“So I meet you again,” he observed, with a somewhat aloof2 air, as she came out on the porch and sank listlessly into a wicker chair. “The last time I met you you were hard at work in New York.”
“Breaking the rules. No, I forget; that was my easiest work. Oh, Rolfe,” she called over her shoulder, indifferently, “I see your pocket-knife out on the grass.”
Cowperwood, properly suppressed, waited a brief space. “Who won that exciting game?”
“I did, of course. I always win at tether-ball.”
“Oh, do you?” commented Cowperwood.
“I mean with brother, of course. He plays so poorly.” She turned to the west—the house faced south—and studied the road which came up from Stroudsburg. “I do believe that’s Harry4 Kemp,” she added, quite to herself. “If so, he’ll have my mail, if there is any.”
She got up again and disappeared into the house, coming out a few moments later to saunter down to the gate, which was over a hundred feet away. To Cowperwood she seemed to float, so hale and graceful was she. A smart youth in blue serge coat, white trousers, and white shoes drove by in a high-seated trap.
“Two letters for you,” he called, in a high, almost falsetto voice. “I thought you would have eight or nine. Blessed hot, isn’t it?” He had a smart though somewhat effeminate manner, and Cowperwood at once wrote him down as an ass3. Berenice took the mail with an engaging smile. She sauntered past him reading, without so much as a glance. Presently he heard her voice within.
“Mother, the Haggertys have invited me for the last week in August. I have half a mind to cut Tuxedo5 and go. I like Bess Haggerty.”
“Loon Lake, of course,” came Berenice’s voice.
What a world of social doings she was involved in, thought Cowperwood. She had begun well. The Haggertys were rich coal-mine operators in Pennsylvania. Harris Haggerty, to whose family she was probably referring, was worth at least six or eight million. The social world they moved in was high.
They drove after dinner to The Saddler, at Saddler’s Run, where a dance and “moonlight promenade” was to be given. On the way over, owing to the remoteness of Berenice, Cowperwood for the first time in his life felt himself to be getting old. In spite of the vigor7 of his mind and body, he realized constantly that he was over fifty-two, while she was only seventeen. Why should this lure8 of youth continue to possess him? She wore a white concoction9 of lace and silk which showed a pair of smooth young shoulders and a slender, queenly, inimitably modeled neck. He could tell by the sleek10 lines of her arms how strong she was.
“It is perhaps too late,” he said to himself, in comment. “I am getting old.”
The freshness of the hills in the pale night was sad.
Saddler’s, when they reached there after ten, was crowded with the youth and beauty of the vicinity. Mrs. Carter, who was prepossessing in a ball costume of silver and old rose, expected that Cowperwood would dance with her. And he did, but all the time his eyes were on Berenice, who was caught up by one youth and another of dapper mien11 during the progress of the evening and carried rhythmically13 by in the mazes14 of the waltz or schottische. There was a new dance in vogue15 that involved a gay, running step—kicking first one foot and then the other forward, turning and running backward and kicking again, and then swinging with a smart air, back to back, with one’s partner. Berenice, in her lithe16, rhythmic12 way, seemed to him the soul of spirited and gracious ease—unconscious of everybody and everything save the spirit of the dance itself as a medium of sweet emotion, of some far-off, dreamlike spirit of gaiety. He wondered. He was deeply impressed.
“Berenice,” observed Mrs. Carter, when in an intermission she came forward to where Cowperwood and she were sitting in the moonlight discussing New York and Kentucky social life, “haven’t you saved one dance for Mr. Cowperwood?”
Cowperwood, with a momentary17 feeling of resentment18, protested that he did not care to dance any more. Mrs. Carter, he observed to himself, was a fool.
“I believe,” said her daughter, with a languid air, “that I am full up. I could break one engagement, though, somewhere.”
“Not for me, though, please,” pleaded Cowperwood. “I don’t care to dance any more, thank you.”
“Please, please,” pleaded Cowperwood, quite sharply. “Not any more. I don’t care to dance any more.”
Bevy looked at him oddly for a moment—a single thoughtful glance.
“But I have a dance, though,” she pleaded, softly. “I was just teasing. Won’t you dance it with me?
“I can’t refuse, of course,” replied Cowperwood, coldly.
“It’s the next one,” she replied.
They danced, but he scarcely softened22 to her at first, so angry was he. Somehow, because of all that had gone before, he felt stiff and ungainly. She had managed to break in upon his natural savoir faire—this chit of a girl. But as they went on through a second half the spirit of her dancing soul caught him, and he felt more at ease, quite rhythmic. She drew close and swept him into a strange unison23 with herself.
“You dance beautifully,” he said.
“I love it,” she replied. She was already of an agreeable height for him.
It was soon over. “I wish you would take me where the ices are,” she said to Cowperwood.
He led her, half amused, half disturbed at her attitude toward him.
“You are having a pleasant time teasing me, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I am only tired,” she replied. “The evening bores me. Really it does. I wish we were all home.”
“We can go when you say, no doubt.”
As they reached the ices, and she took one from his hand, she surveyed him with those cool, dull blue eyes of hers—eyes that had the flat quality of unglazed Dutch tiles.
“I wish you would forgive me,” she said. “I was rude. I couldn’t help it. I am all out of sorts with myself.”
“Oh yes I was, and I hope you will forgive me. I sincerely wish you would.”
“I do with all my heart—the little that there is to forgive.”
He waited to take her back, and yielded her to a youth who was waiting. He watched her trip away in a dance, and eventually led her mother to the trap. Berenice was not with them on the home drive; some one else was bringing her. Cowperwood wondered when she would come, and where was her room, and whether she was really sorry, and— As he fell asleep Berenice Fleming and her slate-blue eyes were filling his mind completely.
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1
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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tuxedo
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| n.礼服，无尾礼服 | |
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loon
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| n.狂人 | |
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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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8
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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concoction
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| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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14
mazes
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| 迷宫( maze的名词复数 )； 纷繁复杂的规则； 复杂难懂的细节； 迷宫图 | |
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15
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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17
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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bevy
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| n.一群 | |
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21
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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22
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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23
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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