Glennard at this point laid down his fork and glanced at her between the candle-shades. The alternative explanation of her indifference3 was not slow in presenting itself. Her head had the same listening droop4 as when he had caught sight of her the day before in Flamel’s company; the attitude revived the vividness of his impression. It was simple enough, after all. She had ceased to care for him because she cared for someone else.
As he followed her upstairs he felt a sudden stirring of his dormant5 anger. His sentiments had lost all their factitious complexity6. He had already acquitted7 her of any connivance8 in his baseness, and he felt only that he loved her and that she had escaped him. This was now, strangely enough, his dominating thought: the consciousness that he and she had passed through the fusion9 of love and had emerged from it as incommunicably apart as though the transmutation had never taken place. Every other passion, he mused10, left some mark upon the nature; but love passed like the flight of a ship across the waters.
She sank into her usual seat near the lamp, and he leaned against the chimney, moving about with an inattentive hand the knick-knacks on the mantel.
Suddenly he caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She was looking at him. He turned and their eyes met.
He moved across the room and stood before her.
“There’s something that I want to say to you,” he began in a low tone.
She held his gaze, but her color deepened. He noticed again, with a jealous pang11, how her beauty had gained in warmth and meaning. It was as though a transparent12 cup had been filled with wine. He looked at her ironically.
“I’ve never prevented your seeing your friends here,” he broke out. “Why do you meet Flamel in out-of-the-way places? Nothing makes a woman so cheap—”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I saw you with him last Sunday on the Riverside Drive,” he went on, the utterance14 of the charge reviving his anger.
“Ah,” she murmured. She sank into her chair again and began to play with a paper-knife that lay on the table at her elbow.
Her silence exasperated16 him.
“Well?” he burst out. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Do you wish me to explain?” she asked, proudly.
“Do you imply I haven’t the right to?”
“I imply nothing. I will tell you whatever you wish to know. I went for a walk with Mr. Flamel because he asked me to.”
“I didn’t suppose you went uninvited. But there are certain things a sensible woman doesn’t do. She doesn’t slink about in out-of-the-way streets with men. Why couldn’t you have seen him here?”
She hesitated. “Because he wanted to see me alone.”
“I don’t know that he has any others where I am concerned.” She paused again and then continued, in a lower voice that somehow had an under-note of warning. “He wished to bid me good-by. He’s going away.”
Glennard turned on her a startled glance. “Going away?”
“He’s going to Europe to-morrow. He goes for a long time. I supposed you knew.”
The last phrase revived his irritation18. “You forget that I depend on you for my information about Flamel. He’s your friend and not mine. In fact, I’ve sometimes wondered at your going out of your way to be so civil to him when you must see plainly enough that I don’t like him.”
Her answer to this was not immediate19. She seemed to be choosing her words with care, not so much for her own sake as for his, and his exasperation20 was increased by the suspicion that she was trying to spare him.
“He was your friend before he was mine. I never knew him till I was married. It was you who brought him to the house and who seemed to wish me to like him.”
Glennard gave a short laugh. The defence was feebler than he had expected: she was certainly not a clever woman.
“Your deference21 to my wishes is really beautiful; but it’s not the first time in history that a man has made a mistake in introducing his friends to his wife. You must, at any rate, have seen since then that my enthusiasm had cooled; but so, perhaps, has your eagerness to oblige me.”
“Is that what you imply?” he pressed her.
“No,” she answered with sudden directness. “I noticed some time ago that you seemed to dislike him, but since then—”
“Well—since then?”
“I’ve imagined that you had reasons for still wishing me to be civil to him, as you call it.”
“Ah,” said Glennard, with an effort at lightness; but his irony23 dropped, for something in her voice made him feel that he and she stood at last in that naked desert of apprehension24 where meaning skulks25 vainly behind speech.
“And why did you imagine this?” The blood mounted to his forehead. “Because he told you that I was under obligations to him?”
She turned pale. “Under obligations?”
“Oh, don’t let’s beat about the bush. Didn’t he tell you it was I who published Mrs. Aubyn’s letters? Answer me that.”
“No,” she said; and after a moment which seemed given to the weighing of alternatives, she added: “No one told me.”
“You didn’t know then?”
She seemed to speak with an effort. “Not until—not until—”
“Till I gave you those papers to sort?”
Her head sank.
“You understood then?”
“Yes.”
“At times—yes—” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Why? From anything that was said—?”
There was a shade of pity in her glance. “No one said anything—no one told me anything.” She looked away from him. “It was your manner—”
“My manner?”
“Whenever the book was mentioned. Things you said—once or twice—your irritation—I can’t explain—”
Glennard, unconsciously, had moved nearer. He breathed like a man who has been running. “You knew, then, you knew”—he stammered27. The avowal29 of her love for Flamel would have hurt him less, would have rendered her less remote. “You knew—you knew—” he repeated; and suddenly his anguish30 gathered voice. “My God!” he cried, “you suspected it first, you say—and then you knew it—this damnable, this accursed thing; you knew it months ago—it’s months since I put that paper in your way—and yet you’ve done nothing, you’ve said nothing, you’ve made no sign, you’ve lived alongside of me as if it had made no difference—no difference in either of our lives. What are you made of, I wonder? Don’t you see the hideous31 ignominy of it? Don’t you see how you’ve shared in my disgrace? Or haven’t you any sense of shame?”
He preserved sufficient lucidity32, as the words poured from him, to see how fatally they invited her derision; but something told him they had both passed beyond the phase of obvious retaliations, and that if any chord in her responded it would not be that of scorn.
He was right. She rose slowly and moved toward him.
“Haven’t you had enough—without that?” she said, in a strange voice of pity.
He stared at her. “Enough—?”
An iron band seemed loosened from his temples. “You saw then...?” he whispered.
“Oh, God——oh, God——” she sobbed35. She dropped beside him and hid her anguish against his knees. They clung thus in silence, a long time, driven together down the same fierce blast of shame.
When at length she lifted her face he averted36 his. Her scorn would have hurt him less than the tears on his hands.
“That was the inheritance—that we married on?”
“Yes.”
She drew back and rose to her feet. He sat watching her as she wandered away from him.
“You hate me,” broke from him.
She made no answer.
“Say you hate me!” he persisted.
“That would have been so simple,” she answered with a strange smile. She dropped into a chair near the writing-table and rested a bowed forehead on her hand.
“Was it much—?” she began at length.
“The money.”
“The money?” That part of it seemed to count so little that for a moment he did not follow her thought.
“It must be paid back,” she insisted. “Can you do it?”
“Oh, yes,” he returned, listlessly. “I can do it.”
“I would make any sacrifice for that!” she urged.
He nodded. “Of course.” He sat staring at her in dry-eyed self-contempt. “Do you count on its making much difference?”
“Much difference?”
“In the way I feel—or you feel about me?”
She shook her head.
“It’s the only part we can repair.”
“Good heavens! If there were any reparation—” He rose quickly and crossed the space that divided them. “Why did you never speak?” he asked.
“Haven’t you answered that yourself?”
“Answered it?”
“Just now—when you told me you did it for me.” She paused a moment and then went on with a deepening note—“I would have spoken if I could have helped you.”
“But you must have despised me.”
“I’ve told you that would have been simpler.”
“But how could you go on like this—hating the money?”
“I knew you would speak in time. I wanted you, first, to hate it as I did.”
He gazed at her with a kind of awe41. “You’re wonderful,” he murmured. “But you don’t yet know the depths I’ve reached.”
She raised an entreating42 hand. “I don’t want to!”
“You’re afraid, then, that you’ll hate me?”
“No—but that you’ll hate me. Let me understand without your telling me.”
“You can’t. It’s too base. I thought you didn’t care because you loved Flamel.”
She blushed deeply. “Don’t—don’t—” she warned him.
“I haven’t the right to, you mean?”
“I mean that you’ll be sorry.”
He stood imploringly43 before her. “I want to say something worse—something more outrageous44. If you don’t understand this you’ll be perfectly45 justified46 in ordering me out of the house.”
She answered him with a glance of divination47. “I shall understand—but you’ll be sorry.”
“I must take my chance of that.” He moved away and tossed the books about the table. Then he swung round and faced her. “Does Flamel care for you?” he asked.
Her flush deepened, but she still looked at him without anger. “What would be the use?” she said with a note of sadness.
“Ah, I didn’t ask that,” he penitently48 murmured.
“Well, then—”
To this adjuration49 he made no response beyond that of gazing at her with an eye which seemed now to view her as a mere28 factor in an immense redistribution of meanings.
“I insulted Flamel to-day. I let him see that I suspected him of having told you. I hated him because he knew about the letters.”
He caught the spreading horror of her eyes, and for an instant he had to grapple with the new temptation they lit up. Then he said, with an effort—“Don’t blame him—he’s impeccable. He helped me to get them published; but I lied to him too; I pretended they were written to another man... a man who was dead....”
“You do despise me!” he insisted.
“I spare no one, you see!” he triumphed over her. She kept her face hidden.
“Be silent!” she commanded him; but he seemed no longer conscious of any check on his gathering51 purpose.
“He cared for you—he cared for you,” he repeated, “and he never told you of the letters—”
She sprang to her feet. “How can you?” she flamed. “How dare you? That—!”
Glennard was ashy pale. “It’s a weapon... like another....”
“A scoundrel’s!”
He smiled wretchedly. “I should have used it in his place.”
“Stephen! Stephen!” she cried, as though to drown the blasphemy52 on his lips. She swept to him with a rescuing gesture. “Don’t say such things. I forbid you! It degrades us both.”
He put her back with trembling hands. “Nothing that I say of myself can degrade you. We’re on different levels.”
“I’m on yours, whatever it is!”
He lifted his head and their gaze flowed together.
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收听单词发音
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1
purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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dormant
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| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
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complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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connivance
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| n.纵容；默许 | |
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fusion
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| n.溶化；熔解；熔化状态，熔和；熔接 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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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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16
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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skulks
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的第三人称单数 ) | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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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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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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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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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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40
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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41
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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42
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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44
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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45
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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47
divination
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| n.占卜，预测 | |
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48
penitently
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adjuration
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| n.祈求，命令 | |
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50
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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52
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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