Betty Steel was alone, save for the cat Mignon, curled up asleep in her mistress’s lap. Half covering the cat was a crumpled7 letter, a letter that had been read and reread by eyes that were blind to the pageant8 of the summer sky. She stirred now and again in her chair, and shivered. The evening seemed cold to her despite all this chaos9 of color, this kindling10 of the torches of the west. The house, too, had an empty silence, like a lonely house where death had been and set a seal upon its lips.
Betty lifted Mignon from her lap, rose, crossed the room, and rang the bell. She took a crimson11 opera-cloak from a wardrobe in the corner, flung it across her shoulders, and returned to her chair, with the crumpled letter still in her hand.
“Yes, ma’am.”
A white cap and apron12 were framed by the shadows of the landing.
“Is Miss Ellison back yet, Symons?”
“No, ma’am. She said—”
“Listen! Isn’t that the front door?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Will you ask her to come to me here?”
The white cap and apron vanished into the shadows. Betty, lying back in her chair, looked vacantly at the paling sky, with the blood-red cloak deepening the darkness of her hair. The cat Mignon sprang into her lap. Dreamily, and as by habit, she began to stroke the cat, while listening to the murmur13 of the two voices in the hall below.
Brisk footsteps ascended14 the stairs, with the swish of silk, and the soft sighing of a woman’s breath.
“Here I am, dear, at last.”
“Shut the door, Madge.”
“I missed my train. You must have wondered what had happened.”
“I have ceased to wonder at anything in life.”
Madge Ellison looked curiously15 at Betty lying back in her chair, and crossed the room slowly, unbuttoning her gloves.
“You sound rather down, dear. What’s that? Have you heard—?”
Betty Steel’s hand closed spasmodically upon the crumpled letter that she held. Her face was hard and reflective in its outlines. And yet in the eyes there was a pathos16 of unrest, the unrest of a woman whose gods have left her utterly17 alone.
“I have heard from Parker.”
Madge Ellison threw her gloves on the bed, unpinned her hat, and waited.
“He is leaving England.”
“Leaving England?”
“Yes, for the Cape18.”
“And you?”
“My own mistress to do everything—anything that I please.”
She gave a curious little laugh, and began straightening out the letter on her knee, looking at it with eyes that strove to make cynicism cover the wounded instincts of her womanhood.
“Of course—he does not care. He was afraid to face things.”
“The coward!”
Madge Ellison bent19 over her, and laid one hand along her cheek.
“And he has left you here?”
“I suppose he thought there was nothing else to do. He says—” and she still smoothed the creased20 letter under her hand—“you have your own money to live on. The practice is worth nothing under the circumstances. I should advise you to let the house. You cannot afford to live in it on two hundred pounds a year.”
“Is that all you have?”
“My father left it me.”
“Wise father!”
“I never thought, Madge, I should value two hundred pounds so much.”
Mignon, who still possessed21 some of the kittenish spirit of her youth, rolled over in Betty’s lap, and began to clutch at the letter with her paws. There was something pathetic in the way the wife suffered that scrap22 of paper to be a plaything for her pet.
“Then he says nothing, dear—?”
“Nothing?”
“About your joining him?”
Betty’s lips curled into a cynical23 smile.
“Why should he?”
“But, surely—”
“It was I who broke the ties between us. I think I hated him. He had so little—so little manliness24 and strength.”
Madge Ellison lifted up her face to the fading sky. She was serious for one occasion in her life, a woman touched by the realism of life’s tragedies.
“Can you never—?”
“Don’t ask me that, Madge.”
“You will be well, soon, your old self. It is only temporary.”
“I know.”
“Then—”
“If it were only skin deep; but it is deeper, deep to the heart.”
The confidante gave a sad shrug25 of her shapely shoulders.
“Don’t say that yet,” she said; “you might repent26 of it.”
“You think so?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
The sky had darkened; the clouds had cast their cloaks of fire, and in the west one broad band of crimson and of gold held back the banners of the approaching night. From St. Antonia’s steeple came the chiming of the hour, slow, solemn tones that filled the silence with mysterious eddies27 of lingering sound.
Madge Ellison was still leaning over Betty’s chair, her hands touching28 her friend’s face.
“Try not to brood too much on it, dear. I know I am not much of a woman to give advice. You might say that I had no experience.”
“And I too much! Listen,” and she straightened in her chair, “can’t you hear people shouting?”
“Shouting?”
“Yes; as though there were a fire. It seems to come from Castle Gate.”
They were both silent, listening, and leaning towards the open window. Vague, scattered29 cries rose from the shadowiness of the darkening town. They seemed to be drawing from Castle Gate towards the square, a low flux30 of sound that rose and fell like the cadence31 of the sea upon a shore at night.
Betty sank back in her chair with a glimmer32 of impatience33 on her face.
“Of course—I remember.”
From under the arch of the old gate-house a crowd of small boys came scattering34 into the far corner of the square. A number of men followed, lined along a couple of stout35 ropes. They were dragging a carriage over the gray cobbles and under the dark elms in the direction of Lombard Street.
Madge Ellison drew back from the window. Not so Betty. She rose from her chair, and stood looking down upon those rough men of the Roxton lanes who were shouting and waving caps with the unsophisticated and exhilarating zest37 of children.
The carriage with its plebeian38 team passed under Betty’s window. In it were a man and a woman, the woman holding a boy upon her knees.
Whether some subtle thought-wave passed between those two or not, it happened that Catherine looked up and saw the face at the open window overhead. It seemed to her in the hurly-burly of this little triumph, that the face above looked down at her out of a gloom of loneliness and humiliation39. A sudden cry of womanly pity sounded in her heart. Catherine’s arms tightened40 unconsciously about her boy, and her eyes, that had been smiling, grew thoughtful and very sad.
The carriage rounded the corner and disappeared into Lombard Street, with a small crowd of men, women, and children following in its wake. Betty Steel turned from the window with a laugh.
“It reminds one of a political demonstration41.”
Madge Ellison had picked up the letter that the wife had left forgotten on the floor.
“Shall I shut the window, Betty?”
“No, it amuses me; cela va sans dire36.”
The men at the ropes had trundled the carriage down Lombard Street, and brought to before the great house opposite the cypress-trees in Porteus Carmagee’s garden. They were very hot and very happy, these Roxton workers, with Mr. William Bains, a stentorian42 choragus to the crew. A child threw a bunch of flowers into Catherine’s lap.
“Hooray! three cheers for the doctor!”
“Hooray! hooray! hooray!”
The End
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1
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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2
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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3
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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4
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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5
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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6
amethystine
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| adj.紫水晶质的，紫色的；紫晶 | |
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7
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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8
pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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9
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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10
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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11
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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12
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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13
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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14
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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16
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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17
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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18
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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19
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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20
creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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21
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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22
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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23
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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24
manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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25
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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26
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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27
eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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28
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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29
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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30
flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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31
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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32
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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33
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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34
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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36
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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37
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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38
plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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39
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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40
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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41
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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42
stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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