I had never seen my step-cousin, Augusta Ashley, but I knew, from Aunt Lucy's remarks concerning her, pretty much what sort of person she was—just the precise kind I disliked immeasurably. I had no idea what her age was, but doubtless she was over thirty, tall, determined1, aggressive, with a "faculty2" for managing, a sharp, probing nose, and a y-formation between her eyebrows3. I knew the type, and I was assured that the period of sojourn4 with my respected aunt would be one of strife5 between Miss Ashley and myself.
I wrote to Aunt Lucy to expect me, made all necessary arrangements, and went to bid Nellie goodbye. I had made up my mind to marry Nellie. I had never openly avowed6 myself her suitor, but we were cousins, and had grown up together, so that I knew her well enough to be sure of my ground. I liked her so well that it was easy to persuade myself that I was in love with her. She more nearly fulfilled the requirements of my ideal wife than anyone I knew. She was pleasant to look upon, without being distractingly pretty; small and fair and womanly. She dressed nicely, sang and played agreeably, danced well, and had a cheerful, affectionate disposition7. She was not alarmingly clever, had no "hobbies," and looked up to me as heir to all the wisdom of the ages—what man does not like to be thought clever and brilliant? I had no formidable rival, and our families were anxious for the match. I considered myself a lucky fellow. I felt that I would be very lonely without Nellie when I was away, and she admitted frankly8 that she would miss me awfully9. She looked so sweet that I was on the point of asking her then and there to marry me. Well, fate interfered10 in the guise11 of a small brother, so I said goodbye and left, mentally comparing her to my idea of Miss Augusta Ashley, much to the latter's disadvantage.
When I stepped from the train at a sleepy country station next day I was promptly12 waylaid13 by a black-eyed urchin14 who informed me that Mrs. Ashley had sent him with an express wagon15 for my luggage, and that "Miss Gussie" was waiting with the carriage at the store, pointing down to a small building before whose door a girl was trying to soothe16 her frightened horse.
As I went down the slope towards her I noticed she was tall—quite too tall for my taste. I dislike women who can look into my eyes on a level—but I had to admit that her form was remarkably17 symmetrical and graceful18. She put out her hand—it was ungloved and large, but white and firm, with a cool, pleasant touch—and said, with a composure akin19 to indifference20, "Mr. Carslake, I presume. Mother could not come to meet you, so she sent me. Will you be kind enough to hold my horse for a few minutes? I want to get something in the store." Whereupon she calmly transferred the reins21 to me and disappeared.
At the time she certainly did not impress me as pretty, yet neither could I call her plain. Taken separately, her features were good. Her nose was large and straight, the mouth also a trifle large but firm and red, the brow wide and white, shadowed by a straying dash of brown curl or two. She had a certain cool, statuesque paleness, accentuated22 by straight, fine, black brows, and her eyes were a bluish grey; but the pupils, as I afterward23 found out, had a trick of dilating24 into wells of blackness which, added to a long fringe of very dark lashes25, made her eyes quite the most striking feature of her face. Her expression was open and frank, and her voice clear and musical without being sweet. She looked about twenty-two.
At the time I did not fancy her appearance and made a mental note to the effect that I would never like Miss Ashley. I had no use for cool, businesslike women—women should have no concern with business. Nellie would never have troubled her dear, curly head over it.
Miss Ashley came out with her arms full of packages, stowed them away in the carriage, got in, told me which road to take, and did not again speak till we were out of the village and driving along a pretty country lane, arched over with crimson26 maples27 and golden-brown beeches28. The purplish haze29 of a sunny autumn day mellowed30 over the fields, and the bunch of golden rod at my companion's belt was akin to the plumed32 ranks along the fences. I hazarded the remark that it was a fine day; Miss Ashley gravely admitted that it was. Then a deep smile seemed to rise somewhere in her eyes and creep over her face, discovering a dimple here and there as it proceeded.
"Don't let's talk about the weather—the subject is rather stale," she said. "I suppose you are wondering why on earth Mother had to drag you away out here. I tried to show her how foolish it was, but I didn't succeed. Mother thinks there must be a man at the head of affairs or they'll never go right. I could have taken full charge easily enough; I haven't been Father's 'boy' all my life for nothing. There was no need to take you away from your business."
I protested. I said I was going to take a vacation anyway, and business was not pressing just then. I also hinted that, while I had no doubt of her capacity, she might have found the duties of superintendent33 rather arduous34.
"Not at all," she said, with a serenity35 that made me groan36 inwardly. "I like it. Father always said I was a born business manager. You'll find Ashley's Mills very quiet, I'm afraid. It's a sort of charmed Sleepy Hollow. See, there's home," as we turned a maple-blazoned corner and looked from the crest37 of one hill across to that of another. "Home" was a big, white, green-shuttered house buried amid a riot of autumn colour, with a big grove38 of dark green spruces at the back. Below them was a glimpse of a dark blue mill pond and beyond it long sweeps of golden-brown meadow land, sloping up till they dimmed in horizon mists of pearl and purple.
"How pretty," I exclaimed admiringly.
"Isn't it?" said Gussie proudly. "I love it." Her pupils dilated39 into dark pools, and I rather unwillingly40 admitted that Miss Ashley was a fine-looking girl.
As we drove up Aunt Lucy was standing41 on the steps of the verandah, over whose white roof trailed a luxuriant creeper, its leaves tinged42 by October frosts into lovely wine reds and tawny43 yellows. Gussie sprang out, barely touching44 my offered hand with her fingertips.
"There's Mother waiting to pounce45 on you and hear all the family news," she said, "so go and greet her like a dutiful nephew."
"I must take out your horse for you first," I said politely.
"Not at all," said Miss Ashley, taking the reins from my hands in a way not to be disputed. "I always unharness Charley myself. No one understands him half so well. Besides, I'm used to it. Didn't I tell you I'd always been Father's boy?"
"I well believe it," I thought in disgust, as she led the horse over to the well and I went up to Aunt Lucy. Through the sitting-room46 windows I kept a watchful47 eye on Miss Ashley as she watered and deftly48 unharnessed Charley and led him into his stable with sundry49 pats on his nose. Then I saw no more of her till she came in to tell us tea was ready, and led the way out to the dining room.
It was evident Miss Gussie held the reins of household government, and no doubt worthily50. Those firm, capable white hands of hers looked as though they might be equal to a good many emergencies. She talked little, leaving the conversation to Aunt Lucy and myself, though she occasionally dropped in an apt word. Toward the end of the meal, however, she caught hold of an unfortunate opinion I had incautiously advanced and tore it into tatters. The result was a spirited argument, in which Miss Gussie held her own with such ability that I was utterly51 routed and found another grievance52 against her. It was very humiliating to be worsted by a girl—a country girl at that, who had passed most of her life on a farm! No doubt she was strong-minded and wanted to vote. I was quite prepared to believe anything of her.
After tea Miss Ashley proposed a walk around the premises53, in order to initiate54 me into my duties. Apart from his farm, Mr. Ashley owned large grist-and saw-mills and did a flourishing business, with the details of which Miss Gussie seemed so conversant55 that I lost all doubt of her ability to run the whole thing as she had claimed. I felt quite ignorant in the light of her superior knowledge, and our walk was enlivened by some rather too lively discussions between us. We walked about together, however, till the shadows of the firs by the mills stretched nearly across the pond and the white moon began to put on a silvery burnish56. Then we wound up by a bitter dispute, during which Gussie's eyes were very black and each cheek had a round, red stain on it. She had a little air of triumph at having defeated me.
"I have to go now and see about putting away the milk, and I dare say you're not sorry to be rid of me," she said, with a demureness57 I had not credited her with, "but if you come to the verandah in half an hour I'll bring you out a glass of new milk and some pound cake I made today by a recipe that's been in the family for one hundred years, and I hope it will choke you for all the snubs you've been giving me." She walked away after this amiable58 wish, and I stood by the pond till the salmon59 tints61 faded from its waters and stars began to mirror themselves brokenly in its ripples62. The mellow31 air was full of sweet, mingled63 eventide sounds as I walked back to the house. Aunt Lucy was knitting on the verandah. Gussie brought out cake and milk and chatted to us while we ate, in an inconsequent girlish way, or fed bits of cake to a green-eyed goblin in the likeness64 of a black cat.
She appeared in such an amiable light that I was half inclined to reconsider my opinion of her. When I went to my room the vase full of crimson leaves on my table suggested Gussie, and I repented65 of my unfriendliness for a moment—and only for a moment. Gussie and her mother passed through the hall below, and Aunt Lucy's soft voice floated up through my half-open door.
"Well, how do you like your cousin, my dear?"
Whereat that decided66 young lady promptly answered, "I think he is the most conceited67 youth I've met for some time."
Pleasant, wasn't it? I thought of Nellie's meek68 admiration69 of all my words and ways, and got her photo out to soothe my vanity. For the first time it struck me that her features were somewhat insipid70. The thought seemed like disloyalty, so I banished71 it and went to bed.
I expected to dream of that disagreeable Gussie, but I did not, and I slept so soundly that it was ten o'clock the next morning before I woke. I sprang out of bed in dismay, dressed hastily, and ran down, not a little provoked at myself. Through the window I saw Gussie in the garden digging up some geraniums. She was enveloped72 in a clay-stained brown apron73, a big flapping straw hat half hid her face, and she wore a pair of muddy old kid gloves. Her whole appearance was disreputable, and the face she turned to me as I said "Good morning" had a diagonal streak74 of clay across it. I added slovenliness75 to my already long list of her demerits.
"Good afternoon, rather. Don't you know what time it is? The men were here three hours ago for their orders. I thought it a pity to disturb your peaceful dreams, so I gave them myself and sent them off."
I was angrier than ever. A nice beginning I had made. And was that girl laughing at me?
"I expected to be called in time, certainly," I said stiffly. "I am not accustomed to oversleep myself. I promise it will not occur again."
My dignity was quite lost on Gussie. She peeled off her gloves cheerfully and said, "I suppose you'd like some breakfast. Just wait till I wash my hands and I'll get you some. Then if you're pining to be useful you can help me take up these geraniums."
There was no help for it. After I had breakfasted I went, with many misgivings76. We got on fairly well, however. Gussie was particularly lively and kept me too busy for argument. I quite enjoyed the time and we did not quarrel until nearly the last, when we fell out bitterly over some horticultural problem and went in to dinner in sulky silence. Gussie disappeared after dinner and I saw no more of her. I was glad of this, but after a time I began to find it a little dull. Even a dispute would have been livelier. I visited the mills, looked over the farm, and then carelessly asked Aunt Lucy where Miss Ashley was. Aunt Lucy replied that she had gone to visit a friend and would not be back till the next day.
This was satisfactory, of course, highly so. What a relief it was to be rid of that girl with her self-assertiveness and independence. I said to myself that I hoped her friend would keep her for a week. I forgot to be disappointed that she had not when, next afternoon, I saw Gussie coming in at the gate with a tolerably large satchel77 and an armful of golden rod. I sauntered down to relieve her, and we had a sharp argument under way before we were halfway78 up the lane. As usual Gussie refused to give in that she was wrong.
Her walk had brought a faint, clear tint60 to her cheeks and her rippling79 dusky hair had half slipped down on her neck. She said she had to make some cookies for tea and if I had nothing better to do I might go and talk to her while she mixed them. It was not a gracious invitation but I went, rather than be left to my own company.
By the end of the week I was as much at home at Ashley Mills as if I had lived there all my life. Gussie and I were thrown together a good deal, for lack of other companions, and I saw no reason to change my opinion of her. She could be lively and entertaining when she chose, and at times she might be called beautiful. Still, I did not approve of her—at least I thought so, most of the time. Once in a while came a state of feeling which I did not quite understand.
One evening I went to prayer meeting with Aunt Lucy and Gussie. I had not seen the minister of Ashley Mills before, though Gussie and her mother seemed to know him intimately. I had an idea that he was old and silvery-haired and benevolent-looking. So I was rather surprised to find him as young as myself—a tall, pale, intellectual-looking man, with a high, white brow and dark, earnest eyes—decidedly attractive.
I was still more surprised when, after the service, he joined Gussie at the door and went down the steps with her. I felt distinctly ill-treated as I fell back with Aunt Lucy. There was no reason why I should—none; it ought to have been a relief. Rev80. Carroll Martin had every right to see Miss Ashley home if he chose. Doubtless a girl who knew all there was to be known about business, farming, and milling, to say nothing of housekeeping and gardening, could discuss theology also. It was none of my business.
I don't know what kept me awake so late that night. As a consequence I overslept myself. I had managed to redeem81 my reputation on this point, but here it was lost again. I felt cross and foolish and cantankerous82 when I went out.
There was some unusual commotion83 at the well. It was an old-fashioned open one, with a chain and windlass. Aunt Lucy was peering anxiously down its mouth, from which a ladder was sticking. Just as I got there Gussie emerged from its depths with a triumphant84 face. Her skirt was muddy and draggled, her hair had tumbled down, and she held a dripping black cat.
"Coco must have fallen into the well last night," she explained, as I helped her to the ground. "I missed him at milking-time, and when I came to the well this morning I heard the most ear-splitting yowls coming up from it. I couldn't think where he could possibly be, for the water was quite calm, until I saw he had crept into a little crevice85 in the stones on the side. So I got a ladder and went down after him."
"You should have called me," I said sourly. "You might have killed yourself, going down there."
"And Coco might have tumbled in and drowned while you were getting up," retorted Gussie. "Besides, what was the need? I could go down as well as you."
"No doubt," I said, more sharply than I had any business to. "I don't dream of disputing your ability to do anything you may take it into your head to do. Most young ladies are not in the habit of going down wells, however."
"Perhaps not," she rejoined, with freezing calmness. "But, as you may have discovered, I am not 'most young ladies.' I am myself, Augusta Ashley, and accountable to nobody but myself if I choose to go down the well every day for pure love of it."
She walked off in her wet dress with her muddy cat. Gussie Ashley was the only girl I ever saw who could be dignified86 under such circumstances.
I was in a very bad humour with myself as I went off to see about having the well cleaned out. I had offended Gussie and I knew she would not be easily appeased87. Nor was she. For a week she kept me politely, studiously, at a distance, in spite of my most humble88 advances. Rev. Carroll was a frequent caller, ostensibly to make arrangements about a Sunday school they were organizing in a poor part of the community. Gussie and he held long conversations on this enthralling89 subject. Then Gussie went on another visit to her friend, and when she came back so did Rev. Carroll.
One calm, hazy90 afternoon I was coming slowly up from the mills. Happening to glance at the kitchen roof, I gasped91. It was on fire in one place. Evidently the dry shingles92 had caught fire from a spark. There was not a soul about save Gussie, Aunt Lucy, and myself. I dashed wildly into the kitchen, where Gussie was peeling apples.
"The house is on fire," I exclaimed. Gussie dropped her knife and turned pale.
"Don't wake Mother," was all she said, as she snatched a bucket of water from the table. The ladder was still lying by the well. In a second I had raised it to the roof and, while Gussie went up it like a squirrel and dashed the water on the flames, I had two more buckets ready for her.
Fortunately the fire had made little headway, though a few minutes more would have given it a dangerous start. The flames hissed93 and died out as Gussie threw on the water, and in a few seconds only a small black hole in the shingles remained. Gussie slid down the ladder. She trembled in every limb, but she put out her wet hand to me with a faint, triumphant smile. We shook hands across the ladder with a cordiality never before expressed.
For the next week, in spite of Rev. Carroll, I was happy when I thought of Gussie and miserable94 when I thought of Nellie. I held myself in some way bound to her and—was she not my ideal? Undoubtedly95!
One day I got a letter from my sister. It was long and newsy, and the eighth page was most interesting.
"If you don't come home and look after Nellie," wrote Kate, "you'll soon not have her to look after. You remember that old lover of hers, Rod Allen? Well, he's home from the west now, immensely rich, they say, and his attentions to Nellie are the town talk. I think she likes him too. If you bury yourself any longer at Ashley Mills I won't be responsible for the consequences."
"You never say anything of Miss Ashley in your letters. What is she like—young or old, ugly or pretty, clever or dull? I met a lady recently who knows her and thinks she is charming. She also said Miss Ashley was to be married soon to Rev. Something-or-Other. Is it true?"
Aye, was it? Quite likely. Kate's letter made a very miserable man of me. Gussie found me a dull companion that day. After several vain attempts to rouse me to interest she gave it up.
"There's no use talking to you," she said impatiently. "I believe you are homesick. That letter you got this morning looked suspicious. Anyhow, I hope you'll get over it before I get back."
"Are you going away again?" I asked.
"Yes. I am going to stay a few days with Flossie." Flossie was that inseparable chum of hers.
"You seem to spend a good deal of your time with her," I remarked discontentedly.
Gussie opened her eyes at my tone.
"Why, of course," she said. "Flossie and I have always been chums. And she needs me more than ever just now, for she is awfully busy. She is to be married next month."
"Oh, I see—and you—"
"I'm to be bridesmaid, of course, and we've heaps to do. Flossie wanted to wait until Christmas, but Mr. Martin is in a—"
"Mr. Martin," I interrupted. "Is Mr. Martin going to marry your friend?"
"Why, yes. Didn't you know? They just suit each other. There he comes now. He's going to drive me over, and I'm not ready. Talk to him, for pity's sake, while I go and dress."
I never enjoyed a conversation more. Rev. Carroll Martin was a remarkably interesting man.
Nellie married Rod Allen at Christmas and I was best man. Nellie made a charming little bride, and Rod fairly worshipped her. My own wedding did not come off until spring, as Gussie said she could not get ready before that.
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1
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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waylaid
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| v.拦截，拦路( waylay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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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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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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beeches
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| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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mellowed
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| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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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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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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46
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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49
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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worthily
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| 重要地，可敬地，正当地 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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52
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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53
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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54
initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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56
burnish
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| v.磨光；使光滑 | |
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57
demureness
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| n.demure（拘谨的，端庄的）的变形 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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59
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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60
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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61
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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67
conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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68
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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75
slovenliness
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76
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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satchel
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| n.(皮或帆布的)书包 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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80
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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81
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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cantankerous
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| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
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83
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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84
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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85
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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86
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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87
appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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88
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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enthralling
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| 迷人的 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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93
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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94
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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96
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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