This man was noticeable for his well-shaped head with its short, dark hair and fine, large eyes, hazel she would judge, slightly mocking and lying-in-wait in their expression. They were encased with spectacles of scholarly aspect. He had a womanish chin and the tortured, lined brow of the apostle. Dressed in riding togs, he was sitting on the bench of an old garden, one hand betraying slim, artistic3 fingers as it rested on the head of a grizzled dog.
Thurley was settling herself in a nearby chair, trying to become accustomed to this very different sort of “scenery,” when a woman began saying in a deep, rich voice,
“Poor youngster, tired out, aren’t you? Was it scales? How I hated them! Don’t worry, I shall not ask you to sing. Put this cushion behind you—ah, here we are.”
Thurley stared at her hostess, the same scarlet4-lipped, clever-faced woman of the portrait, her blue-black hair combed high to-day and her spatulate hands clasping her knee in boy fashion. She wore no jewelry5, but a frock the consonance of copper6 and silver. It gave the effect of sunset over still water and a silver-coated Persian cat stalked out to settle himself in the fold of her skirt.
“It was very good of you to ask me,” Thurley began, feeling rather ill at ease.
“I never ask any one I don’t want. So don’t feel obligated. Every one says I’m selfishness personified. Bliss7 says you’re to be one of our family and I want to be sort of elder sister—anyway, don’t you approve of tea and scandal at the same time?” Her smile softened8 her face. She reached over to a smoking stand and found a cigarette.
Encouraged, Thurley leaned forward to say, “I’m afraid I don’t know about the family. You see I’m quite raw, as they say. And dreadfully confused. I find I have to acquire so many things besides singing exercises.”
“I look back fourteen years and see myself as I look at you. I was droll9 for a year or so. But Bliss claims you have a sense of humor, so everything else will follow like sheep. You don’t understand, do you?” she said kindly10. “Let’s see what the ‘family’ can do for you. Bliss is such a bear at explaining that he has really turned you over to me. You see, Thurley, there are so many hundreds of the near-famous and so many truly-great persons who abuse the name that a select little coterie11 of us—myself and five others—after rather depressing and humorous[126] experiences have formed what we call the family, and we are going to adopt you. It’s quite a recommendation, but you’ll realize it more five years from now. By the way, I shall not ask you to smoke—bad for tender throats.”
“How beautiful,” Thurley said softly, “a family!”
“Just a title, of course, but we have our parties and our times together and we talk of what we like in the manner we like—rather hard to plunge12 headlong into the real meaning of things. I think Bliss was precipitate13 in asking you to the Thursday dinner party.”
“He hasn’t.”
“But he will—that’s his way. He’s such a busy dear that he never does things properly. Now in the family are myself and Polly Harris, whom you’ll know better after seeing than I can tell you. Remember she has a Packard personality in that Lizzie Ford14 body of hers. Then Collin Hedley—”
“The artist who did your picture?”
“The same. And Mark Wirth, as great a dancer as you will ever see,” her lips folded into a displeased15 expression but she did not explain the reason, “and Bliss and there will be yourself. Then there are Sam Sparling, the English actor, and the original of that portrait,” she pointed16 to the man who had interested Thurley. “His name is Caleb Patmore.”
“Why, he writes stories,” Thurley said. “Even Birge’s Corners has become aware of him.”
“Bless his wicked heart!” Ernestine said swiftly.
Thurley began to wonder why Caleb Patmore ever used any other woman as a model for heroines or Collin Hedley for his paintings. Perhaps it was Ernestine’s unusual fashion of dress which made every one feel that she had worn only the least beautiful of her gowns or the[127] careless, homely17 way she dressed her hair or her unjewelled, ugly hands which could coax18 from the pianoforte such music as Thurley had never dreamed could exist—or her sarcastic19 worldliness tempered with a girlish idealism which made her face bright with smiles. Then there was the strange, restless sadness in her eyes and the way the scarlet mouth had of dropping into hurt little curves, symbolic20 of many things of which Thurley was still ignorant. Ernestine Christian21 was indifferent, even insolent22, regarding her fame, but jealously proud of her theories about it. And when she mentioned Bliss Hobart a few moments later, she said enthusiastically,
“He is such a wonderful idealist, so tremendously sincere and fearless! Most idealists lack the courage to express themselves and they live and die with the world no wiser, but Bliss—! some day, when you, too, have become worldly wise and a bit tired ’way inside, you will understand.”
To which Thurley innocently replied, “Is Caleb Patmore an idealist?”
Ernestine began playing with the fringe of her sash. “Now what do you think?”
“Tut-tut, tell me what you think! Never mind what you know.”
“His novels, even though they sell in as small towns as the Corners, are rather—rather—” She floundered piteously.
Ernestine came to the rescue, her scarlet lips curving down in hurt fashion as she answered, “His novels for the most part comprise tattling on blondined art models—and brides! Caleb believes that art must be on a strictly24 commercial basis and that no art should be enduring,[128] ‘any more than a bath,’ as he explains, ‘but quite as necessary and frequent.’”
“Oh, he is wrong!” Instinctively25 Thurley was displeased.
“May you always think so, but when the distressingly26 rich wheeze27 up in satin-lined cabs and ask you to accompany them to a distressingly vulgar palace and have you sing a song or two at a thousand dollars each; when every one comes salaaming28 and saluting29 you, and you, too, begin to have visions of acquiring a vulgar palace all your own and are, therefore, pompous30 and impossible as so many of us foolish children of light allow ourselves to become; when you look about the salon31 to select the richest husband or admirer and deliberately32 neglect your voice for your coiffure and your repertoire33 for your wardrobe—well, perhaps you may withstand it, but it is a rare happening! Bliss says he has yet to find it otherwise.”
“A thousand dollars a song.” Thurley recalled that day—how many lifetimes ago—that Dan engaged her to sing at his circus in connection with “the great swinging man” and had emptied his spending-money pocket into her ragged34 lap. “Oh, no, they only pay a thousand dollars a song in one of Mr. Patmore’s novels.”
“Mr. Patmore,” continued the woman who loved him more dearly than she did herself, “takes his copy from friends, like a bee flitting here and there and returning to the hive honey-laden. We have all accused him of hiding behind screens to gain conversation.”
Thurley laughed. “Do they never tip over?”
“They do if we suspect he is behind them,” Ernestine replied with a smile.
“What does he do with all his money? He must be very rich if the reports are true. Why even at the Corners we sold a hundred copies of ‘Victorious Victoria,’[129] and it was stupid, even the description of a new way for Victoria to be kissed.”
“‘Victorious Victoria’! It is engraven on my heart. I tried harder to make him burn the manuscript than I did to play well before Queen Mary and King George,” she said in a dull voice. “Yet she was ‘Victorious Victoria,’ for she gave her sponsor a new motor and a lot of foolish jewelry and a Japanese valet and some first editions that he boasted of having wrenched35 from a millionaire at an auction36 sale! You see, Caleb thinks there is no need to sacrifice for one’s ideals or to be above a purchase price for mediocre37 work. He says, ‘Writing is a trade. We must all come in on a time clock or be taken to an insane asylum38. Give the public what it wants and with their money we can buy what we want. Let the public take the consequent softening39 of the brain. Younger generations will always be appearing like spring violets and measles40 to save us authors’ and artists’ bacon!’ There is the alpha and omega of his philosophy. One might as well throw oneself against a stone fortress41 as to make him reason otherwise. Blind, blind as an adder42!” She broke off abruptly43 to call Thurley’s attention to some pottery44 she had picked up in Dutch Guiana which could not be obtained save as one became a friend of the natives.
Then a maid came in with the tea-cart and Ernestine began asking as to “one lump or two—cream or sugar or lemon.”
“Thanks. I loathe46 clothes, yet have to have those dreadful creations when I go on tour—the critics always expect it. They put notices in the social columns, too! My revenge will come when I am in the perilous47 forties.[130] I shall be constantly clad in black chiffon and steel embroideries48 with ermine and broadcloth for the outer layers. I aspire49 to be the sort of older-than-I-look-but-not-yet-ancient person who has the proper air of mystery, always an asset, the sure, fine lines of a Helleu dry point, you know.”
Ernestine clapped her hands. “Fine, we are coming on! Take some more marmalade. Please don’t let them spoil you, Thurley, you’re so nice as you are. I mean the army of make-overs who assail51 any one with ability. They have not begun attacks as yet. Wait until you are asked for written recommendations and some one invents a Thurley perfume. Oh, that you might be spared!” She held up her hands in horror.
“Does Mr. Hobart really think I shall be a great singer?” Thurley was experiencing her first stage fright, hence the repetition.
“No one sees him the second time unless he does,” Ernestine informed her. “Tell me about yourself. Remember I’m a cross pianist who dislikes having ability and yet would die if I did not. You can trust me, because no one ever comes near me!”
“Don’t you adore your work?” Thurley asked in reproach.
Ernestine shook her head. “Really, I think genius is something no other member of your family would countenance52, something your ancestors have saved up to hand you unawares. I cannot help playing the piano. They say I even make people like Bach, but I wish I could, for it is life to me, after a fashion, and death after another. You cannot mix house-and-garden living and a career any more than oil and water. It must be the choice absolute of one or the other. If a big person marries, she often[131] marries some one inferior and therein lies disaster. Moral, do not marry.”
Thurley’s fingers stole inside her pocket to clutch at the corner of Betsey’s letter. “But you can be happy, if you do not marry,” she said uneasily.
“Has it begun to worry so soon? Wake up, Silver Heels! Tell her there is much else besides the little hope-chest crowded with pink-ribboned nighties and cook books.” She stirred the Persian kitten with her slipper53 toe.
“I—I’ve been engaged,” Thurley announced, not knowing why.
“Of course you have, living in a small town and with those eyes! Who was he—not the constable54? I could believe anything of you, Thurley, but that!” Ernestine was kindly and teasing all in one.
“Just a nice boy,” she said with an effort, “but I gave him up.”
“You did wisely. It is the trying to delude55 ourselves to clutch with one hand for a laurel wreath and for orange blossoms with the other. That is what makes us failures on both sides of the question. You must see Collin’s lovely country place up the Hudson, and we must go to some lectures together. Besides, you have all Europe to exclaim over. I’m going to walk through Spain next summer. Come along?”
“I’d love to if—if I have the money—”
“We’ll find the money. You must do these things. Bliss is making a little machine out of you with his blessed, idealistic self, hidden like a monk56 under his habit. Never mind—bright days for Young America—want to hear me play?”
“Would you, really?”
“Listen!” Rising, she went to the piano and began[132] “The Two Larks,” gliding57 from that into some things of Grieg.
When she finished, Thurley, ruthlessly scattering58 cake crumbs59, came beside her. The timid country girl had vanished. She was the wild-rose Thurley with the “fire, dash, touch of strangeness.”
“Let me sing for you! You can tell me the truth, better than Mr. Hobart. Oh, but you can!” she begged.
Ernestine pointed to the shelves of music, but Thurley shook her head.
“I’ll play for myself,” sitting on the bench beside her hostess.
The chords were few and far between, but the girl’s voice rose high and clear with the ethereal quality of a child’s, as she sang an old Scotch60 ballad61.
Ernestine Christian drew her to her with a sudden, deft62 gesture. “Shall I pity or congratulate you?” she asked, her sallow cheeks flushed with excitement.
Then they fell to talking, as women will, of lighter63 things, and by degrees Thurley found herself in Ernestine Christian’s bedroom—a striking affair in yellow lacquered furniture with Chinese designs in gold, ivory walls and huge, black fur rugs which she had brought from Russia. There was point de venise and fillet lace over gray silk for the furniture coverings and a veritable sheath of photographs, among which Thurley found Bliss Hobart’s.
Then Thurley found herself taking note of Ernestine’s gowns, learning many things which she resolved to put into practice. She discovered that Ernestine Christian had just celebrated64 her thirtieth birthday and was indifferent to the fact in any way; that Bliss Hobart had had a fever when a lad and hence the grayish hair; that Polly Harris was as good a treat as a fairy pantomime but she carried a heartbreak bravely concealed65, for she loved[133] Collin Hedley, the childish, irresponsible artist, and she had not the greatness of genius in herself for which she so longed. Also, there was a Madame Lissa Dagmar whom Ernestine disapproved66 of but spoke67 no open ill concerning. This Madame Dagmar threatened the welfare of Mark Wirth, the dancer, for she had fallen in love with him and turned his head with strange notions, and, lastly, this Thurley’s woman heart told her, Ernestine Christian loved the popular, irreverent novelist, Caleb Patmore, but she believed marriage would interfere68 with his work as well as her own, so she steadfastly69 stood him off in that tantalizing70 fashion common to women of brilliant attainments71 and childish, hungry hearts.
When Thurley left her, the sting as to Lorraine and Dan’s engagement had been spirited away—she knew not how. Perhaps it was the graceful72 way in which Ernestine had welcomed her, the new surroundings, the music, the confidences about these “stars in the artistic firmament,” as Birge’s Corners would have expressed it, the knowledge she was to be one of the sacred family which had hidden its existence even from press agents, or, thrilling thought, that she was to be famous and rich—or was it none of these? Was it that Thurley learned more about Bliss Hobart?—that he was an idealist who seldom expressed ideals, lest they become trampled73 upon and return to him in cynical74 disguise; that he was not old but young in fact and unmarried, and, as yet, interested in no woman personally save as his two friends, Polly and Ernestine, amused him; and, best of all, that he told Ernestine to be particularly nice to Thurley Precore, nicer than she had been to any other girl he had trained and presented to the public!
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1
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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winsome
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| n.迷人的，漂亮的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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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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coterie
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| n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体，小圈子 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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distressingly
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| adv. 令人苦恼地；悲惨地 | |
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wheeze
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| n.喘息声，气喘声；v.喘息着说 | |
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salaaming
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| 行额手礼( salaam的现在分词 ) | |
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saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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repertoire
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| n.(准备好演出的)节目，保留剧目；(计算机的)指令表，指令系统， <美>(某个人的)全部技能；清单，指令表 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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mediocre
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| adj.平常的，普通的 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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adder
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| n.蝰蛇；小毒蛇 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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pottery
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| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
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lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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embroideries
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| 刺绣( embroidery的名词复数 )； 刺绣品； 刺绣法 | |
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49
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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drolly
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| adv.古里古怪地；滑稽地；幽默地；诙谐地 | |
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assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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52
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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53
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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54
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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55
delude
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| vt.欺骗；哄骗 | |
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56
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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57
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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58
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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59
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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60
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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61
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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63
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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64
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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65
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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66
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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68
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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69
steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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70
tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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71
attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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72
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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73
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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74
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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