With her hand on her breast, as though the thought had given her actual physical pain, she bowed for a few minutes; then she calmly rose, fastened the strings5 of her graceful6 hat under her pretty chin, and walked deliberately7 down to Mrs. Barry’s. Lionel was playing with some colored building-blocks on the porch, and looked up in vast surprise.
“Where is your mother?” Margaret asked, timidly. “May I see her?”
“She is in the studio,” the child said. “She is making a picture.”
At this moment Dora stepped out into the hall from a room on the right, and with a look of undisguised and almost perturbed8 surprise she came forward.
“Oh, she is beautiful—beautiful!” ran like a dart9 through the visitor’s brain. “She is a thousand times more now than she used to be; she has grown, developed. Such hair, such eyes, such color, such a perfect figure!”
“I think I heard you asking for me,” Dora said, calmly, something—perhaps it was the sheer immunity10 of genius and conscious purity of purpose—lifting her above the embarrassment11 of the situation.
“Yes, I came to see you,” Margaret said, bewildered by Dora’s appearance and the growing sense of her wonderful and forceful personality. “I ought to have come before, I am well aware; but I hope you won’t turn me away.”
“Why should I, Margaret?” Even in the unruffled voice of the recluse12 there was a mellow13 hint of oblivion to the social degradation14 the outside world had draped her with. “Would you mind coming into my workroom? It is about as cheerful as our stuffy15 little parlor16.”
“Oh, you stilt17 paint?” Margaret cried, as she stood in the doorway18 and saw the pictures leaning here and there and tacked19 to the wooden partition.
“Yes, I had to have some occupation,” Dora responded, quite frankly20, “and I took it up. I think I should have died but for my art.”
“And did you really do all these?” Margaret stared in admiration21. “Oh, they are lovely, lovely!”
“I’m glad you like them,” Dora said, appreciatively. “I am sorry I happen to have only these. Just last week I sent a box of the best away. I may as well tell you that I sell them—or, rather, have them sold for me.”
“Oh, you do, really? How nice!—how very nice!” Margaret sat down almost in utter bewilderment. The whole thing was like a dream—the wonderful intellectual poise22 of the girl-like artist; her beauty; her charm; the far-away look of almost conscious superiority in the long-lashed, indescribable eyes. “And you intend to go on with your art?”
“Oh yes, to the end—to the very end of life, and beyond, too, perhaps,” answered Dora, with a merry, philosophical23 laugh. “I am working toward a glorious goal. Far-off Paris beckons24 me, Margaret, even in my sleep. Mother and I read of nothing else now, and think of nothing else. We study French in our poor way, and speak it together. Even Lionel lisps a word of it now and then. Yes, Paris and my boy mean all to me now. This has been a prison for our little family, but there the breath of art animates25 all life. The people are not narrow; they rank essential purity above the sordid26 hypocrisy27 of mere28 convention. There my boy might grow up unconscious of—but you know what I mean.”
“Yes, yes,” Margaret said, a vast womanly sympathy springing up within her that fairly swept her from the condemnatory29 position she had so long held.
“And we hope to manage it very soon now,” the artist continued. “We are hoarding30 up my earnings31 for that, and nothing else. Lionel has the soul of a poet, artist, or musician, and in Paris he can grow and expand, and there—there he will not have to face what would inevitably32 be his portion if he remained here. His misfortune, if it can be called that, was not of his making, and God will help me to wipe it out of his consciousness—to blot33 it from his fair young soul.”
“Yes, yes,” Margaret said, helplessly, and she rose to go. There was nothing she could say. Dora, in some unaccountable way, seemed beyond her mental reach, a glorious, sublimated34 creature more of spirit than of matter. The things she had striven for in her solitude35 had raised her higher than her surroundings. From a narrow point of view she had lost, from a higher and broader she had gained; she was the youthful forerunner36 of a future army of women who would be judged by the radiance of their souls rather than by the shadows of their bodies.
Dora seemed to feel her sudden nearness in spirit to her old friend. For a moment she was silent. There was a clatter37 of blocks on the floor of the porch, followed by the soft click-click of the pieces of wood as the child put them together again from the heap into which they had fallen.
“I have always wanted to have a good, long talk with you about Fred,” Dora suddenly began, “but I hardly knew how to propose it to you after—at least, after he went away so suddenly. I felt that I ought to see you personally, and yet my pride would not let me. He had his faults, Margaret, but there were many beautiful things in his character.”
“I know, I know.” Margaret’s heart fairly froze, and she stared coldly and held herself quite erect38. Was it possible that the woman would dare to intimate that she cared to hear about that shameful39 intimacy40? Had her ideas of art, her dreams of France and bohemian freedom from conventional laws, led her into the error of thinking that she, Margaret Dearing, would for a moment listen to such a confidence?
“Only to-day I received a long letter from him,” Dora went on, unobservant of the change that had come over her visitor. “Let me get it. I am sure you will think more kindly41 of him when you have read what he writes. His father has been out to see him, and they are quite reconciled now. It has made Fred very happy. You see, there is no reason now why he may not come home. I want you to see the letter, for he mentions you in it, and I am sure, seeing how sweet and kind you are to me, that—”
“I don’t care to see it!” Margaret broke in, frigidly42. “Please don’t ask me. I am just going. I only had a few moments. I thank you very much for showing me your pictures.”
Dora dropped her eyes in surprise, for the gaze of her haughty43 visitor was full of undisguised anger.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said, humbly44, “and I hope you will pardon me. I was only trying to do Fred a good turn, and I suppose I did it awkwardly. It is very good of you to come. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” And Margaret swept from the room. As she crossed the porch and passed the little architect of a church of no mean design, he raised his eyes and said:
“Look, lady; that is the tower for the big bell (ding-dong!), and this is the door—” But she paid no heed45 to him, as, with a shrug46, almost of disdain47, she passed on to the gate.
“He is writing to her; he has been writing to her all these years,” she said within herself. “Perhaps he has even met her—she may have been to see him in other places. That is why she’s lived so quietly—it gave her the chance to go and come as she liked. Perhaps he has put those ideas of Paris and free-love into her head. When he talked to me in New York he didn’t mean that—that he cared for me deeply. He meant only that he wanted me and the rest of us here to overlook what he had done. When he told his silly old father that he would not come back unless I forgave him, he meant—he thought—he was trying to apologize—actually apologize—for having made love to me. I have lowered myself by going to her. It gave her that sly chance to stab me. She thinks I care. She thinks that I have been crying my eyes out about him. They have talked me over time after time. Oh, the shame of it—the utter shame of it!”
点击收听单词发音
1 effulgence | |
n.光辉 | |
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2 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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3 repented | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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5 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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6 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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7 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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8 perturbed | |
adj.烦燥不安的v.使(某人)烦恼,不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9 dart | |
v.猛冲,投掷;n.飞镖,猛冲 | |
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10 immunity | |
n.优惠;免除;豁免,豁免权 | |
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11 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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12 recluse | |
n.隐居者 | |
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13 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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14 degradation | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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15 stuffy | |
adj.不透气的,闷热的 | |
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16 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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17 stilt | |
n.高跷,支柱 | |
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18 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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19 tacked | |
用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 ); 附加,增补; 帆船抢风行驶,用粗线脚缝 | |
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20 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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21 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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22 poise | |
vt./vi. 平衡,保持平衡;n.泰然自若,自信 | |
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23 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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24 beckons | |
v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的第三人称单数 ) | |
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25 animates | |
v.使有生气( animate的第三人称单数 );驱动;使栩栩如生地动作;赋予…以生命 | |
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26 sordid | |
adj.肮脏的,不干净的,卑鄙的,暗淡的 | |
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27 hypocrisy | |
n.伪善,虚伪 | |
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28 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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29 condemnatory | |
adj. 非难的,处罚的 | |
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30 hoarding | |
n.贮藏;积蓄;临时围墙;囤积v.积蓄并储藏(某物)( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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31 earnings | |
n.工资收人;利润,利益,所得 | |
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32 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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33 blot | |
vt.弄脏(用吸墨纸)吸干;n.污点,污渍 | |
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34 sublimated | |
v.(使某物质)升华( sublimate的过去式和过去分词 );使净化;纯化 | |
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35 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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36 forerunner | |
n.前身,先驱(者),预兆,祖先 | |
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37 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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38 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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39 shameful | |
adj.可耻的,不道德的 | |
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40 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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41 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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42 frigidly | |
adv.寒冷地;冷漠地;冷淡地;呆板地 | |
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43 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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44 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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45 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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46 shrug | |
v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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47 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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