Then Everard Lucas opened the piano, and the duel6 between him and Laurencine was resumed. The girl yielded. Electric lights were adjusted. She began to play, while Lucas, smoking, leaned over the piano. George was standing7 by himself at a little distance behind the piano. He had perhaps been on his way to a chair when suddenly caught and immobilized by one of those hazards which do notoriously occur—the victim never remembers how—in drawing-rooms. Hands in pockets, he looked aimlessly about, smiling perfunctorily, and wondering where he should settle or whether he should remain where he was. In the deep embrasure of the large east bow-window Lois was lounging. She beckoned8 to him, not with her hand but with a brief, bright smile—she smiled rarely—and with a lifting of the chin. He re sponded alertly and pleasurably, and went to sit beside her. Such invitations from young women holding themselves apart in obscurity are never received without excitement and never unanswered.
Crimson9 curtains of brocaded silk would have cut off the embrasure entirely10 from the room had they been fully11 drawn12, but they were not fully drawn; one was not drawn at all, and the other was only half drawn. Still, the mere13 fact of the curtains, drawn or undrawn, did morally separate the embrasure from the salon14 ; and the shadows thickened in front of the window. The smile had gone from Lois's face, but it had been there. Sequins glittered on her dark dress, the line of the low neck of which was distinct against the pallor of the flesh. George could follow the outlines of her slanted15, plump body from the hair and freckled16 face down to the elaborate shoes. The eyes were half closed. She did not speak. The figure of Laurencine, whose back was towards the window, received an aura from the electric light immediately over the music-stand of the piano. She played brilliantly. She played with a brilliance17 that astonished George.... She was exceedingly clever, was this awkward girl who had not long since left school Her body might be awkward, but not her hands. The music radiated from the piano and filled the room with brightness, with the illusion of the joy of life, and with a sense of triumph. To George it was an intoxication18.
A man-servant entered with a priceless collection of bon-bons, some of which he deferentially19 placed on a small table in the embrasure. To do so he had to come into the embrasure, disturbing the solitude20, which had already begun to exist, of Lois and George. He ignored the pair. His sublime21 indifference22 seemed to say: "I am beyond good and evil." But at the same time it left them more sensitively awake to themselves than before. The hostess indolently muttered an order to the man, and in passing the door on his way out he extinguished several lights. The place and the hour grew romantic. George was impressed by the scene, and he eagerly allowed it to impress him. It was, to him, a marvellous scene; the splendour of the apartment, the richly attired23 girls, the gay, exciting music, the spots of high light, the glooms, the glimpses everywhere of lovely objects. He said to himself: "I was born for this."
Lois turned her head slowly and looked out of the window.
"Wonderful view from here," she murmured.
George turned his head. The flat was on the sixth story. The slope of central London lay beneath. There was no moon, but there were stars in a clear night. Roofs; lighted windows; lines of lighted traffic; lines of lamps patterning the invisible meadows of a park; hiatuses of blackness; beyond, several towers scarcely discernible against the sky—the towers of Parliament, and the high tower of the Roman Catholic Cathedral: these were London.
"You haven't seen it in daytime, have you?" said Lois.
"No. I'd sooner see it at night."
"So would I."
The reply, the sympathy in it, the soft, thrilled tone of It, startled him. His curiosity about Lois was being justified24, after all. And he was startled too at the extraordinary surprises of his own being. Yesterday he had parted from Marguerite; not ten years ago, but yesterday. And now already he was conscious of pleasure, both physical and spiritual, in the voice of another girl heard in the withdrawn25 obscurity of the embrasure. Yes, and a girl whom he had despised! Yesterday he had seriously believed himself to be a celibate26 for life; he had dismissed for ever the hope of happiness. He had seen naught27 but a dogged and eternal infelicity. And now he was, if not finding happiness, expecting it. He felt disloyal—less precisely28 to Marguerite than to a vanished ideal. He felt that he ought to be ashamed. For Marguerite still existed; she was existing at that moment less than three miles off—somewhere over there in the dark.
"See the Cathedral tower?" he said.
"Yes," she answered. "What a shame Bentley died, wasn't it?"
He was more than startled, now—he was amazed and enchanted29. Something touching30 and strange in her voice usually hard; something in the elegant fragility of her slipper31! Everybody knew that Bentley was the architect of the Cathedral and that he had died of cancer on the tongue. The knowledge was not esoteric; it did not by itself indicate a passion for architecture or a comprehension of architecture. Yet when she said the exclamatory words, leaning far back in the seat, her throat emerging from the sequined frock, her tapping slipper peeping out beneath the skirt, she cast a spell on him. He perceived in her a woman gifted and endowed. This was the girl whom he had bullied32 in the automobile33. She must have bowed in secret to his bullying34; though he knew she had been hurt by it, she had given no sign of resentment35, and her voice was acquiescent36. Above all, she had remembered him.
"You only like doing very large buildings, don't you?" she suggested.
"Who told you?"
"Everard."
"Oh! Did old Lucas tell you? Well, he's quite right."
He had a sudden desire to talk to her about the great municipal building in the north that was soon to be competed for. He yielded to the desire. She listened, motionless. He gave vent37 to his regret that Mr. Enwright absolutely declined to enter for the competition. He said he had had ideas for it, and would have liked to work for it.
"But why don't you go in for it yourself, George?" she murmured gravely.
"Me!" he exclaimed, almost frightened. "It wouldn't be any good. I'm too young. Besides——"
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-one."
"Good heavens! You look twenty-five at least! I know I should go in for it if I were you—if I were a man."
He understood her. She could not talk well. She could not easily be agreeable; she could easily be rude; she could not play the piano like the delightful38 Laurencine. But she was passionate39. And she knew the force of ambition. He admired ambition perhaps more than anything. Ambition roused him. She was ambitious when she drove the automobile and endangered his life.... She had called him by his Christian40 name quite naturally. There was absolutely no nonsense about her. Now Marguerite was not in the slightest degree ambitious. The word had no significance for her.
She made no response. But she looked at him, and suddenly he saw the angel that Irene Wheeler and Laurencine had so enthusiastically spoken of at the Cafe Royal!
"I couldn't!" he murmured.
He was insisting too much. He was insisting against himself. She had implanted the idea in his mind. Why had he not thought of it? Certainly he had not thought of it. Had he lacked courage to think of it? He beheld42 the idea as though it was an utterly43 original discovery, revolutionary, dismaying, and seductive. His inchoate44 plans for [pg 160] the building took form afresh in his brain. And the luxury by which he was surrounded whipped his ambition till it writhed45.
Curious, she said no more! After a moment she sat up and took a sweet.
George saw, in a far corner, Jules Defourcambault talking very quietly to Irene Wheeler, whose lackadaisical46 face had become ingenuous47 and ardent48 as she listened to him under the shelter of the dazzling music. George felt himself to be within the sphere of unguessed and highly perturbing49 forces.
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1
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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luxuriousness
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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energize
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| vt.给予(某人或某物)精力、能量 | |
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maladroit
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| adj.笨拙的 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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8
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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10
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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12
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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15
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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18
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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21
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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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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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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celibate
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| adj.独身的，独身主义的；n.独身者 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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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
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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31
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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32
bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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34
bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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35
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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acquiescent
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| adj.默许的，默认的 | |
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37
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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38
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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39
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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40
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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41
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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42
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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43
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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inchoate
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| adj.才开始的，初期的 | |
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45
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
lackadaisical
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| adj.无精打采的，无兴趣的；adv.无精打采地，不决断地 | |
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47
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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48
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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49
perturbing
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| v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的现在分词 ) | |
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