Everybody liked John Corlear Delancy, and this in spite of himself, for no one ever knew him to make any effort to incur1 either love or hate. The handsome boy was a favorite without lifting his eyebrows2, and he sauntered through the university, picking his easy way along an elective course, winning the affectionate regard of every one with whom he came in contact. And this was not because he lacked quality, or was merely easy-going and negative or effeminate, for the same thing happened to him when he went shooting in the summer in the Rockies. The cowboys and the severe moralists of the plains, whose sedate4 business in life is to get the drop on offensive persons, regarded him as a brother. It isn't a bad test of personal quality, this power to win the loyalty5 of men who have few or none of the conventional virtues6. These non-moral enforcers of justice--as they understood it liked Jack7 exactly as his friends in the New York clubs liked him--and perhaps the moral standard of approval of the one was as good as the other.
Jack was a very good shot and a fair rider, and in the climate of England he might have taken first-rate rank in athletics8. But he had never taken first-rate rank in anything, except good-fellowship. He had a great many expensive tastes, which he could not afford to indulge, except in imagination. The luxury of a racing-stable, or a yacht, or a library of scarce books bound by Paris craftsmen9 was denied him. Those who account for failures in life by a man's circumstances, and not by a lack in the man himself, which is always the secret of failure, said that Jack was unfortunate in coming into a certain income of twenty thousand a year. This was just enough to paralyze effort, and not enough to permit a man to expand in any direction. It is true that he was related to millions and moved in a millionaire atmosphere, but these millions might never flow into his bank account. They were not in hand to use, and they also helped to paralyze effort--like black clouds of an impending10 shower that may pass around, but meantime keeps the watcher indoors.
The best thing that Jack Delancy ever did, for himself, was to marry Edith Fletcher. The wedding, which took place some eight months before the advent11 of the Spanish dancer, was a surprise to many, for the girl had even less fortune than Jack, and though in and of his society entirely12, was supposed to have ideals. Her family, indeed, was an old one on the island, and was prominent long before the building of the stone bridge on Canal Street over the outlet13 of Collect Pond. Those who knew Edith well detected in her that strain of moral earnestness which made the old Fletchers such stanch14 and trusty citizens. The wonder was not that Jack, with his easy susceptibility to refined beauty, should have been attracted to her, or have responded to a true instinct of what was best for him, but that Edith should have taken up with such a perfect type of the aimlessness of the society strata15 of modern life. The wonder, however, was based upon a shallow conception of the nature of woman. It would have been more wonderful if the qualities that endeared Jack to college friends and club men, to the mighty16 sportsmen who do not hesitate, in the clubs, to devastate17 Canada and the United States of big game, and to the border ruffians of Dakota, should not have gone straight to the tender heart of a woman of ideals. And when in all history was there a woman who did not believe, when her heart went with respect for certain manly18 traits, that she could inspire and lift a man into a noble life?
The silver clock in the breakfast-room was striking ten, and Edith was already seated at the coffee-urn, when Jack appeared. She was as fresh as a rose, and greeted him with a bright smile as he came behind her chair and bent19 over for the morning kiss--a ceremony of affection which, if omitted, would have left a cloud on the day for both of them, and which Jack always declared was simply a necessity, or the coffee would have no flavor. But when a man has picked a rose, it is always a sort of climax20 which is followed by an awkward moment, and Jack sat down with the air of a man who has another day to get through with.
"Were you amused with the dancing--this morning?"
"So, so," said Jack, sipping21 his coffee. "It was a stunning22 place for it, that studio; you'd have liked that. The Lamons and Mavick and a lot of people from the provinces were there. The company was more fun than the dance, especially to a fellow who has seen how good it can be and how bad in its home."
"You have a chance to see the Spanish dancer again, under proper auspices," said Edith, without looking up.
"How's that?"
"We are invited by Mrs. Brown--"
"The mother of the Bible class at St. Philip's?"
"Yes--to attend a charity performance for the benefit of the Female Waifs' Refuge. She is to dance."
"Who? Mrs. Brown?"
Edith paid no attention to this impertinence. "They are to make an artificial evening at eleven o'clock in the morning."
"They must have got hold of Mavick's notion that this dance is religious in its origin. Do you, know if the exercises will open with prayer?"
"Nonsense, Jack. You know I don't intend to go. I shall send a small check."
"Well, draw it mild. But isn't this what I'm accused of doing--shirking my duty of personal service by a contribution?"
"Perhaps. But you didn't have any of that shirking feeling last night, did you?"
Jack laughed, and ran round to give the only reply possible to such a gibe23. These breakfast interludes had not lost piquancy24 in all these months. "I'm half a mind to go to this thing. I would, if it didn't break up my day so."
"As for instance?"
"Well, this morning I have to go up to the riding-school to see a horse--Storm; I want to try him. And then I have to go down to Twist's and see a lot of Japanese drawings he's got over. Do you know that the birds and other animals those beggars have been drawing, which we thought were caricatures, are the real thing? They have eyes sharp enough to see things in motion--flying birds and moving horses which we never caught till we put the camera on them. Awfully25 curious. Then I shall step into the club a minute, and--"
"Be in at lunch? Bess is coming."
"Don't wait lunch. I've a lot to do."
Edith followed him with her eyes, a little wistfully; she heard the outer door close, and still sat at the table, turning over the pile of notes at her plate, and thinking of many things--things that it began to dawn upon her mind could not be done, and things of immediate26 urgency that must be done. Life did not seem quite such a simple problem to her as it had looked a year ago. That there is nothing like experiment to clear the vision is the general idea, but oftener it is experience that perplexes. Indeed, Edith was thinking that some things seemed much easier to her before she had tried them.
As she sat at the table with a faultless morning-gown, with a bunch of English violets in her bosom27, an artist could have desired no better subject. Many people thought her eyes her best feature; they were large brown eyes, yet not always brown, green at times, liquid, but never uncertain, apt to have a smile in them, yet their chief appealing characteristic was trustfulness, a pure sort of steadfastness28, that always conveyed the impression of a womanly personal interest in the person upon whom they were fixed29. They were eyes that haunted one like a remembered strain of music. The lips were full, and the mouth was drawn30 in such exquisite31 lines that it needed the clear-cut and emphasized chin to give firmness to its beauty. The broad forehead, with arching eyebrows, gave an intellectual cast to a face the special stamp of which was purity. The nose, with thin open nostrils32, a little too strong for beauty, together with the chin, gave the impression of firmness and courage; but the wonderful eyes, the inviting33 mouth, so modified this that the total impression was that of high spirit and great sweetness of character. It was the sort of face from which one might expect passionate34 love or unflinching martyrdom. Her voice had a quality the memory of which lingered longer even than the expression of her eyes; it was low, and, as one might say, a fruity voice, not quite clear, though sweet, as if veiled in femineity. This note of royal womanhood was also in her figure, a little more than medium in height, and full of natural grace. Somehow Edith, with all these good points, had not the reputation of a belle35 or a beauty--perhaps for want of some artificial splendor--but one could not be long in her company without feeling that she had great charm, without which beauty becomes insipid36 and even commonplace, and with which the plainest woman is attractive.
Edith's theory of life, if one may so dignify37 the longings38 of a young girl, had been very simple, and not at all such as would be selected by the heroine of a romance. She had no mission, nor was she afflicted39 by that modern form of altruism40 which is a yearning41 for notoriety by conspicuous42 devotion to causes and reforms quite outside her normal sphere of activity. A very sincere person, with strong sympathy for humanity tempered by a keen perception of the humorous side of things, she had a purpose, perhaps not exactly formulated43, of making the most out of her own life, not in any outward and shining career, but by a development of herself in the most helpful and harmonious44 relations to her world. And it seemed to her, though she had never philosophized it, that a marriage such as she believed she had made was the woman's way to the greatest happiness and usefulness. In this she followed the dictates45 of a clear mind and a warm heart. If she had reasoned about it, considering how brief life is, and how small can be any single contribution to a better social condition, she might have felt more strongly the struggle against nature, and the false position involved in the new idea that marriage is only a kind of occupation, instead of an ordinance46 decreed in the very constitution of the human race. With the mere3 instinct of femineity she saw the falseness of the assumption that the higher life for man or woman lies in separate and solitary47 paths through the wilderness48 of this world. To an intelligent angel, seated on the arch of the heavens, the spectacle of the latter-day pseudo-philosophic and economic dribble49 about the doubtful expediency50 of having a wife, and the failure of marriage, must seem as ludicrous as would a convention of birds or of flowers reasoning that the processes of nature had continued long enough. Edith was simply a natural woman, who felt rather than reasoned that in a marriage such as her heart approved she should make the most of her life.
But as she sat here this morning this did not seem to be so simple a matter as it had appeared. It began to be suspected that in order to make the most of one's self it was necessary to make the most of many other persons and things. The stream in its own channel flowed along not without vexations, friction51 and foaming52 and dashings from bank to bank; but it became quite another and a more difficult movement when it was joined to another stream, with its own currents and eddies53 and impetuosities and sluggishness54, constantly liable to be deflected55 if not put altogether on another course. Edith was not putting it in this form as she turned over her notes of invitation and appointments and engagements, but simply wondering where the time for her life was to come in, and for Jack's life, which occupied a much larger space than it seemed to occupy in the days before it was joined to hers. Very curious this discovery of what another's life really is. Of course the society life must go on, that had always gone on, for what purpose no one could tell, only it was the accepted way of disposing of time; and now there were the dozen ways in which she was solicited56 to show her interest in those supposed to be less fortunate in life than herself-the alleviation57 of the miseries58 of her own city. And with society, and charity, and sympathy with the working classes, and her own reading, and a little drawing and painting, for which she had some talent, what became of that comradeship with Jack, that union of interests and affections, which was to make her life altogether so high and sweet?
This reverie, which did not last many minutes, and was interrupted by the abrupt59 moving away of Edith to the writing-desk in her own room, was caused by a moment's vivid realization60 of what Jack's interests in life were. Could she possibly make them her own? And if she did, what would become of her own ideals?
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incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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athletics
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| n.运动，体育，田径运动 | |
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craftsmen
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| n. 技工 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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strata
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| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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devastate
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| v.使荒芜，破坏，压倒 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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gibe
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| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
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piquancy
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| n.辛辣，辣味，痛快 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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steadfastness
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| n.坚定，稳当 | |
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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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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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dignify
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| vt.使有尊严；使崇高；给增光 | |
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longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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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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altruism
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| n.利他主义，不自私 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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ordinance
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| n.法令；条令；条例 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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dribble
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| v.点滴留下，流口水；n.口水 | |
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expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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sluggishness
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| 不振，萧条，呆滞；惰性；滞性；惯性 | |
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deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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solicited
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| v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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