A tiny cloud had arisen in Miss Mason’s mind. It partially1 eclipsed the sunshine of her morning mood. She knew vaguely2 what had caused it.
She had changed her dress on her arrival, donning a black satin gown made in precisely3 the same style as the cashmere. A lace collar took the place of the linen4 one. A cameo brooch, large, and set in gold as massive as her watch, superseded5 the black bow. Miss Mason never wore jewellery except in the evening.
She had dined excellently at a small table in a room adorned6 with water-colour drawings. Between the courses she had found herself admiring them. She was so intent on them that at first she did not notice the covert7 smiles which two girls were directing towards her table. When she did, the smiles began to make her feel uncomfortable. At first she wondered if her cap were crooked8, or her brooch unpinned, but gradually it dawned on her that it was just she herself who was affording them amusement.
Miss Mason had finished the last morsels9 of her gooseberry tart10 hurriedly, had swallowed her glass of light wine, and gone out into the lounge. She told herself that she was an old fool to worry over the little incident, but it had caused a vague anxiety in her mind.
She took up a number of the “Graphic” and began turning the pages. The style of the advertisements displayed within its covers had made her previously11 imagine the periodical to be exclusively intended for feminine perusal12. She had been slightly alarmed before dinner to see a stout13 elderly gentleman studying it profoundly. A momentary14 idea took possession of her as to whether it was not her duty to go up to him and warn him regarding the nature of some of the contents, but as she saw it was the middle of the book he was studying, she concluded that someone had already given him a delicate hint regarding the advertisement pages. All the same, she could not imagine the editor of the paper to be a modest man.
One or two people had come into the lounge for coffee after dinner, but they had left it again, and, at the moment, it was deserted15 save for Miss Mason and one other woman.
There was something about the woman that attracted her attention. It was not merely her beauty, but something in the graceful16 way in which she was sitting in her chair, and in her manner of speaking to the waiter who brought her coffee. Miss Mason found herself watching her. She liked the ivory whiteness of her skin, the vivid red-brown of her hair, and the expression in her eyes. Her dress, too, which was a curious deep blue, pleased her immensely.
Suddenly the woman looked up. She saw Miss Mason’s eyes fixed17 on her, and she smiled. There was something so frank and spontaneous about the smile that Miss Mason found herself smiling too.
“We have the place to ourselves,” said the woman. “Every one else has departed for different theatres. I should have gone myself if I hadn’t an appointment with a friend of mine.”
“Never been to a theatre in my life,” said Miss Mason. “Lack of opportunity, not prejudice.”
“If you really care to have the opportunity it is certain to present itself sooner or later,” replied the woman calmly. “It’s only a question of the intensity18 of wishing.”
Miss Mason leant a little forward.
“Doesn’t the opportunity sometimes arrive too late?”
The question was put almost involuntarily. It was one she had been asking herself for the [Pg 31]last three-quarters of an hour—ever since her somewhat hurried exit from the dining-room; and the question did not refer merely to the opportunity of visiting the theatre. The woman understood.
“That raises rather a fine point of question,” she replied. “Can it be fairly said that one has been given the opportunity if it is truly impossible to accept it, which I imagine ‘too late’ would signify?”
Miss Mason did not reply at once. She wanted to tell this woman about the little cloud which had covered the brightness of her sun, the insidious19 little doubt which had crept into her mind. Yet she hardly knew how to begin.
The woman waited. She was one of those to whom confidences are given. If she had said anything at that moment the sentence Miss Mason was slowly preparing in her mind would never have reached her lips. It came suddenly and jerkily, it was spoken, too, almost below Miss Mason’s breath.
“Isn’t one ever too old? Have waited a long time for the chance of happiness. Got it now. But perhaps I am too old.” A slow painful flush had mounted in Miss Mason’s face with the words.
The younger woman turned quickly towards her.
“Too old for happiness!” she cried, with a little laugh. “Never! If happiness has come to you, welcome her with both hands; and with every kiss she gives you years will roll away from your heart. Happiness is like the spring, which wakes the world to brightness after a dreary21 winter.”
Miss Mason gave a little choke.
“Felt like that myself in the train this morning. Forgot I was sixty. Thought it was splendid to be alive. Was going to enjoy myself. Was so glad thinking about it thought everybody would be glad too. Can’t explain very well, but felt quite young. Thought all the young things in the world would let me watch their happiness, and I’d be happy in my own happiness and theirs. Didn’t want to interfere22 with them, or try to mix myself up with them. Just wanted to be a kind of onlooker23. Never thought they’d stop to laugh at me—make quiet fun of me, I mean. Made me feel very old. Silly nonsense, of course. Oughtn’t to care. Am old.”
The woman looked up quickly. She had noticed the little scene in the dining-room.
“Age has nothing to do with the matter,” she replied quietly. “There is no reason why you should not enjoy yourself enormously. The dullest person I know is a young man of twenty-three, and one of the gayest is an aunt of mine who is seventy-five. Happiness is a gift of the gods, and is bestowed24 by them irrespective of age.”
“Think so?” said Miss Mason.
“I am sure of it.”
Again there was a silence. Then, quite suddenly, Miss Mason began to tell the woman the story of her life. She told it badly. For the last forty years at least Miss Mason had talked little. Miss Stanhope had never cared to encourage conversation other than her own. A daily and minute recital25 of her own imaginary ailments26 had sufficed her. That had been a subject which had never palled27.
“And the summary of it all is,” ended Miss Mason, “that my life has been utterly28 narrow.” She stopped and looked at the woman. There was something half humorous, half pathetic, in the expression in her eyes.
“I think,” said the woman slowly, “that one is too ready to use the term ‘narrow’ for lives and opinions which have not covered, as we imagine, a great deal of ground. Sometimes I think ‘concentrated’ would be a better word to use for them. I know that people who have darted29 hither and thither30 from one place to another, and from one excitement to another, often talk about ‘living’ and the broadness of their lives. But I fancy that if one could go up in a kind of mental aeroplane and look down upon those lives, one might see that their grooves31, though they took an intricate pattern, were possibly narrower than some of those which have gone along one straight and monotonous32 course.”
“Think so?” said Miss Mason again. Then she smiled half-shamefacedly. “There’s one thing—in spite of all the monotony, I’ve never been able to get rid of my belief in kind of fairy tale happenings. Utterly ridiculous, of course.”
The woman laughed, a low clear laugh, which pleased Miss Mason enormously.
“Now we’re on ground with which I’m far more familiar,” she replied. “I was trying to get hold of words and expressions before which were rather outside my vocabulary, and I fear I sounded a little stilted33 in consequence. But fairy tales! Why life is a fairy tale. Bad fairies and wicked magicians get mixed up in it of course, or it wouldn’t be one, but there are good fairies and all kinds of unexpected and delicious happenings right through it in spite of them. There’s often, too, a long journey through a wood. You’ve been through yours. What do you hope to find on this side?”
“A studio,” said Miss Mason promptly34. This woman was making it extraordinarily35 easy for her to tell her fairy tale. “Have wanted one ever since I was seventeen, and I think almost before that. Perhaps because my father was an artist.”
“And now you’ll take one?”
“Have come up to look for one,” said Miss Mason. “Am going to look at pictures too. There’s the National Gallery, the Tate Gallery, and the Academy. Used to read about them. Later I shall go abroad. Thought I’d better get used to going about in England first. Have read a lot about pictures. Used to take in a magazine called ‘The Studio.’ Saw it advertised once and sent for it. Miss Stanhope used to make me a small allowance. She was kind really, though didn’t always understand.”
“The kindest people don’t always understand,” said the younger woman quickly. “Are you going to take an unfurnished studio? and will you have some of the furniture sent up from your old home?”
There is a curious luxury in speaking of the details of a cherished scheme, and especially to one who has never before found a sympathetic audience. This the woman knew when she put the question.
Miss Mason gave a little laugh.
“Wouldn’t ask that if you’d seen the furniture. Was so used to it it was a wonder I still went on thinking it hideous36. I think it was after I’d been away from it for a year and came back to it that I knew how terrible it was. After that it remained terrible. It will all be sold. Have arranged for that. Couldn’t stay with it any longer than was necessary. Don’t care what becomes of it now.”
Miss Mason was feeling so light-hearted again she was almost reckless.
“Then you’ll buy new things?” asked the woman.
“Yes. Soft colours—blues and greens. Love blue. Your dress is lovely.” The words were jerky but genuine.
“It’s my favourite colour,” said the woman.
Miss Mason looked in the direction of a mirror near her. She could see both their figures reflected in it. Again a little wistful look crept into her eyes.
“I suppose,” she said suddenly, “that it was my dress those two girls were laughing at. Perhaps it is queer. Never thought of that before. Couldn’t change now, any more than I could change my skin.”
She stopped, then looked directly at the woman.
“I suppose people will always laugh at me?” she queried37. “I suppose those girls were right to laugh. I am queer.”
“I am going to ask you a question which may sound rather conceited,” she said. “Which would you value most—my opinion or the opinion of those two girls?”
“Yours,” said Miss Mason promptly.
“Then I am going to tell you exactly what I think, and you must forgive me if what I say sounds impertinent. I don’t think you are the least queer. I think you are quaint39 and original. Any artist would infinitely40 prefer your method of dressing41 than the method chosen by the older women of the present day. I think it quite possible that you will find a few people will laugh at you, for, as I’ve already said, in this fairy tale world there are bad fairies, and, worse still, stupid ones. But they don’t count, because they aren’t worth consideration, at least not as regards their opinion of our actions.” She spoke the words slowly and simply, almost as she would have spoken them to a child.
Again there was a silence.
“Where will you take your studio?” asked the woman suddenly.
“Chelsea,” said Miss Mason. “Whistler lived there.”
“Conclusive,” laughed the woman.
“Want it to be a nice studio,” said Miss Mason. “Rent won’t matter. Miss Stanhope left me a lot of money. Can’t spend it all.”
“Now the fairy tale progresses,” said the woman joyfully42. “Plenty of money and fairy tale ideas are the happiest of combinations.”
Miss Mason laughed.
“Glad I met you,” she said. “Feel like I did when I came up in the train this morning.”
“Our meeting was evidently part of the fairy tale,” said the woman. “Now I must go and get my cloak. It’s five minutes to nine.”
A moment after she had left, a man came into the lounge. He was wearing a thin dark grey overcoat, and held a flat black hat in one hand. Miss Mason had never before seen an opera hat. She looked at it with interest. From it she looked at the man. He was tall and distinctly aristocratic-looking. Miss Mason noticed that he wore a small moustache and imperial.
She heard a step on the stairs. The woman in the blue dress was coming down again. She had a black satin cloak round her.
“Christopher, darling,” she cried, “is that you? I’m beautifully punctual.”
He went up to her and kissed her hand. There was something charming in the courtliness of his manner. Miss Mason, who had been momentarily shocked by the “darling,” felt it somehow explained by the subsequent action.
“One moment, and I’ll come,” said the woman.
She crossed to Miss Mason. The man waited for her.
“I shan’t be home till midnight,” she said, “and I’m leaving for Italy at an unearthly hour to-morrow morning. But I am sure one day we shall meet again. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” said Miss Mason. “Hope you’ll enjoy yourself.” She longed to say something more, but the words failed her.
She watched her rejoin the man and leave the lounge. It seemed extraordinarily empty after her departure.
“Don’t suppose she’ll ever lack friends,” said Miss Mason to herself, “but if ever she did need one——” She left the rest of the sentence unspoken in her mind, and finding the place a little lonely went up to her own room.
It was not till she was in bed that she realized that she had no idea of the woman’s name. It also never dawned on her to ask the hotel management for it.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
linen
|
|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
superseded
|
|
| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
adorned
|
|
| [计]被修饰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
covert
|
|
| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
crooked
|
|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
morsels
|
|
| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
tart
|
|
| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
previously
|
|
| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
perusal
|
|
| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
intensity
|
|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
insidious
|
|
| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
onlooker
|
|
| n.旁观者，观众 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
bestowed
|
|
| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
recital
|
|
| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
ailments
|
|
| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
palled
|
|
| v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
darted
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
grooves
|
|
| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
stilted
|
|
| adj.虚饰的；夸张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
promptly
|
|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
extraordinarily
|
|
| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
queried
|
|
| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
joyfully
|
|
| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
ascending
|
|
| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |