His listeners had, however, weighed him in the balance of understanding and sympathy, and had found him wanting. The youth in them sided with Edith. But none of this showed in their manner. They were polite and hospitable1 to the last. Frederick, ushered2 out into the storm by Baldy, still saw Jane like a bird, warm in her nest.
“You see,” Baldy said to his sister, when he came back, “how he messed things up.”
Jane nodded. “He doesn’t know——”
“Unemotional”—Baldy’s voice seemed to call on all the gods to listen, “you should see her eyes——”
“Well, he’s rather an old dear,” said Jane, and having thus disposed airily of the great Frederick Towne, she went about the house setting things to right for the night.
“Merrymaid’s out,” she told her brother; “you’d better get her.”
[61]He opened the door and the storm seemed to whirl in upon him. He called the old cat and was presently aware, as he stood on the porch, that she danced about him in the dark. He chased her blindly, and at last got his hands on her. She was wet to the thighs3, where she had waded4 in the drifts, but galvanized like a small electric motor by the intense chill of the night.
The wind shrieked5 and seemed to shake the world. Before Baldy entered the house he turned and faced the night—“Edith” was his voiceless cry, “Edith—Edith——”
By morning the violence of the storm had spent itself. But it was still bitterly cold. The snow was blue beneath the leaden sky. The chickens, denied their accustomed promenade6, ate and drank and went to sleep again in the strange dusk. Merrymaid and the kitten having poked7 their noses into the frigid8 atmosphere withdrew to the snug9 haven10 of a basket beneath the kitchen stove. Sophy sent word that her rheumatism11 was worse, and that she could not come over. Jane, surveying the accumulated piles of dishes, felt a sense of unusual depression. While Frederick Towne had talked last night she had caught a glimpse of his world—the great house—six servants—gay girls in the glamour12 of good clothes, young men who matched the girls, money to meet every emergency—a world in which nobody had to wash dishes—or make soup out of Sunday’s roast.
[62]She was cheered a bit, however, by the announcement that her brother had decided13 to stay home from the office.
“I’ll have a try at that magazine cover——”
“Not much chance. The thing I need is a good model——”
“And I won’t do?” with some wistfulness.
They had talked of it before. Baldy refused to see possibilities in Jane. “Since you bobbed your hair, you’re too modern——” She was, rather, medieval, with her straight-cut frocks and her straight-cut locks. But she was a figure so familiar that she failed to appeal to his imagination.
“Editors like ’em modern, don’t they?”
But his thoughts had winged themselves to that other woman whom his fancy painted in a thousand poses.
“I’ll bet you couldn’t get an editor in the world to look at it. Sapphire seas and classic ladies are a million years behind the times——”
“They are never behind the times——”
Jane shrugged16, and changed the subject. “Darling—if you’ll put your mind to mundane17 things for a moment. To-morrow is Thanksgiving Day, the Follettes are to dine with us, and we haven’t any turkey.”
[63]“Why haven’t we?”
“You were to get it when you went to town, and now you’re not going——”
“I am not—not for all the turkeys in the world. We can have roast chickens. That’s simple enough, Janey.”
“It may seem simple to you. But who’s going to cut off their heads?”
“Sophy has the rheumatism——”
“Oh, well, we can feast our souls——” Young Baldwin’s mood was one of exaltation.
Jane leaned back in her chair and looked at him. “Your perfectly19 poetic20 solution may satisfy you, but it won’t feed the Follettes.”
With some irritation21, therefore, he promised, if all else failed, to himself decapitate the fowls22. “But your mind, Jane, never soars above food——”
Jane, with her chin in her hands, considered this. “A woman,” she said, “who keeps house for a poet—must anchor herself to—something. Perhaps I’m like a captive balloon—if you cut the cable, I’ll shoot straight up to the skies——”
She liked that thought of herself, and smiled over it, after Baldy had left her. She wondered if the cable would ever be cut. If the captive balloon would ever soar.
So she went about her simple tasks, putting the[64] bone on to boil for soup, preparing the vegetables for it—wondering what she would have for dessert—with all his scorn of domestic details, Baldy was apt to be fastidious about his sweets—and coming finally to her sweeping23 and dusting in the front part of the house.
The telephone rang and she answered it. Evans was at the other end of the wire.
“Mother wants to speak to you.”
Mrs. Follette asked if she might change her plans for Thanksgiving. “Will you and your brother dine with us, instead of our coming to you? Our New York cousins find that they have the day free, unexpectedly. They had been asked to a house party in Virginia, but their hostess has had to postpone24 it on account of illness.”
“Is it going to be very grand? I haven’t a thing to wear.”
“Don’t be foolish, Jane. You always look like a lady.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Follette.” Jane hoped that she didn’t look as some ladies look. But there were, of course, others. It was well for her at the moment, that Mrs. Follette could not see her eyes.
“And I thought,” went on the unconscious matron, “that if you were not too busy, you might go with Evans to the grove25 and get some greens. I’d like the house to look attractive. Is the snow too deep?”
“Not a bit. When will he come?”
[65]“You’d better arrange with him. Here he is.”
Evans’ voice was the only unchanged thing about him. The sound of it at long distance always brought the old days back to Jane.
“After lunch?” he asked.
“Give me time to dress.”
“Three?”
“Yes.”
When luncheon26 was over, Jane went up-stairs to get into out-of-door clothes. At the foot of the stairs she had a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror. She wore a one-piece lilac cotton frock—with a small square apron27, and an infinitesimal bib. It was a nice-looking little frock, but she had had it for a million years. That was the way with all her clothes. The suit she was going to put on had been dyed. It had been white in its first incarnation. It was now brown. There was no telling its chromatic28 future.
She heard steps on the porch, and turned to open the door for Evans.
But it was not Evans. Briggs, Frederick Towne’s chauffeur29, stood there with a box in his arms. “Mr. Towne’s compliments,” he said, “and shall I set it in the hall?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.” Her surprise brought the quick color to her cheeks. She watched him go back down the terrace, and enter the car, then she opened the box.
Beneath clouds of white tissue paper she came[66] upon a long, low basket, heaped with grapes and tangerines, peaches and pomegranates. Tucked in between the fruits were shelled nuts in fluted30 paper cases, gleaming sweets in small glass jars, candied pineapples and cherries, bunches of fat raisins31, stuffed dates and prunes32.
Jane talked to the empty air. “How dear of him——”
The white tissue paper fell in drifts about her as she lifted the basket from the box.
There was a little note tied to the handle. Towne’s personal paper was thick and white. Jane was aware of its expensiveness and it thrilled her. His script was heavy and black—the note had, unquestionably, an air.
“Dear Miss Barnes:
“I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed your hospitality last night—and you were good to listen to me with so much sympathy. I am hoping that you’ll let me come again and talk about Edith. May I? And here’s a bit of color for your Thanksgiving feast.
“Gratefully always,
“Frederick Towne.”
Jane stood staring down at the friendly words. It didn’t seem within reason that Frederick Towne meant that he wanted to come—to see her. And she really hadn’t listened with sympathy. But—oh, of course, he could come. And it was[67] heavenly to have a thing like this happen on a day like this.
As she straightened up with the basket in her hands, she saw herself again in the long mirror—a slender figure in green—bobbed black hair—golden and purple fruits. She gasped33 and gazed again. There was Baldy’s picture ready to his hand—November! Against a background of gray—that glowing figure—Baldy could idealize her—make the wind blow her skirts a bit—give her a fluttering ribbon or two, a glorified34 loveliness.
She sought him in his studio. “I’ve got something to show you, darling-dear.”
She rumpled36 up his hair, which he hated. “Mr. Towne sent us some fruit, Baldy, and this.” She held out the note to him.
He read it. “He doesn’t say a word about me.”
“No, he doesn’t,” her eyes were dancing; “Baldy, it’s your little sister, Jane.”
“You didn’t do a thing but sit there and knit——”
“Perhaps he liked to see me—knitting——”
Baldy passed this over in puzzled silence.
“Where’s the fruit?”
“In the house.”
He rose. “I’ll go in with you——” He felt out of sorts, discouraged. The morning had been spent in sketching37 vague outlines—a sweep of fair hair under a blue hat—detached feet in shoes with[68] shining buckles—a bag that hung in the air without hands. At intervals38 he had stood up and looked out at the blank snow and the dull sky. The room was warm enough, but he shivered. He suffered vicariously for Edith Towne. He had hoped that she might telephone. He had stayed home really for that.
His studio was in the garage and was heated by a little round stove. Jane said the garage reminded her of the Boffins’ parlor—a dead line was drawn39 between art and utility. Baldy’s rug and old couch and paints and brushes flung a challenge as it were to the little Ford40, the lawn mower41, the garden hose and the gasoline cans.
“I have spent three hours doing nothing,” he said, as he shut the door behind him; “not much encouragement in that.”
“I have a model for you.”
“Where?”
“I’ll show you.”
He followed her in, full of curiosity.
She showed him the fruit, then picked up the basket. “Look in the mirror, not at me,” she commanded.
Reflected there in the clear glass, so still that she seemed fixed42 in paint, Baldy really gave for the first time an artist’s eye to the possibilities of his little sister. In the midst of all that crashing color——!
“Gosh,” he cried, “you’re good-looking!”
[69]His air of utter astonishment43 was too much for Jane. She set the basket on the steps, and laughed until she cried.
“I don’t see anything funny,” he told her.
“Well, you wouldn’t, darling.”
She wiped her eyes with her little handkerchief, and sat up. “I am just dropping a tear for the ugly duckling.”
“Have I made you feel like that?”
“Sometimes.”
Their lighted-up eyes met, and suddenly he leaned down and touched her cheek—a swift caress44. “You’re a little bit of all right, Janey,” which was great praise from Baldy.
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收听单词发音
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1
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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2
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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4
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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7
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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8
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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9
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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10
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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11
rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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12
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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13
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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14
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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15
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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16
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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17
mundane
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| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
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18
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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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
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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21
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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22
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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23
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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24
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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25
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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26
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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27
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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28
chromatic
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| adj.色彩的，颜色的 | |
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29
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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30
fluted
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| a.有凹槽的 | |
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31
raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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32
prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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33
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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34
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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35
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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36
rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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38
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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39
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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40
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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41
mower
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| n.割草机 | |
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42
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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43
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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44
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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