re ill!”
She tried to smile away his fears: “I had a bad night. I’m all right.”
But she leaned on him, and when he led her back to bed she fell into her place like a broken tree. She was stricken with a chill and he bundled the covers about her,
spread the extra blankets over her, and held her in his arms, but the lips he kissed shivered and were gray.
He was in a panic and begged her to let him send for the doctor, but she reiterated6 through her chattering7 teeth that she was “all right.” When he offered to stay
He left her anxiously, and came home to luncheon9 earlier than usual. He did not find Sheila on the steps to greet him. She was not in the hall. He asked little Polly
where her mother was, and she said:
“Mamma’s sick. She’s been crying all day.”
“No, I haven’t,” said Sheila; “I’m all right.”
She was coming down the stairs; she was bravely dressed and smiling bravely, but she depended on the banister, and she almost toppled into Bret’s arms.
He kissed her with terror, demanding: “What’s the matter, honey? Please, please tell me what’s the matter.”
Though she sat in her place at table, Bret saw that she was only pretending to eat. Dinner was the same story. And there was another bad night and a haggard morning.
Bret sent for the doctor in spite of her. He found only a general constitutional depression, or, as Bret put it, “Nothing is wrong except everything.”
A week or two of the usual efforts with tonics12 brought no improvement. Meanwhile the doctor had asked a good many questions. It struck him at last that Sheila was
suffering from the increasingly common malady13 of too much nervous energy with no work to expend14 it on. She must get herself interested in something. Perhaps a change
would be good, a long voyage. Bret urged a trip abroad. He would leave the factory and go with her. Sheila did not want to travel, and she reminded him of the vital
importance of his business duties. He admitted the truth of this and offered to let her go without him. She refused.
The doctor advised her to take up some active occupation. Bret suggested water-colors, authorship, pottery15, piano-playing, the harp16, vocal17 lessons—Sheila had an ear
for music and sang very well, for one who did not sing. Sheila waved the suggestions aside one by one.
Bret and the doctor hinted at charity work. It is necessary to confess that the idea did not fascinate Sheila. She had the actor’s instinct and plenteous sympathy,
and had always been ready to give herself gratis18 to those benefit performances with which theatrical19 people are so generous, and whose charity should cover a multitude
of their sins. But charity as a job! Sheila did not feel that going about among the sick and poverty stricken people would cheer her up especially.
The doctor as his last resort suggested a hobby of his own—he suggested that Sheila take up the art of hammering brass20. He had found that it worked wonders with some
of his patients.
Sheila, not knowing that it was the doctor’s favorite vice21 and that his home was full of it, protested: “Hammered brass! But where would I hide it when I finished
it? No, thank you!”
She said the same to every other proposal. You can lead a woman to an industry, but you cannot make her take it up. Still Bret agreed with the doctor that idleness was
Sheila’s chief ailment22. There was an abundance of things to do in the world, but Sheila did not want to do them. They were not to her nature. Forcing them on her was
like offering a banquet to a fish. Sheila needed only to be put back in the water; then she would provide her own banquet.
Bret gave up trying to find occupations for her. The summer did not retrieve23 her strength as he hoped. She tired of beaches and mountains and family visitations.
In Bret’s baffled anxiety he thought perhaps it was himself she was so sick of; that love had decayed. But Sheila kept refuting this theory by her tempests of
devotion.
He knew better than the doctor did, better than he would admit to himself, what was the matter with her. She wanted to go on the stage, and he could not bear the
thought of it. Neither could he bear the thought of her melancholia.
If Sheila had stormed, complained, demanded her freedom he could have put up a first-class battle. But he could not fight the poor, meek24 sweetheart whose only defense
was the terrible weapon of reticence25, any more than he could fight the birch-tree that he had brought from its native soil.
The Sheila tree made a hard struggle for existence, but it grew shabbier and sicker, while the Bret tree, flourishing and growing, offered her every encouragement to
One evening when Bret came home, nagged27 out with factory annoyances28, he saw old Gottlieb patting the trunk of the Sheila tree and shaking his head over it. Bret went
to him and asked if there were any hope.
There were tears in Gottlieb’s eyes. He scraped them off with his wrist-bone and sighed:
“Die arme sch?ne Birke. Ain’t I told you she don’t like? She goink die. She goink die.”
“Take her back to the sunlight, then,” said Bret.
But Gottlieb shook his head. “Jetzt ist’s all zu sp?t. She goink die.”
Bret hurried on to the house, carrying a load of guilt29. Sheila was lying on a chair on the piazza30. She did not rise and run to him. Just to lift her hand to his seemed
to be all that she could achieve. When he dropped to his knee and embraced her she seemed uncannily frail31.
The servant announcing dinner found him there.
Bret said to Sheila, “Shall I carry you in?”
She declined the ride and the dinner.
Bret urged, “But you didn’t eat anything for lunch.”
“Didn’t I? Well, no matter.”
He stared at her, and Gottlieb’s words came back to him. The two Sheilas would perish together. He had taken them both from the soil where they had first taken root.
Neither of them could adapt herself to the new soil. It was too late to restore the birch to its old home. Was it too late to save Sheila?
He would not trust the Blithevale fogies longer. She should have the best physician on earth. If he were in New York, well and good; if he lived in Europe, they would
“No, thanks.”
“With me. I’ve got to go.”
“I’m sorry I can’t; but it will be a change for you.”
“I’ll be lonely without you.”
“Not in New York,” she laughed.
“In heaven,” he said, and the extravagance pleased her. He took courage from her smile and pleaded: “Come along. You can buy a raft of new clothes.”
She shook her head even at that!
“You could see a lot of new plays.”
This seemed to waken the first hint of appetite. She whispered, “All right; I’ll go.”
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收听单词发音
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1
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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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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shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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tonics
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| n.滋补品( tonic的名词复数 )；主音；奎宁水；浊音 | |
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13
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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14
expend
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| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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15
pottery
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| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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20
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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22
ailment
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| n.疾病，小病 | |
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retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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nagged
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| adj.经常遭责怪的；被压制的；感到厌烦的；被激怒的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的过去式和过去分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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28
annoyances
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| n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 )；烦恼；打扰；使人烦恼的事 | |
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29
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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31
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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32
craftily
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| 狡猾地，狡诈地 | |
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jaunt
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| v.短程旅游；n.游览 | |
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