In the first place, the guest of honor flatly declined the r?le of Cinderella. She was not in the least grateful. The little matron on receiving her said: “We’ve tried so long to get you.”
What could be more innocent.
The wreck6 began there. The matron’s tone and manner revealed to her the light in which she was regarded. She was an object of curiosity and a subject of commiseration7. One figure she hated as much as the other. To be pitied—particularly that,—was intolerable. She was stung with chagrin8 and humiliation9. It was nobody’s fault,—at least, no more theirs than her own. She might have known it would be so; she had placed herself in this position. None the less, or perhaps all the more for that reason, she could not help behaving in that way which is meant when one[141] says she took it out of them. She took it out of her own sex of course. Her power to do that was extraordinary.
The matron did not know what next to say. That was generally the trouble. None of the women knew how to talk to her. There was nothing in common to talk about, except the circumstances, and these could not be mentioned. At the slightest reference to them she coldly cut the conversation.
“If she couldn’t get into the spirit of it why did she come at all?” one girl asked another.
“That’s easy to see, I should think,” the other said.
What was easy to see was that she was too good looking. No other girl was anywhere near so attractive to the male principle. That was why she could carry off a reckless part. She became more heedless and dangerous about it as the psychic10 tension increased. She did not care in the least what happened.
It was nothing she did,—nothing you could isolate11 as an example and criticise12. Her behavior was basically na?ve. It was what she was. It was what she had been for thousands of threaded years. It was life at a pitch of intensity13, life of a certain quality, looking out of her eyes, seeking itself.
“No,” he said. “I don’t see what she is doing. I see only that you are treating her badly. I suppose it can’t be helped.”
“She’s having a very good time, all the same,” the girl retorted.
[142]
Most of the young men felt as John did and took pains to keep her supplied with attention. She received it not ungraciously, but lightly, with an amused and cynical15 smile. She seemed to be saying to herself: “All grapes are a little sour.”
The party was rapidly approaching a state of distress16 when a call for Mr. Breakspeare was handed in from the office. He went out. A feeling of suspense17 went all around. It seemed only at that moment to have occurred to anyone that there might reasonably be some sort of sequel. John returned in ten minutes, claimed his partner and entered the dance as if nothing had happened. But there was an uneasy look on his face. When the dance was over he went about looking for someone. Then he began to ask.
No one had seen her go. She had taken no leave. She had simply vanished.
When the fact was definitely established John excused himself and went in pursuit. He hoped to overtake her on the road home, supposing, as was true, that she had scented18 trouble and wished to meet it alone. That much of her character he understood. His anxiety was real.
The man who had called for him at the inn was no other than his corrupted19 gardener. And what he had come to say was that whoever brought the young lady home had better be careful. He would do much better not to bring her at all. For Enoch Gib, in waiting with a blunderbuss, yearned20 to abate21 his existence.
“An’ he is after findin’ out who be takin’ th’ young[143] laday away,” the news bringer said at the end of his tidings.
All that had happened might have been foreseen if anyone had been thinking of consequences.
When the gaoler woman discovered that Agnes was gone the first thing she did was to go to her room and search it. She found John’s notes—all of them. As the whole exhibit made too strong a case against her gaolership she destroyed all but the last two. These, which referred only to the surreptitious meetings at the boxwood, she took to Enoch, saying she was sure from certain other evidence that it was not an elopement but an escapade. Agnes would return before daylight.
The result upon Enoch may be imagined.
This was Aaron again,—the same Aaron who stole Esther away from him. The terrible wound fell wide open. The pain of it wrecked22 his mind. It would have killed him, perhaps, but for the solacing23 thought that revenge was near.
So John pursued Agnes, Agnes was lost, and Enoch, waited with death in his heart.
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1
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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3
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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4
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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6
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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7
commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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9
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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11
isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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12
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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14
feline
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| adj.猫科的 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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16
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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17
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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18
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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19
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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20
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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23
solacing
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| v.安慰，慰藉( solace的现在分词 ) | |
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