“Want to see you important matter. Expect me to-morrow afternoon.”
Mr. Grew received the telegram after breakfast. To peruse2 it he had lifted his eye from a paragraph of the morning paper describing a fancy-dress dinner which had taken place the night before at the Hamilton Gliddens’ for the house-warming of their new Fifth Avenue palace.
“Among the couples who afterward3 danced in the Poets’ Quadrille were Miss Daisy Bankshire, looking more than usually lovely as Laura, and Mr. Ronald Grew as the young Petrarch.”
Petrarch and Laura! Well — if anything meant anything, Mr. Grew supposed he knew what that meant. For weeks past he had noticed how constantly the names of the young people appeared together in the society notes he so insatiably devoured4. Even the soulless reporter was getting into the habit of coupling them in his lists. And this Laura and Petrarch business was almost an announcement . . .
Mr. Grew dropped the telegram, wiped his eye-glasses, and re-read the paragraph. “Miss Daisy Bankshire . . . more than usually lovely . . . ” Yes; she was lovely. He had often seen her photograph in the papers — seen her represented in every conceivable attitude of the mundane5 game: fondling her prize bull-dog, taking a fence on her thoroughbred, dancing a gavotte, all patches and plumes6, or fingering a guitar, all tulle and lilies; and once he had caught a glimpse of her at the theatre. Hearing that Ronald was going to a fashionable first-night with the Bankshires, Mr. Grew had for once overcome his repugnance7 to following his son’s movements, and had secured for himself, under the shadow of the balcony, a stall whence he could observe the Bankshire box without fear of detection. Ronald had never known of his father’s presence at the play; and for three blessed hours Mr. Grew had watched his boy’s handsome dark head bent8 above the dense9 fair hair and white averted10 shoulder that were all he could catch of Miss Bankshire’s beauties.
He recalled the vision now; and with it came, as usual, its ghostly double: the vision of his young self bending above such a white shoulder and such shining hair. Needless to say that the real Mason Grew had never found himself in so enviable a situation. The late Mrs. Grew had no more resembled Miss Daisy Bankshire than he had looked like the happy victorious11 Ronald. And the mystery was that from their dull faces, their dull endearments12, the miracle of Ronald should have sprung. It was almost — fantastically — as if the boy had been a changeling, child of a Latmian night, whom the divine companion of Mr. Grew’s early reveries had secretly laid in the cradle of the Wingfield bedroom while Mr. And Mrs. Grew slept the deep sleep of conjugal13 indifference14.
The young Mason Grew had not at first accepted this astral episode as the complete cancelling of his claims on romance. He too had grasped at the high-hung glory; and, with his fatal tendency to reach too far when he reached at all, had singled out the prettiest girl in Wingfield. When he recalled his stammered15 confession16 of love his face still tingled17 under her cool bright stare. The wonder of his audacity18 had struck her dumb; and when she recovered her voice it was to fling a taunt19 at him.
“Don’t be too discouraged, you know — have you ever thought of trying Addie Wicks?”
All Wingfield would have understood the gibe20: Addie Wicks was the dullest girl in town. And a year later he had married Addie Wicks . . .
He looked up from the perusal21 of Ronald’s telegram with this memory in his mind. Now at last his dream was coming true! His boy would taste of the joys that had mocked his thwarted22 youth and his dull gray middle-age. And it was fitting that they should be realized in Ronald’s destiny. Ronald was made to take happiness boldly by the hand and lead it home like a bridegroom. He had the carriage, the confidence, the high faith in his fortune, that compel the wilful23 stars. And, thanks to the Buckle24, he would have the exceptional setting, the background of material elegance25, that became his conquering person. Since Mr. Grew had retired26 from business his investments had prospered27, and he had been saving up his income for just such a contingency28. His own wants were few: he had transferred the Wingfield furniture to Brooklyn, and his sitting-room29 was a replica30 of that in which the long years of his married life had been spent. Even the florid carpet on which Ronald’s tottering31 footsteps had been taken was carefully matched when it became too threadbare. And on the marble centre-table, with its chenille-fringed cover and bunch of dyed pampas grass, lay the illustrated32 Longfellow and the copy of Ingersoll’s lectures which represented literature to Mr. Grew when he had led home his bride. In the light of Ronald’s romance, Mr. Grew found himself re-living, with a strange tremor33 of mingled34 pain and tenderness, all the poor prosaic35 incidents of his own personal history. Curiously36 enough, with this new splendor37 on them they began to emit a small faint ray of their own. His wife’s armchair, in its usual place by the fire, recalled her placid38 unperceiving presence, seated opposite to him during the long drowsy39 years; and he felt her kindness, her equanimity40, where formerly41 he had only ached at her obtuseness42. And from the chair he glanced up at the large discolored photograph on the wall above, with a brittle43 brown wreath suspended on a corner of the frame. The photograph represented a young man with a poetic44 necktie and untrammelled hair, leaning negligently45 against a Gothic chair-back, a roll of music in his hand; and beneath was scrawled46 a bar of Chopin, with the words: “ Adieu, Adele.”
The portrait was that of the great pianist, Fortune Dolbrowski; and its presence on the wall of Mr. Grew’s sitting-room commemorated47 the only exquisite48 hour of his life save that of Ronald’s birth. It was some time before the latter memorable49 event, a few months only after Mr. Grew’s marriage, that he had taken his wife to New York to hear the great Dolbrowski. Their evening had been magically beautiful, and even Addie, roused from her habitual50 inexpressiveness, had quivered into a momentary51 semblance52 of life. “I never — I never — ” she gasped53 out helplessly when they had regained54 their hotel bedroom, and sat staring back entranced at the evening’s evocations. Her large immovable face was pink and tremulous, and she sat with her hands on her knees, forgetting to roll up her bonnet-strings and prepare her curl-papers.
“I’d like to write him just how I felt — I wisht I knew how!” she burst out suddenly in a final effervescence of emotion.
Her husband lifted his head and looked at her.
“Would you? I feel that way too,” he said with a sheepish laugh. And they continued to stare at each other shyly through a transfiguring mist of sound.
Mr. Grew recalled the scene as he gazed up at the pianist’s faded photograph. “Well, I owe her that anyhow — poor Addie!” he said, with a smile at the inconsequences of fate. With Ronald’s telegram in his hand he was in a mood to count his mercies.
点击收听单词发音
1 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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2 peruse | |
v.细读,精读 | |
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3 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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4 devoured | |
吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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5 mundane | |
adj.平凡的;尘世的;宇宙的 | |
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6 plumes | |
羽毛( plume的名词复数 ); 羽毛饰; 羽毛状物; 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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7 repugnance | |
n.嫌恶 | |
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8 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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9 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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10 averted | |
防止,避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 ); 转移 | |
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11 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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12 endearments | |
n.表示爱慕的话语,亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
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13 conjugal | |
adj.婚姻的,婚姻性的 | |
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14 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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15 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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17 tingled | |
v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18 audacity | |
n.大胆,卤莽,无礼 | |
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19 taunt | |
n.辱骂,嘲弄;v.嘲弄 | |
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20 gibe | |
n.讥笑;嘲弄 | |
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21 perusal | |
n.细读,熟读;目测 | |
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22 thwarted | |
阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
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23 wilful | |
adj.任性的,故意的 | |
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24 buckle | |
n.扣子,带扣;v.把...扣住,由于压力而弯曲 | |
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25 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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26 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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27 prospered | |
成功,兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28 contingency | |
n.意外事件,可能性 | |
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29 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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30 replica | |
n.复制品 | |
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31 tottering | |
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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32 illustrated | |
adj. 有插图的,列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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33 tremor | |
n.震动,颤动,战栗,兴奋,地震 | |
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34 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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35 prosaic | |
adj.单调的,无趣的 | |
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36 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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37 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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38 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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39 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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40 equanimity | |
n.沉着,镇定 | |
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41 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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42 obtuseness | |
感觉迟钝 | |
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43 brittle | |
adj.易碎的;脆弱的;冷淡的;(声音)尖利的 | |
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44 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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45 negligently | |
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46 scrawled | |
乱涂,潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47 commemorated | |
v.纪念,庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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49 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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50 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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51 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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52 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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53 gasped | |
v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
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54 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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