Ransom1 approached Mrs. Farrinder again, who had remained on her sofa with Olive Chancellor2; and as she turned her face to him he saw that she had felt the universal contagion3. Her keen eye sparkled, there was a flush on her matronly cheek, and she had evidently made up her mind what line to take. Olive Chancellor sat motionless; her eyes were fixed4 on the floor with the rigid5, alarmed expression of her moments of nervous diffidence; she gave no sign of observing her kinsman’s approach. He said something to Mrs. Farrinder, something that imperfectly represented his admiration6 of Verena; and this lady replied with dignity that it was no wonder the girl spoke7 so well — she spoke in such a good cause. “She is very graceful8, has a fine command of language; her father says it’s a natural gift.” Ransom saw that he should not in the least discover Mrs. Farrinder’s real opinion, and her dissimulation9 added to his impression that she was a woman with a policy. It was none of his business whether in her heart she thought Verena a parrot or a genius; it was perceptible to him that she saw she would be effective, would help the cause. He stood almost appalled10 for a moment, as he said to himself that she would take her up and the girl would be ruined, would force her note and become a screamer. But he quickly dodged11 this vision, taking refuge in a mechanical appeal to his cousin, of whom he inquired how she liked Miss Verena. Olive made no answer; her head remained averted12, she bored the carpet with her conscious eyes. Mrs. Farrinder glanced at her askance, and then said to Ransom serenely13:
“You praise the grace of your Southern ladies, but you have had to come North to see a human gazelle. Miss Tarrant is of the best New England stock — what I call the best!”
“I’m sure from what I have seen of the Boston ladies, no manifestation14 of grace can excite my surprise,” Ransom rejoined, looking, with his smile, at his cousin.
“She has been powerfully affected,” Mrs. Farrinder explained, very slightly dropping her voice, as Olive, apparently15, still remained deaf.
Miss Birdseye drew near at this moment; she wanted to know if Mrs. Farrinder didn’t want to express some acknowledgment, on the part of the company at large, for the real stimulus16 Miss Tarrant had given them. Mrs. Farrinder said: Oh yes, she would speak now with pleasure; only she must have a glass of water first. Miss Birdseye replied that there was some coming in a moment; one of the ladies had asked for it, and Mr. Pardon had just stepped down to draw some. Basil took advantage of this intermission to ask Miss Birdseye if she would give him the great privilege of an introduction to Miss Verena. “Mrs. Farrinder will thank her for the company,” he said, laughing, “but she won’t thank her for me.”
Miss Birdseye manifested the greatest disposition17 to oblige him; she was so glad he had been impressed. She was proceeding18 to lead him toward Miss Tarrant when Olive Chancellor rose abruptly19 from her chair and laid her hand, with an arresting movement, on the arm of her hostess. She explained to her that she must go, that she was not very well, that her carriage was there; also that she hoped Miss Birdseye, if it was not asking too much, would accompany her to the door.
“Well, you are impressed too,” said Miss Birdseye, looking at her philosophically20. “It seems as if no one had escaped.”
Ransom was disappointed; he saw he was going to be taken away, and, before he could suppress it, an exclamation21 burst from his lips — the first exclamation he could think of that would perhaps check his cousin’s retreat: “Ah, Miss Olive, are you going to give up Mrs. Farrinder?”
At this Miss Olive looked at him, showed him an extraordinary face, a face he scarcely understood or even recognised. It was portentously22 grave, the eyes were enlarged, there was a red spot in each of the cheeks, and as directed to him, a quick, piercing question, a kind of leaping challenge, in the whole expression. He could only answer this sudden gleam with a stare, and wonder afresh what trick his Northern kinswoman was destined23 to play him. Impressed too? He should think he had been! Mrs. Farrinder, who was decidedly a woman of the world, came to his assistance, or to Miss Chancellor’s, and said she hoped very much Olive wouldn’t stay — she felt these things too much. “If you stay, I won’t speak,” she added; “I should upset you altogether.” And then she continued, tenderly, for so preponderantly intellectual a nature: “When women feel as you do, how can I doubt that we shall come out all right?”
“Oh, we shall come out all right, I guess,” murmured Miss Birdseye.
“But you must remember Beacon24 Street,” Mrs. Farrinder subjoined. “You must take advantage of your position — you must wake up the Back Bay!”
“I’m sick of the Back Bay!” said Olive fiercely; and she passed to the door with Miss Birdseye, bidding good-bye to no one. She was so agitated25 that, evidently, she could not trust herself, and there was nothing for Ransom but to follow. At the door of the room, however, he was checked by a sudden pause on the part of the two ladies: Olive stopped and stood there hesitating. She looked round the room and spied out Verena, where she sat with her mother, the centre of a gratified group; then, throwing back her head with an air of decision, she crossed over to her. Ransom said to himself that now, perhaps, was his chance, and he quickly accompanied Miss Chancellor. The little knot of reformers watched her as she arrived; their faces expressed a suspicion of her social importance, mingled26 with conscientious27 scruples28 as to whether it were right to recognise it. Verena Tarrant saw that she was the object of this manifestation, and she got up to meet the lady whose approach was so full of point. Ransom perceived, however, or thought he perceived, that she recognised nothing; she had no suspicions of social importance. Yet she smiled with all her radiance, as she looked from Miss Chancellor to him; smiled because she liked to smile, to please, to feel her success — or was it because she was a perfect little actress, and this was part of her training? She took the hand that Olive put out to her; the others, rather solemnly, sat looking up from their chairs.
“You don’t know me, but I want to know you,” Olive said. “I can thank you now. Will you come and see me?”
“Oh yes; where do you live?” Verena answered, in the tone of a girl for whom an invitation (she hadn’t so many) was always an invitation.
Miss Chancellor syllabled29 her address, and Mrs. Tarrant came forward, smiling. “I know about you, Miss Chancellor. I guess your father knew my father — Mr. Greenstreet. Verena will be very glad to visit you. We shall be very happy to see you in our home.”
Basil Ransom, while the mother spoke, wanted to say something to the daughter, who stood there so near him, but he could think of nothing that would do; certain words that came to him, his Mississippi phrases, seemed patronising and ponderous30. Besides, he didn’t wish to assent31 to what she had said; he wished simply to tell her she was delightful32, and it was difficult to mark that difference. So he only smiled at her in silence, and she smiled back at him — a smile that seemed to him quite for himself.
“Where do you live?” Olive asked; and Mrs. Tarrant replied that they lived at Cambridge, and that the horse-cars passed just near their door. Whereupon Olive insisted “Will you come very soon?” and Verena said, Oh yes, she would come very soon, and repeated the number in Charles Street, to show that she had taken heed33 of it. This was done with childlike good faith. Ransom saw that she would come and see any one who would ask her like that, and he regretted for a minute that he was not a Boston lady, so that he might extend to her such an invitation. Olive Chancellor held her hand a moment longer, looked at her in farewell, and then, saying, “Come, Mr. Ransom,” drew him out of the room. In the hall they met Mr. Pardon, coming up from the lower regions with a jug34 of water and a tumbler. Miss Chancellor’s hackney-coach was there, and when Basil had put her into it she said to him that she wouldn’t trouble him to drive with her — his hotel was not near Charles Street. He had so little desire to sit by her side — he wanted to smoke — that it was only after the vehicle had rolled off that he reflected upon her coolness, and asked himself why the deuce she had brought him away. She was a very odd cousin, was this Boston cousin of his. He stood there a moment, looking at the light in Miss Birdseye’s windows and greatly minded to re-enter the house, now he might speak to the girl. But he contented35 himself with the memory of her smile, and turned away with a sense of relief, after all, at having got out of such wild company, as well as with (in a different order) a vulgar consciousness of being very thirsty.
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ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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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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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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dissimulation
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| n.掩饰，虚伪，装糊涂 | |
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appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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portentously
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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syllabled
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| 有…音节的 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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