At five o'clock the sombre egg-shaped room at the Ritz ripens1 to a subtle melody—the light clat-clat of one lump, two lumps, into the cup, and the ding of the shining teapots and cream-pots as they kiss elegantly in transit2 upon a silver tray. There are those who cherish that amber3 hour above all other hours, for now the pale, pleasant toil4 of the lilies who inhabit the Ritz is over—the singing decorative5 part of the day remains6.
Moving your eyes around the slightly raised horseshoe balcony you might, one spring afternoon, have seen young Mrs. Alphonse Karr and young Mrs. Charles Hemple at a table for two. The one in the dress was Mrs. Hemple—when I say "the dress" I refer to that black immaculate affair with the big buttons and the red ghost of a cape7 at the shoulders, a gown suggesting with faint and fashionable irreverence8 the garb9 of a French cardinal10, as it was meant to do when it was invented in the Rue11 de la Paix. Mrs. Karr and Mrs. Hemple were twenty-three years old, and their enemies said that they had done very well for themselves. Either might have had her limousine12 waiting at the hotel door, but both of them much preferred to walk home (up Park Avenue) through the April twilight13.
Luella Hemple was tall, with the sort of flaxen hair that English country girls should have, but seldom do. Her skin was radiant, and there was no need of putting anything on it at all, but in deference14 to an antiquated15 fashion—this was the year 1920—she had powdered out its high roses and drawn16 on it a new mouth and new eyebrows—which were no more successful than such meddling17 deserves. This, of course, is said from the vantage-point of 1925. In those days the effect she gave was exactly right.
"I've been married three years," she was saying as she squashed out a cigarette in an exhausted18 lemon. "The baby will be two years old to-morrow. I must remember to get——"
She took a gold pencil from her case and wrote "Candles" and "Things you pull, with paper caps," on an ivory date-pad. Then, raising her eyes, she looked at Mrs. Karr and hesitated.
"Shall I tell you something outrageous19?"
"Try," said Mrs. Karr cheerfully.
"Even my baby bores me. That sounds unnatural20, Ede, but it's true. He doesn't begin to fill my life. I love him with all my heart, but when I have him to take care of for an afternoon, I get so nervous that I want to scream. After two hours I begin praying for the moment the nurse'll walk in the door."
When she had made this confession21, Luella breathed quickly and looked closely at her friend. She didn't really feel unnatural at all. This was the truth. There couldn't be anything vicious in the truth.
"It may be because you don't love Charles," ventured Mrs. Karr, unmoved.
"But I do! I hope I haven't given you that impression with all this talk." She decided22 that Ede Karr was stupid. "It's the very fact that I do love Charles that complicates23 matters. I cried myself to sleep last night because I know we're drifting slowly but surely toward a divorce. It's the baby that keeps us together."
Ede Karr, who had been married five years, looked at her critically to see if this was a pose, but Luella's lovely eyes were grave and sad.
"And what is the trouble?" Ede inquired.
"It's plural," said Luella, frowning. "First, there's food. I'm a vile24 housekeeper25, and I have no intention of turning into a good one. I hate to order groceries, and I hate to go into the kitchen and poke26 around to see if the ice-box is clean, and I hate to pretend to the servants that I'm interested in their work, when really I never want to hear about food until it comes on the table. You see, I never learned to cook, and consequently a kitchen is about as interesting to me as a—as a boiler-room. It's simply a machine that I don't understand. It's easy to say, 'Go to cooking school,' the way people do in books—but, Ede, in real life does anybody ever change into a model Hausfrau unless they have to?"
"Go on," said Ede non-committally. "Tell me more."
"Well, as a result, the house is always in a riot. The servants leave every week. If they're young and incompetent27, I can't train them, so we have to let them go. If they're experienced, they hate a house where a woman doesn't take an intense interest in the price of asparagus. So they leave—and half the time we eat at restaurants and hotels."
"I don't suppose Charles likes that."
"Hates it. In fact, he hates about everything that I like. He's lukewarm about the theatre, hates the opera, hates dancing, hates cocktail28 parties—sometimes I think he hates everything pleasant in the world. I sat home for a year or so. While Chuck was on the way, and while I was nursing him, I didn't mind. But this year I told Charles frankly29 that I was still young enough to want some fun. And since then we've been going out whether he wants to or not." She paused, brooding. "I'm so sorry for him I don't know what to do, Ede—but if we sat home, I'd just be sorry for myself. And to tell you another true thing, I'd rather that he'd be unhappy than me."
Luella was not so much stating a case as thinking aloud. She considered that she was being very fair. Before her marriage men had always told her that she was "a good sport," and she had tried to carry this fairness into her married life. So she always saw Charley's point of view as clearly as she saw her own.
If she had been a pioneer wife, she would probably have fought the fight side by side with her husband. But here in New York there wasn't any fight. They weren't struggling together to obtain a far-off peace and leisure—she had more of either than she could use. Luella, like several thousand other young wives in New York, honestly wanted something to do. If she had had a little more money and a little less love, she could have gone in for horses or for vagarious amour. Or if they had had a little less money, her surplus energy would have been absorbed by hope and even by effort. But the Charles Hemples were in between. They were of that enormous American class who wander over Europe every summer, sneering30 rather pathetically and wistfully at the customs and traditions and pastimes of other countries, because they have no customs or traditions or pastimes of their own. It is a class sprung yesterday from fathers and mothers who might just as well have lived two hundred years ago.
The tea-hour had turned abruptly31 into the before-dinner hour. Most of the tables had emptied until the room was dotted rather than crowded with shrill32 isolated33 voices and remote, surprising laughter—in one corner the waiters were already covering the tables with white for dinner.
"Charles and I are on each other's nerves." In the new silence Luella's voice rang out with startling clearness, and she lowered it precipitately34. "Little things. He keeps rubbing his face with his hand—all the time, at table, at the theatre—even when he's in bed. It drives me wild, and when things like that begin to irritate you, it's nearly over." She broke off and, reaching backward, drew up a light fur around her neck. "I hope I haven't bored you, Ede. It's on my mind, because to-night tells the story. I made an engagement for to-night—an interesting engagement, a supper after the theatre to meet some Russians, singers or dancers or something, and Charles says he won't go. If he doesn't—then I'm going alone. And that's the end."
She put her elbows on the table suddenly and, bending her eyes down into her smooth gloves, began to cry, stubbornly and quietly. There was no one near to see, but Ede Karr wished that she had taken her gloves off. She would have reached out consolingly and touched her bare hand. But the gloves were a symbol of the difficulty of sympathizing with a woman to whom life had given so much. Ede wanted to say that it would "come out all right," that it wasn't "so bad as it seemed," but she said nothing. Her only reaction was impatience35 and distaste.
A waiter stepped near and laid a folded paper on the table, and Mrs. Karr reached for it.
"No, you mustn't," murmured Luella brokenly. "No, I invited you! I've got the money right here."
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1
ripens
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的第三人称单数 ) | |
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transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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6
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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7
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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8
irreverence
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| n.不尊敬 | |
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9
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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12
limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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13
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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14
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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15
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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16
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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17
meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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19
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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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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complicates
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| 使复杂化( complicate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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32
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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33
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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34
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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35
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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