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Lady Baltimore-Part25_Owen Wister(1860-1938)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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commented. "Quite extraordinary, you know, her dignity, when poor old

awful Charley was messing everything--he's so used to mere money, you



know, that half the time he forgets people are not dollars, and you have

to kick him to remind him--yes, quite perfect dignity. Gad, it took a



lady to climb up and sit by that ragged old darky and take her dead dog

away in the cart! The cart and the darky only made her look what she was



all the more. Poor Kitty couldn't do that--she'd look like a chambermaid!

Well, old man, see you again."



I stood on the post-office steps looking after Beverly Rodgers as he

crossed Court Street. His admirably good clothes, the easy finish of his



whole appearance, even his walk, and his back, and the slope of his

shoulders, were unmistakable. The Southern men, going to their business



in Court Street, looked at him. Alas, in his outward man he was as a rose

among weeds! And certainly, no well-born American could unite with an art



more hedonistic than Beverly's the old school and the nouveau jeu!

Over at the other corner he turned and stood admiring the church and



gazing at the other buildings, and so perceived me still on the steps.

With a gesture of remembering something he crossed back again.



"You've not seen Miss Rieppe?"

"Why, of course I haven't!" I exclaimed. Was everybody going to ask me



that?

"Well, something's up, old boy. Charley has got the launch away with



him--and I'll bet he's got her away with him, too. Charley lied this

morning."



"Is lying, then, so rare with him?"

"Why, it rather is, you know. But I've come to be able to spot him when



he does it. Those little bulgy eyes of his look at you particularly

straight and childlike. He said he had to hunt up a man on business--V-C



Chemical Company, he called it--"

"There is such a thing here," I said.



"Oh, Charley'd never make up a thing, and get found out in that way! But

he was lying all the same, old man."



"Do you mean they've run off and got married?"

"What do you take them for? Much more like them to run off and not get



married. But they haven't done that either. And, speaking of that, I

believe I've gone a bit adrift. Your fire-eater, you know--she is an



extraordinary woman!" And Beverly gave his mellow, little humorous

chuckle. "Hanged if I don't begin to think she does fancy him."



"Well!" I cried, "that would explain--no, it wouldn't. Whence comes your

theory?"



"Saw her look at him at dinner once last night. We dined with some

people--Cornerly. She looked at him just once. Well, if she intends--by



gad, it upsets one's whole notion of her!"

"Isn't just one look rather slight basis for--"



"Now, old man, you know better than that!" Beverly paused to chuckle. "My

grandmother Livingston," he resumed, "knew Aaron Burr, and she used to



say that he had an eye which no honest woman could meet without a blush.

I don't know whether your fire-eater is a Launcelot, or a Galahad, but



that girl's eye at dinner--"

"Did he blush?" I laughed.



"Not that I saw. But really, old man, confound it, you know! He's no sort

of husband for her. How can he make her happy and how can she make him



happy, and how can either of them hit it off with the other the least

little bit? She's expensive, he's not; she's up-to-date, he's not; she's



of the great world, he's provincial. She's all derision, he's all faith.

Why, hang it, old boy, what does she want him for?"



Beverly's handsome brow was actually furrowed with his problem; and, as I

certainly could furnish him no solution for it, we stood in silence on



the post-office steps. "What can she want him for?" he repeated. Then he

threw it off lightly with one of his chuckles. "So glad I've no daughters



to marry! Well--I must go draw some money."

He took himself off with a certain alacrity, giving an impatient cut with



his stick at a sparrow in the middle of Worship Street, nor did I see him

again this day, although, after hurriedly getting my letters (for the



starting hour of the boat had now drawn near), I followed where he had

gone down Court Street, and his cosmopolitan figure would have been easy



to descry at any distance along that scantily peopled pavement. He had

evidently found the bank and was getting his money.






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