There was a rough stone age and a smooth stone age and a bronze age, and many years afterward1 a cut-glass age. In the cut-glass age, when young ladies had persuaded young men with long, curly mustaches to marry them, they sat down several months afterward and wrote thank-you notes for all sorts of cut-glass presents — punch-bowls, finger-bowls, dinner-glasses, wine-glasses, ice-cream dishes, bonbon2 dishes, decanters, and vases — for, though cut glass was nothing new in the nineties, it was then especially busy reflecting the dazzling light of fashion from the Back Bay to the fastnesses of the Middle West.
After the wedding the punch-bowls were arranged in the sideboard with the big bowl in the centre; the glasses were set up in the china-closet; the candlesticks were put at both ends of things — and then the struggle for existence began. The bonbon dish lost its little handle and became a pin-tray upstairs; a promenading3 cat knocked the little bowl off the sideboard, and the hired girl chipped the middle-sized one with the sugar-dish; then the wine-glasses succumbed4 to leg fractures, and even the dinner-glasses disappeared one by one like the ten little niggers, the last one ending up, scarred and maimed as a tooth-brush holder5 among other shabby genteels on the bathroom shelf. But by the time all this had happened the cut-glass age was over, anyway.
It was well past its first glory on the day the curious Mrs. Roger Fairboalt came to see the beautiful Mrs. Harold Piper.
“My dear,” said the curious Mrs. Roger Fairboalt, “I LOVE your house. I think it’s QUITE artistic6.”
“I’m SO glad,” said the beautiful Mrs. Harold Piper, lights appearing in her young, dark eyes; “and you MUST come often. I’m almost ALWAYS alone in the afternoon.”
Mrs. Fairboalt would have liked to remark that she didn’t believe this at all and couldn’t see how she’d be expected to — it was all over town that Mr. Freddy Gedney had been dropping in on Mrs. Piper five afternoons a week for the past six months. Mrs. Fairboalt was at that ripe age where she distrusted all beautiful women ——
“I love the dining-room MOST,” she said, “all that MARVELLOUS china, and that HUGE cut-glass bowl.”
Mrs. Piper laughed, so prettily7 that Mrs. Fairboalt’s lingering reservations about the Freddy Gedney story quite vanished.
“Oh, that big bowl!” Mrs. Piper’s mouth forming the words was a vivid rose petal8. “There’s a story about that bowl ——”
“Oh ——”
“You remember young Carleton Canby? Well, he was very attentive9 at one time, and the night I told him I was going to marry Harold, seven years ago in ninety-two, he drew himself way up and said: ‘Evylyn, I’m going to give a present that’s as hard as you are and as beautiful and as empty and as easy to see through.’ He frightened me a little — his eyes were so black. I thought he was going to deed me a haunted house or something that would explode when you opened it. That bowl came, and of course it’s beautiful. Its diameter or circumference10 or something is two and a half feet — or perhaps it’s three and a half. Anyway, the sideboard is really too small for it; it sticks way out.”
“My DEAR, wasn’t that ODD! And he left town about then didn’t he?” Mrs. Fairboalt was scribbling11 italicized notes on her memory —“hard, beautiful, empty, and easy to see through.”
“Yes, he went West — or South — or somewhere,” answered Mrs. Piper, radiating that divine vagueness that helps to lift beauty out of time.
Mrs. Fairboalt drew on her gloves, approving the effect of largeness given by the open sweep from the spacious12 music-room through the library, disclosing a part of the dining-room beyond. It was really the nicest smaller house in town, and Mrs. Piper had talked of moving to a larger one on Devereaux Avenue. Harold Piper must be COINING money.
As she turned into the sidewalk under the gathering13 autumn dusk she assumed that disapproving14, faintly unpleasant expression that almost all successful women of forty wear on the street.
If I were Harold Piper, she thought, I’d spend a LITTLE less time on business and a little more time at home. Some FRIEND should speak to him.
But if Mrs. Fairboalt had considered it a successful afternoon she would have named it a triumph had she waited two minutes longer. For while she was still a black receding15 figure a hundred yards down the street, a very good-looking distraught young man turned up the walk to the Piper house. Mrs. Piper answered the door-bell herself, and with a rather dismayed expression led him quickly into the library.
“I had to see you,” he began wildly; “your note played the devil with me. Did Harold frighten you into this?”
She shook her head.
“I’m through, Fred,” she said slowly, and her lips had never looked to him so much like tearings from a rose. “He came home last night sick with it. Jessie Piper’s sense of duty was to much for her, so she went down to his office and told him. He was hurt and — oh, I can’t help seeing it his way, Fred. He says we’ve been club gossip all summer and he didn’t know it, and now he understands snatches of conversation he’s caught and veiled hints people have dropped about me. He’s mighty16 angry, Fred, and he loves me and I love him — rather.”
Gedney nodded slowly and half closed his eyes.
“Yes,” he said “yes, my trouble’s like yours. I can see other people’s points of view too plainly.” His gray eyes met her dark ones frankly17. “The blessed thing’s over. My God, Evylyn, I’ve been sitting down at the office all day looking at the outside of your letter, and looking at it and looking at it ——”
“You’ve got to go, Fred,” she said steadily18, and the slight emphasis of hurry in her voice was a new thrust for him. “I gave him my word of honor I wouldn’t see you. I know just how far I can go with Harold, and being here with you this evening is one of the things I can’t do.”
They were still standing19, and as she spoke20 she made a little movement toward the door. Gedney looked at her miserably21, trying, here at the end, to treasure up a last picture of her — and then suddenly both of them were stiffened22 into marble at the sound of steps on the walk outside. Instantly her arm reached out grasping the lapel of his coat — half urged, half swung him through the big door into the dark dining-room.
“I’ll make him go up-stairs,” she whispered close to his ear; “don’t move till you hear him on the stairs. Then go out the front way.”
Then he was alone listening as she greeted her husband in the hall.
Harold Piper was thirty-six, nine years older than his wife. He was handsome — with marginal notes: these being eyes that were too close together, and a certain woodenness when his face was in repose23. His attitude toward this Gedney matter was typical of all his attitudes. He had told Evylyn that he considered the subject closed and would never reproach her nor allude24 to it in any form; and he told himself that this was rather a big way of looking at it — that she was not a little impressed. Yet, like all men who are preoccupied25 with their own broadness, he was exceptionally narrow.
He greeted Evylyn with emphasized cordiality this evening.
“You’ll have to hurry and dress, Harold,” she said eagerly; “we’re going to the Bronsons’.”
He nodded.
“It doesn’t take me long to dress, dear,” and, his words trailing off, he walked on into the library. Evylyn’s heart clattered26 loudly.
“Harold ——” she began, with a little catch in her voice, and followed him in. He was lighting27 a cigarette. “You’ll have to hurry, Harold,” she finished, standing in the doorway28.
“Why?” he asked a trifle impatiently; “you’re not dressed yourself yet, Evie.”
He stretched out in a Morris chair and unfolded a newspaper. With a sinking sensation Evylyn saw that this meant at least ten minutes — and Gedney was standing breathless in the next room. Supposing Harold decided29 that before be went upstairs he wanted a drink from the decanter on the sideboard. Then it occurred to her to forestall30 this contingency31 by bringing him the decanter and a glass. She dreaded32 calling his attention to the dining-room in any way, but she couldn’t risk the other chance.
But at the same moment Harold rose and, throwing his paper down, came toward her.
“Evie, dear,” he said, bending and putting his arms about her, “I hope you’re not thinking about last night ——” She moved close to him, trembling. “I know,” he continued, “it was just an imprudent friendship on your part. We all make mistakes.”
Evylyn hardly heard him. She was wondering if by sheer clinging to him she could draw him out and up the stairs. She thought of playing sick, asking to be carried up — unfortunately she knew he would lay her on the couch and bring her whiskey.
Suddenly her nervous tension moved up a last impossible notch33. She had heard a very faint but quite unmistakable creak from the floor of the dining room. Fred was trying to get out the back way.
Then her heart took a flying leap as a hollow ringing note like a gong echoed and re-echoed through the house. Gedney’s arm had struck the big cut-glass bowl.
“What’s that!” cried Harold. “Who’s there?”
She clung to him but he broke away, and the room seemed to crash about her ears. She heard the pantry-door swing open, a scuffle, the rattle34 of a tin pan, and in wild despair she rushed into the kitchen and pulled up the gas. Her husband’s arm slowly unwound from Gedney’s neck, and he stood there very still, first in amazement35, then with pain dawning in his face.
“My golly!” he said in bewilderment, and then repeated: “My GOLLY!”
He turned as if to jump again at Gedney, stopped, his muscles visibly relaxed, and he gave a bitter little laugh.
“You people — you people ——” Evylyn’s arms were around him and her eyes were pleading with him frantically36, but he pushed her away and sank dazed into a kitchen chair, his face like porcelain37. “You’ve been doing things to me, Evylyn. Why, you little devil! You little DEVIL!”
She had never felt so sorry for him; she had never loved him so much.
“It wasn’t her fault,” said Gedney rather humbly38. “I just came.” But Piper shook his head, and his expression when he stared up was as if some physical accident had jarred his mind into a temporary inability to function. His eyes, grown suddenly pitiful, struck a deep, unsounded chord in Evylyn — and simultaneously39 a furious anger surged in her. She felt her eyelids40 burning; she stamped her foot violently; her hands scurried41 nervously42 over the table as if searching for a weapon, and then she flung herself wildly at Gedney.
“Get out!” she screamed, dark eves blazing, little fists beating helplessly on his outstretched arm. “You did this! Get out of here — get out — get OUT! GET OUT!”
收听单词发音 |
1
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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bonbon
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| n.棒棒糖；夹心糖 | |
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promenading
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| v.兜风( promenade的现在分词 ) | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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petal
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| n.花瓣 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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disapproving
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| adj.不满的，反对的v.不赞成( disapprove的现在分词 ) | |
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receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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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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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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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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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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forestall
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| vt.抢在…之前采取行动；预先阻止 | |
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contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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