Lily, lingering for a moment on the corner, looked out on the afternoon spectacle of Fifth Avenue. It was a day in late April, and the sweetness of spring was in the air. It mitigated1 the ugliness of the long crowded thoroughfare, blurred2 the gaunt roof-lines, threw a mauve veil over the discouraging perspective of the side streets, and gave a touch of poetry to the delicate haze3 of green that marked the entrance to the Park.
As Lily stood there, she recognized several familiar faces in the passing carriages. The season was over, and its ruling forces had disbanded; but a few still lingered, delaying their departure for Europe, or passing through town on their return from the South. Among them was Mrs. Van Osburgh, swaying majestically4 in her C-spring barouche, with Mrs. Percy Gryce at her side, and the new heir to the Gryce millions enthroned before them on his nurse's knees. They were succeeded by Mrs. Hatch's electric victoria, in which that lady reclined in the lonely splendour of a spring toilet obviously designed for company; and a moment or two later came Judy Trenor, accompanied by Lady Skiddaw, who had come over for her annual tarpon fishing and a dip into "the street."
This fleeting5 glimpse of her past served to emphasize the sense of aimlessness with which Lily at length turned toward home. She had nothing to do for the rest of the day, nor for the days to come; for the season was over in millinery as well as in society, and a week earlier Mme. Regina had notified her that her services were no longer required. Mme. Regina always reduced her staff on the first of May, and Miss Bart's attendance had of late been so irregular--she had so often been unwell, and had done so little work when she came--that it was only as a favour that her dismissal had hitherto been deferred6.
Lily did not question the justice of the decision. She was conscious of having been forgetful, awkward and slow to learn. It was bitter to acknowledge her inferiority even to herself, but the fact had been brought home to her that as a bread-winner she could never compete with professional ability. Since she had been brought up to be ornamental7, she could hardly blame herself for failing to serve any practical purpose; but the discovery put an end to her consoling sense of universal efficiency.
As she turned homeward her thoughts shrank in anticipation8 from the fact that there would be nothing to get up for the next morning. The luxury of lying late in bed was a pleasure belonging to the life of ease; it had no part in the utilitarian10 existence of the boarding-house. She liked to leave her room early, and to return to it as late as possible; and she was walking slowly now in order to postpone11 the detested12 approach to her doorstep.
But the doorstep, as she drew near it, acquired a sudden interest from the fact that it was occupied--and indeed filled--by the conspicuous13 figure of Mr. Rosedale, whose presence seemed to take on an added amplitude14 from the meanness of his surroundings.
The sight stirred Lily with an irresistible15 sense of triumph. Rosedale, a day or two after their chance meeting, had called to enquire16 if she had recovered from her indisposition; but since then she had not seen or heard from him, and his absence seemed to betoken17 a struggle to keep away, to let her pass once more out of his life. If this were the case, his return showed that the struggle had been unsuccessful, for Lily knew he was not the man to waste his time in an ineffectual sentimental18 dalliance. He was too busy, too practical, and above all too much preoccupied19 with his own advancement20, to indulge in such unprofitable asides.
In the peacock-blue parlour, with its bunches of dried pampas grass, and discoloured steel engravings of sentimental episodes, he looked about him with unconcealed disgust, laying his hat distrustfully on the dusty console adorned22 with a Rogers statuette.
Lily sat down on one of the plush and rosewood sofas, and he deposited himself in a rocking-chair draped with a starched24 antimacassar which scraped unpleasantly against the pink fold of skin above his collar.
"My goodness--you can't go on living here!" he exclaimed.
Lily smiled at his tone. "I am not sure that I can; but I have gone over my expenses very carefully, and I rather think I shall be able to manage it."
"Be able to manage it? That's not what I mean--it's no place for you!"
"It's what I mean; for I have been out of work for the last week."
"Out of work--out of work! What a way for you to talk! The idea of your having to work--it's preposterous25." He brought out his sentences in short violent jerks, as though they were forced up from a deep inner crater26 of indignation. "It's a farce--a crazy farce," he repeated, his eyes fixed27 on the long vista28 of the room reflected in the blotched glass between the windows.
Lily continued to meet his expostulations with a smile. "I don't know why I should regard myself as an exception---" she began.
"Because you ARE; that's why; and your being in a place like this is a damnable outrage29. I can't talk of it calmly."
She had in truth never seen him so shaken out of his usual glibness30; and there was something almost moving to her in his inarticulate struggle with his emotions.
He rose with a start which left the rocking-chair quivering on its beam ends, and placed himself squarely before her.
"Look here, Miss Lily, I'm going to Europe next week: going over to Paris and London for a couple of months--and I can't leave you like this. I can't do it. I know it's none of my business--you've let me understand that often enough; but things are worse with you now than they have been before, and you must see that you've got to accept help from somebody. You spoke31 to me the other day about some debt to Trenor. I know what you mean--and I respect you for feeling as you do about it."
A blush of surprise rose to Lily's pale face, but before she could interrupt him he had continued eagerly: "Well, I'll lend you the money to pay Trenor; and I won't--I--see here, don't take me up till I've finished. What I mean is, it'll be a plain business arrangement, such as one man would make with another. Now, what have you got to say against that?"
Lily's blush deepened to a glow in which humiliation32 and gratitude33 were mingled34; and both sentiments revealed themselves in the unexpected gentleness of her reply.
"Only this: that it is exactly what Gus Trenor proposed; and that I can never again be sure of understanding the plainest business arrangement." Then, realizing that this answer contained a germ of injustice35, she added, even more kindly36: "Not that I don't appreciate your kindness--that I'm not grateful for it. But a business arrangement between us would in any case be impossible, because I shall have no security to give when my debt to Gus Trenor has been paid."
Rosedale received this statement in silence: he seemed to feel the note of finality in her voice, yet to be unable to accept it as closing the question between them.
In the silence Lily had a clear perception of what was passing through his mind. Whatever perplexity he felt as to the inexorableness of her course--however little he penetrated37 its motive--she saw that it unmistakably tended to strengthen her hold over him. It was as though the sense in her of unexplained scruples38 and resistances had the same attraction as the delicacy39 of feature, the fastidiousness of manner, which gave her an external rarity, an air of being impossible to match. As he advanced in social experience this uniqueness had acquired a greater value for him, as though he were a collector who had learned to distinguish minor40 differences of design and quality in some long-coveted object.
Lily, perceiving all this, understood that he would marry her at once, on the sole condition of a reconciliation41 with Mrs. Dorset; and the temptation was the less easy to put aside because, little by little, circumstances were breaking down her dislike for Rosedale. The dislike, indeed, still subsisted42; but it was penetrated here and there by the perception of mitigating43 qualities in him: of a certain gross kindliness44, a rather helpless fidelity45 of sentiment, which seemed to be struggling through the hard surface of his material ambitions.
Reading his dismissal in her eyes, he held out his hand with a gesture which conveyed something of this inarticulate conflict.
"If you'd only let me, I'd set you up over them all--I'd put you where you could wipe your feet on 'em!" he declared; and it touched her oddly to see that his new passion had not altered his old standard of values.
Lily took no sleeping-drops that night. She lay awake viewing her situation in the crude light which Rosedale's visit had shed on it. In fending46 off the offer he was so plainly ready to renew, had she not sacrificed to one of those abstract notions of honour that might be called the conventionalities of the moral life? What debt did she owe to a social order which had condemned47 and banished48 her without trial? She had never been heard in her own defence; she was innocent of the charge on which she had been found guilty; and the irregularity of her conviction might seem to justify49 the use of methods as irregular in recovering her lost rights. Bertha Dorset, to save herself, had not scrupled50 to ruin her by an open falsehood; why should she hesitate to make private use of the facts that chance had put in her way? After all, half the opprobrium51 of such an act lies in the name attached to it. Call it blackmail52 and it becomes unthinkable; but explain that it injures no one, and that the rights regained53 by it were unjustly forfeited54, and he must be a formalist indeed who can find no plea in its defence.
The arguments pleading for it with Lily were the old unanswerable ones of the personal situation: the sense of injury, the sense of failure, the passionate55 craving56 for a fair chance against the selfish despotism of society. She had learned by experience that she had neither the aptitude57 nor the moral constancy to remake her life on new lines; to become a worker among workers, and let the world of luxury and pleasure sweep by her unregarded. She could not hold herself much to blame for this ineffectiveness, and she was perhaps less to blame than she believed. Inherited tendencies had combined with early training to make her the highly specialized58 product she was: an organism as helpless out of its narrow range as the sea-anemone torn from the rock. She had been fashioned to adorn23 and delight; to what other end does nature round the rose-leaf and paint the humming-bird's breast? And was it her fault that the purely59 decorative60 mission is less easily and harmoniously61 fulfilled among social beings than in the world of nature? That it is apt to be hampered62 by material necessities or complicated by moral scruples?
These last were the two antagonistic63 forces which fought out their battle in her breast during the long watches of the night; and when she rose the next morning she hardly knew where the victory lay. She was exhausted64 by the reaction of a night without sleep, coming after many nights of rest artificially obtained; and in the distorting light of fatigue65 the future stretched out before her grey, interminable and desolate66.
She lay late in bed, refusing the coffee and fried eggs which the friendly Irish servant thrust through her door, and hating the intimate domestic noises of the house and the cries and rumblings of the street. Her week of idleness had brought home to her with exaggerated force these small aggravations of the boarding-house world, and she yearned67 for that other luxurious68 world, whose machinery69 is so carefully concealed21 that one scene flows into another without perceptible agency.
At length she rose and dressed. Since she had left Mme. Regina's she had spent her days in the streets, partly to escape from the uncongenial promiscuities of the boarding-house, and partly in the hope that physical fatigue would help her to sleep. But once out of the house, she could not decide where to go; for she had avoided Gerty since her dismissal from the milliner's, and she was not sure of a welcome anywhere else.
The morning was in harsh contrast to the previous day. A cold grey sky threatened rain, and a high wind drove the dust in wild spirals up and down the streets. Lily walked up Fifth Avenue toward the Park, hoping to find a sheltered nook where she might sit; but the wind chilled her, and after an hour's wandering under the tossing boughs70 she yielded to her increasing weariness, and took refuge in a little restaurant in Fifty-ninth Street. She was not hungry, and had meant to go without luncheon71; but she was too tired to return home, and the long perspective of white tables showed alluringly72 through the windows.
The room was full of women and girls, all too much engaged in the rapid absorption of tea and pie to remark her entrance. A hum of shrill73 voices reverberated74 against the low ceiling, leaving Lily shut out in a little circle of silence. She felt a sudden pang75 of profound loneliness. She had lost the sense of time, and it seemed to her as though she had not spoken to any one for days. Her eyes sought the faces about her, craving a responsive glance, some sign of an intuition of her trouble. But the sallow preoccupied women, with their bags and note-books and rolls of music, were all engrossed76 in their own affairs, and even those who sat by themselves were busy running over proof-sheets or devouring77 magazines between their hurried gulps78 of tea. Lily alone was stranded79 in a great waste of disoccupation.
She drank several cups of the tea which was served with her portion of stewed80 oysters81, and her brain felt clearer and livelier when she emerged once more into the street. She realized now that, as she sat in the restaurant, she had unconsciously arrived at a final decision. The discovery gave her an immediate83 illusion of activity: it was exhilarating to think that she had actually a reason for hurrying home. To prolong her enjoyment84 of the sensation she decided85 to walk; but the distance was so great that she found herself glancing nervously86 at the clocks on the way. One of the surprises of her unoccupied state was the discovery that time, when it is left to itself and no definite demands are made on it, cannot be trusted to move at any recognized pace. Usually it loiters; but just when one has come to count upon its slowness, it may suddenly break into a wild irrational87 gallop88.
She found, however, on reaching home, that the hour was still early enough for her to sit down and rest a few minutes before putting her plan into execution. The delay did not perceptibly weaken her resolve. She was frightened and yet stimulated89 by the reserved force of resolution which she felt within herself: she saw it was going to be easier, a great deal easier, than she had imagined.
At five o'clock she rose, unlocked her trunk, and took out a sealed packet which she slipped into the bosom90 of her dress. Even the contact with the packet did not shake her nerves as she had half-expected it would. She seemed encased in a strong armour91 of indifference92, as though the vigorous exertion93 of her will had finally benumbed her finer sensibilities.
She dressed herself once more for the street, locked her door and went out. When she emerged on the pavement, the day was still high, but a threat of rain darkened the sky and cold gusts94 shook the signs projecting from the basement shops along the street. She reached Fifth Avenue and began to walk slowly northward95. She was sufficiently96 familiar with Mrs. Dorset's habits to know that she could always be found at home after five. She might not, indeed, be accessible to visitors, especially to a visitor so unwelcome, and against whom it was quite possible that she had guarded herself by special orders; but Lily had written a note which she meant to send up with her name, and which she thought would secure her admission.
She had allowed herself time to walk to Mrs. Dorset's, thinking that the quick movement through the cold evening air would help to steady her nerves; but she really felt no need of being tranquillized. Her survey of the situation remained calm and unwavering.
As she reached Fiftieth Street the clouds broke abruptly97, and a rush of cold rain slanted98 into her face. She had no umbrella and the moisture quickly penetrated her thin spring dress. She was still half a mile from her destination, and she decided to walk across to Madison Avenue and take the electric car. As she turned into the side street, a vague memory stirred in her. The row of budding trees, the new brick and limestone99 house-fronts, the Georgian flat-house with flowerboxes on its balconies, were merged82 together into the setting of a familiar scene. It was down this street that she had walked with Selden, that September day two years ago; a few yards ahead was the doorway100 they had entered together. The recollection loosened a throng101 of benumbed sensations--longings, regrets, imaginings, the throbbing102 brood of the only spring her heart had ever known. It was strange to find herself passing his house on such an errand. She seemed suddenly to see her action as he would see it--and the fact of his own connection with it, the fact that, to attain103 her end, she must trade on his name, and profit by a secret of his past, chilled her blood with shame. What a long way she had travelled since the day of their first talk together! Even then her feet had been set in the path she was now following--even then she had resisted the hand he had held out.
All her resentment104 of his fancied coldness was swept away in this overwhelming rush of recollection. Twice he had been ready to help her--to help her by loving her, as he had said--and if, the third time, he had seemed to fail her, whom but herself could she accuse? . . . Well, that part of her life was over; she did not know why her thoughts still clung to it. But the sudden longing9 to see him remained; it grew to hunger as she paused on the pavement opposite his door. The street was dark and empty, swept by the rain. She had a vision of his quiet room, of the bookshelves, and the fire on the hearth105. She looked up and saw a light in his window; then she crossed the street and entered the house.
收听单词发音 |
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mitigated
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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utilitarian
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| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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amplitude
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| n.广大；充足；振幅 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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betoken
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| v.预示 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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glibness
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| n.花言巧语；口若悬河 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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mingled
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| 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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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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subsisted
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mitigating
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的现在分词 ) | |
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kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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fending
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| v.独立生活，照料自己( fend的现在分词 )；挡开，避开 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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scrupled
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| v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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opprobrium
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| n.耻辱，责难 | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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specialized
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| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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harmoniously
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| 和谐地，调和地 | |
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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antagonistic
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| adj.敌对的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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alluringly
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| 诱人地，妩媚地 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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reverberated
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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gulps
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| n.一大口（尤指液体）( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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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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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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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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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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