in all languages against them for centuries. They are still giving delight and refreshment3 from the harems on the Bosporus to the cottages on the Pacific and the rest
of the way around the world.
The doctors have not seemed to recognize their medicinal value. They recommend equally or even more expensive changes of occupation or of climate which work a gradual
improvement at best in the condition of a failing woman.
But for instant tonic4 and restorative virtue5 there is nothing to match the external application of a fresh Paris gown. For mild attacks a Paris hat may work, and where
only domestic wares6 are obtainable they sometimes help, if fresh. For desperate cases both hat and gown are indicated.
Mustard plasters, electric shocks, strychnia, and other remedies have nothing like the same potency7. The effect is instantaneous, and the patient is not only brought
back to life, but stimulated8 to exert herself to live up to the gown. Husbands or guardians9 should be excluded during the treatment, as the reaction of Paris gowns on
male relatives is apt to cause prostration10. There need be no fear, however, of overdosing women patients.
As a final test of mortality, the Paris gown has been strangely overlooked. Holding mirrors before the lips, lifting the hands to the light, and like methods sometimes
fail of certainty. If, however, a Paris gown be held in front of the woman in question, and the words “Here is the very newest thing from Paris just smuggled11 in” be
spoken in a loud voice, and no sign of an effort to sit up is made, she is dead, and no doubt of it.
Bret had decoyed Sheila to New York with an elaborate story of having to go on business and hating to go alone. When they arrived she was so weak that Bret wanted to
send a red-cap for a wheeled chair to carry her from the train to the taxicab. Her pride refused, but her strength barely sufficed the distance.
Bret chose the Plaza13 for their hotel, since it required a ride up Fifth Avenue. His choice was justified14 by the interest Sheila displayed in the shop windows. She
tried to see both sides of the street at once.
She was as excited as a child at Coney Island. She astounded15 Bret by gifts of observation that would have appalled16 an Indian scout17.
After one fleeting18 glance at a window full of gowns she could describe each of them with a wealth of detail that dazzled him and a technical terminology19 that left him
in perfect ignorance.
At the hotel she displayed unsuspected vigor20. She needed little persuasion21 to spend the afternoon shopping. He was afraid that she might faint if she went alone, and
he insisted that his own appointments were for the next day.
He followed her on a long scout through a tropical jungle of dressmakers’ shops more brilliant than an orchid22 forest. Sheila clapped her hands in ecstasy23 after
ecstasy. She insisted on trying things on and did not waver when she had to stand for long periods while the fitters fluttered about her. She promenaded24 and preened
like a bird-of-paradise at the mating season. She was again the responsive, jocund25 Sheila of their own seaside mating period.
She found one audacious gown and a more audacious hat that suited her and each other without alterations26. And since Bret urged it, she let him buy them for her to wear
that night at the theater. She made appointments for further fittings next day.
On the way to the hotel she tried to be sober long enough to reproach herself for her various expenditures27, but Bret said:
“I’d mortgage the factory to the hilt for anything that would bring back that look to your face—and keep it there.”
At the hotel they discussed what play they should see. The ticket agent advised the newest success, “Twilight,” but Sheila knew that Floyd Eldon was featured in the
cast and she did not want to cause Bret any discomfort28. She voted for “Breakers Ahead” at the Odeon, though she knew that Dulcie Ormerod was in it. Dulcie was now
established on Broadway, to the delight of the large rural-minded element that exists in every city.
Bret bought a box for the sake of the new gown. It took Sheila an age to get into it after dinner, but Bret told her it was time well spent. When they reached the
theater the first act was well along, and in the otherwise deserted29 lobby Reben was talking to Starr Coleman concerning a learned interview he was writing for Dulcie.
Both stared at the sumptuous30 Delilah floating in at the side of Bret Winfield. They did not recognize either Bret or Sheila till Sheila was almost past them. Then they
leaped to attention and called her by name.
All four exchanged greetings with cordiality. Time had blurred31 the old grudges32. The admiration33 in the eyes of both Reben and Coleman reassured34 Sheila more than all the
Reben ended a speech of Oriental floweriness with a gracious implication: “You are coming in at the wrong door of the theater. This is the entrance for the sheep. The
artists—Ah, if we had you back there now!”
Bret whitened and Sheila flushed. Then they moved on. Reben called after her, laughingly:
“I’ve got that contract in the safe yet.”
“She’s still beautiful—she is only now beautiful.”
Coleman, whose enthusiasms were exhausted37 on his typewriting machine, agreed, cautiously: “Ye-es, but she’s aged38 a good deal.”
Reben frowned. “So you could say of a rosebud39 that has bloomed. She was pretty then and clever and sweet, but only a young thing that didn’t know half as much as she
thought she did. Now she has loved and suffered and she has had children and seen death maybe, and she has cried a lot in the night. Now she is a woman. She has the
Once more Sheila was in the Odeon, but as one of the laity42. When she entered the dark auditorium43 her eyes rejoiced at the huge, dusty, gold arch of the proscenium
framing the deep brilliant canvas where the figures moved and spoke12. It was a finer sight to her than any sunset or seascape or any of the works of mere44 nature, for
they just happened; these canvas rocks and cloth flowers were made to fit a story. She preferred the human to the divine, and the theatrical45 to the real.
The play was good, the company worthy46 of the Odeon traditions. Even Dulcie was not bad, for Reben had subtly cast her as herself without telling her so. She played the
phases of her personality that everybody recognized but Dulcie. The play was a comedy written by a gentle satirist1 with a passion for making a portrait of his own
times. The character Dulcie enacted47 was that of a pretty and well-meaning girl of a telephonic past married into a group of snobs48, through having fascinated a rich man
with her cheerful voice. Dulcie could play innocence49 and amiability50, for she was not intelligent enough to be anything but innocent, even in her vices51, and she usually
meant well even when she did her worst.
The author had selected Dulcie as his ideal for the r?le, but he had been at a loss how to tell her to play herself without hurting her feelings. She saved him by
asking:
“Say, listen, should I play this part plebean or real refined?”
He hastened to answer, “Play it real refined.”
And she did. She was delicious to those who understood; and to those who didn’t she was admirable. Thus everybody was pleased.
Sheila would have enjoyed the r?le as a tour de force, or what she called a stunt52, of character-playing. But she was glad that she was not playing it. She felt
immortal53 longings54 in her for something less trivial than this quaint55 social photograph; something more earnest than any light satire56.
She did not want to play that play, but she wanted to play—she smoldered57 with ambition. Her eyes reveled in the splendor58 of the theater, the well-groomed informality
of the audience so eager to be swayed, in the boundless59 opportunity to feed the hungry people with the art of life. She felt at home. This was her native land. She
Bret, eying her instead of the stage, caught that contentment in her deep breathing, the alertness of her very nostrils62 relishing63 the atmosphere, the vivacity64 of her
eager eyes. And his heart told him what her heart told her, that this was where she belonged.
He leaned close to her and whispered, “Don’t you wish you were up there?”
She heard the little clang of jealousy65 in his mournful tone, and for his sake she answered, “Not in the least.”
He knew that she lied, and why. He loved her for her love of him, but he felt lonely.
Dulcie did not send for Sheila to come back after the play. Broadway stars are busy people, with many suppliants66 for their time. Dulcie had no time for ancient
history.
Sheila was glad to be spared, but did not misunderstand the reason. As she walked out with the audience she did not feel the aristocracy of her wealth and her leisure.
She wanted to be back there in her dressing-room, smearing67 her features into a mess with cold-cream and recovering her every-day face from her workaday mask.
Bret and she supped in the grand manner, and Sheila had plenty of stares for her beauty. But she could see that nobody knew her. Nobody whispered: “That’s Sheila
Kemble. Look! Did you see her in her last play?” It was not a mere hunger for notoriety that made her regret anonymity68; it was the artist’s legitimate69 need of
recognition for his work.
She went back to the hotel and took off her fine plumage. It had lost most of its warmth for her. She had not earned it with her own success. It was the gift of a man
who loved her body and soul, but hated her mind.
Sheila was very woman, and one Paris gown and the prospect70 of more had lifted her from the depths to the heights. But she was an ambitious woman, and clothes alone
were not enough to sustain her. In her situation they were but gilding71 on her shackles72. The more gorgeously she was robed the more restless she was. She was in the
Fatigue74 enveloped75 her, but it was the fag of idleness that has seen another day go by empty, and views ahead an endless series of empty days like a freight-train.
She tried to comfort Bret’s anxiety with boasts of how well she was, but she fell back on the pitiful refrain, “I’m all right.” If she had been all right she would
not have said so; she would not have had to say so.
Both lay awake and both pretended to be asleep. In the two small heads lying as motionless on the pillows as melons their brains were busy as ant-hills after a storm.
Eventually both fell into that mysterious state called sleep, yet neither brain ceased its civil war.
Bret was wakened from a bitter dream of a broken home by Sheila’s stifled76 cry. He spoke to her and she mumbled77 in her nightmare. He listened keenly and made out the
words:
“Bret, Bret, don’t leave me. I’ll die if I don’t act. I love you, I love my children. I’ll take them with me. I’ll come home to you. Don’t hate me. I love you.
”
Her voice sank into incoherence and then into silence, but he could tell by the twitching78 of her body and the clutching of her fingers that she was still battling
against his prejudice.
He wrapped her in his arms and she woke a little, but only enough to murmur79 a word of love; then she sank back into sleep like a drowning woman who has slipped from
her rescuer’s grasp.
He fell asleep again, too, but the daybreak wakened him. He opened his eyes and saw Sheila standing80 at the window and gazing at her beloved city, her Canaan which she
could see but not possess.
She shook her head despairingly and it reminded him of the old gardener’s farewell to the birch-tree that must die.
She looked so eery there in the mystic dawn; her gown was so fleecy and her body so frail81 that she seemed almost translucent82, already more spirit than flesh. She
seemed like the ghost, the soul of herself departed from the flesh and about to take flight.
Bret thought of her as dead. It came to him suddenly with terrifying clarity that she was very near to death; that she could not live long in the prison of his love.
He was the typical American husband who hates tyranny so much that he would rather yield to his wife’s tyranny than subject her to his own. He took no pride in the
thought of sacrificing any one on the altar of his self, and least of all did he want Sheila’s bleeding heart laid out there.
The morning seemed to have solved the perplexities of the night; chill and gray, it gave the chill, gray counsel: “She will die if you do not return her where you
The pain of this decision was so sharp that when she crept back to bed he did not dare to announce it. He was afraid to speak, so he let her think him asleep.
That morning Sheila was ill again, old again, and jaded84 with discontent. He reminded her of her appointments with the dressmakers, but she said that she would put them
off—or, better yet, she would cancel the orders.
He had their breakfast brought to the room, and he chose the most tempting85 luxuries he could find on the bill of fare. Nothing interested her. He suggested a drive in
the Park. She was too tired to get up.
Suddenly he looked at his watch, snapped it shut, rose, said that he was late for his conference. She asked him what time it was, and he did not know till he looked at
his watch again. He kissed her and left her, saying that he would lunch down-town.
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收听单词发音
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1
satirist
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| n.讽刺诗作者，讽刺家，爱挖苦别人的人 | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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potency
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| n. 效力，潜能 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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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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plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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16
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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17
scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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18
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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19
terminology
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| n.术语；专有名词 | |
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20
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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orchid
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| n.兰花，淡紫色 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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24
promenaded
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| v.兜风( promenade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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jocund
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| adj.快乐的，高兴的 | |
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26
alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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expenditures
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| n.花费( expenditure的名词复数 )；使用；（尤指金钱的）支出额；（精力、时间、材料等的）耗费 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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31
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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32
grudges
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| 不满，怨恨，妒忌( grudge的名词复数 ) | |
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33
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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34
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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35
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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rosebud
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| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
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40
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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41
abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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42
laity
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| n.俗人；门外汉 | |
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43
auditorium
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| n.观众席，听众席；会堂，礼堂 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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45
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
snobs
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| （谄上傲下的）势利小人( snob的名词复数 )； 自高自大者，自命不凡者 | |
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49
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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50
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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51
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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52
stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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53
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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54
longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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55
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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56
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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57
smoldered
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的过去式 ) | |
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58
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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59
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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61
well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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63
relishing
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| v.欣赏( relish的现在分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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suppliants
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| n.恳求者，哀求者( suppliant的名词复数 ) | |
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smearing
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| 污点，拖尾效应 | |
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anonymity
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| n.the condition of being anonymous | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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72
shackles
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| 手铐( shackle的名词复数 )； 脚镣； 束缚； 羁绊 | |
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plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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74
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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75
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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79
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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80
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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81
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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82
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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83
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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84
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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85
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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