great king's undoing56.
Ailsa laid a pink bow against her hair and glanced at her sister-in-law for approval.
"I declare. Honey-bud, you are all rose colour to-day," said Celia Craig, smiling; and, on impulse, unpinned the pink-and-white cameo from her own throat and fastened it to Ailsa's breast.
"I reckon I'll slip on a gay gown myse'f," she added mischievously57. "I certainly am becoming ve'y tired of leaving the field to my sister-in-law, and my schoolgirl daughters."
"Does anybody ever look at us after you come into a room?" asked Ailsa, laughing; and, turning impulsively58, she pressed Celia's pretty hands flat together and kissed them. "You darling," she said. An unaccountable sense of expectancy—almost of exhilaration was taking possession of her. She looked into the mirror and stood content with what she saw reflected there.
"How much of a relation is he, Celia?" balancing the rosy60 bow with a little cluster of pink hyacinth on the other side.
Celia Craig, forefinger61 crooked62 across her lips, considered aloud.
"His mother was bo'n Constance Berkley; her mother was bo'n Betty Ormond; her mother was bo'n Felicity Paige; her mother——"
"Oh please! I don't care to know any more!" protested Ailsa, drawing her sister-in-law before the mirror; and, standing63 behind her, rested her soft, round chin on her shoulder, regarding the two reflected faces.
"That," observed the pretty Southern matron, "is conside'd ve'y bad luck. When I was a young girl I once peeped into the glass over my ole mammy's shoulder, and she said I'd sho'ly be punished befo' the year was done."
"And were you?"
"I don't exactly remember," said Mrs. Craig demurely65, "but I think
I first met my husband the ve'y next day."
They both laughed softly, looking at each other in the mirror.
So, in her gown of rosy muslin, bouffant66 and billowy, a pink flower in her hair, and Celia's pink-and-white cameo at her whiter throat Ailsa Paige descended67 the carpeted stairs and came into the mellow dimness of the front parlour, where there was much rosewood, and a French carpet, and glinting prisms on the chandeliers,—and a young man, standing, dark against a bar of sunshine in which golden motes68 swam.
"How do you do," she said, offering her narrow hand, and: "Mrs. Craig is dressing69 to receive you. . . . It is warm for April, I think. How amiable70 of you to come all the way over from New York. Mr. Craig and his son Stephen are at business, my cousins, Paige and Marye, are at school. Won't you sit down?"
She had backed away a little distance from him, looking at him under brows bent71 slightly inward, and thinking that she had made no mistake in her memory of this man. Certainly his features were altogether too regular, his head and body too perfectly72 moulded into that dark and graceful73 symmetry which she had hitherto vaguely74 associated with things purely75 and mythologically76 Olympian.
Upright against the doorway78, she suddenly recollected79 with a blush that she was staring like a schoolgirl, and sat down. And he drew up a chair before her and seated himself; and then under the billowy rose crinoline she set her pretty feet close together, folded her hands, and looked at him with a smiling composure which she no longer really felt.
"The weather," she repeated, "is unusually warm. Do you think that Major Anderson will hold out at Sumter? Do you think the fleet is going to relieve him? Dear me," she sighed, "where will it all end, Mr. Berkley?"
"In war," he said, also smiling; but neither of them believed it, or, at the moment, cared. There were other matters impending—since their first encounter.
"I have thought about you a good deal since Camilla's theatre party," he said pleasantly.
"Have you?" She scarcely knew what else to say—and regretted saying anything.
"Indeed I have. I dare not believe you have wasted as much as one thought on the man you danced with once—and refused ever after."
She felt, suddenly, a sense of uneasiness in being near him.
"Of course I have remembered you, Mr. Berkley," she said with composure. "Few men dance as well. It has been an agreeable memory to me."
"But you would not dance with me again."
"I—there were—you seemed perfectly contented80 to sit out—the rest—with me."
He considered the carpet attentively81. Then looking up with quick, engaging smile:
"I want to ask you something. May I?"
She did not answer. As it had been from the first time she had ever seen him, so it was now with her; a confused sense of the necessity for caution in dealing82 with a man who had inspired in her such an unaccountable inclination83 to listen to what he chose to say.
"What is it you wish to ask?" she inquired pleasantly.
"It is this: are you really surprised that I came? Are you, in your heart?"
"Did I appear to be very much agitated84? Or my heart, either, Mr. Berkley?" she asked with a careless laugh, conscious now of her quickening pulses. Outwardly calm, inwardly Irresolute85, she faced him with a quiet smile of confidence.
"Then you were not surprised that I came?" he insisted.
"You did not wait to be asked. That surprised me a little."
"I did wait. But you didn't ask me."
"That seems to have made no difference to you," she retorted, laughing.
"It made this difference. I seized upon the only excuse I had and came to pay my respects as a kinsman. Do you know that I am a relation?"
"That is a very pretty compliment to us all, I think."
"It is you who are kind in accepting me."
"As a relative, I am very glad to——"
"I came," he said, "to see you. And you know it."
"But you couldn't do that, uninvited! I had not asked you."
"But—it's done," he said.
She sat very still, considering him. Within her, subtle currents seemed to be contending once more, disturbing her equanimity86. She said, sweetly:
"I am not as offended as I ought to be. But I do not see why you should disregard convention with me."
"I didn't mean it that way," he said, leaning forward. "I couldn't stand not seeing you. That was all. Convention is a pitiful thing—sometimes—" He hesitated, then fell to studying the carpet.
She looked at him, silent in her uncertainty87. His expression was grave, almost absent-minded. And again her troubled eyes rested on the disturbing symmetry of feature and figure in all the unconscious grace of repose88; and in his immobility there seemed something even of nobility about him which she had not before noticed.
She stole another glance at him. He remained very still, leaning forward, apparently quite oblivious89 of her. Then he came to himself with a quick smile, which she recognised as characteristic of all that disturbed her about this man—a smile in which there was humour, a little malice90 and self-sufficiency and—many, many things she did not try to analyse.
"Don't you really want an unreliable servant?" he asked.
His perverse91 humour perplexed92 her, but she smiled.
"Don't you remember that I once asked you if you needed an able-bodied man?" he insisted.
She nodded.
"Well, I'm that man."
She assented94, smiling conventionally, not at all understanding. He laughed, too, thoroughly95 enjoying something.
"It isn't really very funny," he said, "Ask your brother-in-law. I had an interview with him before I came here. And I think there's a chance that he may give me a desk and a small salary in his office."
"How absurd!" she said.
"It is rather absurd. I'm so absolutely useless. It's only because of the relationship that Mr. Craig is doing this."
She said uneasily: "You are not really serious, are you?"
"Grimly serious."
"About a—a desk and a salary—in my brother-in-law's office?"
"Unless you'll hire me as a useful man. Otherwise, I hope for a big desk and a small salary. I went to Mr. Craig this morning, and the minute I saw him I knew he was fine enough to be your brother-in-law. And I said, 'I am Philip Ormond Berkley; how do you do!' And he said, 'How do you do!' And I said, 'I'm a relation,' and he said, 'I believe so.' And I said, 'I was educated at Harvard and in Leipsic; I am full of useless accomplishments96, harmless erudition, and insolvent97 amiability98, and I am otherwise perfectly worthless. Can you give me a position?'"
"And he said: 'What else is the matter?' And I said, 'The stock market.' And that is how it remains99, I am to call on him to-morrow."
She said in consternation: "Forgive me. I did not think you meant it. I did not know that you were—were——"
"Ruined!" he nodded laughingly. "I am, practically. I have a little left—badly invested—which I'm trying to get at. Otherwise matters are gay enough."
She said wonderingly: "Had this happened when—I saw you that first time?"
"It had just happened. I looked the part, didn't I?"
"No. How could you be so—interesting and—and be—what you were—knowing this all the while?"
"I went to that party absolutely stunned100. I saw you in a corner of the box—I had just been hearing about you—and—I don't know now what I said to you. Afterward"—he glanced at her—"the world was spinning, Mrs. Paige. You only remained real—" His face altered subtly. "And when I touched you——"
"I gave you a waltz, I believe," she said, striving to speak naturally; but her pulses had begun to stir again; the same inexplicable101 sense of exhilaration and insecurity was creeping over her.
With a movement partly nervous she turned toward the door, but there sounded no rustle102 of her sister's skirts from the stairs, and her reluctant eyes slowly reverted103 to him, then fell in silence, out of which she presently strove to extract them both with some casual commonplace.
He said in a low voice, almost to himself:
"I want you to think well of me."
She gathered all her composure, steadied her senses to choose a reply, and made a blunder:
"Do you really care what I think?" she asked lightly, and bit her lip too late.
"Do you believe I care about anything else in the world—now?"
She went on bravely, blindly:
"And do you expect me to believe in—in such an exaggerated and romantic expression to a staid and matter-of-fact widow whom you never saw more than once in your life?"
"You do believe it."
Confused, scarcely knowing what she was saying, she still attempted to make light of his words, holding her own against herself for the moment, making even some headway. And all the while she was aware of mounting emotion—a swift inexplicable charm falling over them both.
He had become silent again, and she was saying she knew not what—fortifying her common-sense with gay inconsequences, when he looked up straight into her eyes.
"I have distressed104 you. I should not have spoken as I did."
"No, you should not——"
"Have I offended you?"
"I—don't know."
Matters were running too swiftly for her; she strove to remain cool, collected, but confusion was steadily106 threatening her, and neither resentment107 nor indifference108 appeared as allies.
"Mrs. Paige, can you account for—that night? The moment I touched you——"
She half rose, sank back into her seat, her startled eyes meeting his.
"I—don't know what you mean."
"Yes—you know."
Flushed, voices unsteady, they no longer recognised themselves.
"You have never seen me but once," she said. "You cannot believe——"
"I have not known a moment's peace since I first saw you."
She caught her breath. "It is your business worries that torment109 you——"
"It is desire to be near you."
"I don't think you had better say such a thing——"
"I know I had better not. But it is said, and it is true. I'm not trying to explain it to you or to myself. It's just true. There has not been one moment, since I saw you, which has been free from memory of you——"
"Please——"
"I scarcely know what I am saying—but it's true!" He checked himself. "I'm losing my head now, which isn't like me!" He choked and stood up; she could not move; every nerve in her had become tense with emotions so bewildering that mind and body remained fettered110.
He was walking to and fro, silent and white under his self-control. She, seated, gazed at him as though stunned, but every pulse was riotously111 unsteady.
"I suppose you think me crazy," he said hoarsely112, "but I've not known a moment's peace of mind since that night—not one! I couldn't keep away any longer. I can't even hold my tongue now, though I suppose it's ruining me every time I move it. It's a crazy thing to come here and say what I'm saying."
He went over and sat down again, and bent his dark gaze on the floor. Then:
"Can you forgive what I have done to you?"
She tried to answer, and only made a sign of faint assent93. She no longer comprehended herself or the emotions menacing her. A curious tranquillity113 quieted her at moments—intervals in which she seemed to sit apart watching the development of another woman, listening to her own speech, patient with her own silences. There was a droop114 to her shoulders now; his own were sagging115 as he leaned slightly forward in his chair, arms resting on his knees, while around them the magic ebbed116, eddied117, ebbed; and lassitude succeeded tension; and she stirred, looked up at him with eyes that seemed dazed at first, then widened slowly into waking; and he saw in them the first clear dawn of alarm. Suddenly she flushed and sprang to her feet, the bright colour surging to her hair.
"Don't!" he said. "Don't reason! There will be nothing left of me if you do—or of, these moments. You will hate them—and me, if you reason. Don't think—until we see each other again!"
She dropped her eyes slowly, and slowly shook her head.
"You ask too much," she said. "You should not have said that." All the glamour118 was fading. Her senses were seeking their balance after the incredible storm that had whirled them into chaos119.
Fear stirred sharply, then consternation—flashes of panic pierced her with darts120 of shame, as though she had been in physical contact with this man.
All her outraged121 soul leaped to arms, quivering now under the reaction; the man's mere46 presence was becoming unendurable; the room stifled123 her. She turned, scarce knowing what she was doing; and at the same moment her sister-in-law entered.
Berkley, already on his feet, turned short: and when she offered him a hand as slim and white as Ailsa's, he glanced inquiringly at the latter, not at all certain who this charming woman might be.
"Mrs. Craig," said Ailsa.
"I don't believe it," he said. "You haven't grown-up children!"
"Don't you really believe it, Mr. Berkley? Or is it just the flattering Irish in you that natters us poor women to our destruction?"
He had sense and wit enough to pay her a quick and really graceful compliment; to which she responded, still laughing:
"Oh, it is the Ormond in you! I am truly ve'y glad you came. You are Constance Berkley's son—Connie Berkley! The sweetest girl that ever lived."
There was a silence. Then Mrs. Craig said gently:
"I was her maid of honour, Mr. Berkley."
Ailsa raised her eyes to his altered face, startled at the change in it. He looked at her absently, then his gaze reverted to Ailsa Paige.
"I loved her dearly," said Mrs. Craig, dropping a light, impulsive59 hand on his. "I want her son to know it."
Her eyes were soft and compassionate124; her hand still lingered lightly on his, and she let it rest so.
"Mrs. Craig," he said, "you are the most real person I have known in many years among the phantoms125. I thought your sister-in-law was. But you are still more real."
"Am I?" she laid her other hand over his, considering him earnestly. Ailsa looking on, astonished, noticed a singular radiance on his face—the pale transfiguration from some quick inward illumination.
Then Celia Craig's voice sounded almost caressingly126:
"I think you should have come to see us long ago." A pause. "You are as welcome in this house as your mother would be if she were living. I love and honour her memory."
"I have honoured little else in the world," he said. They looked at one another for a moment; then her quick smile broke out. "I have an album. There are some Paiges, Ormonds, and Berkleys in it——"
Ailsa came forward slowly.
"Shall I look for it, Celia?"
"No, Honey-bell." She turned lightly and went into the back parlour, smiling mysteriously to herself, her vast, pale-blue crinoline rustling127 against the furniture.
"My sister-in-law," said Ailsa, after an interval11 of silent constraint128, "is very Southern. Any sort of kinship means a great deal to her. I, of course, am Northern, and regard such matters as unimportant."
"It is very gracious of Mrs. Craig to remember it," he said. "I know nothing finer than confidence in one's own kin18."
She flushed angrily. "I have not that confidence—in kinsman."
For a moment their eyes met. Hers were hard as purple steel.
"Is that final?"
"Yes."
The muscles in his cheeks grew tense, then into his eyes came that reckless glimmer129 which in the beginning she had distrusted—a gay, irresponsible radiance which seemed to mock at all things worthy130.
He said: "No, it is not final. I shall come back to you."
She answered him in an even, passionless voice:
"A moment ago I was uncertain; now I know you. You are what they say you are. I never wish to see you again."
Celia Craig came back with the album. Berkley sprang to relieve her of the big book and a box full of silhouettes131, miniatures, and daguerreotypes. They placed the family depository upon the table and then bent over it together.
Ailsa remained standing by the window, looking steadily at nothing, a burning sensation in both cheeks.
At intervals, through the intensity132 of her silence, she heard Celia's fresh, sweet laughter, and Berkley's humorous and engaging voice. She glanced sideways at the back of his dark curly head where it bent beside Celia's over the album. What an insolently133 reckless head it was! She thought that she had never before seen the back of any man's head so significant of character—or the want of it. And the same quality—or the lack of it—now seemed to her to pervade134 his supple135 body, his well-set shoulders, his voice, every movement, every feature—something everywhere about him that warned and troubled.
[Illustration: "What an insolently reckless head it was!"]
Suddenly the blood burnt her cheeks with a perfectly incomprehensible desire to see his face again. She heard her sister-in-law saying:
"We Paiges and Berkleys are kin to the Ormonds and the Earls of
Ossory. The Estcourts, the Paiges, the Craigs, the Lents, the
Berkleys, intermarried a hundred years ago. . . . My grandmother
knew yours, but the North is very strange in such matters. . . .
Why did you never before come?"
He said: "It's one of those things a man is always expecting to do, and is always astonished that he hasn't done. Am I unpardonable?"
"I did not mean it in that way."
He turned his dark, comely136 head and looked at her as they bent together above the album.
"I know you didn't. My answer was not frank. The reason I never came to you before was that—I did not know I would be welcomed."
Their voices dropped. Ailsa standing by the window, watching the orioles in the maple, could no longer distinguish what they were saying.
He said: "You were bridesmaid to my mother. You are the Celia
Paige of her letters."
"She is always Connie Berkley to me. I loved no woman better. I love her still."
"I found that out yesterday. That is why I dared come. I found, among the English letters, one from you to her, written—after."
"I wrote her again and again. She never replied. Thank God, she knew I loved her to the last."
He rested on the tabletop and stood leaning over and looking down.
"Dear Mr. Berkley," she murmured gently.
He straightened himself, passed a hesitating hand across his forehead, ruffling137 the short curly hair. Then his preoccupied138 gaze wandered. Ailsa turned toward him at the same moment, and instantly a flicker139 of malice transformed the nobility of his set features:
"It seems," he said, "that you and I are irrevocably related in all kinds of delightful140 ways, Mrs. Paige. Your sister-in-law very charmingly admits it, graciously overlooks and pardons my many delinquencies, and has asked me to come again. Will you ask me, too?"
Ailsa merely looked at him.
Mrs. Craig said, laughing: "I knew you were all Ormond and entirely141 Irish as soon as I came in the do'—befo' I became aware of your racial fluency142. I speak fo' my husband and myse'f when I say, please remember that our do' is ve'y wide open to our own kin—and that you are of them——"
"Oh, I'm all sorts of things beside—" He paused for a second—"Cousin Celia," he added so lightly that the grace with which he said it covered the impudence143, and she laughed in semi-critical approval and turned to Ailsa, whose smile in response was chilly—chillier still when Berkley did what few men have done convincingly since powdered hair and knee-breeches became unfashionable—bent to salute144 Celia Craig's fingertips. Then he turned to her and took his leave of her in a conventional manner entirely worthy of the name his mother bore,—and her mother before her, and many a handsome man and many a beautiful woman back to times when a great duke stood unjustly attainted, and the Ormonds served their king with steel sword and golden ewer145; and served him faithfully and well.
Camilla Lent called a little later. Ailsa was in the backyard garden, a trowel in her hand, industriously146 loosening the earth around the prairie roses.
"Camilla," she said, looking up from where she was kneeling among the shrubs147, "what was it you said this morning about Mr. Berkley being some unpleasant kind of man?"
"How funny," laughed Camilla. "You asked me that twice before."
"Did I? I forgot," said Mrs. Paige with a shrug148; and, bending over again, became exceedingly busy with her trowel until the fire in her cheeks had cooled.
"Every woman that ever saw him becomes infatuated with Phil Berkley," said Camilla cheerfully. "I was. You will be. And the worst of it is he's simply not worth it."
"I—thought not."
"Why did you think not?"
"I don't know why."
"He can be fascinating," said Camilla reflectively, "but he doesn't always trouble himself to be."
"Doesn't he?" said Ailsa with a strange sense of relief.
Camilla hesitated, lowered her voice.
"They say he is fast," she whispered. Ailsa, on her knees, turned and looked up.
"Whatever that means," added Camilla, shuddering149. "But all the same, every girl who sees him begins to adore him immediately until her parents make her stop."
"How silly," said Ailsa in a leisurely150 level voice. But her heart was beating furiously, and she turned to her roses with a blind energy that threatened them root and runner.
"How did you happen to think of him at all?" continued Camilla mischievously.
"He called on—Mrs. Craig this afternoon."
"I didn't know she knew him."
"They are related—distantly—I believe——"
"Oh," exclaimed Camilla. "I'm terribly sorry I spoke105 that way about him, dear——"
"I don't care what you say about him," returned Ailsa Paige fiercely, emptying some grains of sand out of one of her gloves; resolutely151 emptying her mind, too, of Philip Berkley.
"Dear," she added gaily152 to Camilla, "come in and we'll have tea and gossip, English fashion. And I'll tell you about my new duties at the Home for Destitute153 Children—every morning from ten to twelve, my dear, in their horrid154 old infirmary—the poor little darlings!—and I would be there all day if I wasn't a selfish, indolent, pleasure-loving creature without an ounce of womanly feeling—Yes I am! I must be, to go about to galleries and dances and Philharmonics when there are motherless children in that infirmary, as sick for lack of love as for the hundred and one ailments155 distressing156 their tender little bodies."
But over their tea and marmalade and toast she became less communicative; and once or twice the conversation betrayed an unexpected tendency to drift toward Berkley.
"I haven't the slightest curiosity concerning him, dear," said Ailsa, attempting corroboration157 in a yawn—which indiscretion she was unable to accomplish.
"Well," remarked Camilla, "the chances are that you've seen the last of him if you showed it too plainly. Men don't come back when a girl doesn't wish them to. Do they?"
After Camilla had gone, Ailsa roamed about the parlours, apparently renewing her acquaintance with the familiar decorations. Sometimes she stood at windows, looking thoughtfully into the empty street; sometimes she sat in corners, critically surveying empty space.
Yes, the chances were that he would scarcely care to come back. A man of that kind did not belong in her sister-in-law's house, anyway, nor in her own—a man who could appeal to a woman for a favourable158 opinion of himself, asking her to suspend her reason, stifle122 logic77, stultify159 her own intelligence, and trust to a sentimental160 impulse that he deserved the toleration and consideration which he asked for. . . . It was certainly well for her that he should not return. . . . It would be better for her to lay the entire matter before her sister-in-law—that was what she would do immediately!
She sprang to her feet and ran lightly up-stairs; but, fast as she fled, thought outran her slender flying feet, and she came at last very leisurely into Celia's room, a subdued161, demure64 opportunist, apparently with nothing on her mind and conscience,
"If I may have the carriage at ten, Celia, I'll begin on the Destitute Children to-morrow. . . . Poor babies! . . . If they only had once a week as wholesome162 food as is wasted in this city every day by Irish servants . . . which reminds me—I suppose you will have to invite your new kinsman to dine with you."
"There is loads of time for that, Honey-bud," said her sister-in-law, glancing up absently from the note she was writing.
"I was merely wondering whether it was necessary at all," observed
Ailsa Paige, without interest.
But Celia had begun to write again. "I'll ask him," she said in her softly preoccupied voice, "Saturday, I think."
"Oh, but I'm invited to the Cortlandt's," began Ailsa, and caught her under lip in her teeth. Then she turned and walked noiselessly into her bedroom, and sat down on the bed and looked at the wall.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
reticent
|
|
| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
embroidery
|
|
| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
walnut
|
|
| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
maple
|
|
| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
trudged
|
|
| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
muffled
|
|
| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
flutes
|
|
| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
shuffling
|
|
| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
bulging
|
|
| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
crammed
|
|
| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
tranquil
|
|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
fluted
|
|
| a.有凹槽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
slant
|
|
| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
cocoons
|
|
| n.茧，蚕茧( cocoon的名词复数 )v.茧，蚕茧( cocoon的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
shreds
|
|
| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
kin
|
|
| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
caress
|
|
| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
caressed
|
|
| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
gilt
|
|
| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
ivy
|
|
| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
engraving
|
|
| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
uncommon
|
|
| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
elicited
|
|
| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
hazy
|
|
| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
rattle
|
|
| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
hush
|
|
| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
seaport
|
|
| n.海港，港口，港市 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
mellow
|
|
| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
resonant
|
|
| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
vibrant
|
|
| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
spicy
|
|
| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
wharves
|
|
| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
mingle
|
|
| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
scent
|
|
| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
iris
|
|
| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
whitewashed
|
|
| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
dozed
|
|
| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
tranquilly
|
|
| adv. 宁静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
consternation
|
|
| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
inviting
|
|
| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
kinsman
|
|
| n.男亲属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
compartment
|
|
| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
ancestry
|
|
| n.祖先，家世 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
harry
|
|
| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
cypress
|
|
| n.柏树 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
undoing
|
|
| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
mischievously
|
|
| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
impulsively
|
|
| adv.冲动地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
impulsive
|
|
| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
forefinger
|
|
| n.食指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
crooked
|
|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
demure
|
|
| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
demurely
|
|
| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
bouffant
|
|
| adj.（发式、裙子等）向外胀起的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
motes
|
|
| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
mythologically
|
|
| 神话的； 虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
logic
|
|
| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
recollected
|
|
| 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 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
attentively
|
|
| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
dealing
|
|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
inclination
|
|
| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
irresolute
|
|
| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
equanimity
|
|
| n.沉着，镇定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
uncertainty
|
|
| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
oblivious
|
|
| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
perverse
|
|
| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
assent
|
|
| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
assented
|
|
| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
accomplishments
|
|
| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
insolvent
|
|
| adj.破产的，无偿还能力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
amiability
|
|
| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
stunned
|
|
| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
rustle
|
|
| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
reverted
|
|
| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
distressed
|
|
| 痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
torment
|
|
| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
fettered
|
|
| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
riotously
|
|
| adv.骚动地，暴乱地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
hoarsely
|
|
| adv.嘶哑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
tranquillity
|
|
| n. 平静, 安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
droop
|
|
| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
sagging
|
|
| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
ebbed
|
|
| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
eddied
|
|
| 起漩涡，旋转( eddy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
glamour
|
|
| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
chaos
|
|
| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
darts
|
|
| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
outraged
|
|
| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
stifle
|
|
| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
stifled
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
compassionate
|
|
| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
phantoms
|
|
| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
caressingly
|
|
| 爱抚地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
rustling
|
|
| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
constraint
|
|
| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
glimmer
|
|
| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
silhouettes
|
|
| 轮廓( silhouette的名词复数 )； （人的）体形； （事物的）形状； 剪影 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
intensity
|
|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
insolently
|
|
| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
pervade
|
|
| v.弥漫，遍及，充满，渗透，漫延 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
supple
|
|
| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
comely
|
|
| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
ruffling
|
|
| 弄皱( ruffle的现在分词 )； 弄乱； 激怒； 扰乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
preoccupied
|
|
| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
flicker
|
|
| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
fluency
|
|
| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
impudence
|
|
| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
salute
|
|
| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
ewer
|
|
| n.大口水罐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
industriously
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
shrubs
|
|
| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
shrug
|
|
| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
shuddering
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
leisurely
|
|
| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
resolutely
|
|
| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
destitute
|
|
| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
horrid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
ailments
|
|
| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
distressing
|
|
| a.使人痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
corroboration
|
|
| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
favourable
|
|
| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
stultify
|
|
| v.愚弄；使呆滞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
wholesome
|
|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |