Winthrop thought that he could like Julian Wayne if that youth would let him. But it was evident from the moment of their first meeting that Julian wasn’t going to allow anything of the sort. He arrived at Waynewood Saturday night, and Winthrop, who had spent the evening with the Major at ’Squire Parish’s house, did not meet him until Sunday morning. He was tall, dark haired and sallow complexioned1, and as handsome as any youth Winthrop had ever seen. His features were regular, with a fine, straight nose, wide eyes, a strong chin and a good, somewhat tense, mouth that matched with the general air of imperiousness he wore. Winthrop soon discovered that Julian Wayne retained undiminished the old Southern doctrine2 of caste and that he looked upon the new member of the Waynewood household[174] with a polite but very frank contempt. He was ardent3, impetuous, and arrogant4, but they were traits of youth rather than of character, and Winthrop, for his part, readily forgave them. That he was head-over-heels in love with Holly5 was evident from the first, and Winthrop could have liked him the more for that. But Julian’s bearing was discouraging to any notions of friendship which Winthrop might have entertained. For Winthrop breakfast—which Miss India attended, as was her usual custom on Sundays—was an uncomfortable meal. He felt very much like an intruder, in spite of the fact that both Miss India and Holly strove to include him in the conversation, and he was relieved when it was over.
Julian imperiously claimed Holly’s companionship and the two went out to the front porch. Miss India attended to the matter of dinner supplies, and then returned to her room to dress for church. Being cut off from the porch, Winthrop went up-stairs and took a chair and a book[175] out on to the gallery. But the voices of the two below came up to him in a low, eager hum, interspersed6 with occasional words, and drew his mind from the book. He was a little disappointed in Julian Wayne, he told himself. He could have wished a different sort of a man for Holly’s husband. And then he laughed at himself for inconsistency. Only two days before he had been celebrating just the youthful traits which Julian exhibited. Doubtless the boy would make her a very admirable mate. At least, he was thoroughly7 in love with her. Winthrop strove to picture the ideal husband for Holly and found himself all at sea on the instant, and ended by wondering whimsically how long he would allow Julian undisputed possession of her if he were fifteen—even ten—years younger!
Later they all walked to church, Julian and Holly leading the way, as handsome a couple as had ever passed under the whispering oak-trees, and Winthrop and Miss India pacing staidly along behind—at a[176] discreet8 interval9. Miss India’s bearing toward him amused Winthrop even while it piqued11 him. She was the most kind, most courteous12 little woman in the world to him, displaying a vast interest in and sympathy for his invalidism14, and keeping an anxious watch over his goings and comings in the fear that he would overtax his strength. And yet all the while Winthrop knew as well as he knew his name that she resented his ownership of her home and would be vastly relieved at his departure. And knowing this, he, on every possible occasion, set himself to win the little lady’s liking15, with, he was forced to acknowledge, scant16 prospect17 of success.
Winthrop sat between Miss India and Holly, with Julian at the end of the pew. It was his first sight of the little, unadorned Episcopal church, for he had not accompanied the ladies the previous Sunday. It was a plain, uncompromising interior in which he found himself. The bare white walls were broken only by big, small-paned windows of plain glass. The pews were of[177] yellow pine and the pulpit and stiff chairs on either side were of the same. The only note of decoration was found in the vase of roses which stood beside the big closed Bible. A cottage organ supplied the music. But there was color in the congregation, for the younger women wore their best dresses and finest hats, and Winthrop concluded that all Corunna was at church. For awhile he interested himself in discovering acquaintances, many of them scarcely recognizable to-day in their black coats and air of devoutness18. But the possibilities of that mode of amusement were soon exhausted19, since the Wayne pew was well past the middle of the church. After the sermon began Winthrop listened to it for awhile. Probably it was a very excellent and passably interesting sermon, but the windows were wide open and the languorous20 air waved softly, warmly in, and Winthrop’s eyes grew heavier and heavier and the pulpit mistier21 and mistier and the parson’s voice lower and lower and....
[178]
He opened his eyes very suddenly, for Holly had reached forth22 and brought the toe of her shoe into sharp contact with his ankle. He turned to find her watching him with grave face and laughing eyes, and he looked his thanks. Then his eyes roved by to encounter the hostile stare of Julian, who had witnessed the incident and was jealously resenting the intimacy23 it denoted.
After church the party delayed at the door to greet their friends. Julian, with the easy courtesy that so well became him, shook hands with fully24 half the congregation, answering and asking questions in his pleasant, well-bred drawl. Winthrop wondered pessimistically if he had in mind the fact that in another year or so he would be dependent on these persons for his bread and butter. But Julian’s punctiliousness25 gave Winthrop his chance. Miss India and Holly had finished their share of the social event and had walked slowly out on to the porch, followed by Winthrop. Presently Julian emerged through the door[179] in conversation with Mrs. Somes, and Winthrop turned to Holly.
“There comes your cousin,” he said. “Shall we start on ahead and let them follow?”
There was a little flicker26 of surprise in the brown eyes, followed by the merest suggestion of a smile. Then Holly moved toward the steps and Winthrop ranged himself beside her.
“A little discipline now and then has a salutary effect, Miss Holly,” he remarked, as they passed out through the gate.
“Oh, are you doing this for discipline?” asked Holly, innocently.
“I am doing it to please myself, discipline your cousin, and—well, I don’t know what the effect on you may be.”
“I believe you’re hinting for compliments, Mr. Winthrop!”
“Maybe; I’ve been feeling strangely frivolous27 of late. By the way, please accept my undying gratitude28 for that kick.”
“You ought to be grateful,” answered Holly, with a laugh. “In another moment[180] your head would have been on Auntie’s shoulder and—I hope you don’t snore, Mr. Winthrop?”
“Heavens! Was it as bad as that? I am grateful! Fancy your Aunt’s horror!” And Winthrop laughed at the thought.
“Oh, Auntie would have just thought you’d fainted and had you carried home and put to bed,” said Holly.
“About what, Mr. Winthrop?”
“About my—my invalidism.”
“Why, you’re a very sick man, of course,” replied Holly. “Auntie is quite worried about you at times.”
Winthrop laughed.
“But you’re not, I suspect. I fancy you have guessed that I am something of an impostor. Have you?”
“I thought so; you’ve been so fearfully attentive31 with that—lovely medicine of[181] late. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself to cause me so much affliction?”
“Aren’t you ashamed to impose on two unsuspecting ladies?”
“Well, seeing that I haven’t fooled you I don’t think you need to say ‘two.’ But I’m not altogether to blame, Miss Holly. It was that scheming Uncle Major of yours that beguiled32 me into it. He declared up and down that if I wanted to remain at Waynewood the only thing to do was to continue being an invalid13. And now—well, now I don’t dare get well!”
Holly laughed gayly.
“If you had owned up before, you would have been spared a good many doses of medicine,” she said. “It was lots of fun to make you take it! But now I don’t reckon I’ll have the heart to any more.”
“Bless you for those words!” said Winthrop, devoutly33. “That infernal medicine has been the one fly in my ointment34, the single crumbled35 leaf in my bed of roses. Hereafter I shall be perfectly36 happy. That is, if I survive the day. I fancy your[182] cousin may call me out before he leaves and put a bullet into me.”
“Why?” asked Holly, innocently.
“Jealousy, my dear young lady. Haven’t I carried you off from under his nose?”
“I don’t reckon I’d have gone if I hadn’t wanted to,” said Holly, with immense dignity.
“That makes it all the worse, don’t you see? He is convinced by this time that I have designs on you and looks upon me as a hated rival. I can feel his eyes boring gimlet-holes in my back this moment.”
“It will do him good,” said Holly, with a little toss of her head.
“That’s what I thought,” said Winthrop. “But I doubt if he is capable of taking the same sensible view of it.”
“I’m afraid you don’t like him,” said Holly, regretfully.
“My dear Miss Holly,” he expostulated, “he doesn’t give me a chance. I am as dirt under his feet. I think I might like him if he’d give me chance. He’s as handsome[183] a youngster as I’ve ever seen, and I fancy I can trace a strong resemblance between him and the portrait of your father in the parlor37; the eyes are very like.”
“Others have said that,” answered Holly, “but I never could see the resemblance; I wish I could.”
“I assure you it’s there.”
“Julian is very silly,” said Holly, warmly. “And I shall tell him so.”
“He has no right to be rude to you.”
Winthrop smiled ruefully.
“But he isn’t; that’s the worst of it! He’s scrupulously39 polite—just as one would be polite to the butler or the man from the butcher’s! No, don’t call him to account, please; we shall get on well enough, he and I. Maybe when he discovers that I am not really trying to steal you away from him he will come off his high horse. I suppose, however, that the real reason for it all is that he resents my intrusion[184] at Waynewood—quite in the popular manner.”
He regretted the latter remark the instant he had made it, for Holly turned a distressed40 countenance41 toward him.
“Oh, have we been as bad as all that?” she cried, softly. “I’m so sorry! But really and really you mustn’t think that we don’t like you to be at Waynewood! You won’t, will you? Please don’t! Why, I—I have been so happy since you came!”
“Bless you,” answered Winthrop, lightly, “I really meant nothing. And if you are willing to put up with me, why, the others don’t matter at all. But I’m awfully42 glad to know that you haven’t found me a bother, Miss Holly.”
“How could I? You’ve been so nice and—and chummy! I shan’t want you to go away,” she added, sorrowfully. “I feel just as though you were a nice, big elder brother.”
“That’s just what I am,” replied Winthrop, heartily, “a big elder brother—and a slave—and always an admirer.”
[185]
“And I shall tell Julian so,” added Holly.
“I wouldn’t, really.”
“But why?”
“Oh, well, you’ll just make him more jealous and unhappy, my dear. Or, at least, that’s the effect it would have on me were I in his place, and I fancy lovers are much the same North and South.”
“Jealousy is nasty,” said Holly, sententiously.
“Many of our most human sentiments are,” responded Winthrop dryly, “but we can’t help them.”
Holly was silent a moment. Then——
“Would you mind not calling me ‘my dear’?” she asked.
“Have I done that? I believe I have. I beg your pardon, Miss Holly! Really, I had no intention of being—what shall I say?—familiar.”
“Oh, it isn’t that,” replied Holly earnestly, “but it makes me feel so terribly young! If you’d like to call me Holly, you may.”
[186]
“Thank you,” answered Winthrop as they entered the gate and passed into the noonday twilight43 of the oleander path. “But that is a privilege I don’t deserve, at all events, not yet. Perhaps some day, maybe the day I dance at your wedding, I’ll accept the honor.”
“Just see how many, many roses are out!” cried Holly.
They went on to the house in silence.
Dinner was a pleasanter meal for Winthrop than breakfast had been, principally because the Major and a Miss Virginia Parish, a maiden44 lady of uncertain age and much charm of manners, were present. The Major observed and resented Julian’s polite disregard of Winthrop and after dinner took him to task for it. The ladies were in the parlor, Winthrop had gone up-stairs to get some cigars, and the Major and Julian were at the end of the porch. It was perhaps unfortunate that Winthrop should have been forced to overhear a part of the conversation under his window.
“You don’t treat the gentleman with[187] common civility,” remonstrated45 the Major, warmly.
“I am not aware that I have been discourteous46 to him,” responded Julian in his drawling voice.
The Major spluttered.
“Gad, sir, what do you mean by discourteous? You can’t turn your back on a man at his own table without being discourteous! Confound it, sir, remember that you’re under his roof!”
“I do remember it,” answered Julian quickly. “I’m not likely to forget it, sir. But how did it become his roof? How did he get hold of it? Some damned Yankee trick, I’ll wager47; stole it, as like as not!”
“Tut, tut, sir! What language is that, Julian? Mr. Winthrop——”
But Winthrop waited to hear no more. With the cigars he joined them on the porch, finding the Major very red of face and looking somewhat like an insulted turkey-cock, and Julian with a sombre sneer48 on his dark face. Julian declined the proffered[188] cigar and presently left the others alone, taking himself off in search of Holly. The Major waved a hand after him, and scowled49 angrily.
“Just like his father,” he grunted50. “Hot-headed, stubborn, badly balanced, handsome as the devil and bound to come just such a cropper in the end.”
“You mean that his father was unfortunate?” asked Winthrop idly, as he lighted his cigar.
“Shot himself for a woman, sir. Most nonsensical proceeding51 I ever heard of. The woman wasn’t worth it, sir.”
“They seldom are,” commented Winthrop, gravely, “in the opinion of others.”
“She was married,” continued the Major, unheeding the remark, “and had children; fine little tots they were, too. Husband was good as gold to her. But she had to have Fernald Wayne to satisfy her damned vanity. I beg your pardon, Mr. Winthrop, but I have no patience with that sort of women, sir!”
“You don’t understand them.”
[189]
“I don’t want to, sir.”
“You couldn’t if you did,” replied Winthrop.
The Major shot a puzzled glance at him, rolling his unlighted cigar swiftly around in the corner of his mouth. Then he deluged52 the Baltimore Bell with tobacco-juice and went on:
“Fernald was plumb53 out of his head about her. His own wife had been dead some years. Nothing would do but she must run away with him. Well——”
“Did the lady live here?” asked Winthrop.
“Godamighty, no, sir! We don’t breed that kind here, sir! She lived in New Orleans; her husband was a cotton factor there. Well, Fernald begged her to run away with him, and after a lot of hemming54 and hawing she consented. They made an appointment for one night and Fernald was there waiting. But the lady didn’t come. After awhile he went back to his hotel and found a note. She was sorry, but her husband had bought tickets for[190] the opera for that evening. Eh? What? There was soul for you, Mr. Winthrop!”
Winthrop nodded.
“So the lover blew his brains out, eh?”
“Shot a hole in his chest; amounted to about the same thing, I reckon,” answered the Major, gloomily. “Now what do you think of a woman that’ll do a thing like that?”
“Well, I don’t know but what a good opera is to be preferred to an elopement,” answered Winthrop. “There, there, Major, I don’t mean to be flippant. The fact is we hear of so many of these ‘crimes of passion’ up our way nowadays that we take them with the same equanimity55 that we take the weather predictions. The woman was just a good sample of her sort as the man was doubtless a good sample of his. He was lucky to be out of it, only he didn’t realize it and so killed himself. That’s the deuce of it, you see, Major; a man who can look a thousand fathoms56 into a woman’s eyes and keep his judgment57 from slipping a cog is—well, he just isn’t;[191] he doesn’t exist! And if he did you and I, Major, wouldn’t have anything to do with him.”
“Shucks!” grunted the Major, half in agreement, half in protest.
“But I hope this boy won’t follow his father’s lead, just the same,” said Winthrop.
“No, no,” answered the Major, energetically; “he won’t, he won’t. He—he’s better fitted for hard knocks than his dad was. I—we had just had a few words and I was—ah—displeased. Shall we join the ladies inside, Mr. Winthrop?”
The Major drove back to town in his side-bar buggy behind his aged58 gray mule59 at sunset, taking Miss Parish with him. Miss India retired60 to her room, and Julian and Holly strolled off together down the road. Winthrop drew the arm-chair up to the fireplace in his room and smoked and read until supper time. At that meal only he and Holly and Julian were present, and the conversation was confined principally to the former two. Julian was plainly out[192] of sorts and short of temper; his wooing, Winthrop concluded, had not gone very well that day. Holly seemed troubled, but whether over Julian’s unhappiness or his impoliteness Winthrop could not guess. After supper they went out to the porch for a while together, but Winthrop soon bade them good-night. For some time through the opened windows he could hear the faint squeaking61 of the joggling-board and the fainter hum of their low voices. At ten Julian’s horse was brought around, and he clattered62 away in the starlit darkness toward Marysville. He heard Holly closing the door down-stairs, heard her feet patter up the uncarpeted stairway, heard her humming a little tune63 under her breath. The lamp was still lighted on his table, and doubtless the radiance of it showed under the door, for Holly’s footsteps came nearer and nearer along the hall until—
“Good-night, slave!” she called, softly.
“Good-night, Miss Holly,” he answered.
He heard her footsteps dying away, and finally the soft closing of a door.[193] Thoughtfully he refilled his pipe and went back to the chair in front of the dying fire....
The ashes were cold and a chill breeze blew through the open casements64. Winthrop arose with a shiver, knocked the ashes from his pipe and dropped it on the mantel.
“There’s no fool like an old—like a middle-aged65 fool,” he muttered, as he blew out the lamp.
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1
complexioned
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| 脸色…的 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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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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piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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invalidism
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| 病弱，病身； 伤残 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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devoutness
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| 朝拜 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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languorous
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| adj.怠惰的，没精打采的 | |
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mistier
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| misty（多雾的，被雾笼罩的）的比较级形式 | |
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forth
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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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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punctiliousness
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flicker
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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ointment
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| n.药膏，油膏，软膏 | |
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crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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perfectly
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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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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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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discourteous
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| adj.不恭的，不敬的 | |
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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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hemming
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| 卷边 | |
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equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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