Mark wrote four pages of denial and received: “Nonsense! Of course you do not have courtesans to lunch but leading ladies come and swoon on your drawing room floor and the children are pointed9 out in your Central Park as Mark Walling’s brats10. Your parasites11 fawn12 on them. Their world is made up of expensive motors, sweets and an adoring idiot as God. The little boy reads theatrical13 reviews over his porridge and the little girl probably does not know that she is a mammal and liable to death, spanking14 or lessons. They live in a treacle15 well.... Your one time wife has taken a house near me and her pictures, eating breakfast in bed with a Pom on the pillow, adorn16 the Sketch17. I danced with her husband last night.”
[80]Cora Boyle’s photographs in the London Weeklies made old Carlson sneer18. He lounged in Mark’s library and derided19: “A fine figger and a pair of black eyes. Actress? Sure. She makes pictures of herself. And what the hell else do folks want, huh? Just that. They want pictures. You say they want fine scenery and new ideas about lights and all? Bosh, son! They want to see a good lookin’ gal20 in good clothes—and not much clothes—with all the lights in the house jammed on her. Act? Make ’em cry a little and they think it’s actin’. Margot’ll be the boss actress of the United States when she’s twenty—Come here, Maggie, and tell me how old you are.”
“Seven and a half,” said Margot, “and I don’t want to be an actress.”
“Huh. Why not?”
“Aunt Sadie says actresses aren’t nice,” Margot informed him.
She turned her eyes up to Mark gravely and smiled. She was unlike her father, most like her mother. Mark bent23 and lifted her in the air, kissed her bare knees and put her hair aside from the little ears, faintly red, delightfully24 chilled for his mouth from a walk in the Park. She[81] said, on his shoulder, “Oo, that’s a new stickpin25, papa!”
“Diamonds get ’em all,” Carlson nodded.
“Nice,” Margot approved and Mark felt glorified27. Children were certainly a relief after the arid28 nonchalance29 of women who took money, jewels or good r?les and asked for more donations over the house telephone. Margot played with the sapphire square a moment and then scrambled30 down from Mark’s shoulder to his knee where she sat admiring him while he wrote checks. He smiled at her now and then, let her blot31 signatures and kissed her hands when she did so.
“You’d spoil a trick elephant,” Carlson muttered, “Ain’t Gurdy old enough to go to school?”
“He started in at Doctor Cary’s last week. They’ve got him learning Latin and French, right off.”
“What’s Doctor Cary’s?”
“It’s a school in Sixtieth Street.”
“Hump,” said Carlson, “Private School? Well, you’re right. Public schools teach hogwash. They got to. They teach hogs34. But why didn’t you send him to one these schools out of town while you were at it? Get him out of New York.”
“My G—glory,” Mark cried, “He’s only nine!”
[82]Margot corrected, “Ten, papa. He was ten in May.” Then she told Carlson, “Papa’d just die if Gurdy went away to school. He told Miss Converse35.” She slid from his knee and curtsied to Carlson with, “I must take my French lesson, now. So, good afternoon.” She was gone out of the room before Mark could kiss her again. She was always within reach of kisses and her warmth, curled on his lap was something consolatory36 when he did send Gurdy away to Saint Andrew’s School in September 1910. Villay, his broker37, and his lawyer advised the step. Olive Ilden wrote to him: “I am glad you have done the right thing. God knows I am no cryer up of the Public School System. But a Public School (I forget what you call private kennels38 for rich cubs39 in the States) is the only thing for the boy, in your situation. Ian Gail tells me that Gurdy is rather clever. I can imagine nothing worse than to be the son by adoption40 of a theatrical manager and a day scholar at a small New York school. But I know how miserable41 you are. Every one has sentimental42 accretions43. I dislike seeing old women run down by motors, myself. No, I know how badly you feel, just now. But these be the fair rewards of them that love, you know? My own son is, of course, as the archangels. I hear through his Housemaster at Harrow that he smokes cigarettes and bets on all the races.”
[83]Mark tried to take Gurdy’s absence with a fine philosophy. His broker and his lawyer assured him that Saint Andrew’s was the best school in the country. But the red, Georgian buildings spread on the New England meadow and the impersonal44 stateliness of the lean Headmaster seemed a cold nest for Gurdy. He missed the boy with a dry and aching pain that wasn’t curable by work on five new plays, Margot’s plump warmth on his knee or contrived45, brief intoxication46. All his usual enchantments47 failed. He wore out the phonograph plates of the Danse Macabre48 and the Peer Gynt “Sunrise.” He worried wretchedly and the disasters of October and November hardly balanced his interior trouble. Two, the more expensive two of the five Carlson and Walling productions failed. Carlson cheerfully indicated the shrinkage of applicants49 for jobs, hopeful playwrights50 and performers in the office above the 45th Street Theatre. Mark regretted twenty thousand dollars spent for shares in the Terriss Pictograph Company. Yet young Terriss was a keen fellow and Carlson thought something might come of motion pictures after a while. His friends sighed about Mark that the “show business was a gamble” and on visits to the farm Mark tried to be gay. A Military Academy had been built in Fayettesville on a stony51 field owned by Eddie Bernamer, the only heritage from Bernamer’s[84] Norwegian father. Gurdy’s brothers were transferred to this polished school and Mark was soothed52, in thinking that he’d made his own people grandees53. He wished that he could ape the composure of the Bernamers and said so on a visit near Christmas time.
“But, great C?sar,” Bernamer blinked, kicking balled snow from a boot-heel, “this Saint Andrew’s is a good school ain’t it, even if it is up by Boston? The buildin’s are fire proof, ain’t they? Gurdy can’t git out at night and raise Ned? Then what’s got into you?”
“Oh, but—my God, Eddie!... I miss him.”
“You’re a fool,” said his brother-in-law, staring at Mark, “You’re doin’ the right thing by the boy. You always do the right thing—like you done it by us. Sadie and me’ve got seven kids and I love ’em all.... They got to grow up. Stop bein’ a fool.... You don’t look well. Thin’s a rail. Business bad?”
“We lost about forty-five thousand in two months.”
“That countin’ in the thousand you gave Sadie for her birthday?”
“No—Lord, no!”
Bernamer looked about the increased, wide farm and the tin roofed garage where Mark’s blue motor stood pompous54 beside the cheap family machine. He drawled, “Well, you’ve sunk about[85] twenty-five thousand right here, bud. You let up on us. Save your money and set up that theatre of your own you want so. And I’m makin’ some money on the side.”
“How?”
The farmer grinned.
“That no good Healy boy—Margot’s mamma’s cousin, come soft soapin’ round for a loan last summer. He and another feller have a kind of music hall place in Trenton. A couple of girls that sing and one of those movin’ picsher machines. They wanted five hundred to put in more chairs. I fixed55 it I’d get a tenth the profit and they’ve been sendin’ me twenty-five and thirty dollars a week ever since—and prob’ly cheatin’ the eye teeth out of me. Dunno what folks go to the place for—but they do.”
“Funny,” said Mark.
A bugle56 blew in the grey bulk of the Military Academy. Boys came threading out across the flat snow between ice girt tree trunks. A triple rank formed below the quivering height of the flagpole where the wind afflicted57 the banner. The minute shimmer58 of brass59 on the blue uniforms thrilled Mark. The flag rippled60 down in folds of a momentary61 beauty. He sighed and turned back to the pink papered living room where Gurdy’s small, fat legged sisters were clotted62 around Margot’s rosy63 velvet64 on a leather lounge.[86] Old Walling smoked a sickening cheroot and smiled at all this prettiness. Margot’s black hair was curled expansively by the damp air. She sat regally, telling her country cousins of Mastin’s shop where Mark bought her clothes. She kissed every one good-bye when Mark’s driver steered65 the car to the door and told Eddie Bernamer how well his furred moleskin jacket suited him. In the limousine66 she stretched her bright pumps on the footwarmer beside Mark’s feet and said, “Oh, you’ve some colour, now, papa!”
“Have I? Cold air. D’you know you say na-ow and ca-ow, daughter, just like you lived on the farm the year ’round?”
“Miss Converse says ‘guy’ is slang,” Margot murmured.
“So it is, sister. We ought to go to England some summer pretty soon and let Miss Converse visit her folks.”
“I’d love to.... I’ve never been abroad,” she said, gravely stating it as though Mark mightn’t know, “And every one goes abroad, don’t they?”
“And what would you do abroad?”
She considered one pump and fretted69 the silver[87] buckle70 with the other heel. “I’d see people, papa.”
“What people, sis?”
“Oh,” she said, “every one!”
It set him thinking that she lived pent in his house with her stiff, alien governess. She was infinitely71 safe, so, but she might be bored; he recalled hot and stagnant72 evenings on the farm when his mind had floated free of the porch steps and his father’s drawl into a paradise of black haired nymphs and illustrious warriors73 dressed from the engravings of the Centennial Shakespeare. Perhaps she should go to school? He consulted the governess, was surprised by her agreement, began to ask questions about schools for small girls.
“Miss Thorne’s,” said his broker, Villay, “She’ll really be taught something there.... Miss Thorne was my wife’s governess. I’ll see if I can manage....”
“Manage what?”
The broker clicked his cigarette case open, shut it and laughed, “You know what I mean, Walling.”
“No, I don’t.”
“It was one thing getting Gurdy into Saint Andrew’s. The Headmaster’s a broad minded man.... My dear boy, you’re Walling—Walling, of Carlson and Walling and you used to be[88] a matinée idol74.... I don’t like hurting your feelings.”
“You mean you’ll have to go down on your knees to this Miss Thorne to get her to take Margot?”
The broker said, “Not exactly down on my knees, Walling. I’ll have it managed. The school’s a corporation and my wife owns some stock.” Mark groaned75 and was driven uptown thinking sourly of New York. Things like this made Socialists76, he fancied, and looked with sympathy at an orator77 on a box in union Square. But Gurdy was arriving by the five o’clock train at the Grand Central Station and the lush swirl78 of the crowd on Fifth Avenue cured Mark’s spleen. Snow fluttered in planes of brief opal from the depth of assorted79 cornices above the exciting lights. A scarlet80 car crossed his at Thirty Fourth Street and bore a rigid81, revealed woman in emerald velvet, like a figure of pride in a luminous82 shell. Her machine moved with his up the slope. Mark examined her happily. She chewed gum with the least movement of her white and vermilion cheeks. He despised her and felt strong against the pyramidal society in which Walling, of Carlson and Walling, was disdained83. A cocktail84 in the Manhattan bar helped. The yellow place was full of undergraduates bustling85 away from Harvard and Yale. The consciousness[89] of dull trim boots and the black, perpetual decency86 of his dress raised Mark high out of this herd87. At least he knew better than to smoke cigarettes with gold tips and the oblique88, racy colours of neckties had no meaning for him beyond gaudiness89. He strolled to the clapboards and icy labyrinthine90 bewilderment of the station, found the right gate and beheld91 uncountable ladies gathered together with children in leather gaiters, chauffeurs92 at attention smoking furtively93. Here, he knew, was good breeding collected to take charge of its sons. The cocktail struggled for a moment with cold air. Mark retired to the rough wooden wall and watched this crowd. The mingling94 voices never reached plangency95. The small girls and boys stirred like low flowers in a field of dark, human stalks. Colours, this winter, were sombre. The women walked with restraint, with tiny gestures that revealed nothing, with smiles to each other that meant nothing. He had a feeling of deft96 performance and a young fellow at the wall beside Mark chuckled, lighting97 a cigarette.
Mark nodded. The young fellow gave the grouped women another stare and crossed the tight knees of his sailor’s breeches. The nostrils99 of his shapely, short nose shook a trifle. He[90] tilted100 his flat cap further over an ear and winked101 comradely at Mark, “Wonder who the kids’ fathers are, huh? A lot of rich dames....” He spat102 and added, “Well, you can’t blame ’em so much. Their husban’s are all keepin’ these chorus girls. But it’s too much money, that’s what. If they’d got to work some and cook an’ all they wouldn’t have time for this society stuff. It’s too much money. If they’d got to cook their meals they wouldn’t have time for carryin’ on with all these artists an’ actors an’ things—” He broke off to snap at a girl who came hurrying from a telephone booth, “Say, what in hell? Makin’ another date?”
“Honest, I was just phonin’ mamma,” the girl said.
The girl argued, “I’d got to tell her sump’n, ain’t I, Jimmy? I told her I was goin’ to a show with a gerl fren’—”
“Some friend,” said the sailor, laughed at himself and tramped off with his girl under an arm. The girl’s cheap suit of beryl cloth shook out a scent104 of cinnamon. Mark sighed; she was young and pretty and shouldn’t lie to her mother about men. But perhaps her mother was bad tempered, illiberal105. Perhaps the flat was crowded with a preposterous106 family and exuded107 this slim[91] thing often, hoping a fragment of pleasure. A man couldn’t be critical. Mark went to meet Gurdy and immediately forgot all discomforts108 in seeing that the boy had grown an inch, that the lashes109 about his dark blue eyes were blackening, in hearing him admit that he was glad to be at home again.
Gurdy’s schoolmates had sisters at Miss Thorne’s, it seemed, and Mark waited, fretting110, through the Christmas holidays until his broker wrote that Miss Thorne would be pleased to have Margot as a pupil. Miss Converse, the governess, asked Mark bluntly how he had managed this matter.
“You Americans are extraordinary,” she said, “You’re so—so essentially111 undemocratic. It’s shocking. But we must get Margot some decent frocks directly.”
The bill for Margot’s massed Christmas clothes lay on his desk. Mark started, protesting, “But—”
“I’ve been meaning to talk of this for some time,” said the governess.
“Her clothes?”
“Her clothes.—My people were quite rich, you know, and I had things from Paris but really—O, really, Mr. Walling, you mustn’t let her have every pretty frock she sees! I must say you’ve more taste than most women—quite remarkable112.[92] But what will there be left for the child when she comes out?”
He wanted to answer that no frock devised of man could make Miss Converse other than a bulky, angular female but gave his meek113 consent to authority. He resented the dull serges and linens114 of Margot’s school dress and Sunday became precious because he saw her in all glory, flounced in rose and sapphire. She was a miracle; she deserved brilliancies of toned silk to set off the pale brown of her skin, the crisp thickness of her hair. But in June on the Cedric he heard one woman say to another, “Positively indecent. Like a doll,” when he walked the decks with Margot and the other woman’s, “But she’s quite lovely,” didn’t assuage116 that tart32 summary of Margot’s costume. An elderly actress told him, “My dear boy, you mustn’t overdo117 the child’s clothes,” and a fat lady from Detroit came gurgling to ask where he bought things for Margot. He knew this creature to be the wife of a motor king and looked down at her thoughtfully.
“I suppose you have daughters, yourself?”
“Yes, three. All of them married. But they still come to me for advice.—Mastin’s? I thought so. Thank you so much.”
He watched her purple linen115 frock ruck up in lumps as her fat knees bent over the brass sill of a door and pitied her daughters. He was[93] playing poker118 in the smoke room when Gurdy slid into the couch beside him and sat silently observing the game. The boy was lately thirteen and gaunt. His silence coated an emotion that Mark felt, disturbing as the chill of an audience on an opening night. Gurdy was angry. The milky119 skin below his lips twitched120 and wrinkled. The luncheon121 bugle blew. The game stopped and, when the other players rose, Mark could turn to him. “Was that fat woman in tortoise shell glasses talkin’ to you?” The boy demanded.
“Yes.”
“Well, it was a bet. I was reading in the parlour place. It was a bet. One of the women bet you got Margot’s things in New York and the rest of ’em said Paris. And that fat hog33—” Gurdy’s voice broke—“said she didn’t mind slumming. So she went off and talked to you. They all s-said that Margot looked like a poster.”
This was horrible. Mark saw some likeness122 between Margot’s pink splendour and the new posters clever people made for him. He must be wrong. He uncertainly fingered the pile of poker chips and asked Gurdy, “D’you think sister’s—too dressed up?”
Gurdy loosed a sob123 that slapped Mark’s face with its misery124 and dashed his hand into the piled chips. He said, “D-don’t give a dam’ what they[94] say about her. I hate hearin’ them talk about you that way!”
Mark waited until the nervous sobs125 slacked. Then he asked, “Do they ever talk about me at your school, sonny?”
“No. Oh, one of the masters asked me why you didn’t put on some play. Is there a play called the Cherry Orchard126?”
“Russian. It wouldn’t run a week.” Mark piled up the chips and said, “I may be all wrong—Anyhow, don’t you bother, son ... God bless you.”
Olive Ilden gave him her view while Margot and Gurdy explored the garden that opened from her Chelsea drawing room. She sat painting her lips with a perfumed stick of deep red and mimicked127 his drawl, “No, her things ar-r-ren’t too bright, old man. She isn’t too much dressed up. It’s merely that this thin faced time of ours isn’t dressed up to her. She’s Della Robbia and we’re—Whistler. It’s burgherdom. Prudence128. It’s the nineteenth century. It’s the tupenny ha’penny belief that dullness is respectable. Hasn’t she some Italian blood? Now Joan—my wretched daughter—simply revels129 in dowdiness130. She’s only happy in a jersey or Girl Guides rubbish. She’s at Cheltenham, mixing with the British flapper. When she’s at home she drives me into painting my face and putting dyed attire131 on[95] my head. If I had to live with Margot I shouldn’t wear anything gayer than taupe.”
He stared out at Margot whose pink frock revolved132 above her gleaming silver buckles133 on the crushed shell of the walk. Olive saw his face light, attaining134 for the second a holy glow. It was a window in the wall of dark night. He looked and doted. The woman wondered at him. He had all the breathless beauty of a child facing its dearest toy. His grey eyes dilated135. In her own eyes she felt the dry threat of tears and said, “Old man, I’m sorry for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re such a dear and because you’re a pariah136. I don’t know that all this garden party petting is good for our player folk but—over in your wilderness—no one seems to investigate the stage except professors and the police. It must be sickening.... What’ll become of Margot when she’s grown up?”
It had begun to worry him on the Cedric. He loosely thought that her friends from Miss Thorne’s school would be kind to her. Wouldn’t they? He said, “She’s only ten, Olive,” and sat brooding. It wasn’t fair. Smart society, the decorous women of small gestures, hadn’t any use for him. He looked at Olive who wrote letters to him and called him old man. She wrote books. She knew all the world. She had been[96] to the king’s court and laughed about it. He went to shelter in her strange kindness and sighed, “It isn’t fair. She ought to have—she ought to go anywhere she wants to.”
“She probably will if there’s anything in eyelashes,” said Olive, “and Gurdy will go anywhere he wants to, by the shape of his jaw137. I’ve been dissecting138 American society with horrific interest. It seems to have reached a lower level than British! You haven’t even an intelligent Bohemia.”
“There ain’t many literary people,” Mark reflected, “and they mostly seem to live in Philadelphia and Indiana, anyhow. Or over here. What’s a man to do? I can’t—”
“You can’t do anything. Whistle the children in. There’s a one man show. Stage settings. Italian. I haven’t seen them and you should.” She threw the stick of paint away and set about cheering him. She liked him, muddled139 in his trade, labouring after beauty, unaware140 of his own odd sweetness. She gave up the last weeks of the season, guiding him about London, watching him glow when Margot wanted a scarf of orange silk in Liberty’s, when Gurdy demonstrated his Latin, not badly, before a tomb in Saint Paul’s. Margot was the obvious idol, something to be petted and dressed. But the child had a rich attraction of her own, graces of placid141 curves, a quiet loveliness that missed stupidity.
[97]“You don’t like Margot,” Olive told Gurdy in a waste of the British Museum.
The boy lied, “Of course I do,” in his cracked voice but Olive took that as the product of good schooling142, like his easy performance of airs on the piano. He was jealous of Margot and showed it so often that the woman wondered why Mark didn’t see. But this wasn’t the usual boy.
“You let him read anything he likes,” she scolded Mark.
“Sure. Where’s the harm? I haven’t got the Contes Drolatiques at the house or any of those things. Aunt Edith used to make me read the Book of Kings when I was a kid. Oh, Gurd knows that babies don’t come by express,” said Mark, “He’s lived in the country, too much.”
“You missed your guess, then. You read a lot of American novels, Olive. Some day or other some writer’s goin’ to come along and write up an American country town like it is. The police will probably suppress the book.... My father and Gurdy’s mamma are sort of scared because I’ve got the kid at a rich school. You mustn’t believe all the stuff you see in the American magazines and papers about the wicked rich, Olive. I’ve met some of the rich roués at suppers and[98] so on. Put any of ’em alongside some of the hired men and clerks and things that were in my regiment146 in Cuba—or alongside Tommy Grover that’s blacksmith at Fayettesville and they’d look like Sunday School teachers. I sort of wish the poor folks in the United States’d leave off yawping about the wicked rich and look after their own backyards a while! No, I don’t take any stock in this country virtue144 thing. The only girl in Fayettesville that ever run off with a wicked drummer had morals that’d scare a chorus girl stiff. Who’s the fellow that hangs ’round the stage door of a musical show? Nine times out of ten he’s a kid from the country that’s won twenty dollars at poker. Who’s the fellow that—well—seduces the poor working girl? Once in a hundred it’s a rich whelp in a dinner jacket. Rest of the time it’s the boy in the next flat. When I was acting147 and used to get mash148 notes from fool women, were they from women on Fifth Avenue or Park Avenue? Not much! Stenographers and ladies in Harlem that had husbands travelling a good deal. You believe in talking about these kind of things out loud and I expect you’re right.”
“Gurdy’s not handsome,” said Olive, “but he’s attractive—charming eyes—and women are going to like him a goodish bit, bye and bye. And man is fire. What moral precepts149 are you going to—”
[99]“Just what my father told me. I’m going to tell him that he mustn’t make love to a married woman and that he mustn’t fool after an innocent girl unless he means matrimony—but God knows it’s getting pretty hard to tell what an innocent girl is, these days! Nine tenths of ’em dress like cocottes.”
“Old man, where did you pick up that very decent French accent?” Olive saw his blush slide fleetly from his collar to the red hair and added, “I hope it was honestly come by. You’re a good deal of a Puritan for a sensualist.”
“Oh ... I am a sensualist, I guess. But, I ain’t a hog.”
Olive said, “No, that’s quite true, my son. There’s nothing porcine about you. My brother has a house this season and he’s giving a dance tonight. There might be some pretty frocks.”
“Didn’t know you had a brother!”
She took him to several evening parties and his wooden coldness before a crowd was enchanting151. It occurred to her that individuals wearied the man. He eyed pretty women, striking gowns, studied the decoration of ball-rooms. He confessed, “I’ll never see any of them again and shouldn’t remember them if I did. My memory[100] for people’s no good—unless they’re interestin’ to look at. My god, look at that girl in purple. Her dressmaker ought to be hung! Skirt’s crooked152 all across the front.” He gave the girl in purple his rare frown then asked, “Well, where’s some place in France, on the seashore, where I can take the kids until August?”
She recommended Royan and had from him a letter describing Margot’s success among the ladies of a quiet hotel. His letters of 1912 and 1913 were full of Margot. Snapshots of the child dropped often from the thick blue envelopes. When he sent his thin book, “Modern Scenery” in the autumn of 1913 it was dedicated153, “To my Daughter.” The bald prose was correct, the photographs and plates were well selected. Mark wrote: “Gurdy went over it with a fine tooth comb to see if the grammar was O. K. Mr. Carlson is not well and we have four plays to bring in by December. Spoke154 at a lunch of a ladies’ dramatic society yesterday. Forgot where I was and said Hell in the middle of it. They did not mind. Things seem to be changing a lot. I am pretty worried about one of our plays.”
Olive saw in the New York Herald155 some discussion of this play and a furious reference to it on the editorial page, signed by a clergyman. This was at Christmas time when she was entertaining her tiresome156 brother at Ilden’s house in[101] Suffolk. She folded the newspaper away, meaning to explore the business. She forgot the accident in the hurry of her attempt to reach a Scotch157 country house where her daughter Joan died of pneumonia158 on New Year’s Day. The shock sent Olive into grey seclusion159. Her husband was on the China station with his cruiser. She suddenly found herself worrying over the health of her son, then in the Fifth Form at Harrow, so took a cottage in Harrow village and there reflected on the nastiness of death while she wrote her next novel. The cottage was singularly dismal160 and the daughters of the next dwelling161 were pretty girls of thirteen and fourteen, with fair hair. “Sentimental analogy is the bane of life,” she wrote to her husband, “I went to town yesterday for some gloves and saw the posters of Peter Pan on a hoarding162 in Baker163 Street. Joan liked it so. So I went to the theatre and squandered164 five sovereigns in stalls and gave the tickets to these wretched girls who would infinitely prefer a cinema, naturally. However I managed to laugh on Saturday. The news had just reached Mark Walling by way of Ian Gail who is in the States trying to sell his worst and newest play. Mark cabled me a hundred words quite incoherent and mostly inappropriate.”
Three days later Olive came in from a walk and Mark opened the door of the stupid cottage.[102] When she drew her hands away from his stooped face they were hot and wet.
“But, my dear boy,” she said, presently, “what blessing165 brought you over? In the middle of your season, too.”
“I’m in trouble. See anything in the papers about the Mayor stoppin’ a play we put on?—I don’t blame the Mayor, for a minute. Mr. Carlson wanted it.... Well, it was stopped and some of the newspapers took it up. And then Mr. Carlson had a sort of stroke. His mind’s all right but his legs are paralyzed. Won’t ever walk again.” His voice drummed suddenly as if it might break into a sob. He passed his fingers over the red hair and went on, “I’ve got him up at my house.”
“Of course,” said Olive.
“Sure. The doctors say he’ll last four or five years, maybe.—Say you’ve always said we’re a nation of prudes. Look at this,” and he dragged from a black pocket a note on formal paper. Olive read: “The Thorne School, Madison Avenue and Sixty Sixth Street. December 28th, 1913. My dear Mr. Walling, Will you be so good as to call upon me when it is possible in order to discuss Margaret’s future attendance. It seems kindest to warn you that several parents have suggested that—”
[103]“What is this nonsense?” Olive asked, “What’s the child been doing?”
“Doing? Nothin’! It’s this damned play!”
“You mean that there were women who seriously asked this Miss Thorne to have Margot withdrawn166 because you’d produced a risqué farce167? But that’s—”
His wrath168 reached a piteous climax169 in, “Oh, damn women, anyhow!... Well I took her out. My broker could have fixed the thing up. What’s the use? Well, I brought her over with me. She’s at the Ritz. What’s the best girls’ school in England?”
Olive said, “Oh, I’ll take her,” saw him smile and began to weep.
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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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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applied
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melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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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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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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9
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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10
brats
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| n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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parasites
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| 寄生物( parasite的名词复数 )； 靠他人为生的人； 诸虫 | |
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12
fawn
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| n.未满周岁的小鹿；v.巴结，奉承 | |
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13
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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14
spanking
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| adj.强烈的，疾行的；n.打屁股 | |
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15
treacle
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| n.糖蜜 | |
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16
adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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17
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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18
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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19
derided
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| v.取笑，嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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21
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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23
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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24
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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25
stickpin
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| n.领带夹 | |
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26
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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27
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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28
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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29
nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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30
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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31
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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32
tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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33
hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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34
hogs
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| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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35
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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36
consolatory
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| adj.慰问的，可藉慰的 | |
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37
broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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38
kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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39
cubs
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| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
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40
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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41
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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42
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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43
accretions
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| n.堆积( accretion的名词复数 )；连生；添加生长；吸积 | |
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44
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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45
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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46
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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47
enchantments
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| n.魅力( enchantment的名词复数 )；迷人之处；施魔法；着魔 | |
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48
macabre
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| adj.骇人的，可怖的 | |
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49
applicants
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| 申请人，求职人( applicant的名词复数 ) | |
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50
playwrights
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| n.剧作家( playwright的名词复数 ) | |
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51
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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52
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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53
grandees
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| n.贵族，大公，显贵者( grandee的名词复数 ) | |
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54
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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55
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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56
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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57
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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59
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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60
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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61
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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62
clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
rosy
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|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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64
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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65
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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66
limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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67
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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68
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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69
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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70
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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71
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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72
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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73
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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74
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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75
groaned
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|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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76
socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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77
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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78
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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79
assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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80
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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81
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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82
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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83
disdained
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|
| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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84
cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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85
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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86
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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87
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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88
oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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89
gaudiness
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| n.华美，俗丽的美 | |
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90
labyrinthine
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|
| adj.如迷宫的；复杂的 | |
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91
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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92
chauffeurs
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| n.受雇于人的汽车司机( chauffeur的名词复数 ) | |
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93
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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94
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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95
plangency
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| n.隆隆作响；轰鸣；回荡； 哀鸣；悲哀 | |
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96
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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97
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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98
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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99
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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100
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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101
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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102
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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103
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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105
illiberal
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| adj.气量狭小的，吝啬的 | |
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106
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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107
exuded
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| v.缓慢流出，渗出，分泌出( exude的过去式和过去分词 )；流露出对（某物）的神态或感情 | |
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108
discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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109
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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110
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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111
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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112
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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113
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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114
linens
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| n.亚麻布( linen的名词复数 )；家庭日用织品 | |
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115
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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116
assuage
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| v.缓和，减轻，镇定 | |
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117
overdo
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| vt.把...做得过头，演得过火 | |
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118
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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119
milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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120
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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121
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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122
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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123
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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124
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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125
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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126
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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127
mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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128
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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129
revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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130
dowdiness
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131
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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132
revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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133
buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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134
attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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135
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
pariah
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| n.被社会抛弃者 | |
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137
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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138
dissecting
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| v.解剖（动物等）( dissect的现在分词 )；仔细分析或研究 | |
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139
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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140
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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141
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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142
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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143
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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144
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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145
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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146
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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147
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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148
mash
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| n.麦芽浆，糊状物，土豆泥；v.把…捣成糊状，挑逗，调情 | |
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149
precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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150
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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151
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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152
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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153
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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154
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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155
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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156
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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157
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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158
pneumonia
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| n.肺炎 | |
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159
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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160
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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161
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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162
hoarding
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| n.贮藏；积蓄；临时围墙；囤积v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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163
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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164
squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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166
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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167
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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168
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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169
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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