“Must you go?
That cousin here again? He waits outside?”
We were at supper. The chaperons had at length completed their well-earned repast, and had returned, flushed and loquacious3, to the dancing-room, yielding{2} their places to the hungry throng4 who had been waiting outside the door.
The last waltz had been played by Miss Sissie Croly, in good time and with considerable spirit, an act of coquettish self-abnegation which elicited5 many tender reproaches from her forsaken6 partner. Making the most of the temporary improvement in the music, Nugent and I had danced without stopping, until a series of sensational7 flourishes announced that the end of the waltz was at hand. After it was over, he had suggested supper, and we had secured a small table at the end of the supper-room, from which, in comparative quiet, we could view the doings of the rest of the company. I was guiltily conscious of the large “W” scrawled8 across the supper extras on my card; but a latent rebellion against my cousin’s unauthorized appropriation9 conspired10 with a{3} distinct desire for food to harden my heart. I made up my mind to do what seemed good to me about one at least of the extras, and dismissed for the present all further thought of Willy and his possible grievances11.
I found myself possessed12 of an excellent appetite. Nugent’s invention as a caterer13 soared above the usual chicken and jelly, and we both made what, in the land of my birth, would be described as a “square meal.”
Meanwhile, the centre table was surrounded by what looked like a convivial14 party of lunatics. Miss Burke and Dr. Kelly had set the example of decorating themselves with the coloured paper caps contained in the crackers16, and the other guests had instantly adopted the idea. Mob-caps, night-caps, fools’-caps, and sun-bonnets nodded in nightmare array round{4} the table, Miss Burke’s long red face showing to great advantage beneath a pale-blue, tissue-paper tall hat.
“I feel I have been very remiss17 in not offering to pull a cracker15 with you,” said Nugent, “but I am afraid they have all been used up by this time!”
“Why did I not go in to supper with Dr. Kelly?” I said regretfully. “If the worst came to the worst, I am sure he would have taken off his own sun-bonnet and put it on my head!”
“Go in with him next time,” suggested Nugent. “He always goes in to supper two or three times, and works his way each time down the table like a mowing-machine, leaving nothing behind him. At the masonic ball in Cork18 he was heard saying to his sisters, as they were going in to supper, ‘Stuff, ye divils! there’s ice!{5}’”
“Quite right, too,” I said, beginning upon the tipsy cake which Nugent had looted for our private consumption. “I always make a point of stuffing when there is ice. However, I think on the whole I have had enough of Dr. Kelly for one evening. I have danced once with him, and I suppose it is because he is at least a foot shorter than I am that he makes himself about half his height when he is dancing with me. But I think all small men do that; the taller their partner, the more they bend their knees.”
Nugent laughed. “I have been watching you dancing with all sorts and conditions of men, and wondering what you thought of them. I also wondered if you would find them sufficiently19 amusing to induce you to stay on till No. 18?” he said, putting his elbows on the table and looking questioningly at me.{6}
“Oh, I hope so—at least—of course, that depends on your mother,” I answered.
“Should you care to stay? As in that case I think I could manage to square my mother.”
“It would be better not to bother her about it, perhaps—of course, it might be very pleasant to stay,” I answered confusedly.
The way in which he had asked the question had given me a strange sensation for a moment.
“I dare say it is not any argument, but I shall be very sorry if you go.”
I went on with the buttoning of my gloves without answering.
“For one reason, I should like you to see what it gets like towards the end.”
Nugent’s eyes were fixed20 on mine across the intervening woodcock and tipsy cake with more inquiry21 than seemed necessary,{7} but as he finished speaking a little troop of men came in together for a supplementary22 supper, and I forgot everything but my own guilty conscience, as among them I saw Willy. It was, however, evident that he had not come with any gluttonous23 intent, for, after a cursory24 look round the room over people’s heads, he walked out.
“Did you see Willy?” I said, in a scared whisper.
“Oh, I know he was!” I said, beginning to gather up my fan and other belongings26. “I ought to go at once. I am engaged to him for the extras.”
“Are you afraid of Willy?” returned Nugent, without taking his elbows off the table, or making any move.
“No, of course I’m not. But I don’t like to throw him over.{8}”
“Oh, I see!” he said, still without moving, and regarding me with an aggravating27 amusement.
“Well, I am going——” I began, when a hand was laid on my arm.
“I am delighted to hear it,” said Connie’s voice, “as we want this table. Get up, Nugent, and give me your chair. Nothing would induce me to sit at that bear-garden”—indicating the larger table. “What do you think I heard Miss Donovan say to that little Beamish man—English Tommy—as I was making my way up here? ‘Now, captain, if you say that again, I’ll pelt28 my plate of jelly at you!’ And I haven’t the least doubt that at this moment his shirt-front is covered with it.”
“Oh, all right,” said Nugent, slowly getting up, “you can have this table; we were just going. Miss Sarsfield is very anxious to find Willy. She says she{9} is going to dance all the extras with him.”
“Then she is rather late,” replied Connie, unconcernedly. “Captain Forster, go at once and get me some game-pie. Don’t tell me there’s none; I couldn’t bear it. Well, my dear,” she continued, “perhaps you are not aware that the extras are all over, and No. 12 is going on now?”
“Have you seen Willy anywhere?” I asked, feeling rather than seeing the sisterly eye of facetious29 insinuation that Connie directed at her brother. “I am engaged to him for No. 12.”
“At this moment he is dancing with Miss Dennehy,” answered Connie, “but I know he has been looking for you. He has prowled in and out of the conservatory30 twenty times.”
“He was in here too,” said Nugent; “and I think he saw you,” he added, as{10} we walked into the hall. “What would you like to do now? Willy has evidently thrown you over, and I expect my partner has consoled herself. I think the safest plan is to hide somewhere till this is over, and, as 13 is ours, we can then emerge, and dance it with blameless composure.”
The doors of the conservatory at the end of the hall stood invitingly31 open, and a cool, fragrant32 waft33 of perfume came through them. Without further deliberation, we mutely accepted their invitation, and finding, by the dim, parti-coloured light of Chinese lanterns, that two armchairs had been placed at the further end, we immediately took possession of them.
“Occasionally rest is vouchsafed34 even to the wicked,” said Nugent, leaning back, and picking up my fan, which I had laid on the floor, and beginning lazily to examine it. “Looking at a ball in the{11} abstract, I think it involves great weariness and vexation of spirit. Out of twenty-four dances, there are at most four or five that one really looks forward to. You are going to stay for No. 18, you know,” he added quietly. “I shall settle that with the Madam.”
“Give me my fan, please,” I said, taking no notice of this assertion. “I can see you know just the right way to break it.”
He sat up, and, instead of returning it, began slowly to fan me. There was a brief silence. The rain pattered down on the glass overhead. We could just hear the music, and the measured stamping of the dancers’ feet.
“Why? Had you formed any definite idea about me?{12}”
“Not in the least. That was what threw me so out of my reckoning. I thought I knew pretty well, in a general way, what you were going to be like; but somehow you have made me reconstruct all my notions.”
“If you had only told me in time, I should have tried to be less inconsiderate. It is so painful to have to give up one’s ideas.”
“I did not find it so,” he said seriously; “on the contrary. I wonder”—continuing to flap my big black fan to and fro—“if you ever had a kind of latent ideal—a sort of thing which seems so impossible that you never try to form any very concrete theory about it? I suppose it very seldom happens to a man to find that an idea he has only dreamt about is a real thing after all. Can you imagine what an effect it would have upon him when he found{13} that he had unexpectedly met his—well, his ideal?”
He folded up the fan, and looked down at me, waiting for an answer.
“I should imagine he would think himself very clever,” I said, feeling rather nervous.
“No, not clever, I don’t think, so much as fortunate; that is to say”—he drew a short breath—“of course the ideal may have ideas of her—of its own that the man can’t live up to—independent schemes, in fact; and then—why, then that chap gets left, you know,” he ended, with a change of tone.
As he finished speaking, the far-off banging of the piano ceased. I did not know how to reply to what he had said, and his way of saying it had made me feel so shy and bewildered that I sat awkwardly silent until the dancers came crowding into{14} the conservatory, all in turn exhibiting the same resentful surprise, as they found the only two chairs occupied. Willy was not among them, nor did I see him during the ensuing dance, and, as his late partner was in the room, I could only conclude that he was sitting out by himself. I began to feel uncomfortable about him, and half dreaded36 meeting him again. The dance seemed interminably long. I kept my eyes fixed on the door to see if he were among the string of black and red-coated men who wandered partnerless in and out, but could see no sign of him. I have no doubt that under these circumstances I was a very uninteresting companion; Nugent was also silent and preoccupied37, and I think we were both glad when the dance was over.
“It is very strange that I do not see Willy anywhere,” I said, as we came out into the hall again.{15}
“Who? Oh! Willy,” he said. “Are you still looking for him? Is not that he coming out of the supper-room?”
It was Willy. I dropped Nugent’s arm.
“You will excuse me, won’t you?” I said hurriedly. “I want to explain to him——”
By this time Willy had met us, and looked as if he were going to pass me by.
“Do you know that this is our dance?” I said, stopping him. “You are not going to throw me over again, are you?” My heart beat rather fast as I made this feeble endeavour to carry the war into the enemy’s country. He was looking grey and ill, and I did not think that his pleasant, boyish face could have taken on such an expression of gloomy coldness.
“Really? Is it? I did not know that I was to have the honour of dancing with you again,” he responded, with a boyish attempt at frigid38 dignity.{16}
“Of course it is,” I said cheerily, though I felt rather alarmed. “Look at it in black and white.”
Willy did not look at the card which I held towards him.
“It doesn’t appear that my name being written there makes much difference,” he answered, making a movement as if to pass on.
“Oh, Willy, that isn’t fair! You know I danced ever so often with you before supper, and afterwards I was looking for you everywhere; was I not, Mr. O’Neill?”—turning for corroboration39 to Nugent. He, however, had left me to fight my own battles, and was at a little distance, deep in conversation with Mr. Dennehy. I saw that, whether verified or not, my explanations had but little effect upon Willy, and I boldly assumed the offensive. “You know, I never said that I was going to{17} give you all those dances that you took.”
“Of course you were at perfect liberty to do what you liked about them,” returned Willy, without looking at me.
“Don’t be absurd! You know quite well what I mean, and if you had wanted to dance with me you might very easily have found me. I was only in the supper-room.”
He said nothing, and just then we heard the first few notes of the next waltz.
“You will dance this with me, will not you?” I said, thoroughly40 unhappy at the turn things were taking. “I am very sorry. I did not think you would mind. Don’t be angry with me, Willy,” I ended impulsively41, putting my hand into his arm.
He looked at me almost wildly for a moment; and then, without a word, we joined the stream of dancers who were returning to the ball-room.
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收听单词发音
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1
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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3
loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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4
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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5
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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7
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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8
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
appropriation
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| n.拨款，批准支出 | |
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10
conspired
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| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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11
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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12
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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13
caterer
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| n. 备办食物者，备办宴席者 | |
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14
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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15
cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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16
crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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17
remiss
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| adj.不小心的，马虎 | |
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18
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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19
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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20
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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21
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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22
supplementary
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| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
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23
gluttonous
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| adj.贪吃的，贪婪的 | |
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24
cursory
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| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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26
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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28
pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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29
facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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30
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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31
invitingly
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| adv. 动人地 | |
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32
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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33
waft
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| v.飘浮，飘荡；n.一股；一阵微风；飘荡 | |
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34
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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35
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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36
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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37
preoccupied
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| 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) | |
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38
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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39
corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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40
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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41
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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