They were together in the east gable chamber2; outside it was only twilight3—a lovely yellowish-green twilight with a clear-blue cloudless sky. A big round moon, slowly deepening from her pallid4 luster5 into burnished6 silver, hung over the Haunted Wood; the air was full of sweet summer sounds—sleepy birds twittering, freakish breezes, faraway voices and laughter. But in Anne’s room the blind was drawn7 and the lamp lighted, for an important toilet was being made.
The east gable was a very different place from what it had been on that night four years before, when Anne had felt its bareness penetrate8 to the marrow9 of her spirit with its inhospitable chill. Changes had crept in, Marilla conniving10 at them resignedly, until it was as sweet and dainty a nest as a young girl could desire.
The velvet11 carpet with the pink roses and the pink silk curtains of Anne’s early visions had certainly never materialized; but her dreams had kept pace with her growth, and it is not probable she lamented12 them. The floor was covered with a pretty matting, and the curtains that softened13 the high window and fluttered in the vagrant14 breezes were of pale-green art muslin. The walls, hung not with gold and silver brocade tapestry15, but with a dainty apple-blossom paper, were adorned16 with a few good pictures given Anne by Mrs. Allan. Miss Stacy’s photograph occupied the place of honor, and Anne made a sentimental17 point of keeping fresh flowers on the bracket under it. Tonight a spike18 of white lilies faintly perfumed the room like the dream of a fragrance19. There was no “mahogany furniture,” but there was a white-painted bookcase filled with books, a cushioned wicker rocker, a toilet table befrilled with white muslin, a quaint20, gilt-framed mirror with chubby21 pink Cupids and purple grapes painted over its arched top, that used to hang in the spare room, and a low white bed.
Anne was dressing22 for a concert at the White Sands Hotel. The guests had got it up in aid of the Charlottetown hospital, and had hunted out all the available amateur talent in the surrounding districts to help it along. Bertha Sampson and Pearl Clay of the White Sands Baptist choir23 had been asked to sing a duet; Milton Clark of Newbridge was to give a violin solo; Winnie Adella Blair of Carmody was to sing a Scotch24 ballad25; and Laura Spencer of Spencervale and Anne Shirley of Avonlea were to recite.
As Anne would have said at one time, it was “an epoch26 in her life,” and she was deliciously athrill with the excitement of it. Matthew was in the seventh heaven of gratified pride over the honor conferred on his Anne and Marilla was not far behind, although she would have died rather than admit it, and said she didn’t think it was very proper for a lot of young folks to be gadding27 over to the hotel without any responsible person with them.
Anne and Diana were to drive over with Jane Andrews and her brother Billy in their double-seated buggy; and several other Avonlea girls and boys were going too. There was a party of visitors expected out from town, and after the concert a supper was to be given to the performers.
“I don’t think it’s as pretty as my blue-flowered muslin—and it
certainly isn’t so fashionable.”
“But it suits you ever so much better,” said Diana. “It’s so soft
and frilly and clinging. The muslin is stiff, and makes you look too
dressed up. But the organdy seems as if it grew on you.”
Anne sighed and yielded. Diana was beginning to have a reputation for notable taste in dressing, and her advice on such subjects was much sought after. She was looking very pretty herself on this particular night in a dress of the lovely wild-rose pink, from which Anne was forever debarred; but she was not to take any part in the concert, so her appearance was of minor29 importance. All her pains were bestowed30 upon Anne, who, she vowed31, must, for the credit of Avonlea, be dressed and combed and adorned to the Queen’s taste.
“Pull out that frill a little more—so; here, let me tie your sash; now for your slippers33. I’m going to braid your hair in two thick braids, and tie them halfway34 up with big white bows—no, don’t pull out a single curl over your forehead—just have the soft part. There is no way you do your hair suits you so well, Anne, and Mrs. Allan says you look like a Madonna when you part it so. I shall fasten this little white house rose just behind your ear. There was just one on my bush, and I saved it for you.”
“Shall I put my pearl beads35 on?” asked Anne. “Matthew brought me a string from town last week, and I know he’d like to see them on me.”
Diana pursed up her lips, put her black head on one side critically, and finally pronounced in favor of the beads, which were thereupon tied around Anne’s slim milk-white throat.
“There’s something so stylish36 about you, Anne,” said Diana, with unenvious admiration37. “You hold your head with such an air. I suppose it’s your figure. I am just a dumpling. I’ve always been afraid of it, and now I know it is so. Well, I suppose I shall just have to resign myself to it.”
“But you have such dimples,” said Anne, smiling affectionately into the pretty, vivacious38 face so near her own. “Lovely dimples, like little dents39 in cream. I have given up all hope of dimples. My dimple-dream will never come true; but so many of my dreams have that I mustn’t complain. Am I all ready now?”
“All ready,” assured Diana, as Marilla appeared in the doorway40, a gaunt figure with grayer hair than of yore and no fewer angles, but with a much softer face. “Come right in and look at our elocutionist, Marilla. Doesn’t she look lovely?”
“She looks neat and proper. I like that way of fixing her hair. But I expect she’ll ruin that dress driving over there in the dust and dew with it, and it looks most too thin for these damp nights. Organdy’s the most unserviceable stuff in the world anyhow, and I told Matthew so when he got it. But there is no use in saying anything to Matthew nowadays. Time was when he would take my advice, but now he just buys things for Anne regardless, and the clerks at Carmody know they can palm anything off on him. Just let them tell him a thing is pretty and fashionable, and Matthew plunks his money down for it. Mind you keep your skirt clear of the wheel, Anne, and put your warm jacket on.”
Then Marilla stalked downstairs, thinking proudly how sweet Anne looked, with that
“One moonbeam from the forehead to the crown”
and regretting that she could not go to the concert herself to hear her girl recite.
“I wonder if it is too damp for my dress,” said Anne anxiously.
“Not a bit of it,” said Diana, pulling up the window blind. “It’s a perfect night, and there won’t be any dew. Look at the moonlight.”
“I’m so glad my window looks east into the sun rising,” said Anne, going over to Diana. “It’s so splendid to see the morning coming up over those long hills and glowing through those sharp fir tops. It’s new every morning, and I feel as if I washed my very soul in that bath of earliest sunshine. Oh, Diana, I love this little room so dearly. I don’t know how I’ll get along without it when I go to town next month.”
“Don’t speak of your going away tonight,” begged Diana. “I don’t want to think of it, it makes me so miserable43, and I do want to have a good time this evening. What are you going to recite, Anne? And are you nervous?”
“Not a bit. I’ve recited so often in public I don’t mind at all now. I’ve decided1 to give ‘The Maiden’s Vow32.’ It’s so pathetic. Laura Spencer is going to give a comic recitation, but I’d rather make people cry than laugh.”
“What will you recite if they encore you?”
“They won’t dream of encoring me,” scoffed44 Anne, who was not without her own secret hopes that they would, and already visioned herself telling Matthew all about it at the next morning’s breakfast table. “There are Billy and Jane now—I hear the wheels. Come on.”
Billy Andrews insisted that Anne should ride on the front seat with him, so she unwillingly45 climbed up. She would have much preferred to sit back with the girls, where she could have laughed and chattered46 to her heart’s content. There was not much of either laughter or chatter47 in Billy. He was a big, fat, stolid48 youth of twenty, with a round, expressionless face, and a painful lack of conversational49 gifts. But he admired Anne immensely, and was puffed50 up with pride over the prospect51 of driving to White Sands with that slim, upright figure beside him.
Anne, by dint52 of talking over her shoulder to the girls and occasionally passing a sop53 of civility to Billy—who grinned and chuckled54 and never could think of any reply until it was too late—contrived to enjoy the drive in spite of all. It was a night for enjoyment55. The road was full of buggies, all bound for the hotel, and laughter, silver clear, echoed and reechoed along it. When they reached the hotel it was a blaze of light from top to bottom. They were met by the ladies of the concert committee, one of whom took Anne off to the performers’ dressing room which was filled with the members of a Charlottetown Symphony Club, among whom Anne felt suddenly shy and frightened and countrified. Her dress, which, in the east gable, had seemed so dainty and pretty, now seemed simple and plain—too simple and plain, she thought, among all the silks and laces that glistened56 and rustled57 around her. What were her pearl beads compared to the diamonds of the big, handsome lady near her? And how poor her one wee white rose must look beside all the hothouse flowers the others wore! Anne laid her hat and jacket away, and shrank miserably58 into a corner. She wished herself back in the white room at Green Gables.
It was still worse on the platform of the big concert hall of the hotel, where she presently found herself. The electric lights dazzled her eyes, the perfume and hum bewildered her. She wished she were sitting down in the audience with Diana and Jane, who seemed to be having a splendid time away at the back. She was wedged in between a stout59 lady in pink silk and a tall, scornful-looking girl in a white-lace dress. The stout lady occasionally turned her head squarely around and surveyed Anne through her eyeglasses until Anne, acutely sensitive of being so scrutinized60, felt that she must scream aloud; and the white-lace girl kept talking audibly to her next neighbor about the “country bumpkins” and “rustic belles” in the audience, languidly anticipating “such fun” from the displays of local talent on the program. Anne believed that she would hate that white-lace girl to the end of life.
Unfortunately for Anne, a professional elocutionist was staying at the hotel and had consented to recite. She was a lithe61, dark-eyed woman in a wonderful gown of shimmering62 gray stuff like woven moonbeams, with gems63 on her neck and in her dark hair. She had a marvelously flexible voice and wonderful power of expression; the audience went wild over her selection. Anne, forgetting all about herself and her troubles for the time, listened with rapt and shining eyes; but when the recitation ended she suddenly put her hands over her face. She could never get up and recite after that—never. Had she ever thought she could recite? Oh, if she were only back at Green Gables!
At this unpropitious moment her name was called. Somehow Anne—who did not notice the rather guilty little start of surprise the white-lace girl gave, and would not have understood the subtle compliment implied therein if she had—got on her feet, and moved dizzily out to the front. She was so pale that Diana and Jane, down in the audience, clasped each other’s hands in nervous sympathy.
Anne was the victim of an overwhelming attack of stage fright. Often as she had recited in public, she had never before faced such an audience as this, and the sight of it paralyzed her energies completely. Everything was so strange, so brilliant, so bewildering—the rows of ladies in evening dress, the critical faces, the whole atmosphere of wealth and culture about her. Very different this from the plain benches at the Debating Club, filled with the homely64, sympathetic faces of friends and neighbors. These people, she thought, would be merciless critics. Perhaps, like the white-lace girl, they anticipated amusement from her “rustic” efforts. She felt hopelessly, helplessly ashamed and miserable. Her knees trembled, her heart fluttered, a horrible faintness came over her; not a word could she utter, and the next moment she would have fled from the platform despite the humiliation65 which, she felt, must ever after be her portion if she did so.
But suddenly, as her dilated66, frightened eyes gazed out over the audience, she saw Gilbert Blythe away at the back of the room, bending forward with a smile on his face—a smile which seemed to Anne at once triumphant67 and taunting68. In reality it was nothing of the kind. Gilbert was merely smiling with appreciation69 of the whole affair in general and of the effect produced by Anne’s slender white form and spiritual face against a background of palms in particular. Josie Pye, whom he had driven over, sat beside him, and her face certainly was both triumphant and taunting. But Anne did not see Josie, and would not have cared if she had. She drew a long breath and flung her head up proudly, courage and determination tingling70 over her like an electric shock. She would not fail before Gilbert Blythe—he should never be able to laugh at her, never, never! Her fright and nervousness vanished; and she began her recitation, her clear, sweet voice reaching to the farthest corner of the room without a tremor71 or a break. Self-possession was fully72 restored to her, and in the reaction from that horrible moment of powerlessness she recited as she had never done before. When she finished there were bursts of honest applause. Anne, stepping back to her seat, blushing with shyness and delight, found her hand vigorously clasped and shaken by the stout lady in pink silk.
“My dear, you did splendidly,” she puffed. “I’ve been crying like a baby, actually I have. There, they’re encoring you—they’re bound to have you back!”
“Oh, I can’t go,” said Anne confusedly. “But yet—I must, or Matthew will be disappointed. He said they would encore me.”
“Then don’t disappoint Matthew,” said the pink lady, laughing.
Smiling, blushing, limpid73 eyed, Anne tripped back and gave a quaint, funny little selection that captivated her audience still further. The rest of the evening was quite a little triumph for her.
When the concert was over, the stout, pink lady—who was the wife of an American millionaire—took her under her wing, and introduced her to everybody; and everybody was very nice to her. The professional elocutionist, Mrs. Evans, came and chatted with her, telling her that she had a charming voice and “interpreted” her selections beautifully. Even the white-lace girl paid her a languid little compliment. They had supper in the big, beautifully decorated dining room; Diana and Jane were invited to partake of this, also, since they had come with Anne, but Billy was nowhere to be found, having decamped in mortal fear of some such invitation. He was in waiting for them, with the team, however, when it was all over, and the three girls came merrily out into the calm, white moonshine radiance. Anne breathed deeply, and looked into the clear sky beyond the dark boughs74 of the firs.
Oh, it was good to be out again in the purity and silence of the night! How great and still and wonderful everything was, with the murmur75 of the sea sounding through it and the darkling cliffs beyond like grim giants guarding enchanted76 coasts.
“Hasn’t it been a perfectly77 splendid time?” sighed Jane, as they drove away. “I just wish I was a rich American and could spend my summer at a hotel and wear jewels and low-necked dresses and have ice cream and chicken salad every blessed day. I’m sure it would be ever so much more fun than teaching school. Anne, your recitation was simply great, although I thought at first you were never going to begin. I think it was better than Mrs. Evans’s.”
“Oh, no, don’t say things like that, Jane,” said Anne quickly, “because it sounds silly. It couldn’t be better than Mrs. Evans’s, you know, for she is a professional, and I’m only a schoolgirl, with a little knack78 of reciting. I’m quite satisfied if the people just liked mine pretty well.”
“I’ve a compliment for you, Anne,” said Diana. “At least I think it must be a compliment because of the tone he said it in. Part of it was anyhow. There was an American sitting behind Jane and me—such a romantic-looking man, with coal-black hair and eyes. Josie Pye says he is a distinguished79 artist, and that her mother’s cousin in Boston is married to a man that used to go to school with him. Well, we heard him say—didn’t we, Jane?—‘Who is that girl on the platform with the splendid Titian hair? She has a face I should like to paint.’ There now, Anne. But what does Titian hair mean?”
“Being interpreted it means plain red, I guess,” laughed Anne. “Titian was a very famous artist who liked to paint red-haired women.”
“Did you see all the diamonds those ladies wore?” sighed Jane. “They were simply dazzling. Wouldn’t you just love to be rich, girls?”
“We are rich,” said Anne staunchly. “Why, we have sixteen years to our credit, and we’re happy as queens, and we’ve all got imaginations, more or less. Look at that sea, girls—all silver and shadow and vision of things not seen. We couldn’t enjoy its loveliness any more if we had millions of dollars and ropes of diamonds. You wouldn’t change into any of those women if you could. Would you want to be that white-lace girl and wear a sour look all your life, as if you’d been born turning up your nose at the world? Or the pink lady, kind and nice as she is, so stout and short that you’d really no figure at all? Or even Mrs. Evans, with that sad, sad look in her eyes? She must have been dreadfully unhappy sometime to have such a look. You know you wouldn’t, Jane Andrews!”
“I don’t know—exactly,” said Jane unconvinced. “I think diamonds would comfort a person for a good deal.”
“Well, I don’t want to be anyone but myself, even if I go uncomforted by diamonds all my life,” declared Anne. “I’m quite content to be Anne of Green Gables, with my string of pearl beads. I know Matthew gave me as much love with them as ever went with Madame the Pink Lady’s jewels.”
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收听单词发音
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1
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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3
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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luster
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| n.光辉；光泽，光亮；荣誉 | |
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6
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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7
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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8
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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9
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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10
conniving
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| v.密谋 ( connive的现在分词 )；搞阴谋；默许；纵容 | |
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11
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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12
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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14
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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15
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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18
spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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24
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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27
gadding
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| n.叮搔症adj.蔓生的v.闲逛( gad的现在分词 )；游荡；找乐子；用铁棒刺 | |
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28
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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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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30
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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35
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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stylish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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dents
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| n.花边边饰；凹痕( dent的名词复数 )；凹部；减少；削弱v.使产生凹痕( dent的第三人称单数 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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40
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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41
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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42
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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43
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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44
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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46
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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47
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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48
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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50
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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51
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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52
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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53
sop
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| n.湿透的东西，懦夫；v.浸，泡，浸湿 | |
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54
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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taunting
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| 嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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