“Sylvia,” he said, “I know that you are upset by what has happened. I make every allowance for your condition; but there are some statements that I must be permitted to make, and there are simply no two ways about it—you must get yourself together and hear me.”
“Let me see Mary Abbott!” she insisted, again and again. “It may not be what you want—but I demand to see her.”
So at last he said, “You cannot see Mrs. Abbott. She has gone back to New York.” And then, at her look of consternation4: “That is one of the things I have to talk to you about.”
“Why has she gone back?” cried Sylvia.
“Because I was unwilling5 to have her here.”
“You mean you sent her away?”
“I mean that she understood she was no longer welcome.”
Sylvia drew a quick breath and turned away to the window.
He took advantage of the opportunity to come near, and draw up a chair for her. “Will you not pleased to be seated,” he said. And at last she turned, rigidly6, and seated herself.
“The time has come,” he declared, “when we have to settle this question of Mrs. Abbott, and her influence upon your life. I have argued with you about such matters, but now what has happened makes further discussion impossible. You were brought up among people of refinement7, and it has been incredible to me that you should be willing to admit to your home such a woman as this—not merely of the commonest birth, but without a trace of the refinement to which you have been accustomed. And now you see the consequences of your having brought such a person into our life!”
He paused. She made no sound, and her gaze was riveted8 upon the window-curtain.
“She happens to be here,” he went on, “at a time when a dreadful calamity9 befalls us—when we are in need of the utmost sympathy and consideration. Here is an obscure and terrible affliction, which has baffled the best physicians in the country; but this ignorant farmer’s wife considers that she knows all about it. She proceeds to discuss it with every one—sending your poor aunt almost into hysterics, setting the nurses to gossiping—God knows what else she has done, or what she will do, before she gets through. I don’t pretend to know her ultimate purpose—blackmail, possibly——”
“Oh, how can you!” she broke out, involuntarily. “How can you say such a thing about a friend of mine?”
“I might answer with another question—how can you have such a friend? A woman who has cast off every restraint, every consideration of decency—and yet is able to persuade a daughter of the Castlemans to make her an intimate! Possibly she is an honest fanatic10. Dr. Perrin tells me she was the wife of a brutal11 farmer, who mistreated her. No doubt that has embittered12 her against men, and accounts for her mania13. You see that her mind leaped at once to the most obscene and hideous14 explanation of this misfortune of ours—an explanation which pleased her because it blackened the honour of a man.”
He stopped again. Sylvia’s eyes had moved back to the window-curtain.
“I am not going to insult your ears,” he said, “with discussions of her ideas. The proper person to settle such matters is a physician, and if you wish Dr. Perrin to do so, he will tell you what he knows about the case. But I wish you to realize somehow what this thing has meant to me. I have managed to control myself——” He saw her shut her lips more tightly. “The doctors tell me that I must not excite you. But picture the situation. I come to my home, bowed down with grief for you and for my child. And this mad woman thrusts herself forward, shoves aside your aunt and your physicians, and comes in the launch to meet me at the station. And then she accuses me of being criminally guilty of the blindness of my child—of having wilfully16 deceived my wife! Think of it—that is my welcome to my home!”
“Douglas,” she cried, wildly, “Mary Abbott would not have done such a thing without reason——”
“I do not purpose to defend myself,” he said, coldly. “If you are bent17 upon filling your mind with such matters, go to Dr. Perrin. He will tell you that he, as a physician, knows that the charge against me is preposterous18. He will tell you that even granting that the cause of the blindness is what Mrs. Abbott guesses, there are a thousand ways in which such an infection can be contracted, which are perfectly19 innocent, involving no guilt15 on the part of anyone. Every doctor knows that drinking-cups, wash-basins, towels, even food, can be contaminated. He knows that any person can bring the affliction into a home—servants, nurses, even the doctors themselves. Has your mad woman friend told you any of that?”
“She has told me nothing. You know that I have had no opportunity to talk with her. I only know what the nurses believe——”
“They believe what Mrs. Abbott told them. That is absolutely all the reason they have for believing anything!”
She did not take that quite as he expected. “So Mary Abbott did tell them!” she cried.
He hurried on: “The poisonous idea of a vulgar Socialist20 woman—this is the thing upon which you base your suspicions of your husband!”
“Oh!” she whispered, half to herself. “Mary Abbott did say it!”
“What if she did?”
“Oh, Douglas, Mary would never have said such a thing to a nurse unless she had been certain of it!”
“Certain?” he broke out. “What certainty could she imagine she had? She is a bitter, frantic21 woman—a divorced woman—who jumped to the conclusion that pleased her, because it involved the humiliation22 of a rich man.”
He went on, his voice trembling with suppressed passion: “When you know the real truth, the thing becomes a nightmare. You, a delicate woman, lying here helpless—the victim of a cruel misfortune, and with the life of an afflicted23 infant depending upon your peace of mind. Your physicians planning day and night to keep you quiet, to keep the dreadful, unbearable24 truth from you——”
“Oh, what truth? That’s the terrifying thing—to know that people are keeping things from me! What was it they were keeping?”
“First of all, the fact that the baby was blind; and then the cause of it——”
“Then they do know the cause?”
“They don’t know positively25—no one can know positively. But poor Dr. Perrin had a dreadful idea, that he had to hide from you because otherwise he could not bear to continue in your house——”
“Why, Douglas! What do you mean?”
“I mean that a few days before your confinement26, he was called away to the case of a negro-woman—you knew that, did you not?”
“Go on.”
“He had the torturing suspicion that possibly he was not careful enough in sterilizing27 his instruments, and that he, your friend and protector, may be the man who is to blame.”
“Oh! Oh!” Her voice was a whisper of horror.
“That is one of the secrets your doctors have been trying to hide.”
There was silence, while her eyes searched his face. Suddenly she stretched out her hands to him, crying desperately: “Oh, is this true?”
He did not take the outstretched hands. “Since I am upon the witness-stand, I have to be careful of my replies. It is what Dr. Perrin tells me. Whether the explanation he gives is the true one—whether he himself, or the nurse he recommended, may have brought the infection——”
“It couldn’t have been the nurse,” she said quickly. “She was so careful——”
He did not allow her to finish. “You seem determined,” he said, coldly, “to spare everyone but your husband.”
“No!” she protested, “I have tried hard to be fair—to be fair to both you and my friend. Of course, if Mary Abbott was mistaken, I have done you a great injustice—”
He saw that she was softening28, and that it was safe for him to be a man. “It has been with some difficulty that I have controlled myself throughout this experience,” he said, rising to his feet. “If you do not mind, I think I will not carry the discussion any further, as I don’t feel that I can trust myself to listen to a defence of that woman from your lips. I will only tell you my decision in the matter. I have never before used my authority as a husband; I hoped I should never have to use it. But the time has come when you will have to choose between Mary Abbott and your husband. I will positively not tolerate your corresponding with her, or having anything further to do with her. I take my stand upon that, and nothing will move me. I will not even permit of any discussion of the subject. And now I hope you will excuse me. Dr. Perrin wishes me to tell you that either he or Dr. Gibson are ready at any time to advise you about these matters, which have been forced upon your mind against their judgment29 and protests.”
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1
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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2
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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4
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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5
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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7
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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8
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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9
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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10
fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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11
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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12
embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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14
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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15
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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16
wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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17
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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18
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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19
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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20
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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21
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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22
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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25
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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26
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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27
sterilizing
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| v.消毒( sterilize的现在分词 )；使无菌；使失去生育能力；使绝育 | |
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28
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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29
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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