Nothing that had happened hitherto in his life had excited him as had the events of this evening. The excitement was, indeed, greater than he could bear. It set his imagination blazing, and there was among Peter's intricate emotional processes no hose of common sense adequate to the task of subduing5 the flames. He stood, breathless, quivering, at the window, looking out over the dim Square, exulting6 to the point of nervous exhaustion7. He walked the floor. He laughed aloud. Finally, his spirit went on around the emotional circle through a high point of crazy happiness to an equally crazy despondency. More time passed. The despondency deepened. She had made stipulations. He was not to see her again. If it should be necessary to communicate, he was to write. She had been kind about it, but that was what she had said. Yes, she had been kind, but her reaction would come as his had. She would hate him. Necessarily. Hy was to that extent right.
He sat on the couch (where she had sat), held the paper in shaking hands and stared wildly into the dying fire. Thoughts, pictures, were now racing8 through his mind, in a mad tangle9, hopelessly confused. One notion he laid hold of as it went by... She had been his guest—here in his rooms. She had trusted herself with him. He had violated the trust. If he permitted a man to do such a thing in one of his plays, it would be for the purpose of exhibiting that man as a cad at least—probably as a villain10. The inference was clear. Any audience that Peter was capable of mentally projecting would instantly, automatically, accept him as such. Peter himself knew no other attitude. And now to find himself guilty of this very act brought the final bewilderment.
So he, Peter, was a cad at least—perhaps a villain.
And then, at the lowest ebb11 of his reaction, his imagination set to work building up grotesque12 plans for a new different life. All these plans were out of the conventional stuff of his plays; all were theatrical. They had to do with self-effacement and sacrifice, with expiation13, with true nobility. There was a moment when he considered self-destruction. If you think this wholly fantastic, I can only say that it was Peter. Another notion was of turning explorer, becoming a world's rough hand, of meeting hardship and privation. He pictured himself writing Sue manly14 letters, once a year, say. He would live then in her memory not as a cad or villain, but (perhaps) as a man who had been broken by a great love. Then, in reminiscent moments, as when she saw a log fire burning low, she would think tenderly of him. She might even sigh.... And he tried to think out acceptable devices for leaving his money in her hands. For he must see the Nature Film through.
He had just finished deciding this when Hy Lowe came.
Had Peter been less preoccupied15, he would have noted16 that Hy was unusually silent. As it was, conscious only that the atmosphere of magical melancholy17 had been shattered when the door opened, Peter undressed, put out the gas lamp and went to bed, his bed being the very couch on which she had curled up while he read the scenario18. He knew that sleep would be impossible, but he felt that he should make every possible effort to control himself. Hy was fussing about in the bedroom.
After a while—a long while—he heard Hy come tiptoeing into the room and stand motionless.
“What the devil do you want!” cried Peter, starting up, all nerves.
“Quit your cackling! What do you want?”
“Let me sit down, Pete. Damn it. I've got to talk—to somebody. Pete, I'm crazy. I'm delirious20. Never mind what I say. Oh, my boy. My boy, you don't know—you can't imagine!... She's the darling of the gods, Peter! The absolute darling of the absolute gods!”
“Is that any reason why you should come driveling all over my room at this time of night?”
“Wait, Pete—serious now. You've got to stand by me in this. The way I've stood by you once or twice. To-day was Friday, wasn't it? Or am I crazy?”
“Both.”
“Then it's to-morrow! I'm just trying to believe it, Pete, that's all.”
“Believe what?”
“Look here—you've got to know, and protect me if any unexpected thing should come up. We're going on a little trip, Peter.” Hy was solemn now, but his voice was uncertain. “Betty and I, Pete. To-morrow. On the night boat.”
Peter was silent. Hy stood there for what seemed rather a long time, then suddenly bolted back into the bedroom. In the morning he was less expansive, merely asking Peter to respect his confidence. Which request Peter gloomily resented as he resented Hy's luck. The fortunate young man then packed a hand-bag and hurried off to breakfast at the club.
Peter tried to work on an empty stomach, but the effort gave him a headache, so he made himself a cup of coffee.
He walked the streets for a while with increasing restlessness; then, to soothe21 his nerves, went to the club and listlessly read the magazines. At noon he avoided his friends, but managed to eat a small luncheon22. At two o'clock he went out aimlessly and entered the nearest moving-picture theater. At five he wandered back to the club and furtively23 asked the telephone boy if there' had been any messages for him. There had not.
He permitted himself to be drawn24 into a riotous25 game of Kelly pool. Also he permitted himself a drink or two.
During the evening, I regret to note, he got himself rather drunk and went home in a taxicab. This was unusual with Peter and not successful. It intensified26 his self-consciousness and his sorrow, made him even gloomier. But it did help him to sleep.
He was awakened27, just before nine o'clock on Sunday morning, by the banging of a door. Then Hy, dusty, bedraggled, haggard of face, rushed in and stared at him.
Hy shook him. “For God's sake, Pete!” he cried. How hoarse29 he was! “Where is she? Have you heard anything?”
Peter was coming awake.
“God, Pete, I'm crazy! Don't you understand—She wasn't on the boat. Must have got the wrong one. Oh, it's awful!... I walked that deck nearly all night—got off way up the river and came back to New York with the milk cans. Something terrible may have happened.”
Peter sat up.
“It seems to me,” he said, rubbing his tousled head, “that I remember something—last night—”
Hy waited, panting.
“Look on the desk. Didn't I bring up a note or something and lay it there?”
Hy was on the desk like a panther. There was a note. He tore it open, then thrust it into Peter's hands, crying hoarsely30, “Read it!”—and dropped, a limp, dirt-streaked wreck31 of a man, into the Morris chair.
This was the note:
“Henry, I'm not going. I hope this reaches you in time. Please understand—forgive if you can. You won't see me again. B.”
Peter read it again, thoughtfully; then looked up. His own none-too-clear eyes met Hy's distinctly bloodshot ones.
“And what do you think of that!” cried Hy. “What do you think of that!... Damn women, anyway! They don't play the game. They're not square.”... He was clenching32 and unclenching his hands. Suddenly he reached for the telephone.
But just as his hand closed on it, the bell rang.
Hy snatched up the receiver. “Yes!” he cried shortly—“Yes! Yes! He lives here. Wait a moment, please. It's for you, Fete.”
Peter sprang out of bed and hurried to the instrument.
“Yes,” said he, “this is Mr. Mann.”
“Peter, it's Sue—Sue Wilde.”
“Oh—hello! I was going to call up myself in a few minutes. How have you been?”
There was a pause. Hy went off into the bedroom to get out of his travel-stained clothes.
“I wanted to say, Peter—I've been thinking it all over—”
“—and I've come to the conclusion that you are right about that southern trip. It really isn't necessary.”
“I'm glad you feel that way.”
“I do. And we must make Zanin see it as we do.”
“We'll try.”
Another pause. Then this from Peter—
“Busy to-day?”
“I ought to be. Are you?”
“No. Can't work. Wish we could do something.”
“I'll tell you what you need, child—just the thing! We'll run down to one of the beaches and tramp. Pick up lunch anywhere. What do you say?”
“I'll do it, Peter. Call for me, will you?... And oh, Peter, here's an odd thing! Betty packed up yesterday while I was out and went home. Just left a note. She has run away—given up. Going to marry a man in her town. He makes gas engines.”
Peter started the coffee machine, smiling as he worked. A sense of deep utter calm was flowing into his harassed36 spirit, pervading37 it.
He went into the bedroom and gazed with tolerant concern at the downcast Hy.
“The trouble with you, my boy,” he began, then paused.
“The trouble with you, my boy, is that you don't understand women.”
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1
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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2
chameleon
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| n.变色龙，蜥蜴；善变之人 | |
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3
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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4
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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5
subduing
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| 征服( subdue的现在分词 )； 克制； 制服； 色变暗 | |
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6
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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7
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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8
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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9
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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10
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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11
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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12
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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13
expiation
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| n.赎罪，补偿 | |
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14
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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15
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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16
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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17
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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18
scenario
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| n.剧本，脚本；概要 | |
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19
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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21
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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22
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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23
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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24
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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25
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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26
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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28
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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29
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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30
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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31
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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32
clenching
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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33
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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34
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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35
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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36
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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37
pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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38
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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