Slowly going up the broad flight of steps leading to his house, he drew out his latch-key. As he unlocked the door, a bevy3 of girls came trooping through the hall—some of his wife’s friends. His face cleared as he took off his hat and stood aside for them to pass.
For a minute the air was gay with merry parting, then the girls were gone, and he went slowly up to his room.
“Mrs. Stanisfield is in the dining-room, sir,” said a servant, addressing him a few minutes later, as he stood in the hall with an air of great abstraction. “Dinner has just been served.”
“Oh, Roger,” said his wife, as he entered the[35] room where she sat at the table, “I didn’t know you’d come! You told me not to wait for you. I shall be glad when you take up your old habit of coming home in the middle of the afternoon.”
“I am very busy now,” he muttered, as he took his place.
“Does your head ache?” inquired Margaretta, when several courses had been passed through in silence on his part.
“Yes, it is splitting.”
Young Mrs. Stanisfield bent4 her fair head over her plate, and discreetly5 made only an occasional remark until the pudding was removed, and the table-maid had withdrawn6 from the room. Then she surreptitiously examined her husband’s face.
He was thoughtfully surveying the fruit on the table.
“Margaretta,” he said, boyishly, “I don’t care much for puddings and pastry7.”
“Neither do I,” she said, demurely8.
“I was wondering,” he said, hesitatingly, “whether we couldn’t do without puddings for awhile and just have nuts and raisins9, or fruit—What are you laughing at?”
“At your new r?le of housekeeper10. You usually don’t seem to know what is on the table.”
[36]
“I have a good appetite.”
“Yes, but you don’t criticize. You just eat what is set before you. I am sure it has escaped your masculine observation that for several weeks past we have had only one dish in the pastry course.”
“Well, what of it?”
“Why, we always used to have two or three—pudding, pie, and jelly or creams. Now we never have pudding and pie at the same time.”
“What is that for?” he asked.
“Oh, for something,” she said, quietly. “Now tell me what has gone wrong with you.”
“Nothing has gone wrong with me,” he said, irritably11.
“With your business then.”
He did not reply, and, rising, she said, “This sitting at table is tiresome12 when one eats nothing. Let us go to the drawing-room and have coffee.”
“I don’t want coffee,” he said, sauntering after her.
“Neither do I,” she replied. “Shall we go out in the garden? It was delightfully13 cool there before dinner.”
“What a crowd of women you had here,” he said, a little peevishly14, as he followed her.
“Hadn’t I?” and she smiled. “They had all[37] been at a garden-party at the Everests, and as I wasn’t there they came to find out the reason.”
“You don’t mean to say you missed a social function?” said her husband, sarcastically15.
“Yes, dear boy, I did, and I have before, and I am going to again.”
Mr. Stanisfield laughed shortly. “You sound like your sister Berty.”
“Well, I should love to be like her. She is a dear little sister.”
“But not as dear as her sister.”
“Thank you,” said Margaretta, prettily16, turning and curtseying to him, as he followed her along the garden paths. “Now, here we are among the roses. Just drag out those two chairs from the arbour, or will you get into the hammock?”
“I’ll take the hammock,” he said, wearily. “I feel as if I were falling to pieces.”
“Let me arrange some cushions under your head so—this cool breeze will soon drive the business fog from your brain.”
“No, it won’t—the fog is too heavy.”
“What kind of a fog is it?” asked Margaretta, cautiously.
Her husband sat up in the hammock, and stared at her with feverish17 eyes. “Margaretta, I think[38] we had better give up this house and take a smaller one.”
“I knew it,” said Margaretta, triumphantly18. “I knew you were worried about your affairs!”
“Then you won’t feel so surprised,” he said, “when I tell you that we can’t stand this pace. We’ve had some heavy losses down at the iron works lately—mind you don’t say anything about it.”
“Indeed I won’t,” she replied, proudly.
“Father and I finished going over the books to-day with Mackintosh. We’ve got to put on the brakes. I—I hate to tell you,” and he averted19 his face. “You are so young.”
Margaretta did not reply to him, and, eager to see her face, he presently turned his own.
The sun had set, but she was radiant in a kind of afterglow.
“Margaretta, you don’t understand,” he faltered20. “It will be a tremendous struggle for you to give up luxuries to which you have been accustomed, but we’ve either got to come down to bare poles here, or move to a smaller house.”
“What a misfortune!” she said.
His face fell.
“For you to have a headache about this matter,”[39] she went on, gleefully. “I don’t call it a small one, for it isn’t, but if you knew everything!”
“I know enough to make me feel like a cheat,” he blurted21, wriggling22 about in the hammock. “I took you from a good home. I never wanted you to feel an anxiety, and now the first thing I’ve got to put you down to rigid23 economy. You see, father and I have to spend a certain amount on the business, or we’d be out of it in the war of competition, and we’ve both decided24 that expenses must be curtailed25 in our homes rather than in the iron works.”
“That shows you are good business men,” said Margaretta, promptly26. “You are as good business men as husbands.”
“Margaretta,” said her husband, “you puzzle me. I expected a scene, and upon my word you look happy over it—but you don’t realize it, poor child!”
Margaretta smiled silently at him for a few seconds, then she said, roguishly, “I am going to give you a little surprise. You didn’t see me snatch this sheet of paper from my new cabinet when we left the house?”
“No, I did not.”
“Oh, what a nice little paper! What a precious[40] little paper!” said Margaretta, gaily27, clasping it. “Can you see what is written on it, Roger? No, you can’t very well in this light.”
“Yes, I can,” said the young man, with a weary, amused smile. “Give it to me.”
She drew her seat closer to the hammock, and both bent their heads over the paper.
“Animus saved by Mrs. Roger Stanisfield during the month of July,” read Roger, stumblingly—“to be poured on my head, I suppose.”
“No, no, not animus—amounts.”
“Oh, I see, you want to comfort me by showing what an economist28 you are. I dare say you have saved five whole dollars through the month. What is the first item? Saved on new dress, one hundred dollars. Good gracious—how much did the dress cost?”
“I didn’t get it,” she replied, with immense satisfaction. “I needed one, or thought I did, and Madame Bouvard, that French dressmaker from New York, who came here last year, said she would make me one for one hundred dollars. Now some time ago, just after dear Grandma lost her money, she gave me a great shock.”
“Grandma did?” asked her husband, in surprise.
“No, she didn’t, she made me give it to myself.[41] That is Grandma’s way, you know. She doesn’t preach. Well, after this electric shock I was horrified29 to find out that I was a frivolous30, extravagant31 person. I began to think hard, then I got this little piece of paper—and, oh, Roger, won’t you get me a regular business book, and make red lines down the sides, and show me how to keep proper accounts?”
“I will, but what about the dress?”
“I had ordered it, but I went to Madame Bouvard. I said, frankly32, ‘I can’t pay as much as a hundred dollars for a gown.’
“‘You shall have it for eighty,’ she said.
“I said, ‘Please let me off altogether. I want to save a little on my outfit33 this summer, but I promise to come to you the first time I want a gown.’
“As soon as I said it I bit my lip. ‘Oh, Madame Bouvard,’ I said, ‘you are the most satisfactory dressmaker I have ever had, but I don’t know whether I can afford to come to you again.’
“She is just a plain little woman, but when she saw how badly I felt, her face lighted up like an angel’s. ‘Madame,’ she said, ‘do not take your custom from me. You have been the best lady I have worked for in Riverport. Why, my girls say[42] when your fair head passes the glass door of the workroom that it casts a ray of sunshine in upon them’—just think of that, Roger,—a ray of sunshine. I was quite pleased.”
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1
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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bevy
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| n.一群 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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6
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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7
pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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9
raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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16
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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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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21
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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curtailed
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| v.截断，缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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28
economist
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| n.经济学家，经济专家，节俭的人 | |
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29
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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