When she returned with her companion to the establishment in Tenth Street she saw two notes lying on the table in the hall; one of which she perceived to be addressed to Miss Chancellor1, the other to herself. The hand was different, but she recognised both. Olive was behind her on the steps, talking to the coachman about sending another carriage for them in half an hour (they had left themselves but just time to dress); so that she simply possessed2 herself of her own note and ascended3 to her room. As she did so she felt that all the while she had known it would be there, and was conscious of a kind of treachery, an unfriendly wilfulness4, in not being more prepared for it. If she could roll about New York the whole afternoon and forget that there might be difficulties ahead, that didn’t alter the fact that there were difficulties, and that they might even become considerable — might not be settled by her simply going back to Boston. Half an hour later, as she drove up the Fifth Avenue with Olive (there seemed to be so much crowded into that one day), smoothing her light gloves, wishing her fan were a little nicer, and proving by the answering, familiar brightness with which she looked out on the lamp-lighted streets that, whatever theory might be entertained as to the genesis of her talent and her personal nature, the blood of the lecture-going, night-walking Tarrants did distinctly flow in her veins5; as the pair proceeded, I say, to the celebrated6 restaurant, at the door of which Mr. Burrage had promised to be in vigilant7 expectancy8 of their carriage, Verena found a sufficiently9 gay and natural tone of voice for remarking to her friend that Mr. Ransom10 had called upon her while they were out, and had left a note in which there were many compliments for Miss Chancellor.
“That’s wholly your own affair, my dear,” Olive replied, with a melancholy11 sigh, gazing down the vista12 of Fourteenth Street (which they happened just then to be traversing, with much agitation), toward the queer barrier of the elevated railway.
It was nothing new to Verena that if the great striving of Olive’s life was for justice she yet sometimes failed to arrive at it in particular cases; and she reflected that it was rather late for her to say, like that, that Basil Ransom’s letters were only his correspondent’s business. Had not his kinswoman quite made the subject her own during their drive that afternoon? Verena determined13 now that her companion should hear all there was to be heard about the letter; asking herself whether, if she told her at present more than she cared to know, it wouldn’t make up for her hitherto having told her less. “He brought it with him, written, in case I should be out. He wants to see me tomorrow — he says he has ever so much to say to me. He proposes an hour — says he hopes it won’t be inconvenient15 for me to see him about eleven in the morning; thinks I may have no other engagement so early as that. Of course our return to Boston settles it,” Verena added, with serenity16.
Miss Chancellor said nothing for a moment; then she replied, “Yes, unless you invite him to come on with you in the train.”
“Why, Olive, how bitter you are!” Verena exclaimed, in genuine surprise.
Olive could not justify17 her bitterness by saying that her companion had spoken as if she were disappointed, because Verena had not. So she simply remarked, “I don’t see what he can have to say to you — that would be worth your hearing.”
“Well, of course, it’s the other side. He has got it on the brain!” said Verena, with a laugh which seemed to relegate18 the whole matter to the category of the unimportant.
“If we should stay, would you see him — at eleven o’clock?” Olive inquired.
“Why do you ask that — when I have given it up?”
“Do you consider it such a tremendous sacrifice?”
“No,” said Verena good-naturedly; “but I confess I am curious.”
“Curious — how do you mean?”
“Well, to hear the other side.”
“Oh heaven!” Olive Chancellor murmured, turning her face upon her.
“You must remember I have never heard it.” And Verena smiled into her friend’s wan14 gaze.
“Do you want to hear all the infamy19 that is in the world?”
“No, it isn’t that; but the more he should talk the better chance he would give me. I guess I can meet him.”
“Life is too short. Leave him as he is.”
“Well,” Verena went on, “there are many I haven’t cared to move at all, whom I might have been more interested in than in him. But to make him give in just at two or three points — that I should like better than anything I have done.”
“You have no business to enter upon a contest that isn’t equal; and it wouldn’t be, with Mr. Ransom.”
“The inequality would be that I have right on my side.”
“What is that — for a man? For what was their brutality21 given them, but to make that up?”
“I don’t think he’s brutal20; I should like to see,” said Verena gaily22.
Olive’s eyes lingered a little on her own; then they turned away, vaguely23, blindly, out of the carriage-window, and Verena made the reflexion that she looked strangely little like a person who was going to dine at Delmonico’s. How terribly she worried about everything, and how tragical24 was her nature; how anxious, suspicious, exposed to subtle influences! In their long intimacy25 Verena had come to revere26 most of her friend’s peculiarities27; they were a proof of her depth and devotion, and were so bound up with what was noble in her that she was rarely provoked to criticise28 them separately. But at present, suddenly, Olive’s earnestness began to appear as inharmonious with the scheme of the universe as if it had been a broken saw; and she was positively29 glad she had not told her about Basil Ransom’s appearance in Monadnoc Place. If she worried so about what she knew, how much would she not have worried about the rest! Verena had by this time made up her mind that her acquaintance with Mr. Ransom was the most episodical, most superficial, most unimportant of all possible relations.
Olive Chancellor watched Henry Burrage very closely that evening; she had a special reason for doing so, and her entertainment, during the successive hours, was derived30 much less from the delicate little feast over which this insinuating31 proselyte presided, in the brilliant public room of the establishment, where French waiters flitted about on deep carpets and parties at neighbouring tables excited curiosity and conjecture32, or even from the magnificent music of Lohengrin, than from a secret process of comparison and verification, which shall presently be explained to the reader. As some discredit33 has possibly been thrown upon her impartiality34 it is a pleasure to be able to say that on her return from the opera she took a step dictated35 by an earnest consideration of justice — of the promptness with which Verena had told her of the note left by Basil Ransom in the afternoon. She drew Verena into her room with her. The girl, on the way back to Tenth Street, had spoken only of Wagner’s music, of the singers, the orchestra, the immensity of the house, her tremendous pleasure. Olive could see how fond she might become of New York, where that kind of pleasure was so much more in the air.
“Well, Mr. Burrage was certainly very kind to us — no one could have been more thoughtful,” Olive said; and she coloured a little at the look with which Verena greeted this tribute of appreciation36 from Miss Chancellor to a single gentleman.
“I am so glad you were struck with that, because I do think we have been a little rough to him.” Verena’s we was angelic. “He was particularly attentive37 to you, my dear; he has got over me. He looked at you so sweetly. Dearest Olive, if you marry him ——!” And Miss Tarrant, who was in high spirits, embraced her companion, to check her own silliness.
“He wants you to stay there, all the same. They haven’t given that up,” Olive remarked, turning to a drawer, out of which she took a letter.
“Did he tell you that, pray? He said nothing more about it to me.”
“When we came in this afternoon I found this note from Mrs. Burrage. You had better read it.” And she presented the document, open, to Verena.
The purpose of it was to say that Mrs. Burrage could really not reconcile herself to the loss of Verena’s visit, on which both she and her son had counted so much. She was sure they would be able to make it as interesting to Miss Tarrant as it would be to themselves. She, Mrs. Burrage, moreover, felt as if she hadn’t heard half she wanted about Miss Tarrant’s views, and there were so many more who were present at the address, who had come to her that afternoon (losing not a minute, as Miss Chancellor could see) to ask how in the world they too could learn more — how they could get at the fair speaker and question her about certain details. She hoped so much, therefore, that even if the young ladies should be unable to alter their decision about the visit they might at least see their way to staying over long enough to allow her to arrange an informal meeting for some of these poor thirsty souls. Might she not at least talk over the question with Miss Chancellor? She gave her notice that she would attack her on the subject of the visit too. Might she not see her on the morrow, and might she ask of her the very great favour that the interview should be at Mrs. Burrage’s own house? She had something very particular to say to her, as regards which perfect privacy was a great consideration, and Miss Chancellor would doubtless recognise that this would be best secured under Mrs. Burrage’s roof. She would therefore send her carriage for Miss Chancellor at any hour that would be convenient to the latter. She really thought much good might come from their having a satisfactory talk.
Verena read this epistle with much deliberation; it seemed to her mysterious, and confirmed the idea she had received the night before — the idea that she had not got quite a correct impression of this clever, worldly, curious woman on the occasion of her visit to Cambridge, when they met her at her son’s rooms. As she gave the letter back to Olive she said, “That’s why he didn’t seem to believe we are really leaving tomorrow. He knows she had written that, and he thinks it will keep us.”
“Well, if I were to say it may — should you think me too miserably38 changeful?”
Verena stared, with all her candour, and it was so very queer that Olive should now wish to linger that the sense of it, for the moment, almost covered the sense of its being pleasant. But that came out after an instant, and she said, with great honesty, “You needn’t drag me away for consistency’s sake. It would be absurd for me to pretend that I don’t like being here.”
“I think perhaps I ought to see her.” Olive was very thoughtful.
“How lovely it must be to have a secret with Mrs. Burrage!” Verena exclaimed.
“It won’t be a secret from you.”
“Dearest, you needn’t tell me unless you want,” Verena went on, thinking of her own unimparted knowledge.
“I thought it was our plan to divide everything. It was certainly mine.”
“Ah, don’t talk about plans!” Verena exclaimed, rather ruefully. “You see, if we are going to stay tomorrow, how foolish it was to have any. There is more in her letter than is expressed,” she added, as Olive appeared to be studying in her face the reasons for and against making this concession39 to Mrs. Burrage, and that was rather embarrassing.
“I thought it over all the evening — so that if now you will consent we will stay.”
“Darling — what a spirit you have got! All through all those dear little dishes — all through Lohengrin! As I haven’t thought it over at all, you must settle it. You know I am not difficult.”
“And would you go and stay with Mrs. Burrage, after all, if she should say anything to me that seems to make it desirable?”
Verena broke into a laugh. “You know it’s not our real life!”
Olive said nothing for a moment; then she replied: “Don’t think I can forget that. If I suggest a deviation40, it’s only because it sometimes seems to me that perhaps, after all, almost anything is better than the form reality may take with us.” This was slightly obscure, as well as very melancholy, and Verena was relieved when her companion remarked, in a moment, “You must think me strangely inconsequent”; for this gave her a chance to reply, soothingly41:
“Why, you don’t suppose I expect you to keep always screwed up! I will stay a week with Mrs. Burrage, or a fortnight, or a month, or anything you like,” she pursued; “anything it may seem to you best to tell her after you have seen her.”
“Do you leave it all to me? You don’t give me much help,” Olive said.
“Help to what?”
“Help to help you.”
“I don’t want any help; I am quite strong enough!” Verena cried gaily. The next moment she inquired, in an appeal half comical, half touching42, “My dear colleague, why do you make me say such conceited43 things?”
“And if you do stay — just even tomorrow — shall you be — very much of the time — with Mr. Ransom?”
As Verena for the moment appeared ironically-minded, she might have found a fresh subject for hilarity44 in the tremulous, tentative tone in which Olive made this inquiry45. But it had not that effect; it produced the first manifestation46 of impatience47 — the first, literally48, and the first note of reproach — that had occurred in the course of their remarkable49 intimacy. The colour rose to Verena’s cheek, and her eye for an instant looked moist.
“I don’t know what you always think, Olive, nor why you don’t seem able to trust me. You didn’t, from the first, with gentlemen. Perhaps you were right then — I don’t say; but surely it is very different now. I don’t think I ought to be suspected so much. Why have you a manner as if I had to be watched, as if I wanted to run away with every man that speaks to me? I should think I had proved how little I care. I thought you had discovered by this time that I am serious; that I have dedicated50 my life; that there is something unspeakably dear to me. But you begin again, every time — you don’t do me justice. I must take everything that comes. I mustn’t be afraid. I thought we had agreed that we were to do our work in the midst of the world, facing everything, keeping straight on, always taking hold. And now that it all opens out so magnificently, and victory is really sitting on our banners, it is strange of you to doubt of me, to suppose I am not more wedded51 to all our old dreams than ever. I told you the first time I saw you that I could renounce52, and knowing better today, perhaps, what that means, I am ready to say it again. That I can, that I will! Why, Olive Chancellor,” Verena cried, panting, a moment, with her eloquence53, and with the rush of a culminating idea, “haven’t you discovered by this time that I have renounced54?”
The habit of public speaking, the training, the practice, in which she had been immersed, enabled Verena to unroll a coil of propositions dedicated even to a private interest with the most touching, most cumulative55 effect. Olive was completely aware of this, and she stilled herself, while the girl uttered one soft, pleading sentence after another, into the same rapt attention she was in the habit of sending up from the benches of an auditorium56. She looked at Verena fixedly57, felt that she was stirred to her depths, that she was exquisitely58 passionate59 and sincere, that she was a quivering, spotless, consecrated60 maiden61, that she really had renounced, that they were both safe, and that her own injustice62 and indelicacy had been great. She came to her slowly, took her in her arms and held her long — giving her a silent kiss. From which Verena knew that she believed her.
收听单词发音 |
1
chancellor
|
|
| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
ascended
|
|
| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
wilfulness
|
|
| 任性；倔强 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
celebrated
|
|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
vigilant
|
|
| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
expectancy
|
|
| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
ransom
|
|
| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
vista
|
|
| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
wan
|
|
| (wide area network)广域网 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
inconvenient
|
|
| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
serenity
|
|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
relegate
|
|
| v.使降级，流放，移交，委任 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
infamy
|
|
| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
brutal
|
|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
brutality
|
|
| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
tragical
|
|
| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
revere
|
|
| vt.尊崇，崇敬，敬畏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
peculiarities
|
|
| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
criticise
|
|
| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
derived
|
|
| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
insinuating
|
|
| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
conjecture
|
|
| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
discredit
|
|
| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
impartiality
|
|
| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
dictated
|
|
| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
appreciation
|
|
| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
attentive
|
|
| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
miserably
|
|
| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
concession
|
|
| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
deviation
|
|
| n.背离，偏离；偏差，偏向；离题 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
soothingly
|
|
| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
conceited
|
|
| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
hilarity
|
|
| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
manifestation
|
|
| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
literally
|
|
| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
dedicated
|
|
| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
wedded
|
|
| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
renounce
|
|
| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
eloquence
|
|
| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
renounced
|
|
| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
cumulative
|
|
| adj.累积的，渐增的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
auditorium
|
|
| n.观众席，听众席；会堂，礼堂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
fixedly
|
|
| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
exquisitely
|
|
| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
consecrated
|
|
| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
injustice
|
|
| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |