As the Taine automobile1 left Aaron King and his friend, that afternoon, Mrs. Taine spoke2 to the chauffeur3; "You may stop a moment, at the next house, Henry."
If she had fired a gun, James Rutlidge could not have turned with a more startled suddenness.
"What in thunder do you want there?" he demanded shortly.
"I want to stop," she returned calmly.
"But I must get down town, at once," he protested. "I have already lost the best part of the afternoon."
"Your business seems to have become important very suddenly," she observed, sarcastically4.
"I have something to do besides making calls with you," he retorted. "Go on, Henry."
Mrs. Taine spoke sharply; "Really, Jim, you are going too far. Henry, turn in at the house." The machine moved toward the curb5 and stopped. As she stepped from the car, she added, "I will only be a minute, Jim."
Rutlidge growled6 an inarticulate curse.
"What deviltry do you suppose she is up to now," rasped Mr. Taine.
Which brought from his daughter the usual protest,--"O, papa, don't,"
As Mrs. Taine approached the house, Sibyl Andres--busy among the flowers that bordered the walk--heard the woman's step, and stood quietly waiting her. Mrs. Taine's face was perfect in its expression of cordial interest, with just enough--but not too much--of a conscious, well-bred superiority. The girl's countenance7 was lighted by an expression of childlike surprise and wonder. What had brought this well-known leader in the social world from Fairlands Heights to the poor, little house in the orange grove8, so far down the hill?
"Good afternoon," said the caller. "You are Miss Andres, are you not?"
"Yes," returned the girl, with a smile. "Won't you come in? I will call Miss Willard."
"Oh, thank you, no. I have only a moment. My friends are waiting. I am Mrs. Taine."
"Yes, I know. I have often seen you passing."
The other turned abruptly9. "What beautiful flowers."
"Aren't they lovely," agreed Sibyl, with frank pleasure at the visitor's appreciation10. "Let me give you a bunch." Swiftly she gathered a generous armful.
Mrs. Taine protested, but the girl presented her offering with such grace and winsomeness11 that the other could not refuse. As she received the gift, the perfect features of the woman of the world were colored by a blush that even she could not control. "I understand, Miss Andres," she said, "that you are an accomplished12 violinist."
"I teach and play in Park Church," was the simple answer.
"I have never happened to hear you, myself,"--said Mrs. Taine smoothly13,--"but my friends who live next door--Mr. Lagrange and Mr. King--have told me about you."
"Oh!" The girl's voice was vaguely14 troubled, while the other, watching, saw the blush that colored her warmly tinted15 cheeks.
"It is good of you to play for them," continued the woman from Fairlands Heights, casually16. "You must enjoy the society of such famous men, very much. There are a great many people, you know, who would envy you your friendship with them."
The girl replied quickly, "O, but you are mistaken. I am not acquainted with them, at all; that is--not with Mr. King--I have never spoken to him--and I only met Mr. Lagrange, for a few minutes, by accident."
"Indeed! But I am forgetting the purpose of my call, and my friends will become impatient. Do you ever play for private entertainments, Miss Andres?--for--say a dinner, or a reception, you know?"
"I would be very glad for such an engagement, Mrs. Taine. I must earn what I can with my music, and there are not enough pupils to occupy all my time. But perhaps you should hear me play, first. I will get my violin."
Mrs. Taine checked her, "Oh, no, indeed. It is quite unnecessary, my dear. The opinion of your distinguished17 neighbors is quite enough. I shall keep you in mind for some future occasion. I just wished to learn if you would accept such an engagement. Good-by. Thanks--so much--for your flowers."
She was upon the point of turning away, when a low cry from the nearby porch startled them both. Turning, they saw the woman with the disfigured face, standing18 in the doorway19; an expression of mingled20 wonder, love, and supplication21 upon her hideously23 marred24 features. As they looked, she started toward them,--impulsively stretching out her arms, as though the gesture was an involuntary expression of some deep emotion,--then checked herself, suddenly as though in doubt.
Sibyl Andres uttered an exclamation25. "Why, Myra! what is it, dear?"
Mrs. Taine turned away with a gesture of horror, saying to the girl in a low, hurried voice, "Dear me, how dreadful! I really must be going."
As she went down the flower-bordered path towards the street, the woman on the porch, again, stretched out her arms appealingly. Then, as Sibyl reached her side, the poor creature clasped the girl in a close embrace, and burst into bitter tears.
* * * * *
Upon the return of the Taines and James Rutlidge to the house on Fairlands Heights, Mrs. Taine retired26 immediately to her own luxuriously27 appointed apartments.
At dinner, a maid brought to the household word that her mistress was suffering from a severe headache and would not be down and begged that she might not be disturbed during the evening.
Alone in her room, Mrs. Taine--her headache being wholly conventional--gave herself unreservedly to the thoughts that she could not, under the eyes of others, entertain without restraint. She was seated at a window that looked down upon the carefully graded levels of the envying Fairlanders and across the wide sweep of the valley below to the mountains which, from that lofty point of vantage, could be seen from the base of their lowest foothills to the crests29 of their highest peaks. But the woman who lived on the Heights of Fairlands saw neither the homes of their neighbors, the busy valley below, nor the mountains that lifted so far above them all. Her thoughts were centered upon what, to her, was more than these.
When night was gathering30 over the scene, her maid entered softly. Mrs. Taine dismissed the woman with a word, telling her not to return until she rang. Leaving the window, after drawing the shades close, she paced the now lighted room, in troubled uneasiness of mind. Here and there, she paused to touch or handle some familiar object--a photograph in a silver frame, a book on the carved table, the trifles on her open desk, or an ornamental31 vase on the mantle--then moved restlessly away to continue her aimless exercise. When the silence was rudely broken by the sound of a knock at her door, she stood still--a look of anger marring the well-schooled beauty of her features.
The knock was repeated.
With an exclamation of impatient annoyance32, she crossed the room, and flung open the door.
Without leave or apology, her husband entered; and, as he did so, was seized by a paroxysm of coughing that sent him reeling, gasping33 and breathless, to the nearest chair.
Mrs. Taine stood watching her husband coldly, with a curious, speculative34 expression on her face that she made no attempt to hide. When his torture was abated--for the time--leaving him exhausted35 and trembling with weakness, she said coldly, "Well, what do you want? What are you doing here?"
The man lifted his pallid36, haggard face and, with a yellow, claw-like hand wiped the beads37 of clammy sweat from his forehead; while his deep-sunken eyes leered at her with an insane light.
The woman was at no pains to conceal38 her disgust. In her voice there was no hint of pity. "Didn't Marie tell you that I wished to be alone?"
"Of course," he jeered39 in his rasping whisper, "that's why I came." He gave a hideous22 resemblance to a laugh, which ended in a cough--and, again, he drew his skinny, shaking hand across his damp forehead "That's the time that a man should visit his wife, isn't it? When she is alone. Or"--he grinned mockingly--"when she wishes to be?"
She regarded him with open scorn and loathing40. "You unclean beast! Will you take yourself out of my room?"
He gazed at her, as a malevolent41 devil might gloat over a soul delivered up for torture. "Not until I choose to go, my dear."
[Illustration: "Well, what do you want? What are you doing here?"]
Suddenly changing her manner, she smiled with deliberate, mocking humor. While he watched, she moved leisurely43 to a deep, many-cushioned couch; and, arranging the pillows, reclined among them in the careless abandonment of voluptuous44 ease and physical content. Openly, ostentatiously, she exhibited herself to his burning gaze in various graceful45 poses--lifting her arms above her head to adjust a cushion more to her liking46; turning and stretching her beautiful body; moving her limbs with sinuous47 enjoyment48--as disregardful of his presence as though she were alone. At last she spoke in cool, even, colorless tones; "Perhaps you will tell me what you want?"
The wretched victim of his own unbridled sensuality shook with inarticulate rage. Choking and coughing he writhed49 in his chair--his emaciated50 limbs twisted grotesquely51; his sallow face bathed in perspiration52 his claw-like hands opening and closing; his bloodless lips curled back from his yellow teeth, in a horrid53 grin of impotent fury. And all the while she lay watching him with that pitiless, mocking, smile. It was as though the malevolent devil and the tortured soul had suddenly changed places.
When the man could speak, he reviled54 her, in his rasping whisper, with curses that it seemed must blister56 his tongue. She received his effort with jeering57 laughter and taunting59 words; moving her body, now and then, among the cushions, with an air of purely60 physical enjoyment that, to the other, was maddening.
"If this is all you came for,"--she said, easily,--"might have spared yourself the effort--don't you think?"
Controlling himself, in a measure, he returned, "I came to tell you that your intimacy61 with that damned painter must stop."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. One hand, hidden in the cushions, clenched62 until her rings hurt. "Just what do you mean by my intimacy?" she asked evenly.
"You know what I mean," he replied coarsely. "I mean what intimacy with a man always means to a woman like you."
"The only meaning that a creature of your foul63 mind can understand," she retorted smoothly. "If it were worth while to tell you the truth, I would say that my conduct when alone with Mr. King has been as proper as--as when I am alone with you."
The taunt58 maddened him. Interrupted by spells of coughing--choking, gasping, fighting for breath, his eyes blazing with hatred64 and lust42, mingling65 his words with oaths and curses--he raged at her. "And do you think--that, because I am so nearly dead,--I do not resent what--I saw, to-day? Do you think--I am so far gone that I cannot--understand--your interest in this man,--after--watching you, together, all--the afternoon? Has there been any one--in his studio, except you two, when--he was painting you in that dress--which you--designed for his benefit? Oh, no, indeed,--you and your--genius could not be interrupted,--for the sake--of his art. His art! Great God!--was there ever such a damnable farce--since hell was invented? Art!--you--_you_--_you_!--" crazed with jealous fury, he pointed28 at her with his yellow, shaking, skeleton fingers; and struggled to raise his voice above that rasping whisper until the cords of his scrawny neck stood out and his face was distorted with the strain of his effort--"_You!_ painted as a--modest Quaker Maid,--with all the charm of innocence,--virtue66, and religious piety67 in your face. _You!_ And that picture will be exhibited--and written about--as a work of _art!_ You'll pull all the strings,--and use all your influence,--and the thing--will be received as a--masterpiece."
"And," she added calmly, "you will write a check--and lie, as you did this afternoon."
Without heeding68 her remark, he went on,--"You know the picture is worthless. He knows it,--Conrad Lagrange knows it,--Jim Rutlidge knows it,--the whole damned clique69 and gang of you know it, He's like all his kind,--a pretender,--a poser,--playing into the hands--of such women as you; to win social position--and wealth. And we and our kind--we pretend to believe--in such damned parasites,--and exalt70 them and what we--call their art,--and keep them in luxury, and buy their pictures;--because they prostitute--their talents to gratify our vanity. We know it's all a damned sham--and a pretense71 that if they were real artists,--with an honest workman's respect for their work,--they wouldn't--recognize us."
"Don't forget to send him a check,"--she murmured--"you can't afford to neglect it, you know--think how people would talk."
"Don't worry," he replied. "There'll be no talk. I'll send the genius his check--for making love--to my wife in the sacred name of art,--and I'll lie--about his picture with--the rest of you. But there will be--no more of your intimacy with him. You're my wife,--in spite of hell,--and from now on--I'll see--that you are true--to me. Your sickening pose--of modesty72 in dress shall be something--more than a pose. For the little time I have left,--I'll have--you to--myself or I'll kill you."
His reference to her refusal to uncover her shoulders in public broke the woman's calm and aroused her to a cold fury. Springing to her feet, she stood over him as he sat huddled73 in his chair, exhausted by his effort.
"What is your silly, idle threat beside the fact," she said with stinging scorn. "To have killed me, instead of making me your wife, would have been a kindness greater than you are capable of. You know how unspeakably vile55 you were when you bought me. You know how every hour of my life with you has been a torment74 to me. You should be grateful that I have helped you to live your lie--that I have played the game of respectability with you--that I am willing to play it a little while longer, until you lay down your hand for good, and release us both.
"Suppose I _were_ what you think me? What right have _you_ to object to my pleasures? Have you--in all your life of idle, vicious, luxury--have you ever feared to do evil if it appealed to your bestial75 nature? You know you have not. You have feared only the appearance of evil. To be as evil as you like so long as you can avoid the appearance of evil; that's the game you have taught me to play. That's the game we have played together. That's the game we and our kind insist the artists and writers shall help us play. That's the only game I know, and, by the rule of our game, so long as the world sees nothing, I shall do what pleases me.
"You have had your day with me. You have had what you paid for. What right have you to deny me, now, an hour's forgetfulness? When I think of what I might have been, but for you, I wonder that I have cared to live, and I would not--except for the poor sport of torturing you.
"You scoff76 at Mr. King's portrait of me because he has not painted me as I am! What would you have said if he _had_ painted me as I am? What would you say if Conrad Lagrange should write the truth about us and our kind, for his millions of readers? You sneer77 at me because I cannot uncover my shoulders in the conventional dress of my class, and so make a virtue of a necessity and deceive the world by a pretense of modesty. Go look in your mirror, you fool! Your right to sneer at me for my poor little pretense is denied you by every line of your repulsive78 countenance Now get out. I'm going to retire."
And she rang for her maid.
收听单词发音 |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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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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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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winsomeness
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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17
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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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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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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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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supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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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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hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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26
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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45
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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49
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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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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51
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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54
reviled
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| v.辱骂，痛斥( revile的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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blister
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| n.水疱；(油漆等的)气泡；v.(使)起泡 | |
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jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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taunting
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| 嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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61
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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65
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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66
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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68
heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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69
clique
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| n.朋党派系，小集团 | |
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70
exalt
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| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
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71
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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72
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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73
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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74
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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75
bestial
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| adj.残忍的；野蛮的 | |
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76
scoff
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| n.嘲笑，笑柄，愚弄；v.嘲笑，嘲弄，愚弄，狼吞虎咽 | |
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77
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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78
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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