The turnings of life seldom show a sign-post; or rather, though the sign is always there, it is usually placed some distance back, like the notices that give warning of a bad hill or a level railway-crossing.
Ralph Marvell, pondering upon this, reflected that for him the sign had been set, more than three years earlier, in an Italian ilex-grove. That day his life had brimmed over--so he had put it at the time. He saw now that it had brimmed over indeed: brimmed to the extent of leaving the cup empty, or at least of uncovering the dregs beneath the nectar. He knew now that he should never hereafter look at his wife's hand without remembering something he had read in it that day. Its surface-language had been sweet enough, but under the rosy1 lines he had seen the warning letters.
Since then he had been walking with a ghost: the miserable2 ghost of his illusion. Only he had somehow vivified, coloured, substantiated3 it, by the force of his own great need--as a man might breathe a semblance4 of life into a dear drowned body that he cannot give up for dead. All this came to him with aching distinctness the morning after his talk with his wife on the stairs. He had accused himself, in midnight retrospect5, of having failed to press home his conclusion because he dared not face the truth. But he knew this was not the case. It was not the truth he feared, it was another lie. If he had foreseen a chance of her saying: "Yes, I was with Peter Van Degen, and for the reason you think," he would have put it to the touch, stood up to the blow like a man; but he knew she would never say that. She would go on eluding6 and doubling, watching him as he watched her; and at that game she was sure to beat him in the end.
On their way home from the Elling dinner this certainty had become so insufferable that it nearly escaped him in the cry: "You needn't watch me--I shall never again watch you!" But he had held his peace, knowing she would not understand. How little, indeed, she ever understood, had been made clear to him when, the same night, he had followed her upstairs through the sleeping house. She had gone on ahead while he stayed below to lock doors and put out lights, and he had supposed her to be already in her room when he reached the upper landing; but she stood there waiting in the spot where he had waited for her a few hours earlier. She had shone her vividest at dinner, with revolving7 brilliancy that collective approval always struck from her; and the glow of it still hung on her as she paused there in the dimness, her shining cloak dropped from her white shoulders.
"Ralphie--" she began, a soft hand on his arm. He stopped, and she pulled him about so that their faces were close, and he saw her lips curving for a kiss. Every line of her face sought him, from the sweep of the narrowed eyelids8 to the dimples that played away from her smile. His eye received the picture with distinctness; but for the first time it did not pass into his veins9. It was as if he had been struck with a subtle blindness that permitted images to give their colour to the eye but communicated nothing to the brain.
"Good-night," he said, as he passed on.
When a man felt in that way about a woman he was surely in a position to deal with his case impartially10. This came to Ralph as the joyless solace11 of the morning. At last the bandage was off and he could see. And what did he see? Only the uselessness of driving his wife to subterfuges12 that were no longer necessary. Was Van Degen her lover? Probably not--the suspicion died as it rose. She would not take more risks than she could help, and it was admiration13, not love, that she wanted. She wanted to enjoy herself, and her conception of enjoyment14 was publicity15, promiscuity--the band, the banners, the crowd, the close contact of covetous16 impulses, and the sense of walking among them in cool security. Any personal entanglement17 might mean "bother," and bother was the thing she most abhorred18. Probably, as the queer formula went, his "honour" was safe: he could count on the letter of her fidelity19. At moment the conviction meant no more to him than if he had been assured of the honesty of the first strangers he met in the street. A stranger--that was what she had always been to him. So malleable20 outwardly, she had remained insensible to the touch of the heart.
These thoughts accompanied him on his way to business the next morning. Then, as the routine took him back, the feeling of strangeness diminished. There he was again at his daily task--nothing tangible21 was altered. He was there for the same purpose as yesterday: to make money for his wife and child. The woman he had turned from on the stairs a few hours earlier was still his wife and the mother of Paul Marvell. She was an inherent part of his life; the inner disruption had not resulted in any outward upheaval22. And with the sense of inevitableness there came a sudden wave of pity. Poor Undine! She was what the gods had made her--a creature of skin-deep reactions, a mote23 in the beam of pleasure. He had no desire to "preach down" such heart as she had--he felt only a stronger wish to reach it, teach it, move it to something of the pity that filled his own. They were fellow-victims in the noyade of marriage, but if they ceased to struggle perhaps the drowning would be easier for both...Meanwhile the first of the month was at hand, with its usual batch24 of bills; and there was no time to think of any struggle less pressing than that connected with paying them...
Undine had been surprised, and a little disconcerted, at her husband's acceptance of the birthday incident. Since the resetting25 of her bridal ornaments26 the relations between Washington Square and West End Avenue had been more and more strained; and the silent disapproval27 of the Marvell ladies was more irritating to her than open recrimination. She knew how keenly Ralph must feel her last slight to his family, and she had been frightened when she guessed that he had seen her returning with Van Degen. He must have been watching from the window, since, credulous28 as he always was, he evidently had a reason for not believing her when she told him she had come from the studio. There was therefore something both puzzling and disturbing in his silence; and she made up her mind that it must be either explained or cajoled away.
These thoughts were with her as she dressed; but at the Ellings' they fled like ghosts before light and laughter. She had never been more open to the suggestions of immediate29 enjoyment. At last she had reached the envied situation of the pretty woman with whom society must reckon, and if she had only had the means to live up to her opportunities she would have been perfectly30 content with life, with herself and her husband. She still thought Ralph "sweet" when she was not bored by his good advice or exasperated31 by his inability to pay her bills. The question of money was what chiefly stood between them; and now that this was momentarily disposed of by Van Degen's offer she looked at Ralph more kindly--she even felt a return of her first impersonal32 affection for him. Everybody could see that Clare Van Degen was "gone" on him, and Undine always liked to know that what belonged to her was coveted33 by others. Her reassurance34 had been fortified35 by the news she had heard at the Elling dinner--the published fact of Harmon B. Driscoll's unexpected victory. The Ararat investigation36 had been mysteriously stopped--quashed, in the language of the law--and Elmer Moffatt "turned down," as Van Degen (who sat next to her) expressed it.
"I don't believe we'll ever hear of that gentleman again," he said contemptuously; and their eyes crossed gaily37 as she exclaimed: "Then they'll give the fancy ball after all?"
"I should have given you one anyhow--shouldn't you have liked that as well?" "Oh, you can give me one too!" she returned; and he bent38 closer to say: "By Jove, I will--and anything else you want."
But on the way home her fears revived. Ralph's indifference39 struck her as unnatural40. He had not returned to the subject of Paul's disappointment, had not even asked her to write a word of excuse to his mother. Van Degen's way of looking at her at dinner--he was incapable41 of graduating his glances--had made it plain that the favour she had accepted would necessitate42 her being more conspicuously43 in his company (though she was still resolved that it should be on just such terms as she chose); and it would be extremely troublesome if, at this juncture44, Ralph should suddenly turn suspicious and secretive.
Undine, hitherto, had found more benefits than drawbacks in her marriage; but now the tie began to gall45. It was hard to be criticized for every grasp at opportunity by a man so avowedly46 unable to do the reaching for her! Ralph had gone into business to make more money for her; but it was plain that the "more" would never be much, and that he would not achieve the quick rise to affluence47 which was man's natural tribute to woman's merits. Undine felt herself trapped, deceived; and it was intolerable that the agent of her disillusionment should presume to be the critic of her conduct. Her annoyance48, however, died out with her fears. Ralph, the morning after the Elling dinner, went his way as usual, and after nerving herself for the explosion which did not come she set down his indifference to the dulling effect of "business." No wonder poor women whose husbands were always "down-town" had to look elsewhere for sympathy! Van Degen's cheque helped to calm her, and the weeks whirled on toward the Driscoll ball.
The ball was as brilliant as she had hoped, and her own part in it as thrilling as a page from one of the "society novels" with which she had cheated the monotony of Apex49 days. She had no time for reading now: every hour was packed with what she would have called life, and the intensity50 of her sensations culminated51 on that triumphant52 evening. What could be more delightful53 than to feel that, while all the women envied her dress, the men did not so much as look at it? Their admiration was all for herself, and her beauty deepened under it as flowers take a warmer colour in the rays of sunset. Only Van Degen's glance weighed on her a little too heavily. Was it possible that he might become a "bother" less negligible than those he had relieved her of? Undine was not greatly alarmed--she still had full faith in her powers of self-defense; but she disliked to feel the least crease54 in the smooth surface of existence. She had always been what her parents called "sensitive."
As the winter passed, material cares once more assailed55 her. In the thrill of liberation produced by Van Degen's gift she had been imprudent--had launched into fresh expenses. Not that she accused herself of extravagance: she had done nothing not really necessary. The drawing-room, for instance, cried out to be "done over," and Popple, who was an authority on decoration, had shown her, with a few strokes of his pencil how easily it might be transformed into a French "period" room, all curves and cupids: just the setting for a pretty woman and his portrait of her. But Undine, still hopeful of leaving West End Avenue, had heroically resisted the suggestion, and contented56 herself with the renewal57 of the curtains and carpet, and the purchase of some fragile gilt58 chairs which, as she told Ralph, would be "so much to the good" when they moved--the explanation, as she made it, seemed an additional evidence of her thrift59.
Partly as a result of these exertions60 she had a "nervous breakdown61" toward the middle of the winter, and her physician having ordered massage62 and a daily drive it became necessary to secure Mrs. Heeny's attendance and to engage a motor by the month. Other unforeseen expenses--the bills, that, at such times, seem to run up without visible impulsion--were added to by a severe illness of little Paul's: a long costly63 illness, with three nurses and frequent consultations64. During these days Ralph's anxiety drove him to what seemed to Undine foolish excesses of expenditure65 and when the boy began to get better the doctors advised country air. Ralph at once hired a small house at Tuxedo66 and Undine of course accompanied her son to the country; but she spent only the Sundays with him, running up to town during the week to be with her husband, as she explained. This necessitated67 the keeping up of two households, and even for so short a time the strain on Ralph's purse was severe. So it came about that the bill for the fancy-dress was still unpaid68, and Undine left to wonder distractedly what had become of Van Degen's money. That Van Degen seemed also to wonder was becoming unpleasantly apparent: his cheque had evidently not brought in the return he expected, and he put his grievance69 to her frankly70 one day when he motored down to lunch at Tuxedo.
They were sitting, after luncheon71, in the low-ceilinged drawing-room to which Undine had adapted her usual background of cushions, bric-a-brac and flowers--since one must make one's setting "home-like," however little one's habits happened to correspond with that particular effect. Undine, conscious of the intimate charm of her mise-en-scene, and of the recovered freshness and bloom which put her in harmony with it, had never been more sure of her power to keep her friend in the desired state of adoring submission72. But Peter, as he grew more adoring, became less submissive; and there came a moment when she needed all her wits to save the situation. It was easy enough to rebuff him, the easier as his physical proximity73 always roused in her a vague instinct of resistance; but it was hard so to temper the rebuff with promise that the game of suspense74 should still delude75 him. He put it to her at last, standing76 squarely before her, his batrachian sallowness unpleasantly flushed, and primitive77 man looking out of the eyes from which a frock-coated gentleman usually pined at her.
"Look here--the installment78 plan's all right; but ain't you a bit behind even on that?" (She had brusquely eluded79 a nearer approach.) "Anyhow, I think I'd rather let the interest accumulate for a while. This is good-bye till I get back from Europe."
The announcement took her by surprise. "Europe? Why, when are you sailing?"
"On the first of April: good day for a fool to acknowledge his folly80. I'm beaten, and I'm running away."
She sat looking down, her hand absently occupied with the twist of pearls he had given her. In a flash she saw the peril81 of this departure. Once off on the Sorceress, he was lost to her--the power of old associations would prevail. Yet if she were as "nice" to him as he asked--"nice" enough to keep him--the end might not be much more to her advantage. Hitherto she had let herself drift on the current of their adventure, but she now saw what port she had half-unconsciously been trying for. If she had striven so hard to hold him, had "played" him with such patience and such skill, it was for something more than her passing amusement and convenience: for a purpose the more tenaciously82 cherished that she had not dared name it to herself. In the light of this discovery she saw the need of feigning83 complete indifference.
"Ah, you happy man! It's good-bye indeed, then," she threw back at him, lifting a plaintive84 smile to his frown.
"Oh, you'll turn up in Paris later, I suppose--to get your things for Newport."
"Paris? Newport? They're not on my map! When Ralph can get away we shall go to the Adirondacks for the boy. I hope I shan't need Paris clothes there! It doesn't matter, at any rate," she ended, laughing, "because nobody I care about will see me."
Van Degen echoed her laugh. "Oh, come--that's rough on Ralph!"
She looked down with a slight increase of colour. "I oughtn't to have said it, ought I? But the fact is I'm unhappy--and a little hurt--"
"Unhappy? Hurt?" He was at her side again. "Why, what's wrong?"
She lifted her eyes with a grave look. "I thought you'd be sorrier to leave me."
"Oh, it won't be for long--it needn't be, you know." He was perceptibly softening85. "It's damnable, the way you're tied down. Fancy rotting all summer in the Adirondacks! Why do you stand it? You oughtn't to be bound for life by a girl's mistake."
The lashes86 trembled slightly on her cheek. "Aren't we all bound by our mistakes--we women? Don't let us talk of such things! Ralph would never let me go abroad without him." She paused, and then, with a quick upward sweep of the lids: "After all, it's better it should be good-bye--since I'm paying for another mistake in being so unhappy at your going."
"Another mistake? Why do you call it that?"
"Because I've misunderstood you--or you me." She continued to smile at him wistfully. "And some things are best mended by a break."
He met her smile with a loud sigh--she could feel him in the meshes87 again. "IS it to be a break between us?"
"Haven't you just said so? Anyhow, it might as well be, since we shan't be in the same place again for months."
The frock-coated gentleman once more languished88 from his eyes: she thought she trembled on the edge of victory. "Hang it," he broke out, "you ought to have a change--you're looking awfully89 pulled down. Why can't you coax90 your mother to run over to Paris with you? Ralph couldn't object to that."
She shook her head. "I don't believe she could afford it, even if I could persuade her to leave father. You know father hasn't done very well lately: I shouldn't like to ask him for the money."
"You're so confoundedly proud!" He was edging nearer. "It would all be so easy if you'd only be a little fond of me..."
She froze to her sofa-end. "We women can't repair our mistakes. Don't make me more miserable by reminding me of mine."
"Oh, nonsense! There's nothing cash won't do. Why won't you let me straighten things out for you?"
Her colour rose again, and she looked him quickly and consciously in the eye. It was time to play her last card. "You seem to forget that I am--married," she said.
Van Degen was silent--for a moment she thought he was swaying to her in the flush of surrender. But he remained doggedly91 seated, meeting her look with an odd clearing of his heated gaze, as if a shrewd businessman had suddenly replaced the pining gentleman at the window.
"Hang it--so am I!" he rejoined; and Undine saw that in the last issue he was still the stronger of the two.
收听单词发音 |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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substantiated
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| v.用事实支持（某主张、说法等），证明，证实( substantiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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eluding
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的现在分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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subterfuges
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| n.（用说谎或欺骗以逃脱责备、困难等的）花招，遁词( subterfuge的名词复数 ) | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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covetous
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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malleable
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| adj.(金属)可锻的;有延展性的；(性格)可训练的 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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mote
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| n.微粒；斑点 | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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resetting
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| v.重新安放或安置( reset的现在分词 )；重拨（测量仪器指针）；为（考试、测试等）出一套新题；重新安置，将…恢复原位 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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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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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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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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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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necessitate
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| v.使成为必要，需要 | |
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conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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avowedly
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| adv.公然地 | |
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affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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culminated
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| v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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crease
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| n.折缝，褶痕，皱褶；v.(使)起皱 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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58
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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61
breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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massage
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| n.按摩，揉；vt.按摩，揉，美化，奉承，篡改数据 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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64
consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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65
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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66
tuxedo
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| n.礼服，无尾礼服 | |
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67
necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
unpaid
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| adj.未付款的，无报酬的 | |
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69
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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71
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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72
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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73
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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delude
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| vt.欺骗；哄骗 | |
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76
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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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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78
installment
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| n.(instalment)分期付款；(连载的)一期 | |
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eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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80
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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81
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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83
feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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84
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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85
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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86
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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87
meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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88
languished
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| 长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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90
coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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