“I ’LL ask Uncle Carroll. Uncle Carroll, sha’n’t Aunt Fay take me? Please say yes.”
“No use to ask him, Grace; you’re too young.”
“Please, Uncle Carroll, don’t mind what Aunt Fay says. Just you say I’m to go.”
“Where?” he dropped his paper.
“Out to Mrs. King’s reception to-morrow afternoon.”
“Nonsense! You’re too young.”
“Child, I told you so,” said Aunt Fay quietly, slipping the cosey on the tea-pot again.
“Too young!” Grace pulled savagely1 at the girlish hair on her brow, and twisted her long braid
hanging down her back, up high on her head.
“I’ll do up my hair, and pull down my face—so,” lengthening2 her round cheeks—“anything, to
just get the chance of going,” she cried. “O Uncle Carroll! and I’m sixteen. You’re positively3
cruel.”
“You’re nothing but a school-girl,” said Aunt Fay; “the idea of going to a reception.”
“Why, those receptions of Mrs. King’s are packed; you don’t seem to understand, Grace; and
you’d take the standing-room of some one else,” added Uncle Carroll.
“I’d take my own standing-room,” declared Grace positively, “and I wouldn’t tread on other
people’s toes;” seeing a chance for her, since the two guardians4 of her peace had begun to argue
the point. “Just think, I’ve never seen the King house nor Miss Phronsie.”
“Well, she’s a raving5, tearing beauty,” said Uncle Carroll, “and worth going miles to see, I tell
you.”
“And I want to see Mrs. King again,” cried Grace, pursuing her advantage. “I got a peek6 at her
once, when she came to call at the Drysdales. Bella and I heard she was in the drawing-room, and
we crept in behind the cabinet. She was just lovely; and the color kept coming and going in her
cheeks, and her brown eyes were laughing, and I’ll do anything to see her again.”
“She’s the rage, that’s a fact,” assented7 Uncle Carroll. “Well, Mrs. Atherton, why don’t you take
the child for once; I would.”
“Carroll Atherton!” exclaimed his wife in dismay, “how could I ever look her father and mother in
the face, and they’ve trusted her to us, while she went to school, to do the right thing by her. The
idea of a sixteen-year-old girl, and a school-girl, going to a reception!”
“The child won’t have a chance to get there any other way,” observed Mr. Atherton. “One little
social break won’t matter.”
“The worst place to make a social break is at Mrs. King’s,” said Mrs. Atherton. “No, Grace, you
cannot go.” She set her lips tightly together. “Any other thing you might ask, I’d try to indulge you
in; but I won’t make a faux pas at Mrs. Jasper King’s.”
“I don’t want anything else,” cried Grace in a passion. Just then a young girl ran over the steps,
and plunged8 without ceremony into the pretty breakfast-room.
“Oh, joy—joy—joy!” she cried, beating her hands together, “mamma’s going to take me to Mrs.
King’s reception to-morrow afternoon.”
“The idea of a school-girl going to a reception,” said aunt Fay.“Bella Drysdale!” shrieked9 Grace, deserting her chair to throw her arms around her friend. “There,
Uncle Carroll, now you see what Mrs. Drysdale’s going to do for Bella,” she flung over her
shoulder, not deigning10 to notice her aunt.
“It’s too bad,” began Mr. Atherton.
“I shall see that lovely Mrs. King again,” cried Bella in a rapture11. “Brother Tom’s going to get a
look at Miss Phronsie; and we’ve got a cousin from Chicago, and he’s going for the express
purpose of seeing her. Oh! everybody will be there, Grace. Mamma says you must go.”
“You’re older than Grace,” began Mrs. Atherton to gain a little time before the storm should begin
again around her head.
“Only one month,” said Bella; “what’s that?”
“Sixteen days!” cried Grace, “only sixteen days! Just think of that paltry12 atom of time to keep one
away from that glorious reception. Uncle, wouldn’t you be ashamed to have every one know that
Aunt Fay kept me away for just sixteen days? I should positively die of mortification13.”
“Well, you cannot go anyway,” suddenly and decidedly declared Mrs. Atherton. Mrs. Drysdale or
no Mrs. Drysdale, whom she followed when it suited her to do so, she was determined14 to keep to
that decision. “It is of no use to argue and to tease—you cannot go.”
Bella dragged Grace off to her room, and shut the door on their woes15.
“I shall go! I shall go!” declared Grace in a white heat, raging up and down the room.
“Oh, mercy! Mrs. King won’t have you, if you go on that way. She’s awfully16 nice and particular.
Stop it, Grace.” Bella shook her arm.
“I’m going—I’m going—I’m going, so there!” declared Grace determinedly17. “That’s settled.
Now, how shall I do it? Help me to think, Bella.” She stopped suddenly.
“What’s the use of thinking,” cried that young lady, throwing herself on the broad window-seat in
among its cushions, and stretching restfully, “as long as you can’t go?”
“As long as I can go, you mean,” corrected Grace, an ugly little gleam in her blue eyes.
“Well, you’re a regular Western fury,” declared Bella, regarding her. “Gracious, I wouldn’t have
taken you from the ‘wild and woolly plains’ as your aunt has for a year!”
“Don’t speak to me of Aunt,” commanded Grace, frowning heavily. “What has she done? Kept me
out of this, the thing I wanted most of all. And besides, the ‘wild and woolly West’—why, I
haven’t been educated there, as you know. It’s New England, if any place, that’s to blame for me.
Oh, oh, I’ve an idea!”
Bella sat up straight, the transition was so great, to stare, as Grace ran softly to the door, opened it,
and looked and listened; then locked it again, and tiptoed back.
“The very thing!” She seized Bella’s hands, and dragged her off the window-seat. “I’m going to be
your Western friend; you put that idea into my head—don’t you see? dressed up. O Bella, you
stupid, you owl18, I’m going as your visitor; and I’ll hire my bonnet19 and gown, and change my hair,
so Aunt won’t catch me. And—and—what joy!”
When the luckless Bella, nearly danced out of breath, was released, she made a faint protest. But
she was fairly talked off her feet again; and by that time the fun of the thing had entered into her
soul and clutched her. So she said “yes,” and began to plan as smartly as Grace herself.
“But mother never will take you in all this world,” she said, sobering down.
“Did you for an instant suppose I was going to let your mother know who I am?” cried Grace,
bursting into a laugh. “Oh, what a sweet owl you are, Bella Drysdale! Of course I’m going to fool
her too.”
“Well, she won’t let me take a stranger,” said Bella sharply, tired of being called an owl twice. “I
guess I’m as smart as you, Grace Tupper. I should know better than to get up such a silly plan.”
“I’m to be Miss Strange from Omaha, Nebraska,” said Grace solemnly; “a pupil of Miss
Willoughby’s boarding- and day-school. All this is true—my name is Grace Strange Tupper. And
because I don’t happen to board, instead of going to her day-school at Miss Willoughby’s, isn’t
my fault. I would if I could. Now, Owlie, do you see?”
“If you call me an owl again I won’t do a single thing about it,” cried Bella stubbornly; “that’s
flat.”
“So she was a dear,” cried Grace, soothing20 her, and launching at the same time into an animated21
discussion as to ways and means; which milliner to hire the bonnet from, and which was the most
becoming way to do up her hair, and how to darken her eyebrows22, till Bella looked at her watch
aghast. “And I’ve a horrible French letter to write for to-morrow, or Mademoiselle will kill me,
and mamma won’t let me go to the reception.”
“Oh, misery23! Hurry, do; run every step of the way home,” begged Grace, nearly pushing her out of
the room as she ran off.
And the next afternoon Grace shut herself up again in her room; and while the French maid was
evolving the usual fine creation out of her aunt for the reception, Grace was also doing wonders,—
to steal softly down the stairs, and out and away to Bella’s.
“I thought I’d save you the trouble of calling for me,” she said, in a sweet little drawl as far unlike
her usual tones as possible, as she entered the long Drysdale drawing-room. “Oh, beg pardon, I
thought Bella was here!”
“Er—no; allow me to do the honors.” A tall young man with shoulders built for ball-team work,
came slowly into the centre of the room. “Bella will be down soon. Take a seat, Miss”—
“Strange,” murmured Grace faintly, and wondering if her front frizzes had slipped, and if the
pencilling under her eyes looked natural. “I—I—it isn’t any matter. I suppose I’m too early.”
She sank into an easy-chair in the darkest shadow of the room, and covered her feet primly24 with
her hired gown, regardless of the wasted elegance25 of her new little boots. These had been her one
extravagance; but now she was too far gone to care whether or no they were seen.
“Oh, Bella’s the same as she was ten years ago when I last visited here,” observed the young man,
carelessly leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece, and staring at her. “She was always a tardy26 little
thing, I remember; kept us waiting everlastingly27 when we were going outing.”
So this was Bella’s cousin from Chicago. Well, he was perfectly28 horrid29 to talk that way of her
dearest friend; and besides, what sharp black eyes he had, piercing through and through her. She
put her hand up involuntarily to feel of her frizzes, shivered, and drew in her boots farther than
ever under her chair.
“I don’t think it is very nice to speak so of your relatives when you are visiting them,” she
observed to her own astonishment30. Then she would have bitten out her tongue sooner than have
spoken.
“Er—oh, beg pardon, did you speak?” exclaimed the young man, starting out of a revery.
Joy! he hadn’t heard her. “No—that is—it isn’t any matter,” said Grace hastily. “I was going to
say I think Bella is perfectly splendid. We all do at school.”
“You attend Miss Willoughby’s boarding-school, I believe,” said the black-eyed young man,
bending on her a sharper gaze than ever. “It’s a delightful31 school I’m told. Isn’t that a fact?”
Grace was saved from replying by his next remark, which he presented without any pause to speak
of. “I’ve two cousins, Jenny and Francina Day, there. I’m going over to call on them this evening
after dinner.”
Oh, horrors! Why hadn’t Bella told her of this before she had taken upon herself such a scrape!
Well, there was no help for it now; there was no other way, if she would see Mrs. King, and be
part and parcel of Mrs. King’s great reception. She tried to recover herself enough to smile; but
she felt, as she afterward32 told Bella, as if her face wobbled all over.
“I’m glad to meet somebody who will give me a sort of a welcome there. Fact is, I don’t know my
cousins by sight. Never saw but one of them, and she was a kid of three years old. Are they nice
girls?”
“Perfectly splendid,” said Grace recklessly, glad to think she had made up a long, outstanding fight
between Jenny and herself just the day before, and stifling33 the qualms34 of conscience when she
reflected on Francina’s heavy dulness. “Oh, I’m so glad they’re your cousins,” she said, smiling
radiantly.
The sharp-eyed young man showed two rows of even white teeth as he also smiled expansively.
“Miss Willoughby is extremely gracious to allow you to go to a swell35 reception,” he said slowly.
“If I’d supposed it would be of any use, I’d have begged my cousins off. I presume it’s too late for
me to run around now and get them.”
“Oh, yes, yes,” cried Grace, starting forward, and beating one little boot in terror on the carpet.
“Miss Willoughby doesn’t like short notice about anything; and—and—it’s an awful long way
there—and—here comes Bella.” To her great relief in came that young lady, resplendent in a new
blue hat quite perky, with a grown-up air that was matched by Bella’s manners as she drew on a
white kid glove.
Grace deserted36 her shady corner, and flew at her. “O Bella, do hurry,” as she threw her arm around
her; “it’s dreadfully late; do be quick; we ought to go.”
“There’s oceans of time,” said Bella with a drawl, and smoothing out the little finger in a
painstaking37 way. “Mamma isn’t half ready yet—at least she hasn’t her bonnet on. Oh! do you
know my cousin Charley Swan?” indicating with a nod the sharp-eyed young man.
“We’ve entertained each other for a good half-hour or so,” observed Charley, not particular as to
exact statements. “Say, Bella, if Aunt Isabel isn’t ready, I believe I’ll run around to Miss
Willoughby’s, and get her to let Jenny and Francina off to go with us. Stupid in me not to think of
it till I saw Miss Strange come in.”
“Er—ow!” Grace gave a sharp nip to Bella’s plump arm. “Stop him,” she whispered tragically38.
Bella pulled out a hair-pin from some mysterious quarter under her hat, and set it in again, before
she condescended39 to answer. “No, you must not, Charley,” she said, pursing up her small mouth,
and then falling to on her glove again. “Button it, will you?” presenting it to him. “You see,
mamma will be very angry; for she’s just as likely to settle her bonnet right the first attempt. I’ve
known her to. And although Tom’s no doubt wrestling in the agonies of tying his necktie, yet it’s
just like him to hop40 down without the least warning before you could possibly get back. Then
think of me!” She spread her white gloves dramatically out, as if words were unequal to the
occasion.
Just then Tom whistled his way in. “Whew, you ready in your togs, Charley! Well, it takes you
Western fellows to be spry. Where’s the mother?” turning to Bella.
“Here’s Miss Strange, Tom,” said his sister, clutching Grace’s arm; “haven’t you any manners?
Angela, this is my brother Tom.”
Grace started at the word Angela, and forgot to bow, as Tom doubled up like a jack-knife and
made her his best obeisance41. Then it was too late when she remembered; and she stood there
blushing under the hired bonnet, till Charley remarked in a way that did not help matters any, “Oh,
so I am an older acquaintance of Miss Strange than you, Tom.”
“How did you ever tell such an awful story as to say my name was Angela,” cried Grace in a
whisper as they hurried off to the carriage, Mrs. Drysdale at last appearing.
“I didn’t say so; stop pinching me; I’m black and blue already,” retorted Bella. “I’ve a right to call
you what I’ve a mind to. And I’m going to call you Angela the rest of this blessed afternoon. So
mind you act as if you’d heard the name before. If you don’t, I’ll tell everybody who you are.”
This had the effect of throwing Grace into such a panic that she answered Mrs. Drysdale’s kind
attempts at conversation with her at random42, and the twenty miles to Badgertown were made in a
whirl of emotions possessing her, till by the time the train paused at the little station, she had a
confused notion of either telling her whole story and throwing herself on the mercy of the
chaperone, or of picking up her long skirts, and fleeing over the country meadows toward home.
Instead, she was saying, “Thank you; yes, I’d rather walk,” to Cousin Charley. Bella and Tom said
the same thing. Mrs. Drysdale was helped into one of the carriages that always ran back and forth43
on Mrs. King’s reception days—a bevy44 of ladies and gentlemen filling the others; and off they all
set, to meet in the dressing-rooms at “The Oaks.”
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收听单词发音
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1
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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3
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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4
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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5
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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6
peek
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| vi.偷看，窥视；n.偷偷的一看，一瞥 | |
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7
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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9
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10
deigning
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的现在分词 ) | |
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11
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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12
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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13
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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14
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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15
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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16
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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17
determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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18
owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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19
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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20
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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21
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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22
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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23
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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24
primly
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| adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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25
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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26
tardy
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| adj.缓慢的，迟缓的 | |
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27
everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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28
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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29
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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30
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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31
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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32
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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34
qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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painstaking
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| adj.苦干的；艰苦的，费力的，刻苦的 | |
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38
tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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39
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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40
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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41
obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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42
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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43
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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44
bevy
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| n.一群 | |
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