But Billy could not, of course, play tarantellas all day; and even while she did play them she could not forget that waste-basket up-stairs, and the horror it contained. The anger was still uppermost, but the terror was prodding3 her at every turn, and demanding to know just what it was that Kate had written in that letter, anyway. It is not strange then, perhaps, that before two hours passed, Billy went up-stairs, took the letter from the basket, matched together the torn half-sheets and forced her shrinking eyes to read every word again-just to satisfy that terror which would not be silenced.
At the end of the second reading, Billy reminded herself with stern calmness that it was only Kate, after all; that nobody ought to mind what Kate said; that certainly she, Billy, ought not—after the experience she had already had with her unpleasant interference! Kate did not know what she was talking about, anyway. This was only another case of her trying “to manage.” She did so love to manage—everything!
At this point Billy got out her pen and paper and wrote to Kate.
It was a formal, cold little letter, not at all the sort that Billy's friends usually received. It thanked Kate for her advice, and for her “kind willingness” to have Billy for a sister; but it hinted that perhaps Kate did not realize that as long as Billy was the one who would have to live with the chosen man, it would be pleasanter to take the one Billy loved, which happened in this case to be Bertram—not William. As for any “quarrel” being the cause of whatever fancied trouble there was with the new picture—the letter scouted4 that idea in no uncertain terms. There had been no suggestion of a quarrel even once since the engagement.
Then Billy signed her name and took the letter out to post immediately.
For the first few minutes after the letter had been dropped into the green box at the corner, Billy held her head high, and told herself that the matter was now closed. She had sent Kate a courteous5, dignified6, conclusive7, effectual answer, and she thought with much satisfaction of the things she had said.
Very soon, however, she began to think—not so much of what she had said—but of what Kate had said. Many of Kate's sentences were unpleasantly vivid in her mind. They seemed, indeed, to stand out in letters of flame, and they began to burn, and burn, and burn. These were some of them:
“William says that Bertram has been completely out of fix over something, and as gloomy as an owl8 for weeks past.”
“A woman is at the bottom of it—... you are that woman.”
“You can't make him happy.”
“Bertram never was—and never will be—a marrying man.”
“Girls have never meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to paint. And they never will.”
“Up to this winter he's always been a carefree, happy, jolly fellow, and you know what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied himself to any one girl until last fall.”
“Now what has it been since?”
“He's been so moody9, so irritable10, so fretted12 over his work, so unlike himself; and his picture has failed, dismally13.”
“Do you want to ruin his career?”
Billy began to see now that she had not really answered Kate's letter at all. The matter was not closed. Her reply had been, perhaps, courteous and dignified—but it had not been conclusive nor effectual.
Billy had reached home now, and she was crying. Bertram had acted strangely, of late. Bertram had seemed troubled over something. His picture had—With a little shudder15 Billy tossed aside these thoughts, and dug at her teary eyes with a determined16 hand. Fiercely she told herself that the matter was settled. Very scornfully she declared that it was “only Kate,” after all, and that she would not let Kate make her unhappy again! Forthwith she picked up a current magazine and began to read.
As it chanced, however, even here Billy found no peace; for the first article she opened to was headed in huge black type:
With a little cry Billy flung the magazine far from her, and picked up another. But even “The Elusiveness19 of Chopin,” which she found here, could not keep her thoughts nor her eyes from wandering to the discarded thing in the corner, lying ignominiously20 face down with crumpled21, out-flung leaves.
Billy knew that in the end she should go over and pick that magazine up, and read that article from beginning to end. She was not surprised, therefore, when she did it—but she was not any the happier for having done it.
The writer of the article did not approve of marriage and the artistic temperament. He said the artist belonged to his Art, and to posterity22 through his Art. The essay fairly bristled23 with many-lettered words and high-sounding phrases, few of which Billy really understood. She did understand enough, however, to feel, guiltily, when the thing was finished, that already she had married Bertram, and by so doing had committed a Crime. She had slain24 Art, stifled26 Ambition, destroyed Inspiration, and been a nuisance generally. In consequence of which Bertram would henceforth and forevermore be doomed27 to Littleness.
Naturally, in this state of mind, and with this vision before her, Billy was anything but her bright, easy self when she met Bertram an hour or two later. Naturally, too, Bertram, still the tormented28 victim of the bugaboo his jealous fears had fashioned, was just in the mood to place the worst possible construction on his sweetheart's very evident unhappiness. With sighs, unspoken questions, and frequently averted31 eyes, therefore, the wretched evening passed, a pitiful misery32 to them both.
During the days that followed, Billy thought that the world itself must be in league with Kate, so often did she encounter Kate's letter masquerading under some thin disguise. She did not stop to realize that because she was so afraid she would find it, she did find it. In the books she read, in the plays she saw, in the chance words she heard spoken by friend or stranger—always there was something to feed her fears in one way or another. Even in a yellowed newspaper that had covered the top shelf in her closet she found one day a symposium33 on whether or not an artist's wife should be an artist; and she shuddered—but she read every opinion given.
Some writers said no, and some, yes; and some said it all depended—on the artist and his wife. Billy found much food for thought, some for amusement, and a little that made for peace of mind. On the whole it opened up a new phase of the matter, perhaps. At all events, upon finishing it she almost sobbed34:
“One would think that just because I write a song now and then, I was going to let Bertram starve, and go with holes in his socks and no buttons on his clothes!”
It was that afternoon that Billy went to see Marie; but even there she did not escape, for the gentle Marie all unknowingly added her mite35 to the woeful whole.
Billy found Marie in tears.
“Why, Marie!” she cried in dismay.
“But, dear, what is it?” begged Billy, with no less dismay, but with greater caution.
“Sh-h!” admonished37 Marie again.
On tiptoe, then, she led the way to a room at the other end of the tiny apartment. Once there; she explained in a more natural tone of voice:
“Cyril's at work on a new piece for the piano.”
“Well, what if he is?” demanded Billy. “That needn't make you cry, need it?”
“Well, then, what is it?”
Marie hesitated; then, with the abandon of a hurt child that longs for sympathy, she sobbed:
“It—it's just that I'm afraid, after all, that I'm not good enough for Cyril.”
“Not good enough, Marie Henshaw! Whatever in the world do you mean?”
“Well, not good for him, then. Listen! To-day, I know, in lots of ways I must have disappointed him. First, he put on some socks that I'd darned. They were the first since our marriage that I'd found to darn, and I'd been so proud and—and happy while I was darning them. But—but he took 'em off right after breakfast and threw 'em in a corner. Then he put on a new pair, and said that I—I needn't darn any more; that it made—bunches. Billy, my darns—bunches!” Marie's face and voice were tragic40.
“Nonsense, dear! Don't let that fret11 you,” comforted Billy, promptly41, trying not to laugh too hard. “It wasn't your darns; it was just darns—anybody's darns. Cyril won't wear darned socks. Aunt Hannah told me so long ago, and I said then there'd be a tragedy when you found it out. So don't worry over that.”
“Oh, but that isn't all,” moaned Marie. “Listen! You know how quiet he must have everything when he's composing—and he ought to have it, too! But I forgot, this morning, and put on some old shoes that didn't have any rubber heels, and I ran the carpet sweeper, and I rattled42 tins in the kitchen. But I never thought a thing until he opened his door and asked me please to change my shoes and let the—the confounded dirt go, and didn't I have any dishes in the house but what were made of that abominable43 tin s-stuff,” she finished in a wail44 of misery.
Billy burst into a ringing laugh, but Marie's aghast face and upraised hand speedily reduced it to a convulsive giggle45.
“You dear child! Cyril's always like that when he's composing,” soothed46 Billy. “I supposed you knew it, dear. Don't you fret! Run along and make him his favorite pudding, and by night both of you will have forgotten there ever were such things in the world as tins and shoes and carpet sweepers that clatter47.”
“You don't understand,” she moaned. “It's myself. I've hindered him!” She brought out the word with an agony of slow horror. “And only to-day I read-here, look!” she faltered48, going to the table and picking up with shaking hands a magazine.
Billy recognized it by the cover at once—another like it had been flung not so long ago by her own hand into the corner. She was not surprised, therefore, to see very soon at the end of Marie's trembling finger:
“Marriage and the Artistic Temperament.”
Billy did not give a ringing laugh this time. She gave an involuntary little shudder, though she tried valiantly49 to turn it all off with a light word of scorn, and a cheery pat on Marie's heaving shoulders. But she went home very soon; and it was plain to be seen that her visit to Marie had not brought her peace.
Billy knew Kate's letter, by heart, now, both in the original, and in its different versions, and she knew that, despite her struggles, she was being forced straight toward Kate's own verdict: that she, Billy, was the cause, in some way, of the deplorable change in Bertram's appearance, manner, and work. Before she would quite surrender to this heart-sickening belief, however, she determined to ask Bertram himself. Falteringly50, but resolutely51, therefore, one day, she questioned him.
“Bertram, once you hinted that the picture did not go right because you were troubled over something; and I've been wondering—was it about—me, in any way, that you were troubled?”
Billy had her answer before the man spoke30. She had it in the quick terror that sprang to his eyes, and the dull red that swept from his neck to his forehead. His reply, so far as words went did not count, for it evaded52 everything and told nothing. But Billy knew without words. She knew, too, what she must do. For the time being she took Bertram's evasive answer as he so evidently wished it to be taken; but that evening, after he had gone, she wrote him a little note and broke the engagement. So heartbroken was she—and so fearful was she that he should suspect this—that her note, when completed, was a cold little thing of few words, which carried no hint that its very coldness was but the heart-break in the disguise of pride.
This was like Billy in all ways. Billy, had she lived in the days of the Christian53 martyrs54, would have been the first to walk with head erect55 into the Arena56 of Sacrifice. The arena now was just everyday living, the lions were her own devouring57 misery, and the cause was Bertram's best good.
From Bertram's own self she had it now—that she had been the cause of his being troubled; so she could doubt no longer. The only part that was uncertain was the reason why he had been troubled. Whether his bond to her had become irksome because of his love for another, or because of his love for no girl—except to paint, Billy did not know. But that it was irksome she did not doubt now. Besides, as if she were going to slay58 his Art, stifle25 his Ambition, destroy his Inspiration, and be a nuisance generally just so that she might be happy! Indeed, no! Hence she broke the engagement.
This was the letter:
“DEAR BERTRAM:—You won't make the
move, so I must. I knew, from the way you spoke
to-day, that it was about me that you were
troubled, even though you generously tried to
make me think it was not. And so the picture did
not go well.
“Now, dear, we have not been happy together
lately. You have seen it; so have I. I fear our
engagement was a mistake, so I'm going to send
back your ring to-morrow, and I'm writing this
letter to-night. Please don't try to see me just
yet. You know what I am doing is best—all
round.
“Always your friend,
“BILLY.”
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收听单词发音
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1
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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prodding
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| v.刺，戳( prod的现在分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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scouted
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| 寻找，侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 )； 物色（优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等） | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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7
conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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12
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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13
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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14
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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15
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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16
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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18
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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19
elusiveness
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| 狡诈 | |
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ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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22
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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23
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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25
stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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26
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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27
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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29
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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30
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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31
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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32
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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symposium
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| n.讨论会，专题报告会；专题论文集 | |
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34
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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35
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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36
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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37
admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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38
demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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40
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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41
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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42
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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43
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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44
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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45
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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46
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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47
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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48
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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49
valiantly
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| adv.勇敢地，英勇地；雄赳赳 | |
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50
falteringly
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| 口吃地，支吾地 | |
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51
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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52
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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53
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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54
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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55
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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56
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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57
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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58
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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