嘉莉妹妹 英文版 Sister Carrie
德莱塞 Theodore Dreiser
Chapter XXXII Page 2
Vance was in his element here, as Hurstwood would have been informer days. He ordered freely of soup, oysters, roast meats,and side dishes, and had several bottles of wine brought, whichwere set down beside the table in a wicker basket.
Ames was looking away rather abstractedly at the crowd and showedan interesting profile to Carrie. His forehead was high, hisnose rather large and strong, his chin moderately pleasing. Hehad a good, wide, well-shaped mouth, and his dark-brown hair wasparted slightly on one side. He seemed to have the least touchof boyishness to Carrie, and yet he was a man full grown.
"Do you know," he said, turning back to Carrie, after hisreflection, "I sometimes think it is a shame for people to spendso much money this way."
Carrie looked at him a moment with the faintest touch of surpriseat his seriousness. He seemed to be thinking about somethingover which she had never pondered.
"Do you?" she answered, interestedly.
"Yes," he said, "they pay so much more than these things areworth. They put on so much show."
"I don't know why people shouldn't spend when they have it," saidMrs. Vance.
her. She did not want to go in yet a while. Shewanted.
"It doesn't do any harm," said Vance, who was still studying thebill of fare, though he had ordered.
Ames was looking away again, and Carrie was again looking at hisforehead. To her he seemed to be thinking about strange things.As he studied the crowd his eye was mild.
"Look at that woman's dress over there," he said, again turningto Carrie, and nodding in a direction.
"Where?" said Carrie, following his eyes.
"Over there in the corner--way over. Do you see that brooch?"
"Isn't it large?" said Carrie.
"One of the largest clusters of jewels I have ever seen," saidAmes.
"It is, isn't it?" said Carrie. She felt as if she would like tobe agreeable to this young man, and also there came with it, orperhaps preceded it, the slightest shade of a feeling that he wasbetter educated than she was--that his mind was better. Heseemed to look it, and the saving grace in Carrie was that shecould understand that people could be wiser. She had seen anumber of people in her life who reminded her of what she hadvaguely come to think of as scholars. This strong young manbeside her, with his clear, natural look, seemed to get a hold ofthings which she did not quite understand, but approved of. Itwas fine to be so, as a man, she thought.
The conversation changed to a book that was having its vogue atthe time--"Moulding a Maiden," by Albert Ross. Mrs. Vance hadread it. Vance had seen it discussed in some of the papers.
"A man can make quite a strike writing a book," said Vance. "Inotice this fellow Ross is very much talked about." He waslooking at Carrie as he spoke.
"I hadn't heard of him," said Carrie, honestly.
"Oh, I have," said Mrs. Vance. "He's written lots of things.This last story is pretty good."
"He doesn't amount to much," said Ames.
Carrie turned her eyes toward him as to an oracle.
"His stuff is nearly as bad as 'Dora Thorne,'" concluded Ames.
Carrie felt this as a personal reproof. She read "Dora Thorne,"or had a great deal in the past. It seemed only fair to her, butshe supposed that people thought it very fine. Now this clear-eyed, fine-headed youth, who looked something like a student toher, made fun of it. It was poor to him, not worth reading. Shelooked down, and for the first time felt the pain of notunderstanding.
Yet there was nothing sarcastic or supercilious in the way Amesspoke. He had very little of that in him. Carrie felt that itwas just kindly thought of a high order--the right thing tothink, and wondered what else was right, according to him. Heseemed to notice that she listened and rather sympathised withhim, and from now on he talked mostly to her.
As the waiter bowed and scraped about, felt the dishes to see ifthey were hot enough, brought spoons and forks, and did all thoselittle attentive things calculated to impress the luxury of thesituation upon the diner, Ames also leaned slightly to one sideand told her of Indianapolis in an intelligent way. He reallyhad a very bright mind, which was finding its chief developmentin electrical knowledge. His sympathies for other forms ofinformation, however, and for types of people, were quick andwarm. The red glow on his head gave it a sandy tinge and put abright glint in his eye. Carrie noticed all these things as heleaned toward her and felt exceedingly young. This man was farahead of her. He seemed wiser than Hurstwood, saner and brighterthan Drouet. He seemed innocent and clean, and she thought thathe was exceedingly pleasant. She noticed, also, that hisinterest in her was a far-off one. She was not in his life, norany of the things that touched his life, and yet now, as he spokeof these things, they appealed to her.
"I shouldn't care to be rich," he told her, as the dinnerproceeded and the supply of food warmed up his sympathies; "notrich enough to spend my money this way."
"Oh, wouldn't you?" said Carrie, the, to her, new attitudeforcing itself distinctly upon her for the first time.
"No," he said. "What good would it do? A man doesn't need thissort of thing to be happy."
Carrie thought of this doubtfully; but, coming from him, it hadweight with her.
"He probably could be happy," she thought to herself, "all alone.He's so strong."
Mr. and Mrs. Vance kept up a running fire of interruptions, andthese impressive things by Ames came at odd moments. They weresufficient, however, for the atmosphere that went with this youthimpressed itself upon Carrie without words. There was somethingin him, or the world he moved in, which appealed to her. Hereminded her of scenes she had seen on the stage--the sorrows andsacrifices that always went with she knew not what. He had takenaway some of the bitterness of the contrast between this life andher life, and all by a certain calm indifference which concernedonly him.
As they went out, he took her arm and helped her into the coach,and then they were off again, and so to the show.
During the acts Carrie found herself listening to him veryattentively. He mentioned things in the play which she mostapproved of--things which swayed her deeply.
"Don't you think it rather fine to be an actor?" she asked once.
"Yes, I do," he said, "to be a good one. I think the theatre agreat thing."
Just this little approval set Carrie's heart bounding. Ah, ifshe could only be an actress--a good one! This man was wise--heknew--and he approved of it. If she were a fine actress, suchmen as he would approve of her. She felt that he was good tospeak as he had, although it did not concern her at all. She didnot know why she felt this way.
At the close of the show it suddenly developed that he was notgoing back with them.
"Oh, aren't you?" said Carrie, with an unwarrantable feeling.
"Oh, no," he said; "I'm stopping right around here in Thirty-third Street."
Carrie could not say anything else, but somehow this developmentshocked her. She had been regretting the wane of a pleasantevening, but she had thought there was a half-hour more. Oh, thehalf-hours, the minutes of the world; what miseries and griefsare crowded into them!
She said good-bye with feigned indifference. What matter couldit make? Still, the coach seemed lorn.
When she went into her own flat she had this to think about. Shedid not know whether she would ever see this man any more. Whatdifference could it make--what difference could it make?
Hurstwood had returned, and was already in bed. His clothes werescattered loosely about. Carrie came to the door and saw him,then retreated. She did not want to go in yet a while. Shewanted to think. It was disagreeable to her.
Back in the dining-room she sat in her chair and rocked. Herlittle hands were folded tightly as she thought. Through a fogof longing and conflicting desires she was beginning to see. Oh,ye legions of hope and pity--of sorrow and pain! She was rocking,and beginning to see.