The very chemistry of life seems to play into the hands of a situation of this kind. Once Cowperwood was thinking vividly2, forcefully, of her, Rita began to think in like manner of him. Hourly he grew more attractive, a strange, gripping man. Beset3 by his mood, she was having the devil’s own time with her conscience. Not that anything had been said as yet, but he was investing her, gradually beleaguering4 her, sealing up, apparently5, one avenue after another of escape. One Thursday afternoon, when neither Aileen nor he could attend the Sohlberg tea, Mrs. Sohlberg received a magnificent bunch of Jacqueminot roses. “For your nooks and corners,” said a card. She knew well enough from whom it came and what it was worth. There were all of fifty dollars worth of roses. It gave her breath of a world of money that she had never known. Daily she saw the name of his banking6 and brokerage firm advertised in the papers. Once she met him in Merrill’s store at noon, and he invited her to lunch; but she felt obliged to decline. Always he looked at her with such straight, vigorous eyes. To think that her beauty had done or was doing this! Her mind, quite beyond herself, ran forward to an hour when perhaps this eager, magnetic man would take charge of her in a way never dreamed of by Harold. But she went on practising, shopping, calling, reading, brooding over Harold’s inefficiency7, and stopping oddly sometimes to think—the etherealized grip of Cowperwood upon her. Those strong hands of his—how fine they were—and those large, soft-hard, incisive8 eyes. The puritanism of Wichita (modified sometime since by the art life of Chicago, such as it was) was having a severe struggle with the manipulative subtlety9 of the ages—represented in this man.
“You know you are very elusive10,” he said to her one evening at the theater when he sat behind her during the entr’acte, and Harold and Aileen had gone to walk in the foyer. The hubbub11 of conversation drowned the sound of anything that might be said. Mrs. Sohlberg was particularly pleasing in a lacy evening gown.
“No,” she replied, amusedly, flattered by his attention and acutely conscious of his physical nearness. By degrees she had been yielding herself to his mood, thrilling at his every word. “It seems to me I am very stable,” she went on. “I’m certainly substantial enough.”
She looked at her full, smooth arm lying on her lap.
Cowperwood, who was feeling all the drag of her substantiality, but in addition the wonder of her temperament12, which was so much richer than Aileen’s, was deeply moved. Those little blood moods that no words ever (or rarely) indicate were coming to him from her—faint zephyr-like emanations of emotions, moods, and fancies in her mind which allured13 him. She was like Aileen in animality, but better, still sweeter, more delicate, much richer spiritually. Or was he just tired of Aileen for the present, he asked himself at times. No, no, he told himself that could not be. Rita Sohlberg was by far the most pleasing woman he had ever known.
“Yes, but elusive, just the same,” he went on, leaning toward her. “You remind me of something that I can find no word for—a bit of color or a perfume or tone—a flash of something. I follow you in my thoughts all the time now. Your knowledge of art interests me. I like your playing—it is like you. You make me think of delightful15 things that have nothing to do with the ordinary run of my life. Do you understand?”
“It is very nice,” she said, “if I do.” She took a breath, softly, dramatically. “You make me think vain things, you know.” (Her mouth was a delicious O.) “You paint a pretty picture.” She was warm, flushed, suffused16 with a burst of her own temperament.
“You are like that,” he went on, insistently17. “You make me feel like that all the time. You know,” he added, leaning over her chair, “I sometimes think you have never lived. There is so much that would complete your perfectness. I should like to send you abroad or take you—anyhow, you should go. You are very wonderful to me. Do you find me at all interesting to you?”
“Yes, but”—she paused—“you know I am afraid of all this and of you.” Her mouth had that same delicious formation which had first attracted him. “I don’t think we had better talk like this, do you? Harold is very jealous, or would be. What do you suppose Mrs. Cowperwood would think?”
“I know very well, but we needn’t stop to consider that now, need we? It will do her no harm to let me talk to you. Life is between individuals, Rita. You and I have very much in common. Don’t you see that? You are infinitely18 the most interesting woman I have ever known. You are bringing me something I have never known. Don’t you see that? I want you to tell me something truly. Look at me. You are not happy as you are, are you? Not perfectly19 happy?”
“No.” She smoothed her fan with her fingers.
“Are you happy at all?”
“I thought I was once. I’m not any more, I think.”
“It is so plain why,” he commented. “You are so much more wonderful than your place gives you scope for. You are an individual, not an acolyte20 to swing a censer for another. Mr. Sohlberg is very interesting, but you can’t be happy that way. It surprises me you haven’t seen it.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed, with a touch of weariness, “but perhaps I have.”
He looked at her keenly, and she thrilled. “I don’t think we’d better talk so here,” she replied. “You’d better be—”
“Rita,” he said, using her given name again, “you wonderful woman!”
“Oh!” she breathed.
Cowperwood did not see Mrs. Sohlberg again for over a week—ten days exactly—when one afternoon Aileen came for him in a new kind of trap, having stopped first to pick up the Sohlbergs. Harold was up in front with her and she had left a place behind for Cowperwood with Rita. She did not in the vaguest way suspect how interested he was—his manner was so deceptive22. Aileen imagined that she was the superior woman of the two, the better-looking, the better-dressed, hence the more ensnaring. She could not guess what a lure14 this woman’s temperament had for Cowperwood, who was so brisk, dynamic, seemingly unromantic, but who, just the same, in his nature concealed23 (under a very forceful exterior) a deep underlying24 element of romance and fire.
“This is charming,” he said, sinking down beside Rita. “What a fine evening! And the nice straw hat with the roses, and the nice linen25 dress. My, my!” The roses were red; the dress white, with thin, green ribbon run through it here and there. She was keenly aware of the reason for his enthusiasm. He was so different from Harold, so healthy and out-of-doorish, so able. To-day Harold had been in tantrums over fate, life, his lack of success.
“Oh, I shouldn’t complain so much if I were you,” she had said to him, bitterly. “You might work harder and storm less.”
This had produced a scene which she had escaped by going for a walk. Almost at the very moment when she had returned Aileen had appeared. It was a way out.
She had cheered up, and accepted, dressed. So had Sohlberg. Apparently smiling and happy, they had set out on the drive. Now, as Cowperwood spoke26, she glanced about her contentedly27. “I’m lovely,” she thought, “and he loves me. How wonderful it would be if we dared.” But she said aloud: “I’m not so very nice. It’s just the day—don’t you think so? It’s a simple dress. I’m not very happy, though, to-night, either.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked, cheeringly, the rumble28 of the traffic destroying the carrying-power of their voices. He leaned toward her, very anxious to solve any difficulty which might confront her, perfectly willing to ensnare her by kindness. “Isn’t there something I can do? We’re going now for a long ride to the pavilion in Jackson Park, and then, after dinner, we’ll come back by moonlight. Won’t that be nice? You must be smiling now and like yourself—happy. You have no reason to be otherwise that I know of. I will do anything for you that you want done—that can be done. You can have anything you want that I can give you. What is it? You know how much I think of you. If you leave your affairs to me you would never have any troubles of any kind.”
“Oh, it isn’t anything you can do—not now, anyhow. My affairs! Oh yes. What are they? Very simple, all.”
“But you are not simple to me, Rita,” he said, softly, “nor are your affairs. They concern me very much. You are so important to me. I have told you that. Don’t you see how true it is? You are a strange complexity30 to me—wonderful. I’m mad over you. Ever since I saw you last I have been thinking, thinking. If you have troubles let me share them. You are so much to me—my only trouble. I can fix your life. Join it with mine. I need you, and you need me.”
“Yes,” she said, “I know.” Then she paused. “It’s nothing much,” she went on—“just a quarrel.”
“What over?”
“Over me, really.” The mouth was delicious. “I can’t swing the censer always, as you say.” That thought of his had stuck. “It’s all right now, though. Isn’t the day lovely, be-yoot-i-ful!”
Cowperwood looked at her and shook his head. She was such a treasure—so inconsequential. Aileen, busy driving and talking, could not see or hear. She was interested in Sohlberg, and the southward crush of vehicles on Michigan Avenue was distracting her attention. As they drove swiftly past budding trees, kempt lawns, fresh-made flower-beds, open windows—the whole seductive world of spring—Cowperwood felt as though life had once more taken a fresh start. His magnetism31, if it had been visible, would have enveloped32 him like a glittering aura. Mrs. Sohlberg felt that this was going to be a wonderful evening.
The dinner was at the Park—an open-air chicken a la Maryland affair, with waffles and champagne33 to help out. Aileen, flattered by Sohlberg’s gaiety under her spell, was having a delightful time, jesting, toasting, laughing, walking on the grass. Sohlberg was making love to her in a foolish, inconsequential way, as many men were inclined to do; but she was putting him off gaily34 with “silly boy” and “hush.” She was so sure of herself that she was free to tell Cowperwood afterward35 how emotional he was and how she had to laugh at him. Cowperwood, quite certain that she was faithful, took it all in good part. Sohlberg was such a dunce and such a happy convenience ready to his hand. “He’s not a bad sort,” he commented. “I rather like him, though I don’t think he’s so much of a violinist.”
After dinner they drove along the lake-shore and out through an open bit of tree-blocked prairie land, the moon shining in a clear sky, filling the fields and topping the lake with a silvery effulgence36. Mrs. Sohlberg was being inoculated37 with the virus Cowperwood, and it was taking deadly effect. The tendency of her own disposition38, however lethargic39 it might seem, once it was stirred emotionally, was to act. She was essentially40 dynamic and passionate41. Cowperwood was beginning to stand out in her mind as the force that he was. It would be wonderful to be loved by such a man. There would be an eager, vivid life between them. It frightened and drew her like a blazing lamp in the dark. To get control of herself she talked of art, people, of Paris, Italy, and he responded in like strain, but all the while he smoothed her hand, and once, under the shadow of some trees, he put his hand to her hair, turned her face, and put his mouth softly to her cheek. She flushed, trembled, turned pale, in the grip of this strange storm, but drew herself together. It was wonderful—heaven. Her old life was obviously going to pieces.
“Listen,” he said, guardedly. “Will you meet me to-morrow at three just beyond the Rush Street bridge? I will pick you up promptly42. You won’t have to wait a moment.”
She paused, meditating43, dreaming, almost hypnotized by his strange world of fancy.
“Will you?” he asked, eagerly.
“Wait,” she said, softly. “Let me think. Can I?”
She paused.
“Yes,” she said, after a time, drawing in a deep breath. “Yes”—as if she had arranged something in her mind.
“My sweet,” he whispered, pressing her arm, while he looked at her profile in the moonlight.
“But I’m doing a great deal,” she replied, softly, a little breathless and a little pale.
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1
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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2
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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3
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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4
beleaguering
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| v.围攻( beleaguer的现在分词 )；困扰；骚扰 | |
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5
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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6
banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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7
inefficiency
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| n.无效率，无能；无效率事例 | |
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8
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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9
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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10
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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11
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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13
allured
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| 诱引，吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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15
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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16
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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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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20
acolyte
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| n.助手，侍僧 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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26
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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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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29
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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30
complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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31
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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32
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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effulgence
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| n.光辉 | |
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37
inoculated
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| v.给…做预防注射( inoculate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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lethargic
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| adj.昏睡的，懒洋洋的 | |
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40
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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41
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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42
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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43
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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