And another item which for some time had not been pleasing Barney was that Larry Brainard had not yet been finally taken care of, either by the police or by that unofficial force to which he had given orders. So he had good reason for permitting himself the relaxation5 of scowling6 when he was not on public exhibition.
But when Maggie, after reading the invitation, tossed it, together with a note from Dick, across to Barney without comment, the color of his entire world changed for that favorite son of Broadway. The surly gloom of the end of a profitless enterprise became magically an aurora7 borealis of superior hopes:—no, something infinitely8 more substantial than any heaven-painting flare9 of iridescent10 colors.
“Maggie, it's the real thing! At last!” he cried.
“What is it?” asked Old Jimmie.
Barney gave him the letter. Jimmie read it through, then handed it back, slowly shaking his head.
“I don't see nothing to get excited about,” said the ever-doubtful, ever-hesitant Jimmie. “It's only an invitation.”
“Aw, hell!” ejaculated the exasperated11 Barney in disgust. “If some one handed you a government bond all you could see would be a cigar coupon12! That invitation, together with this note from Dick Sherwood saying he'll call and take Maggie out, means that the fish is all ready to be landed. Try to come back to life, Jimmie. If you knew anything at all about big-league society, you'd know that sending invitations to meet the family—that's the way these swells13 do things when they're all set to do business. We're all ready for the killing—the big clean-up!”
He turned to Maggie. “Great stuff, Maggie. I knew you could put it over. Of course you're going?”
“Of course,” replied Maggie with a composure which was wholly of her manner.
A sudden doubt came out of this glory to becloud Barney's master mind. “I don't know,” he said slowly. “It's one proposition to make one of these men swells believe that a woman is the real thing. And it's another proposition to put it over on one of these women swells. They've got eyes for every little detail, and they know the difference between the genuine article and an imitation. I've heard a lot about this Miss Sherwood; they say she's one of the cleverest of the swells. Think you can walk into her house and put it over on her, Maggie?”
“Of course—why not?” answered Maggie, again with that composure which was prompted by her pride's desire to make Barney, and every one else, believe her equal to any situation.
Barney's animation15 returned. “All right. If you think you can swing it, you can swing it, and the job's the same as finished and we're made!”
Left to herself, and the imposing16 propriety17 and magnificent stupidity of Miss Grierson, Maggie made no attempt to keep up her appearance of confidence. All her thoughts were upon this opportunity which insisted upon looking to her like a menace. She tried to whip her self-confidence, of which she was so proud, into a condition of constant pregnancy18. But the plain fact was that Maggie, the misguided child of a stolen birthright, whose soaring spirit was striving so hard to live up to the traditions and conventions of cynicism, whose young ambition it was to outshine and surpass all possible competitors in this world in which she had been placed, who in her pride believed she knew so much of life—the plain fact was that Maggie was in a state bordering on funk.
This invitation from Miss Sherwood was an ordeal19 she had never counted on. She had watched the fine ladies at the millinery shop and while selling cigarettes at the Ritzmore, when she had been modeling her manners, and had believed herself just as fine a lady as they. But that had been in the abstract. Now she was face to face with a situation that was painfully concrete—a real test: she had to place herself into close contrast with, and under the close observation of, a real lady, and in that lady's own home. And in all her life she had not once been in a fine home! In fine hotels, yes—but fine hotels were the common refuge of butcher, baker20, floor-walker, thief, swell14, and each had approximately the same attention; and all she now felt she had really learned were a few such matters as the use of table silver and finger bowls.
It came to her that Barney, in his moment of doubt, had spoken more soundly than he had imagined when he had said that it was easier to fool a man about a woman than it was to fool a woman. How tragically22 true that was! While trying to learn to be a lady by working in smart shops, she had learned that the occasional man who had ventured in after woman's gear was hopelessly ignorant and bought whatever was skillfully thrust upon him, but that it was impossible to slip an inferior or unsuitable or out-dated article over on the woman who really knew.
And Miss Sherwood was the kind of woman who really knew! Who knew everything. Could she possibly, possibly pass herself off on Miss Sherwood as the genuine article?...
Could Larry have foreseen the very real misery—for any doubt of her own qualities, any fear of her ability to carry herself well in any situation, are among the most acute of a proud woman's miseries—which for some twenty-four hours was brought upon Maggie by the well-meant intrigue23 of which he was pulling the hidden strings24, he might, because of his love for Maggie, have discarded his design even while he was creating it, and have sought a measure pregnant with less distress25. But perhaps it was just as well that Larry did not know. Perhaps, even, it was just as well that he did not know what his grandmother knew.
Maggie's pride would not let her evade26 the risk; and her instinct for self-preservation dictated27 that she should reduce the risk to its minimum. So she wrote her acceptance—Miss Grierson attended to the phrasing of her note—but expressed her regret that she would be able to come only for the tea-hour. Drinking tea must be much the same, reasoned Maggie, whether it be drunk in a smart hotel or in a smart country home.
Maggie's native shrewdness suggested her simplest summer gown as likely to have committed the fewest errors, and the invaluable28 stupidity of Miss Grierson aided her toward correctness if not originality29. When Dick came he was delighted with her appearance. On the way out he was ebulliently30 excited in his talk. Maggie averaged a fair degree of sensibility in her responses, though only her ears heard him. She was far more excited than he, and every moment her excitement mounted, for every moment she was speeding nearer the greatest ordeal of her life.
When at length they curved through the lawns of satin smoothness and Dick slowed down the car before the long white house, splendid in its simplicity31, Maggie's excitement had added unto it a palpitant, chilling awe32. And unto this was added consternation33 when, as they mounted the steps, Miss Sherwood smilingly crossed the piazza34 and welcomed her without waiting for an introduction. Maggie mumbled35 some reply; she later could not remember what it was. Indeed she never had met such a woman: so finished, so gracious, so unaffected, with a sparkle of humor in her brown eyes; and the rich plainness of her white linen36 frock made Maggie conscious that her own supposed simplicity was cheap and ostentatious. If Miss Sherwood had received her with hostility37, doubt, or even chilled civility, the situation would have been easier; the aroused Maggie would then have made use of her own great endowment of hauteur38 and self-esteem. But to be received with this frank cordiality, on a basis of a equality with this finished woman—that left Maggie for the moment without arms. She had, in her high moments, believed herself an adventuress whose poise39 and plans nothing could unbalance. Now she found herself suddenly just a young girl of eighteen who didn't know what to do.
Had Maggie but known it that sudden unconscious confusion, which seemed to betray her, was really more effective for her purpose than would have been the best of conscious acting40. It established her at once as an unstagey ingenue—simple, unspoiled, unacquainted with the formulas and formalities of the world.
Miss Sherwood, in her easy possession of the situation, banished41 Dick with “Run away for a while, Dick, and give us two women a chance to get acquainted.” She had caught Maggie's embarrassment42, and led her to a corner of the veranda43 which looked down upon the gardens and the glistering Sound. She spoke21 of the impersonal44 beauties spread before their vision, until she judged that Maggie's first flutter had abated45; then she led the way to wicker chairs beside a table where obviously tea was to be spread.
Miss Sherwood accepted Maggie for exactly what she seemed to be; and presently she was saying in a low voice, with her smiling, unoffending directness:
“Excuse the liberty of an older woman, Miss Cameron—but I don't wonder that Dick likes you. You see, he's told me.”
If Maggie had been at loss for her cue before, she had it now. It was unpretentiousness.
“But, Miss Sherwood—I'm so crude,” she faltered46, acting her best. “Out West I never had any chances to learn. Not any chances like your Eastern girls.”
“That's no difference, my dear. You are a nice, simple girl—that's what counts!”
“Thank you,” said Maggie.
“So few of our rich girls of the East know what it is to be simple,” continued Miss Sherwood. “Too many are all affectation, and pose, and forwardness. At twenty they know all there is to be known, they are blasees—cynical—ready for divorce before they are ready for marriage. By contrast you are so wholesome47, so refreshing48.”
“Thank you,” Maggie again murmured.
And as the two women sat there, sprung from the extremes of life, but for the moment on the level of equals, and as the older talked on, there grew up in Maggie two violently contradictory49 emotions. One was triumph. She had won out here, just as she had said she would win out; and won out with what Barney had declared to be the most difficult person to get the better of, a finished woman of the world. Indeed, that was triumph!
The other emotion she did not understand so well. And just then she could not analyze50 it. It was an unexpected dismay—a vague but permeating51 sickness—a dazed sense that she was being carried by unfamiliar52 forces toward she knew not what.
She held fast to her sense of triumph. That was the more apprehendable and positive; triumph was what she had set forth53 to win. This sense of triumph was at its highest, and she was resting in its elating security, when a car stopped before the house and a large man got out and started up the steps. From the first moment there was something familiar to Maggie in his carriage, but not till Miss Sherwood, who had risen and crossed toward him, greeted him as “Mr. Hunt,” did Maggie recognize the well-dressed visitor as the shabby, boisterous54 painter whom she had last seen down at the Duchess's.
Panic seized upon her. Miss Sherwood was leading him toward where she sat and his first clear sight of her would mean the end. There was no possible escape; she could only await her fate. And when she was denounced as a fraud, and her glittering victory was gone, she could only take herself away with as much of the defiance55 of admitted defeat as she could assume—and that wouldn't be much.
She gazed up at Hunt, whitely, awaiting extermination56. Miss Sherwood's voice came to her from an infinite distance, introducing them. Hunt bowed, with a formally polite smile, and said formally, “I'm very glad to meet you, Miss Cameron.”
Not till he and Miss Sherwood were seated and chatting did Maggie realize the fullness of the astounding57 fact that he had not recognized her. This was far more upsetting to her than would have been recognition and exposure; she had been all braced58 for that, but not for what had actually happened. She was certain he must have known her; nothing had really changed about her except her dress, and only a few weeks had passed since he had been seeing her daily down at the Duchess's, and since she had been his model, and he had studied every line and expression of her face with those sharp painter's eyes of his.
And so as the two chatted, she putting in a stumbling phrase when they turned to her, Maggie Carlisle, Maggie Cameron, Maggie Ellison, that gallant59 and all-confident adventuress who till the present had never admitted herself seriously disturbed by a problem, sat limply in her chair, a very young girl, indeed, and wondered how this thing could possibly be.
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1
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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disastrously
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| ad.灾难性地 | |
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barb
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| n.（鱼钩等的）倒钩，倒刺 | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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6
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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7
aurora
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| n.极光 | |
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8
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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coupon
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| n.息票，配给票，附单 | |
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13
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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16
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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17
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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pregnancy
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| n.怀孕，怀孕期 | |
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19
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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21
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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tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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24
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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26
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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28
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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ebulliently
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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32
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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33
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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34
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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35
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
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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hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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38
hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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39
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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40
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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41
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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43
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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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
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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46
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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47
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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48
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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49
contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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50
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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51
permeating
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| 弥漫( permeate的现在分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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52
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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53
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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54
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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55
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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56
extermination
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| n.消灭，根绝 | |
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57
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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58
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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59
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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