"Unexpected obstacle. Please don't come till thirtieth.
Anna."All the way from Charing1 Cross to Dover the train hadhammered the words of the telegram into George Darrow'sears, ringing every change of irony2 on its commonplacesyllables: rattling3 them out like a discharge of musketry,letting them, one by one, drip slowly and coldly into hisbrain, or shaking, tossing, transposing them like the dicein some game of the gods of malice4; and now, as he emergedfrom his compartment5 at the pier6, and stood facing the wind-swept platform and the angry sea beyond, they leapt out athim as if from the crest7 of the waves, stung and blinded himwith a fresh fury of derision.
"Unexpected obstacle. Please don't come till thirtieth.
Anna."She had put him off at the very last moment, and for thesecond time: put him off with all her sweet reasonableness,and for one of her usual "good" reasons--he was certain thatthis reason, like the other, (the visit of her husband'suncle's widow) would be "good"! But it was that verycertainty which chilled him. The fact of her dealing8 soreasonably with their case shed an ironic9 light on the ideathat there had been any exceptional warmth in the greetingshe had given him after their twelve years apart.
They had found each other again, in London, some threemonths previously10, at a dinner at the American Embassy, andwhen she had caught sight of him her smile had been like ared rose pinned on her widow's mourning. He still felt thethrob of surprise with which, among the stereotyped11 faces ofthe season's diners, he had come upon her unexpected face,with the dark hair banded above grave eyes; eyes in which hehad recognized every little curve and shadow as he wouldhave recognized, after half a life-time, the details of aroom he had played in as a child. And as, in the plumedstarred crowd, she had stood out for him, slender, secludedand different, so he had felt, the instant their glancesmet, that he as sharply detached himself for her. All thatand more her smile had said; had said not merely "Iremember," but "I remember just what you remember"; almost,indeed, as though her memory had aided his, her glance flungback on their recaptured moment its morning brightness.
Certainly, when their distracted Ambassadress--with the cry:
"Oh, you know Mrs. Leath? That's perfect, for GeneralFarnham has failed me"--had waved them together for themarch to the diningroom, Darrow had felt a slight pressureof the arm on his, a pressure faintly but unmistakablyemphasizing the exclamation12: "Isn't it wonderful?--InLondon--in the season--in a mob?"Little enough, on the part of most women; but it was a signof Mrs. Leath's quality that every movement, every syllable,told with her. Even in the old days, as an intent grave-eyed girl, she had seldom misplaced her light strokes; andDarrow, on meeting her again, had immediately felt how muchfiner and surer an instrument of expression she had become.
Their evening together had been a long confirmation13 of thisfeeling. She had talked to him, shyly yet frankly14, of whathad happened to her during the years when they had sostrangely failed to meet. She had told him of her marriageto Fraser Leath, and of her subsequent life in France, whereher husband's mother, left a widow in his youth, had beenre-married to the Marquis de Chantelle, and where, partly inconsequence of this second union, the son had permanentlysettled himself. She had spoken also, with an intenseeagerness of affection, of her little girl Effie, who wasnow nine years old, and, in a strain hardly less tender, ofOwen Leath, the charming clever young stepson whom herhusband's death had left to her care...
A porter, stumbling against Darrow's bags, roused him to thefact that he still obstructed16 the platform, inert17 andencumbering as his luggage.
"Crossing, sir?"Was he crossing? He really didn't know; but for lack of anymore compelling impulse he followed the porter to theluggage van, singled out his property, and turned to marchbehind it down the gang-way. As the fierce wind shoulderedhim, building up a crystal wall against his efforts, he feltanew the derision of his case.
"Nasty weather to cross, sir," the porter threw back at himas they beat their way down the narrow walk to the pier.
Nasty weather, indeed; but luckily, as it had turned out,there was no earthly reason why Darrow should cross.
While he pushed on in the wake of his luggage his thoughtsslipped back into the old groove18. He had once or twice runacross the man whom Anna Summers had preferred to him, andsince he had met her again he had been exercising hisimagination on the picture of what her married life musthave been. Her husband had struck him as a characteristicspecimen of the kind of American as to whom one is not quiteclear whether he lives in Europe in order to cultivate anart, or cultivates an art as a pretext19 for living in Europe.
Mr. Leath's art was water-colour painting, but he practisedit furtively20, almost clandestinely21, with the disdain22 of aman of the world for anything bordering on the professional,while he devoted23 himself more openly, and with religiousseriousness, to the collection of enamelled snuff-boxes. Hewas blond and well-dressed, with the physical distinctionthat comes from having a straight figure, a thin nose, andthe habit of looking slightly disgusted--as who should not,in a world where authentic25 snuff-boxes were growing dailyharder to find, and the market was flooded with flagrantforgeries?
Darrow had often wondered what possibilities of communionthere could have been between Mr. Leath and his wife. Nowhe concluded that there had probably been none. Mrs.
Leath's words gave no hint of her husband's having failed tojustify her choice; but her very reticence26 betrayed her.
She spoke15 of him with a kind of impersonal27 seriousness, asif he had been a character in a novel or a figure inhistory; and what she said sounded as though it had beenlearned by heart and slightly dulled by repetition. Thisfact immensely increased Darrow's impression that hismeeting with her had annihilated28 the intervening years.
She, who was always so elusive29 and inaccessible30, had grownsuddenly communicative and kind: had opened the doors of herpast, and tacitly left him to draw his own conclusions. Asa result, he had taken leave of her with the sense that hewas a being singled out and privileged, to whom she hadentrusted something precious to keep. It was her happinessin their meeting that she had given him, had frankly lefthim to do with as he willed; and the frankness of thegesture doubled the beauty of the gift.
Their next meeting had prolonged and deepened theimpression. They had found each other again, a few dayslater, in an old country house full of books and pictures,in the soft landscape of southern England. The presence of alarge party, with all its aimless and agitateddisplacements, had served only to isolate31 the pair and givethem (at least to the young man's fancy) a deeper feeling ofcommunion, and their days there had been like some musicalprelude, where the instruments, breathing low, seem to holdback the waves of sound that press against them.
Mrs. Leath, on this occasion, was no less kind than before;but she contrived32 to make him understand that what was soinevitably coming was not to come too soon. It was not thatshe showed any hesitation33 as to the issue, but rather thatshe seemed to wish not to miss any stage in the gradualreflowering of their intimacy34.
Darrow, for his part, was content to wait if she wished it.
He remembered that once, in America, when she was a girl,and he had gone to stay with her family in the country, shehad been out when he arrived, and her mother had told him tolook for her in the garden. She was not in the garden, butbeyond it he had seen her approaching down a long shadypath. Without hastening her step she had smiled and signedto him to wait; and charmed by the lights and shadows thatplayed upon her as she moved, and by the pleasure ofwatching her slow advance toward him, he had obeyed her andstood still. And so she seemed now to be walking to him downthe years, the light and shade of old memories and new hopesplaying variously on her, and each step giving him thevision of a different grace. She did not waver or turnaside; he knew she would come straight to where he stood;but something in her eyes said "Wait", and again he obeyedand waited.
On the fourth day an unexpected event threw out hiscalculations. Summoned to town by the arrival in England ofher husband's mother, she left without giving Darrow thechance he had counted on, and he cursed himself for adilatory blunderer. Still, his disappointment was temperedby the certainty of being with her again before she left forFrance; and they did in fact see each other in London.
There, however, the atmosphere had changed with theconditions. He could not say that she avoided him, or eventhat she was a shade less glad to see him; but she was besetby family duties and, as he thought, a little too readilyresigned to them.
The Marquise de Chantelle, as Darrow soon perceived, had thesame mild formidableness as the late Mr. Leath: a sort ofinsistent self-effacement before which every one about hergave way. It was perhaps the shadow of this lady'spresence--pervasive even during her actual brief eclipses--that subdued35 and silenced Mrs. Leath. The latter was,moreover, preoccupied36 about her stepson, who, soon afterreceiving his degree at Harvard, had been rescued from astormy love-affair, and finally, after some months oftroubled drifting, had yielded to his step-mother's counseland gone up to Oxford37 for a year of supplementary38 study.
Thither Mrs. Leath went once or twice to visit him, and herremaining days were packed with family obligations: getting,as she phrased it, "frocks and governesses" for her littlegirl, who had been left in France, and having to devote theremaining hours to long shopping expeditions with hermother-in-law. Nevertheless, during her brief escapes fromduty, Darrow had had time to feel her safe in the custody39 ofhis devotion, set apart for some inevitable40 hour; and thelast evening, at the theatre, between the overshadowingMarquise and the unsuspicious Owen, they had had an almostdecisive exchange of words.
Now, in the rattle41 of the wind about his ears, Darrowcontinued to hear the mocking echo of her message:
"Unexpected obstacle." In such an existence as Mrs. Leath's,at once so ordered and so exposed, he knew how small acomplication might assume the magnitude of an "obstacle;"yet, even allowing as impartially42 as his state of mindpermitted for the fact that, with her mother-in-law always,and her stepson intermittently43, under her roof, her lotinvolved a hundred small accommodations generally foreign tothe freedom of widowhood--even so, he could not but thinkthat the very ingenuity44 bred of such conditions might havehelped her to find a way out of them. No, her "reason",whatever it was, could, in this case, be nothing but apretext; unless he leaned to the less flattering alternativethat any reason seemed good enough for postponing45 him!
Certainly, if her welcome had meant what he imagined, shecould not, for the second time within a few weeks, havesubmitted so tamely to the disarrangement of their plans; adisarrangement which--his official duties considered--might,for all she knew, result in his not being able to go to herfor months.
"Please don't come till thirtieth." The thirtieth--and itwas now the fifteenth! She flung back the fortnight on hishands as if he had been an idler indifferent to dates,instead of an active young diplomatist who, to respond toher call, had had to hew24 his way through a very jungle ofengagements! "Please don't come till thirtieth." That wasall. Not the shadow of an excuse or a regret; not even theperfunctory "have written" with which it is usual to softensuch blows. She didn't want him, and had taken the shortestway to tell him so. Even in his first moment ofexasperation it struck him as characteristic that she shouldnot have padded her postponement47 with a fib. Certainly hermoral angles were not draped!
"If I asked her to marry me, she'd have refused in the samelanguage. But thank heaven I haven't!" he reflected.
These considerations, which had been with him every yard ofthe way from London, reached a climax48 of irony as he wasdrawn into the crowd on the pier. It did not soften46 hisfeelings to remember that, but for her lack of forethought,he might, at this harsh end of the stormy May day, have beensitting before his club fire in London instead of shiveringin the damp human herd49 on the pier. Admitting the sex'straditional right to change, she might at least have advisedhim of hers by telegraphing directly to his rooms. But inspite of their exchange of letters she had apparently50 failedto note his address, and a breathless emissary had rushedfrom the Embassy to pitch her telegram into his compartmentas the train was moving from the station.
Yes, he had given her chance enough to learn where he lived;and this minor51 proof of her indifference52 became, as hejammed his way through the crowd, the main point of hisgrievance against her and of his derision of himself. Halfway53 down the pier the prod54 of an umbrella increased hisexasperation by rousing him to the fact that it was raining.
Instantly the narrow ledge55 became a battle-ground ofthrusting, slanting56, parrying domes57. The wind rose with therain, and the harried58 wretches59 exposed to this doubleassault wreaked60 on their neighbours the vengeance61 they couldnot take on the elements.
Darrow, whose healthy enjoyment62 of life made him in generala good traveller, tolerant of agglutinated humanity, felthimself obscurely outraged63 by these promiscuous64 contacts.
It was as though all the people about him had taken hismeasure and known his plight65; as though they werecontemptuously bumping and shoving him like theinconsiderable thing he had become. "She doesn't want you,doesn't want you, doesn't want you," their umbrellas andtheir elbows seemed to say.
He had rashly vowed66, when the telegram was flung into hiswindow: "At any rate I won't turn back"--as though it mightcause the sender a malicious68 joy to have him retrace69 hissteps rather than keep on to Paris! Now he perceived theabsurdity of the vow67, and thanked his stars that he need notplunge, to no purpose, into the fury of waves outside theharbour.
With this thought in his mind he turned back to look for hisporter; but the contiguity70 of dripping umbrellas madesignalling impossible and, perceiving that he had lost sightof the man, he scrambled71 up again to the platform. As hereached it, a descending72 umbrella caught him in the collar-bone; and the next moment, bent73 sideways by the wind, itturned inside out and soared up, kite-wise, at the end of ahelpless female arm.
Darrow caught the umbrella, lowered its inverted74 ribs75, andlooked up at the face it exposed to him.
"Wait a minute," he said; "you can't stay here."As he spoke, a surge of the crowd drove the owner of theumbrella abruptly76 down on him. Darrow steadied her withextended arms, and regaining77 her footing she cried out: "Oh,dear, oh, dear! It's in ribbons!"Her lifted face, fresh and flushed in the driving rain, wokein him a memory of having seen it at a distant time and in avaguely unsympathetic setting; but it was no moment tofollow up such clues, and the face was obviously one to makeits way on its own merits.
Its possessor had dropped her bag and bundles to clutch atthe tattered78 umbrella. "I bought it only yesterday at theStores; and--yes--it's utterly79 done for!" she lamented80.
Darrow smiled at the intensity81 of her distress82. It was foodfor the moralist that, side by side with such catastrophesas his, human nature was still agitating83 itself over itsmicroscopic woes84!
"Here's mine if you want it!" he shouted back at her throughthe shouting of the gale85.
The offer caused the young lady to look at him moreintently. "Why, it's Mr. Darrow!" she exclaimed; and then,all radiant recognition: "Oh, thank you! We'll share it, ifyou will."She knew him, then; and he knew her; but how and where hadthey met? He put aside the problem for subsequent solution,and drawing her into a more sheltered corner, bade her waittill he could find his porter.
When, a few minutes later, he came back with his recoveredproperty, and the news that the boat would not leave tillthe tide had turned, she showed no concern.
"Not for two hours? How lucky--then I can find my trunk!"Ordinarily Darrow would have felt little disposed to involvehimself in the adventure of a young female who had lost hertrunk; but at the moment he was glad of any pretext foractivity. Even should he decide to take the next up trainfrom Dover he still had a yawning hour to fill; and theobvious remedy was to devote it to the loveliness indistress under his umbrella.
"You've lost a trunk? Let me see if I can find it."It pleased him that she did not return the conventional "Oh,WOULD you?" Instead, she corrected him with a laugh--Nota trunk, but my trunk; I've no other--" and then addedbriskly: "You'd better first see to getting your own thingson the boat."This made him answer, as if to give substance to his plansby discussing them: "I don't actually know that I'm goingover.""Not going over?""Well...perhaps not by this boat." Again he felt a stealingindecision. "I may probably have to go back to London.
I'm--I'm waiting...expecting a letter...(She'll think me adefaulter," he reflected.) "But meanwhile there's plenty oftime to find your trunk."He picked up his companion's bundles, and offered her an armwhich enabled her to press her slight person more closelyunder his umbrella; and as, thus linked, they beat their wayback to the platform, pulled together and apart likemarionettes on the wires of the wind, he continued to wonderwhere he could have seen her. He had immediately classedher as a compatriot; her small nose, her clear tints86, a kindof sketchy87 delicacy88 in her face, as though she had beenbrightly but lightly washed in with water-colour, allconfirmed the evidence of her high sweet voice and of herquick incessant89 gestures.She was clearly an American, butwith the loose native quality strained through a closer woofof manners: the composite product of an enquiring90 andadaptable race. All this, however, did not help him to fita name to her, for just such instances were perpetuallypouring through the London Embassy, and the etched andangular American was becoming rarer than the fluid type.
More puzzling than the fact of his being unable to identifyher was the persistent91 sense connecting her with somethinguncomfortable and distasteful. So pleasant a vision as thatgleaming up at him between wet brown hair and wet brown boashould have evoked92 only associations as pleasing; but eacheffort to fit her image into his past resulted in the samememories of boredom93 and a vague discomfort94...
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charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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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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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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stereotyped
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| adj.(指形象、思想、人物等)模式化的 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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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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obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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clandestinely
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| adv.秘密地，暗中地 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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hew
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| v.砍；伐；削 | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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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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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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supplementary
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| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
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custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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intermittently
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| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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postponing
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| v.延期，推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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postponement
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| n.推迟 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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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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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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prod
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| vt.戳，刺；刺激，激励 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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wreaked
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| 诉诸（武力），施行（暴力），发（脾气）( wreak的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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contiguity
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| n.邻近，接壤 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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agitating
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| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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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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sketchy
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| adj.写生的，写生风格的，概略的 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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enquiring
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| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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