嘉莉妹妹(Sister Carrie) 第四十六章

Chapter 46

STIRRING TROUBLED WATERS

Playing in New York one evening on this her return, Carrie was putting the finishing touches to her toilet before leaving for the night, when a commotion near the stage door caught her ear. It included a familiar voice.

"Never mind, now. I want to see Miss Madenda."

"You'll have to send in your card."

"Oh, come off! Here."

A half-dollar was passed over, and now a knock came at her dressing-room door.

Carrie opened it.

"Well, well!" said Drouet. "I do swear! Why, how are you? I knew that was you the moment I saw you."

Carrie fell back a pace, expecting a most embarrassing conversation.

"Aren't you going to shake hands with me? Well, you're a dandy! That's all right, shake hands."

Carrie put out her hand, smiling, if for nothing more than the man's exuberant good-nature. Though older, he was but slightly changed. The same fine clothes, the same stocky body, the same rosy countenance.

"That fellow at the door there didn't want to let me in, until I paid him. I knew it was you, all right. Say, you've got a great show. You do your part fine. I knew you would. I just happened to be passing tonight and thought I'd drop in for a few minutes. I saw your name on the programme, but I didn't remember it until you came on the stage. Then it struck me all at once. Say, you could have knocked me down with a feather. That's the same name you used out there in Chicago, isn't it?"

"Yes," answered Carrie, mildly, overwhelmed by the man's assurance.

"I knew it was, the moment I saw you. Well, how have you been, anyhow?"

"Oh, very well," said Carrie, lingering in her dressing-room. She was rather dazed by the assault. "How have you been?"

"Me? Oh, fine. I'm here now."

"Is that so?" said Carrie.

"Yes. I've been here for six months. I've got charge of a branch here."

"How nice!"

"Well, when did you go on the stage, anyhow?" inquired Drouet.

"About three years ago," said Carrie.

"You don't say so! Well, sir, this is the first I've heard of it. I knew you would, though. I always said you could act -- didn't I?"

Carrie smiled.

"Yes, you did," she said.

"Well, you do look great," he said. "I never saw anybody improve so. You're taller, aren't you?"

"Me? Oh, a little, maybe."

He gazed at her dress, then at her hair, where a becoming hat was set jauntily, then into her eyes, which she took all occasion to avert. Evidently he expected to restore their old friendship at once and without modification.

"Well," he said, seeing her gather up her purse, handkerchief, and the like, preparatory to departing, "I want you to come out to dinner with me; won't you? I've got a friend out here."

"Oh, I can't," said Carrie. "Not to-night. I have an early engagement to-morrow."

"Aw, let the engagement go. Come on. I can get rid of him. I want to have a good talk with you."

"No, no," said Carrie; "I can't. You mustn't ask me any more. I don't care for a late dinner."

"Well, come on and have a talk, then, anyhow."

"Not to-night," she said, shaking her head. "We'll have a talk some other time."

As a result of this, she noticed a shade of thought pass over his face, as if he were beginning to realise that things were changed. Good-nature dictated something better than this for one who had always liked her.

"You come around to the hotel to-morrow," she said, as sort of penance for error. "You can take dinner with me."

"All right," said Drouet, brightening. "Where are you stopping?"

"At the Waldorf," she answered, mentioning the fashionable hostelry then but newly erected.

"What time?"

"Well, come at three," said Carrie, pleasantly.

The next day Drouet called, but it was with no especial delight that Carrie remembered her appointment. However, seeing him, handsome as ever, after his kind, and most genially disposed, her doubts as to whether the dinner would be disagreeable were swept away. He talked as volubly as ever.

"They put on a lot of lugs here, don't they?" was his first remark.

"Yes; they do," said Carrie.

Genial egotist that he was, he went at once into a detailed account of his own career.

"I'm going to have a business of my own pretty soon," he observed in one place. "I can get backing for two hundred thousand dollars."

Carrie listened most good-naturedly.

"Say," he said, suddenly; "where is Hurstwood now?"

Carrie flushed a little.

"He's here in New York, I guess," she said. "I haven't seen him for some time."

Drouet mused for a moment. He had not been sure until now that the ex-manager was not an influential figure in the background. He imagined not; but this assurance relieved him. It must be that Carrie had got rid of him -- as well she ought, he thought.

"A man always makes a mistake when he does anything like that," he observed.

"Like what?" said Carrie, unwitting of what was coming.

"Oh, you know," and Drouet waved her intelligence, as it were, with his hand.

"No, I don't," she answered. "What do you mean?"

"Why that affair in Chicago -- the time he left."

"I don't know what you are talking about," said Carrie. Could it be he would refer so rudely to Hurstwood's flight with her?

"Oho!" said Drouet, incredulously. "You knew he took ten thousand dollars with him when he left, didn't you?"

"What!" said Carrie. "You don't mean to say he stole money, do you?"

"Why," said Drouet, puzzled at her tone, "you knew that, didn't you?"

"Why, no," said Carrie. "Of course I didn't."

"Well, that's funny," said Drouet. "He did, you know. It was in all the papers."

"How much did you say he took?" said Carrie.

"Ten thousand dollars. I heard he sent most of it back afterwards, though."

Carrie looked vacantly at the richly carpeted floor. A new light was shining upon all the years since her enforced flight. She remembered now a hundred things that indicated as much. She also imagined that he took it on her account. Instead of hatred springing up there was a kind of sorrow generated. Poor fellow! What a thing to have had hanging over his head all the time.

At dinner Drouet, warmed up by eating and drinking and softened in mood, fancied he was winning Carrie to her old-time good-natured regard for him. He began to imagine it would not be so difficult to enter into her life again, high as she was. Ah, what a prize! he thought. How beautiful, how elegant, how famous! In her theatrical and Waldorf setting, Carrie was to him the all-desirable.

"Do you remember how nervous you were that night at the Avery?" he asked.

Carrie smiled to think of it.

"I never saw anybody do better than you did then, Cad," he added ruefully, as he leaned an elbow on the table; "I thought you and I were going to get along fine those days."

"You mustn't talk that way," said Carrie, bringing in the least touch of coldness.

"Won't you let me tell you-"

"No," she answered, rising. "Besides, it's time I was getting ready for the theatre. I'll have to leave you. Come, now."

"Oh, stay a minute," pleaded Drouet. "You've got plenty of time."

"No," said Carrie, gently.

Reluctantly Drouet gave up the bright table and followed. He saw her to the elevator and, standing there, said:

"When do I see you again?"

"Oh, some time, possibly," said Carrie. "I'll be here all summer. Good-night!"

The elevator door was open.

"Good-night!" said Drouet, as she rustled in.

Then he strolled sadly down the hall, all his old longing revived, because she was now so far off. He thought himself hardly dealt with. Carrie, however, had other thoughts.

That night it was that she passed Hurstwood, waiting at the Casino, without observing him.

The next night, walking to the theatre, she encountered him face to face. He was waiting, more gaunt than ever, determined to see her, if he had to send in word. At first she did not recognise the shabby, baggy figure. He frightened her, edging so close, a seemingly hungry stranger.

"Carrie," he half whispered, "can I have a few words with you?"

She turned and recognised him on the instant. If there ever had lurked any feeling in her heart against him, it deserted her now. Still, she remembered what Drouet said about his having stolen the money.

"Why, George," she said; "what's the matter with you?"

"I've been sick," he answered. "I've just got out of the hospital. For God's sake, let me have a little money, will you?"

"Of course," said Carrie, her lip trembling in a strong effort to maintain her composure. "But what's the matter with you, anyhow?"

She was opening her purse, and now pulled out all the bills in it -- a five and two twos.

"I've been sick, I told you," he said, peevishly, almost resenting her excessive pity. It came hard to him to receive it from such a source.

"Here," she said. "It's all I have with me."

"All right," he answered, softly. "I'll give it back to you some day."

Carrie looked at him, while pedestrians stared at her. She felt the strain of publicity. So did Hurstwood.

"Why don't you tell me what's the matter with you?" she asked, hardly knowing what to do. "Where are you living?"

"Oh, I've got a room down in the Bowery," he answered. "There's no use trying to tell you here. I'm all right now."

He seemed in a way to resent her kindly inquiries -- so much better had fate dealt with her.

"Better go on in," he said. "I'm much obliged, but I won't bother you any more."

She tried to answer, but he turned away and shuffled off toward the east.

For days this apparition was a drag on her soul before it began to wear partially away. Drouet called again, but now he was not even seen by her. His attentions seemed out of place.

"I'm out," was her reply to the boy.

So peculiar, indeed, was her lonely, self-withdrawing temper, that she was becoming an interesting figure in the public eye -- she was so quiet and reserved.

Not long after the management decided to transfer the show to London. A second summer season did not seem to promise well here.

"How would you like to try subduing London?" asked her manager, one afternoon.

"It might be just the other way," said Carrie.

"I think we'll go in June," he answered.

In the hurry of departure, Hurstwood was forgotten. Both he and Drouet were left to discover that she was gone. The latter called once, and exclaimed at the news. Then he stood in the lobby, chewing the ends of his moustache. At last he reached a conclusion -- the old days had gone for good.

"She isn't so much," he said; but in his heart of hearts he did not believe this.

Hurstwood shifted by curious means through a long summer and fall. A small job as janitor of a dance hall helped him for a month. Begging, sometimes going hungry, sometimes sleeping in the park, carried him over more days. Resorting to those peculiar charities, several of which, in the press of hungry search, he accidentally stumbled upon, did the rest. Toward the dead of winter, Carrie came back, appearing on Broadway in a new play; but he was not aware of it. For weeks he wandered about the city, begging, while the fire sign, announcing her engagement, blazed nightly upon the crowded street of amusements. Drouet saw it, but did not venture in.

About this time Ames returned to New York. He had made a little success in the West, and now opened a laboratory in Wooster Street. Of course, he encountered Carrie through Mrs. Vance; but there was nothing responsive between them. He thought she was still united to Hurstwood, until otherwise informed. Not knowing the facts then, he did not profess to understand, and refrained from comment.

With Mrs. Vance, he saw the new play, and expressed himself accordingly.

"She ought not to be in comedy," he said. "I think she could do better than that."

One afternoon they met at the Vances' accidentally, and began a very friendly conversation. She could hardly tell why the one-time keen interest in him was no longer with her. Unquestionably, it was because at that time he had represented something which she did not have; but this she did not understand. Success had given her the momentary feeling that she was now blessed with much of which he would approve. As a matter of fact, her little newspaper fame was nothing at all to him. He thought she could have done better, by far.

"You didn't go into comedy-drama, after all?" he said, remembering her interest in that form of art.

"No," she answered; "I haven't, so far."

He looked at her in such a peculiar way that she realised she had failed. It moved her to add: "I want to, though."

"I should think you would," he said. "You have the sort of disposition that would do well in comedy-drama."

It surprised her that he should speak of disposition. Was she, then, so clearly in his mind?

"Why?" she asked.

"Well," he said, "I should judge you were rather sympathetic in your nature."

Carrie smiled and coloured slightly. He was so innocently frank with her that she drew nearer in friendship. The old call of the ideal was sounding.

"I don't know," she answered, pleased, nevertheless, beyond all concealment.

"I saw your play," he remarked. "It's very good."

"I'm glad you liked it."

"Very good, indeed," he said, "for a comedy."

This is all that was said at the time, owing to an interruption, but later they met again. He was sitting in a corner after dinner, staring at the floor, when Carrie came up with another of the guests. Hard work had given his face the look of one who is weary. It was not for Carrie to know the thing in it which appealed to her.

"All alone?" she said.

"I was listening to the music."

"I'll be back in a moment," said her companion, who saw nothing in the inventor.

Now he looked up in her face, for she was standing a moment, while he sat.

"Isn't that a pathetic strain?" he inquired, listening.

"Oh, very," she returned, also catching it, now that her attention was called.

"Sit down," he added, offering her the chair beside him.

They listened a few moments in silence, touched by the same feeling, only hers reached her through the heart. Music still charmed her as in the old days.

"I don't know what it is about music," she started to say, moved by the inexplicable longings which surged within her; "but it always makes me feel as if I wanted something -- I-"

"Yes," he replied; "I know how you feel."

Suddenly he turned to considering the peculiarity of her disposition, expressing her feelings so frankly.

"You ought not to be melancholy," he said.

He thought a while, and then went off into a seemingly alien observation which, however, accorded with their feelings.

"The world is full of desirable situations, but, unfortunately, we can occupy but one at a time. It doesn't do us any good to wring our hands over the far-off things."

The music ceased and he arose, taking a standing position before her, as if to rest himself.

"Why don't you get into some good, strong comedy-drama?" he said. He was looking directly at her now, studying her face. Her large, sympathetic eyes and pain-touched mouth appealed to him as proofs of his judgment.

"Perhaps I shall," she returned.

"That's your field," he added.

"Do you think so?"

"Yes," he said; "I do. I don't suppose you're aware of it, but there is something about your eyes and mouth which fits you for that sort of work."

Carrie thrilled to be taken so seriously. For the moment, loneliness deserted her. Here was praise which was keen and analytical.

"It's in your eyes and mouth," he went on abstractedly. "I remember thinking, the first time I saw you, that there was something peculiar about your mouth. I thought you were about to cry."

"How odd," said Carrie, warm with delight. This was what her heart craved.

"Then I noticed that that was your natural look, and to-night I saw it again. There's a shadow about your eyes, too, which gives your face much this same character. It's in the depth of them, I think."

Carrie looked straight into his face, wholly aroused.

"You probably are not aware of it," he added.

She looked away, pleased that he should speak thus, longing to be equal to this feeling written upon her countenance. It unlocked the door to a new desire.

She had cause to ponder over this until they met again -- several weeks or more. It showed her she was drifting away from the old ideal which had filled her in the dressing-rooms of the Avery stage and thereafter, for a long time. Why had she lost it?

"I know why you should be a success," he said, another time, "if you had a more dramatic part. I've studied it out-"

"What is it?" said Carrie.

"Well," he said, as one pleased with a puzzle, "the expression in your face is one that comes out in different things. You get the same thing in a pathetic song, or any picture which moves you deeply. It's a thing the world likes to see, because it's a natural expression of its longing."

Carrie gazed without exactly getting the import of what he meant.

"The world is always struggling to express itself," he went on. "Most people are not capable of voicing their feelings. They depend upon others. That is what genius is for. One man expresses their desires for them in music; another one in poetry; another one in a play. Sometimes nature does it in a face -- it makes the face representative of all desire. That's what has happened in your case."

He looked at her with so much of the import of the thing in his eyes that she caught it. At least, she got the idea that her look was something which represented the world's longing. She took it to heart as a creditable thing, until he added:

"That puts a burden of duty on you. It so happens that you have this thing. It is no credit to you -- that is, I mean, you might not have had it. You paid nothing to get it. But now that you have it, you must do something with it."

"What?" asked Carrie.

"I should say, turn to the dramatic field. You have so much sympathy and such a melodious voice. Make them valuable to others. It will make your powers endure."

Carrie did not understand this last. All her comedy success was little or nothing.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Why, just this. You have this quality in your eyes and mouth and in your nature. You can lose it, you know. If you turn away from it and live to satisfy yourself alone, it will go fast enough. The look will leave your eyes. Your mouth will change. Your power to act will disappear. You may think they won't, but they will. Nature takes care of that."

He was so interested in forwarding all good causes that he sometimes became enthusiastic, giving vent to these preachments. Something in Carrie appealed to him. He wanted to stir her up.

"I know," she said, absently, feeling slightly guilty of neglect.

"If I were you," he said, "I'd change."

The effect of this was like roiling helpless waters. Carrie troubled over it in her rocking-chair for days.

"I don't believe I'll stay in comedy so very much longer," she eventually remarked to Lola.

"Oh, why not?" said the latter.

"I think," she said, "I can do better in a serious play."

"What put that idea in your head?"

"Oh, nothing," she answered; "I've always thought so."

Still, she did nothing -- grieving. It was a long way to this better thing -- or seemed so -- and comfort was about her; hence the inactivity and longing.

第四十六章

愁上添愁

“哦，没关系的。我要见麦登达小姐。”

“你得先把名片递进去。”

“哦，别挡着我。给你。”

递过去了半块钱，然后就听到有人敲她化妆室的门。

嘉莉开了门。

“嘿，嘿！”杜洛埃说。“我说是吧！喂，你好吗？我一看见就知道是你。”嘉莉朝后退了一步，心想这一下会有一番最令人难堪的谈话了。

“你不打算和我握手吗？嘿，你真是个大美人儿。没关系的，握手吧。”嘉莉笑着伸出手来，也许只是因为这个男人热情洋溢、一片好心。他虽然老了一些，但变化很校还是那样衣着华丽，还是那样身材粗壮，还是那样满面红光。

“门口的那个家伙不让我进来，我给了他钱才进来了。我知道肯定是你，嗬，你们这出戏真棒。你的角色演得很出色。我早知道你行的。今天晚上我碰巧路过这里，就想进来看一会儿。我在节目单上看见了你的名字，但是直到你上台我才记起来。当时我蓦地大吃一惊。咳，你简直把我惊呆了。这个名字就是你在芝加哥时用的那个，是不是？”“是的，”嘉莉温和地回答，被这个男人的自信征服了。

“我一看见你，就知道是那个名字。好啦，不管它了。你一向好吗？”“哦，很好，”嘉莉说，还在她的化妆室里磨蹭着。这场突然袭击弄得她有些晕头转向了。“你一向好吗？”“我吗？哦，很好。我现在住在这里。”“这是真的吗？”嘉莉说。

“是的。我来这里已经六个月了。我在负责这里的分公司。”“这太好了！”“哦，你到底是什么时候上舞台的？”杜洛埃问道。

“大约三年以前，”嘉莉说，

“你没开玩笑吧！哎呀，真是的，我这还是第一次听说呢。”

“不过我早知道你会上舞台的。我总是说你能演戏的，是不是？”嘉莉笑了。

“是的，你是说过，”她说。

“啊，你看上去真漂亮，”他说。“我从没有见过有谁变化这么大的。你长高了一些，是不是？”“我吗？喔，也许长高了一点吧。”他凝视着她的衣服，然后转向她的头发，头上很神气地戴着一顶合适的帽子，最后盯住了她的眼睛，她却竭力地避开他的目光。很显然，他是想立刻原原本本地恢复他们往日的交情。

“那么，”见她在收拾钱包、手帕之类的东西，准备离开，他说，“我想请你和我一起出去吃饭，你愿意吗？我还有个朋友在外面等我。”“啊，不行，”嘉莉说。“今晚不行。我明天一早就要赴约。”“咳，别去赴什么约了。走吧。我可以把那个朋友甩开。我要和你好好地谈一谈。”“不，不，”嘉莉说。“我不行。你不用再说了。我也不想去吃饭。”“好吧，那我们就出去谈谈，这总可以吧。”“今晚不行，”她摇摇头说。“我们改天再谈吧。”说完这话，她发现他的脸上掠过一层若有所思的阴影，好像他正开始意识到情况已经发生了变化。善良的心地使她觉得对待一个一直都喜欢她的人应该更友好一些。

“那你明天到旅馆来找我吧，”她说，作为悔过的表示。“你可以和我一起吃饭。”“好的，”杜洛埃说，又快活起来。“你住在哪里？”“在沃尔多夫旅馆，”她回答，指的是当时刚刚新建的时髦大旅馆。

“什么时候？”

“哦，３点钟来吧，”嘉莉愉快地说。

第二天，杜洛埃来赴约了，但当嘉莉想起这个约会时并不感到特别高兴。可是看到他还像从前一样风度翩翩--是他那种人的风度，而且态度十分亲切，她对这顿饭是否会使她不愉快的疑虑就一扫而光了。他还像从前一样滔滔不绝地说着话。

“这里的人的架子可不小，是不是？”这是他说的第一句话。

“是的，他们的架子是很大，”嘉莉说。

他是个典型的言必称“我”者。因此，立刻详细地谈起了他自己的事业。

“我很快就要自己开一家公司了，”谈话中有一次他这样说。“我可以筹集到２０万块钱的资金。”嘉莉非常耐心地听着。

“喂，”他突然说，“赫斯渥现在在哪里？”嘉莉脸红了一下。

“我想他就在纽约吧，”她说，“我已经有些时候没有看见他了。”杜洛埃沉思了一会儿。在此之前，他一直拿不准这位前经理是不是在幕后施加影响的人物。他猜想不是，但是这样一肯定就使他放心了。他想一定是嘉莉抛弃了他，她也应该这样做。

“一个人干出那样的事情来，总是做错了，”他说。

“干出什么样的事情？”嘉莉说，不知道下文是什么。

“哦，你知道的，”说着，杜洛埃挥了挥手，似乎在表示她一定知道的。

“不，我不知道，”她回答。“你指的是什么事？”“噢，就是在芝加哥发生的那件事--在他出走的时候。”“我不明白你在说些什么，”嘉莉说。难道他会如此无礼地提起赫斯渥和她一起私奔的事吗？

“哎哟！”杜洛埃怀疑地说。“你知道他出走的时候拿了１万块钱，是吗？”“什么！”嘉莉说，“莫非你的意思是说他偷了钱，是吗？”“嗨，”杜洛埃说，对她的语气感到大惑不解，“你早就知道这件事了，对不对？”“哦，不知道，”嘉莉说，“我当然不知道。”“那就奇怪了，”杜洛埃说道，“他是偷了钱，你也知道的。所有的报纸都登了这事。”

“你刚才说他拿了多少钱？”嘉莉问。

“１万块。不过，我听说他事后把大部分的钱都寄了回去。”嘉莉茫然地看着铺着豪华地毯的地板。她开始用新的眼光看待自己被迫逃走之后这些年的生活。她现在回想起很多事情都表明了这一点。她还想到他拿钱是为了她。因此并没有什么憎恨，只是一种惋惜之情油然而生。多么可怜的家伙！

这些年来他一直生活在怎样的一件事情的阴影之下埃吃饭的时候，杜洛埃吃着喝着兴奋起来，心里也有了柔情，自以为他正在使嘉莉回心转意，会像过去那样心地善良地关怀他。他开始幻想着，虽然她现在十分高贵，但要重新进入她的生活并不会太难。他想，她是多么值得争取啊！她是多么漂亮、多么优雅、多么有名啊！以舞台和沃尔多夫旅馆为背景的嘉莉，是他最最想得到的人儿。

“你还记得在阿佛莱会堂的那天晚上你有多胆怯吗？”他问。

嘉莉想起这事，笑了一下。

“我从来没有见过谁演得比你当时演得更好，嘉德，”他懊丧地补充说，把一只胳膊撑在桌子上。“我还以为那时候你我会相处得很好呢。”“你不应该这样说，”嘉莉说，口气开始有些冷淡了。

“你难道不想让我告诉你--”

“不，”她说着站起身来。“而且，现在我要准备去戏院了。”

“我不得不和你告别。现在走吧。”

“哦，再待一会儿，”杜洛埃恳求道，“时间还早呢。”“不，”嘉莉温柔地说。

杜洛埃极不情愿地离开了这明亮的餐桌，跟着她走了。他陪她走到电梯门口，站在那里说：“我什么时候能再见到你？”“哦，也许过些时候吧，”嘉莉说，“我整个夏天都在这里。

再见！”

电梯门开了。

“再见！”杜洛埃说，目送她拖着沙沙作响的裙子走进电梯。

然后，他伤心地沿着走廊慢慢走着。因为她现在离他是如此遥远，他往日的一切渴望全都复苏了。这地方欢快的衣服沙沙作响的声音，难免使人想起她。他觉得自己受到了冷遇。然而，嘉莉的心里却想着别的事情。

就在那天晚上，她从等在卡西诺戏院门口的赫斯渥身边经过，却没有看见他。

第二天晚上，她步行去戏院，和赫斯渥迎面相遇。他等在那里，比以前更加憔悴。他下定了决心要见到她，即使捎话进去也要见到她。起初她没有认出这个衣衫褴褛、皮肉松弛的人。他挨得这么近，像是一个饿极了的陌生人，把她吓了一跳。

“嘉莉，”他低声说，“我能和你说几句话吗？”她转过身来，立刻认出了他。即使在她心中曾经潜藏着什么对他的反感的话，这时也都消失了。而且，她还记得杜洛埃说的他偷过钱的事。

“啊唷，乔治，”她说，“你怎么啦？”

“我生了一场病，”他回答，“我刚刚从医院出来。看在上帝的面上，给我一点钱，好吗？”“当然可以，”嘉莉说，她努力想保持镇静，连嘴唇都在颤抖。“但是你到底怎么啦？”她打开钱包，把里面的钞票全都掏了出来--２张２块的，１张５块的。

“我生了一场病，我告诉过你了，”他没好气地说，对她的过分怜悯几乎产生了怨恨。从这样一个人那里得到怜悯，使他难受万分。

“给，”她说。“我身边只有这么多了。”

“好的，”他轻声回答，“我有朝一日会还给你的。”嘉莉看着他，而街上的行人都在注视着她。在众目睽睽之下她感到很难堪。赫斯渥也有同感。

“你为什么不告诉我你究竟是怎么啦？”她问道，简直不知如何是好。“你住在哪里？”“喔，我在波威里街租了一个房间，”他回答，“在这里告诉你也没用的。我现在已经好了。”他好像有些讨厌她的好心的询问，命运待她要好得多。

“还是进去吧，”他说，“我很感激，但是我不会再来麻烦你的。”她想回答一句，但他已经转身走开，拖着脚往东去了。

这个幽灵般的影子在她的心头萦绕了好多天，才开始逐渐消逝了一些。杜洛埃又来拜访，但是这一次她连见都不见他。他的殷勤似乎已经不合时宜。

“我不会客，”她回答茶房。

她那孤僻、内向的脾气的确太特别了，使得她成了公众眼里一个引人注目的人物。她是如此的文静而矜持。

此后不久，剧团经理部决定去伦敦演出。再在这里演一个夏季看来前景并不太好。

“你愿意去征服伦敦吗？”一天下午，经理问她。

“也许正好是伦敦征服了我呢？”嘉莉说。

“我想我们将在６月里动身，”他说。

临行匆匆，把赫斯渥给忘了。他和杜洛埃两个人都是事后才知道她已经走了。杜洛埃来拜访过一次，听到消息大叫了起来。然后，他站在门厅里，咬着胡子尖。他终于得出了结论——过去的日子已经一去不复返了。

“她也没什么了不起的，”他说，但是在他的内心深处却不这么认为。

赫斯渥好歹通过一些稀奇古怪的方式，熬过了一个漫长的夏季和秋季。在一家舞厅干一份看门的小差使帮他度过了一个月。更多的时候他是靠乞讨过活的，有时挨饿，有时露宿公园。还有些日子，他求助于那些特殊的慈善机构，其中的几个是他在饥饿的驱使下偶然碰上的。快到隆冬的时候，嘉莉回来了，在百老汇戏院上演一出新戏，但是他并不知道。接连几个星期，他在城里流浪着，乞讨着，而有关她的演出的灯光招牌则每晚都在那条拥挤的娱乐大街上闪闪发亮。杜洛埃倒是看见了招牌，但是却没敢进去。

大约就在这个时候，艾姆斯回到了纽约。他在西部已经有了些小成就，现在在伍斯特街开办了一个实验室。当然，他通过万斯太太又遇见了嘉莉，但是在他们之间并不存在什么相互感应。他以为她还和赫斯渥生活在一起，直到听说情况不是这样。当时因为不知道事实真相，他不表示理解，也没有加以评论。

他和万斯太太一起去看了新戏，并且对演出发表了自己的意见。

“她不应该演轻松喜剧的，”他说，“我想她可以演得比这更好一些。”一天下午，他们偶然在万斯家相遇，便很亲热地谈起话来。她简直搞不懂自己为什么不再抱有那一度对他的强烈的兴趣。毫无疑问，这是因为那个时候他代表着一些她所没有的东西，但是她并不明白这一点。她的成功使她暂时觉得自己已经拥有了许多他会赞许的东西。其实，她在报纸上的那点小名气在他看来根本就是微不足道的。他认为她本可以演得更好，而且是好得多。

“你终究没去演严肃喜剧吗？”他说，记起了她对那种艺术的爱好。

“没有，”她回答，“我至今还没有。”

他看她的目光是如此地奇特，因此她意识到自己是失败了。这使得她又补充说道：“不过，我是想演的。”“我倒也觉得你会这样想的，”他说，“按你的性格，如果你演严肃喜剧会很出色的。”他竟会说到性格，这可让她大吃了一惊。那么，他心里对她的了解有这么清楚吗？

“为什么呢？”她问。

“哦，”他说，“据我看你的天性很富有同情心。”嘉莉笑了，有些脸红起来。他对她是这么天真、坦率，使她进一步增加了对他的友谊。往日那理想的呼唤又在她耳边响起。

“这我就不知道了，”她回答道，可是却掩饰不住内心的喜悦。

“我看了你们的戏，”他说，“演得很好。”“我很高兴你能喜欢。”“的确很好，他说，“就轻松喜剧而言。”因为有人打扰，当时他们就说了这些，但是后来他们又相见了。他吃完饭后正坐在一个角落里凝视着地板，这时嘉莉和另一位客人走了上来。辛苦的工作使他的脸上露出了疲惫的神色。嘉莉永远也弄不明白这张脸上有什么东西吸引她。

“一个人吗？”她问。

“我刚才在听音乐。”

“我一会儿就回来，”她的伴侣说，没觉得这个发明家有什么了不起之处。

这时他抬头望着她的脸，因为她已经站了一会儿，而他却坐着。

“那不是一首悲伤的曲子吗？”他倾听着问。

“啊，是很悲伤，”她回答，现在她注意到了，也听了出来。

“请坐，”他补充说，请她坐在他身边的椅子上。

他们静静地听了一会儿，为同一感情所感动，只是她的感情是发自内心的。像往日一样，音乐仍旧使她陶醉。

“我不知道音乐是怎么一回事，”她心里涌起阵阵莫名起妙的渴望，这促使她先打破沉默说，“但是音乐总是使我觉得好像缺少些什么--我--”“是的，”他回答，“我知道你是怎样感觉的。”突然，他转念想到她的性格真是奇特，会如此坦率地表白自己的感触。

“你不应该伤感的，”他说。

他想了一会儿，然后就陷入了仿佛是陌生的观察之中。不过，这和他们的感觉倒是相一致的。

“这个世界充满了令人向往的地位。然而，不幸的是，我们在一个时候只能占有一个地位。为那些可望而不可及的东西扼腕叹息对我们毫无好处。”音乐停止了，他站起身来，在她面前挺立着，像是要休息一下。

“你为什么不去演些好的、有力度的严肃喜剧呢？”他说。

现在他直视着她，仔细地打量着她的脸。她那富于同情的大眼睛和哀怨动人的嘴巴都证明他的见解是正确的，因而使他很感兴趣。

“也许我要演的，”她回答。

“那才是你的本行，”他补充说。

“你是这样认为的吗？”

“是的，”他说，“我是这样认为的。我想你也许没有意识到，但是你的眼睛和嘴巴有着某种表情使你很适合演那种戏。”受到如此认真的对待，嘉莉一阵激动。一时间，她不再觉得寂寞。她现在得到的称赞敏锐而富有分析性。

“那种表情就在你的眼睛和嘴巴上，”他漫不经心地接着说，“我记得第一次见到你的时候，就觉得你的嘴巴很有些特别。我还以为你快要哭了呢。”“好奇怪，”嘉莉说，快乐得兴奋起来。这正是她内心里渴望的东西。

“后来，我发现这是你天生的长相，今天晚上我又注意到了这一点。你的眼睛周围也有些阴影，使你的脸有了同样的特点。我想那是在眼睛的深处。”嘉莉直视着他的脸庞，激动万分。

“你也许没有意识到这一点，”他补充说。

她扭头望向别处，很高兴他能这么说，真希望不要辜负了她脸上天生的这种表情。这打开了一种新欲望的大门。

在他们再度相见之前，她有理由反复思考这件事--几个星期或者更久。这件事使她明白，很久以来，她离当年在阿佛莱会堂后台的化妆室里以及后来的日子里满心渴望的原来的理想是越来越远了。她为什么会丧失这个理想呢？

“我知道为什么你能演得成功，”另一次，他说，“只要你的戏再重一些。我已经研究出来--”“研究出什么？”嘉莉问道。

“哦，”他说，高兴得像是猜出了一条谜语。“你的面部表情是随着不同的情况而产生的。你从伤心的歌曲或者任何使你深受感动的绘画中，都会得到同样的感受。这就是世人都喜欢看的东西，因为这是欲望的自然表现。”嘉莉瞪大眼睛望着，并不确切地明白他的意思。

“世人总是挣扎着要表现自己，”他继续说，“而大多数人都不善于表达自己的感情。他们得依赖别人。天才就是为此而生的。有人用音乐表现了他们的欲望；有人用诗歌来表现；还有人用戏剧来表现。有时候造物主用人的面孔来表现--用面孔来表现所有的欲望。你的情况就是这样。”他看着她，眼睛里充满了这件事的含义，使她也懂得了。

至少，她懂得了她的面部表情是可以表现世人的欲望的。她认为这是件荣耀的事，因而牢记在心里，直到他又说：“这就要求你担负起一种责任。你恰好具有这种才能。这不是你的荣耀，我的意思是说，你可能没有它的。这是你没有付出代价就得来的。但是你现在既然有了这种才能，就应该用它来干出一番事业。”“干些什么呢？”嘉莉问。

“依我看，转到戏剧方面去。你这么富有同情心，又有着这么悦耳的嗓音。要让它们对别人有用。那将使你的才能不朽。”嘉莉没听懂这最后的一句话。其余的话则是在告诉她，她演轻松喜剧的成功并没有什么大不了的，或者根本就是微不足道。

“你说的是什么意思？”她问。

“噢，就是这个。你的眼睛和嘴巴，还有你的天性都具有这种才能。你会失去它的，这你也知道，倘若你不运用它，活着只是为了满足自己，那么它很快就会消失。你的眼睛会失色，你的嘴巴会变样，你的表演能力会化为乌有。你也许认为它们不会消失，但是它们会的。这个造物主自会安排。”他如此热衷于提出好的意见，有时候甚至都变得热情洋溢起来，于是就说了这么一大通道理。他喜欢嘉莉身上的某种东西。他想激励她一下。

“我知道，”她心不在焉地说，对自己的疏忽感到有点内疚。

“如果我是你的话，”他说，“我会改行的。”这番谈话在嘉莉身上产生的效应就像是搅混了无助的水，使她徒然心乱。嘉莉坐在摇椅里，为这事苦思冥想了好几天。

“我想我演轻松喜剧的日子不会太久了，”她终于对萝拉说。

“哦，为什么呢？”后者问。

“我想，”她说，“我演严肃戏剧可以演得更好一些。”“什么事情使你这么想的？”“哦，没有什么，”她回答。“我一直都有这个想法。”可是，她并不采取什么行动，只是在发愁。要想干这更好一些的事情路途还远着呢--或者看起来还很远--而她已经是在养尊处优了，因此她只有渴望而没有行动。