A third ring produced no response, and Lizzie, full of dawning fears, drew back to look up at the shabby, blistered7 house. She saw that the studio shutters8 stood wide, and then noticed, without surprise, that Mrs. Deering’s were still unopened. No doubt Mrs. Deering was resting after the fatigue9 of the journey. Instinctively10 Lizzie’s eyes turned again to the studio; and as she looked, she saw Deering at the window. He caught sight of her, and an instant later came to the door. He looked paler than usual, and she noticed that he wore a black coat.
“I rang and rang — where is Juliet?”
He looked at her gravely, almost solemnly; then, without answering, he led her down the passage to the studio, and closed the door when she had entered.
“My wife is dead — she died suddenly ten days ago. Didn’t you see it in the papers?”
Lizzie, with a little cry, sank down on the rickety divan12. She seldom saw a newspaper, since she could not afford one for her own perusal13, and those supplied to the Pension Clopin were usually in the hands of its more privileged lodgers14 till long after the hour when she set out on her morning round.
“No; I didn’t see it,” she stammered15.
Deering was silent. He stood a little way off, twisting an unlit cigarette in his hand, and looking down at her with a gaze that was both hesitating and constrained16.
She, too, felt the constraint18 of the situation, the impossibility of finding words that, after what had passed between them, should seem neither false nor heartless; and at last she exclaimed, standing19 up: “Poor little Juliet! Can’t I go to her?”
“Juliet is not here. I left her at St.-Raphael with the relations with whom my wife was staying.”
“Oh,” Lizzie murmured, feeling vaguely20 that this added to the difficulty of the moment. How differently she had pictured their meeting!
“I’m so — so sorry for her!” she faltered21 out.
Deering made no reply, but, turning on his heel, walked the length of the studio, and then halted vaguely before the picture on the easel. It was the landscape he had begun the previous autumn, with the intention of sending it to the Salon22 that spring. But it was still unfinished — seemed, indeed, hardly more advanced than on the fateful October day when Lizzie, standing before it for the first time, had confessed her inability to deal with Juliet. Perhaps the same thought struck its creator, for he broke into a dry laugh, and turned from the easel with a shrug23.
Under his protracted24 silence Lizzie roused herself to the fact that, since her pupil was absent, there was no reason for her remaining any longer; and as Deering again moved toward her she said with an effort: “I’ll go, then. You’ll send for me when she comes back?”
Deering still hesitated, tormenting25 the cigarette between his fingers.
“She’s not coming back — not at present.”
Lizzie heard him with a drop of the heart. Was everything to be changed in their lives? But of course; how could she have dreamed it would be otherwise? She could only stupidly repeat: “Not coming back? Not this spring?”
“Probably not, since our friends are so good as to keep her. The fact is, I’ve got to go to America. My wife left a little property, a few pennies, that I must go and see to — for the child.”
Lizzie stood before him, a cold knife in her breast. “I see — I see,” she reiterated26, feeling all the while that she strained her eyes into impenetrable blackness.
“It’s a nuisance, having to pull up stakes,” he went on, with a fretful glance about the studio.
She lifted her eyes slowly to his face. “Shall you be gone long?” she took courage to ask.
“There again — I can’t tell. It’s all so frightfully mixed up.” He met her look for an incredibly long, strange moment. “I hate to go!” he murmured as if to himself.
Lizzie felt a rush of moisture to her lashes27, and the old, familiar wave of weakness at her heart. She raised her hand to her face with an instinctive11 gesture, and as she did so he held out his arms.
“Come here, Lizzie!” he said.
And she went — went with a sweet, wild throb28 of liberation, with the sense that at last the house was his, that she was his, if he wanted her; that never again would that silent, rebuking29 presence in the room above constrain17 and shame her rapture30.
He pushed back her veil and covered her face with kisses. “Don’t cry, you little goose!” he said.
点击收听单词发音
1 tinkled | |
(使)发出丁当声,(使)发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 ); 叮当响着发出,铃铃响着报出 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 scamper | |
v.奔跑,快跑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 laggard | |
n.落后者;adj.缓慢的,落后的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 twitch | |
v.急拉,抽动,痉挛,抽搐;n.扯,阵痛,痉挛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 blistered | |
adj.水疮状的,泡状的v.(使)起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 );(使表皮等)涨破,爆裂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 divan | |
n.长沙发;(波斯或其他东方诗人的)诗集 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 perusal | |
n.细读,熟读;目测 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 lodgers | |
n.房客,租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 constrain | |
vt.限制,约束;克制,抑制 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 constraint | |
n.(on)约束,限制;限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 faltered | |
(嗓音)颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 salon | |
n.[法]沙龙;客厅;营业性的高级服务室 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 shrug | |
v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 protracted | |
adj.拖延的;延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 tormenting | |
使痛苦的,使苦恼的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 reiterated | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 lashes | |
n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 );鞭子;突然猛烈的一击;急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 throb | |
v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 rebuking | |
责难或指责( rebuke的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |