Chapter 23

A SPIRIT IN TRAVAIL: ONE RUNG PUT BEHIND

When Carrie reached her own room she had already fallen a prey to those doubts and misgivings which are ever the result of a lack of decision. She could not persuade herself as to the advisability of her promise, or that now, having given her word, she ought to keep it. She went over the whole ground in Hurstwood's absence, and discovered little objections that had not occurred to her in the warmth of the manager's argument. She saw where she had put herself in a peculiar light, namely, that of agreeing to marry when she was already supposedly married. She remembered a few things Drouet had done, and now that it came to walking away from him without a word, she felt as if she were doing wrong. Now, she was comfortably situated, and to one who is more or less afraid of the world, this is an urgent matter, and one which puts up strange, uncanny arguments. "You do not know what will come. There are miserable things outside. People go a-begging. Women are wretched. You never can tell what will happen. Remember the time you were hungry. Stick to what you have."

Curiously, for all her leaning towards Hurstwood, he had not taken a firm hold on her understanding. She was listening, smiling, approving, and yet not finally agreeing. This was due to a lack of power on his part, a lack of that majesty of passion that sweeps the mind from its seat, fuses and melts all arguments and theories into a tangled mass, and destroys for the time being the reasoning power. This majesty of passion is possessed by nearly every man once in his life, but it is usually an attribute of youth and conduces to the first successful mating.

Hurstwood, being an older man, could scarcely be said to retain the fire of youth, though he did possess a passion warm and unreasoning. It was strong enough to induce the leaning toward him which, on Carrie's part, we have seen. She might have been said to be imagining herself in love, when she was not. Women frequently do this. It flows from the fact that in each exists a bias towards affection, a craving for the pleasure of being loved. The longing to be shielded, bettered, sympathised with, is one of the attributes of the sex. This, coupled with sentiment and a natural tendency to emotion, often makes refusing difficult. It persuades them that they are in love.

Once at home, she changed her clothes and straightened the rooms for herself. In the matter of the arrangement of the furniture she never took the house-maid's opinion. That young woman invariably put one of the rocking-chairs in the corner, and Carrie as regularly moved it out. To-day she hardly noticed that it was in the wrong place, so absorbed was she in her own thoughts. She worked about the room until Drouet put in appearance at five o'clock. The drummer was flushed and excited and full of determination to know all about her relations with Hurstwood. Nevertheless, after going over the subject in his mind the livelong day, he was rather weary of it and wished it over with. He did not foresee serious consequences of any sort, and yet he rather hesitated to begin. Carrie was sitting by the window when he came in, rocking and looking out.

"Well," she said innocently, weary of her own mental discussion and wondering at his haste and ill-concealed excitement, "what makes you hurry so?"

Drouet hesitated, now that he was in her presence, uncertain as to what course to pursue. He was no diplomat. He could neither read nor see.

"When did you get home?" he asked foolishly.

"Oh, an hour or so ago. What makes you ask that?"

"You weren't here," he said, "when I came back this morning, and I thought you had gone out."

"So I did," said Carrie simply. "I went for a walk."

Drouet looked at her wonderingly. For all his lack of dignity in such matters he did not know how to begin. He stared at her in the most flagrant manner until at last she said:

"What makes you stare at me so? What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he answered. "I was just thinking."

"Just thinking what?" she returned smilingly, puzzled by his attitude.

"Oh, nothing -- nothing much."

"Well, then, what makes you look so?"

Drouet was standing by the dresser, gazing at her in a comic manner. He had laid off his hat and gloves and was now fidgeting with the little toilet pieces which were nearest him. He hesitated to believe that the pretty woman before him was involved in anything so unsatisfactory to himself. He was very much inclined to feel that it was all right, after all. Yet the knowledge imparted to him by the chambermaid was rankling in his mind. He wanted to plunge in with a straight remark of some sort, but he knew not what.

"Where did you go this morning?" he finally asked weakly.

"Why, I went for a walk," said Carrie.

"Sure you did?" he asked.

"Yes, what makes you ask?"

She was beginning to see now that he knew something. Instantly she drew herself into a more reserved position. Her cheeks blanched slightly.

"I thought maybe you didn't," he said, beating about the bush in the most useless manner.

Carrie gazed at him, and as she did so her ebbing courage halted. She saw that he himself was hesitating, and with a woman's intuition realised that there was no occasion for great alarm.

"What makes you talk like that?" she asked, wrinkling her pretty forehead. "You act so funny to-night."

"I feel funny," he answered.

They looked at one another for a moment, and then Drouet plunged desperately into his subject.

"What's this about you and Hurstwood?" he asked.

"Me and Hurstwood -- what do you mean?"

"Didn't he come here a dozen times while I was away?"

"A dozen times," repeated Carrie, guiltily. "No, but what do you mean?"

"Somebody said that you went out riding with him and that he came here every night."

"No such thing," answered Carrie. "It isn't true. Who told you that?"

She was flushing scarlet to the roots of her hair, but Drouet did not catch the full hue of her face, owing to the modified light of the room. He was regaining much confidence as Carrie defended herself with denials.

"Well, some one," he said. "You're sure you didn't?"

"Certainly," said Carrie. "You know how often he came."

Drouet paused for a moment and thought.

"I know what you told me," he said finally.

He moved nervously about, while Carrie looked at him confusedly.

"Well, I know that I didn't tell you any such thing as that," said Carrie, recovering herself.

"If I were you," went on Drouet, ignoring her last remark, "I wouldn't have anything to do with him. He's a married man, you know."

"Who -- who is?" said Carrie, stumbling at the word.

"Why, Hurstwood," said Drouet, noting the effect and feeling that he was delivering a telling blow.

"Hurstwood!" exclaimed Carrie, rising. Her face had changed several shades since this announcement was made. She looked within and without herself in a half-dazed way.

"Who told you this?" she asked, forgetting that her interest was out of order and exceedingly incriminating.

"Why, I know it. I've always known it," said Drouet.

Carrie was feeling about for a right thought. She was making a most miserable showing, and yet feelings were generating within her which were anything but crumbling cowardice.

"I thought I told you," he added.

"No, you didn't," she contradicted, suddenly recovering her voice. "You didn't do anything of the kind."

Drouet listened to her in astonishment. This was something new.

"I thought I did," he said.

Carrie looked around her very solemnly and then went over to the window.

"You oughtn't to have had anything to do with him," said Drouet in an injured tone, "after all I've done for you."

"You," said Carrie, "you! What have you done for me?"

Her little brain had been surging with contradictory feelings -- shame at exposure, shame at Hurstwood's perfidy, anger at Drouet's deception, the mockery he had made of her. Now one clear idea came into her head. He was at fault. There was no doubt about it. Why did he bring Hurstwood out -- Hurstwood, a married man, and never say a word to her? Never mind now about Hurstwood's perfidy -- why had he done this? Why hadn't he warned her? There he stood now, guilty of this miserable breach of confidence and talking about what he had done for her!

"Well, I like that," exclaimed Drouet, little realising the fire his remark had generated. "I think I've done a good deal."

"You have, eh?" she answered. "You've deceived me -- that's what you've done. You've brought your friends out here under false pretences. You've made me out to be -- Oh," and with this her voice broke and she pressed her two little hands together tragically.

"I don't see what that's got to do with it," said the drummer quaintly.

"No," she answered, recovering herself and shutting her teeth. "No, of course you don't see. There isn't anything you see. You couldn't have told me in the first place, could you? You had to make me out wrong until it was too late. Now you come sneaking around with your information and your talk about what you have done."

Drouet had never suspected this side of Carrie's nature. She was alive with feeling, her eyes snapping, her lips quivering, her whole body sensible of the injury she felt, and partaking of her wrath.

"Who's sneaking?" he asked, mildly conscious of error on his part, but certain that he was wronged.

"You are," stamped Carrie. "You're a horrid, conceited coward, that's what you are. If you had any sense of manhood in you, you wouldn't have thought of doing any such thing."

The drummer stared.

"I'm not a coward," he said. "What do you mean by going with other men, anyway?"

"Other men!" exclaimed Carrie. "Other men -- you know better than that. I did go with Mr. Hurstwood, but whose fault was it? Didn't you bring him here? You told him yourself that he should come out here and take me out. Now, after it's all over, you come and tell me that I oughtn't to go with him and that he's a married man."

She paused at the sound of the last two words and wrung her hands. The knowledge of Hurstwood's perfidy wounded her like a knife.

"Oh," she sobbed, repressing herself wonderfully and keeping her eyes dry. "Oh, oh!"

"Well, I didn't think you'd be running around with him when I was away," insisted Drouet.

"Didn't think!" said Carrie, now angered to the core by the man's peculiar attitude. "Of course not. You thought only of what would be to your satisfaction. You thought you'd make a toy of me -- a plaything. Well, I'll show you that you won't. I'll have nothing more to do with you at all. You can take your old things and keep them," and unfastening a little pin he had given her, she flung it vigorously upon the floor and began to move about as if to gather up the things which belonged to her.

By this Drouet was not only irritated but fascinated the more. He looked at her in amazement, and finally said:

"I don't see where your wrath comes in. I've got the right of this thing. You oughtn't to have done anything that wasn't right after all I did for you."

"What have you done for me?" asked Carrie blazing, her head thrown back and her lips parted.

"I think I've done a good deal," said the drummer, looking around. "I've given you all the clothes you wanted, haven't I? I've taken you everywhere you wanted to go. You've had as much as I've had, and more too."

Carrie was not ungrateful, whatever else might be said of her. In so far as her mind could construe, she acknowledged benefits received. She hardly knew how to answer this, and yet her wrath was not placated. She felt that the drummer had injured her irreparably.

"Did I ask you to?" she returned.

"Well, I did it," said Drouet, "and you took it."

"You talk as though I had persuaded you," answered Carrie. "You stand there and throw up what you've done. I don't want your old things. I'll not have them. You take them to-night and do what you please with them. I'll not stay here another minute."

"That's nice!" he answered, becoming angered now at the sense of his own approaching loss. "Use everything and abuse me and then walk off. That's just like a woman. I take you when you haven't got anything, and then when some one else comes along, why I'm no good. I always thought it'd come out that way."

He felt really hurt as he thought of his treatment, and looked as if he saw no way of obtaining justice.

"It's not so," said Carrie, "and I'm not going with anybody else. You have been as miserable and inconsiderate as you can be. I hate you, I tell you, and I wouldn't live with you another minute. You're a big, insulting" -- here she hesitated and used no word at all -- "or you wouldn't talk that way."

She had secured her hat and jacket and slipped the latter on over her little evening dress. Some wisps of wavy hair had loosened from the bands at the side of her head and were straggling over her hot, red cheeks. She was angry, mortified, grief-stricken. Her large eyes were full of the anguish of tears, but her lids were not yet wet. She was distracted and uncertain, deciding and doing things without an aim or conclusion, and she had not the slightest conception of how the whole difficulty would end.

"Well, that's a fine finish," said Drouet. "Pack up and pull out, eh? You take the cake. I bet you were knocking around with Hurstwood or you wouldn't act like that. I don't want the old rooms. You needn't pull out for me. You can have them for all I care, but b'George, you haven't done me right."

"I'll not live with you," said Carrie. "I don't want to live with you. You've done nothing but brag around ever since you've been here."

"Aw, I haven't anything of the kind," he answered.

Carrie walked over to the door.

"Where are you going?" he said, stepping over and heading her off.

"Let me out," she said.

"Where are you going?" he repeated.

He was, above all, sympathetic, and the sight of Carrie wandering out, he knew not where, affected him, despite his grievance.

Carrie merely pulled at the door.

The strain of the situation was too much for her, however. She made one more vain effort and then burst into tears.

"Now, be reasonable, Cad," said Drouet gently. "What do you want to rush out for this way? You haven't any place to go. Why not stay here now and be quiet? I'll not bother you. I don't want to stay here any longer."

Carrie had gone sobbing from the door to the window. She was so overcome she could not speak.

"Be reasonable now," he said. "I don't want to hold you. You can go if you want to, but why don't you think it over? Lord knows, I don't want to stop you."

He received no answer. Carrie was quieting, however, under the influence of his plea.

"You stay here now, and I'll go," he added at last.

Carrie listened to this with mingled feelings. Her mind was shaken loose from the little mooring of logic that it had. She was stirred by this thought, angered by that -- her own injustice, Hurstwood's, Drouet's, their respective qualities of kindness and favour, the threat of the world outside, in which she had failed once before, the impossibility of this state inside, where the chambers were no longer justly hers, the effect of the argument upon her nerves, all combined to make her a mass of jangling fibres -- an anchorless, storm-beaten little craft which could do absolutely nothing but drift.

"Say," said Drouet, coming over to her after a few moments, with a new idea, and putting his hand upon her.

"Don't!" said Carrie, drawing away, but not removing her handkerchief from her eyes.

"Never mind about this quarrel now. Let it go. You stay here until the month's out, anyhow, and then you can tell better what you want to do. Eh?"

Carrie made no answer.

"You'd better do that," he said. "There's no use your packing up now. You can't go anywhere."

Still he got nothing for his words.

"If you'll do that, we'll call it off for the present and I'll get out."

Carrie lowered her handkerchief slightly and looked out of the window.

"Will you do that?" he asked.

Still no answer.

"Will you?" he repeated.

She only looked vaguely into the street.

"Aw! come on," he said, "tell me. Will you?"

"I don't know," said Carrie softly, forced to answer.

"Promise me you'll do that," he said, "and we'll quit talking about it. It'll be the best thing for you."

Carrie heard him, but she could not bring herself to answer reasonably. She felt that the man was gentle, and that his interest in her had not abated, and it made her suffer a pang of regret. She was in a most helpless plight.

As for Drouet, his attitude had been that of the jealous lover. Now his feelings were a mixture of anger at deception, sorrow at losing Carrie, misery at being defeated. He wanted his rights in some way or other, and yet his rights included the retaining of Carrie, the making her feel her error.

"Will you?" he urged.

"Well, I'll see," said Carrie.

This left the matter as open as before, but it was something. It looked as if the quarrel would blow over, if they could only get some way of talking to one another. Carrie was ashamed, and Drouet aggrieved. He pretended to take up the task of packing some things in a valise.

Now, as Carrie watched him out of the corner of her eye, certain sound thoughts came into her head. He had erred, true, but what had she done? He was kindly and good-natured for all his egotism. Throughout this argument he had said nothing very harsh. On the other hand there was Hurstwood -- a greater deceiver than he. He had pretended all this affection, all this passion, and he was lying to her all the while. Oh, the perfidy of men! And she had loved him. There could be nothing more in that quarter. She would see Hurstwood no more. She would write him and let him know what she thought. Thereupon what would she do? Here were these rooms. Here was Drouet, pleading for her to remain. Evidently things could go on here somewhat as before, if all were arranged. It would be better than the street, without a place to lay her head.

All this she thought of as Drouet rummaged the drawers for collars and laboured long and painstakingly at finding a shirt-stud. He was in no hurry to rush this matter. He felt an attraction to Carrie which would not down. He could not think that the thing would end by his walking out of the room. There must be some way round, some way to make her own up that he was right and she was wrong -- to patch up a peace and shut out Hurstwood for ever. Mercy how he turned at the man's shameless duplicity.

"Do you think," he said, after a few moments' silence, "that you'll try and get on the stage?"

He was wondering what she was intending.

"I don't know what I'll do yet," said Carrie.

"If you do, maybe I can help you. I've got a lot of friends in that line."

She made no answer to this.

"Don't go and try to knock around now without any money. Let me help you," he said. "It's no easy thing to go on your own hook here."

Carrie only rocked back and forth in her chair.

"I don't want you to go up against a hard game that way."

He bestirred himself about some other details and Carrie rocked on.

"Why don't you tell me all about this thing," he said, after a time, "and let's call it off? You don't really care for Hurstwood, do you?"

"Why do you want to start on that again?" said Carrie. "You were to blame."

"No, I wasn't," he answered.

"Yes, you were, too," said Carrie. "You shouldn't have ever told me such a story as that."

"But you didn't have much to do with him, did you?" went on Drouet, anxious for his own peace of mind to get some direct denial from her.

"I won't talk about it," said Carrie, pained at the quizzical turn the peace arrangement had taken.

"What's the use of acting like that now, Cad?" insisted the drummer, stopping in his work and putting up a hand expressively. "You might let me know where I stand, at least."

"I won't," said Carrie, feeling no refuge but in anger. "Whatever has happened is your own fault."

"Then you do care for him?" said Drouet, stopping completely and experiencing a rush of feeling.

"Oh, stop!" said Carrie.

"Well, I'll not be made a fool of," exclaimed Drouet. "You may trifle around with him if you want to, but you can't lead me. You can tell me or not, just as you want to, but I won't fool any longer!"

He shoved the last few remaining things. he had laid out into his valise and snapped it with a vengeance. Then he grabbed his coat, which he had laid off to work, picked up his gloves, and started out.

"You can go to the deuce as far as I am concerned," he said, as he reached the door. "I'm no sucker," and with that he opened it with a jerk and closed it equally vigorously.

Carrie listened at her window view, more astonished than anything else at this sudden rise of passion in the drummer. She could hardly believe her senses -- so good-natured and tractable had he invariably been. It was not for her to see the wellspring of human passion. A real flame of love is a subtle thing. It burns as a will-o'-the-wisp, dancing onward to fairy lands of delight. It roars as a furnace. Too often jealousy is the quality upon which it feeds.

第二十三章

心灵的创伤：退却

等到嘉莉回到家，她又为种种疑虑和担心所困扰。这是缺乏决断的结果。她无法确信自己的允诺是适当的，也无法肯定在作出了这个承诺以后自己是否该信守诺言。离开赫斯渥以后，她把这件事又细细想了一遍，发现了好些在经理热烈说服时她没有想到的小问题。她意识到自己的处境有点不尴不尬--一方面她让人把自己看做已婚女子，另一方面她又答应嫁人。她又想起杜洛埃为她做的好事来，不禁觉得这样不声不响离他而去，像是在做坏事似的。她现在生活安定，这对一个多多少少害怕艰难世道的人来说，是一个至关紧要的问题。这一考虑也向她提出了一些奇怪荒唐的异议来：“你不知道这件事会有什么后果。外面的世界充满着不幸和苦恼，有靠要饭乞讨为生的人，还有命运气惨的妇女。你永远无法知道什么事会落到你头上。别忘了你没饭吃的那些日子。你现在得到的东西应该牢牢把握才对。”说也奇怪，尽管她倾心于赫斯渥，他却没能在理智上也牢牢控制她。她倾听着，微笑着，赞赏着，但是最后却不能苟同。

这要怪他缺少激情的力量，缺少那种辉煌无比的激情。这种激情可以令人神魂颠倒，可以把各种异议假设都熔化融合成一团缠结难理的情结，使理智和思维能力暂时被摧毁。几乎每个人一生中都曾有一次拥有过这种辉煌的激情。但这往往是青年人的特点，最后导致人生中第一次成功的婚姻。

赫斯渥年纪已经不轻。尽管他确实还拥有一份热烈到丧失理智的激情，却很难说他还保存着青春的火焰。这份激情还可以引起女人的倾慕，这一点我们已经在嘉莉身上看到了。也许我们可以说嘉莉以为自己爱上了他，实际上她并没有。女人往往都是这样的。这是因为希望获得爱情，渴望为人所爱，得到被爱的快乐是每个女人的倾向。女性的特点之一是渴望得到庇护、提高和同情。再加上女人的情感丰富，天生易动感情，使她们往往难以拒绝男人的求爱，于是她们就自以为自己是在恋爱了。

一到家，她就换了衣服，自己动手收拾房间。在家具布置方面，她和女仆的观点总是相左。那个年轻的女仆总爱把一把摇椅放在房间的角落里，嘉莉总是把摇椅再搬出来。今天她只顾想心事，几乎没有注意到椅子又放错了位置。她在房间里忙来忙去，一直忙到杜洛埃５点钟回家。这个推销员脸涨得通红。神情激动，下决心要弄清她和赫斯渥的全部关系。不过，他整整一天都在脑子里翻来覆去想这个问题，漫长的一天下来，他已经想得有点厌倦了，只希望尽快把这问题了结算了。

他并没有预见到会产生什么严重后果，然而他踌躇着不知如何开口。他进来时嘉莉正坐在窗前的摇椅里，边摇晃着摇椅，边看着窗外。

“咦，”她天真地说，这当儿她想心事已经想烦了，看到他匆匆忙忙的样子和难以掩饰的激动神情不由感到奇怪，“你为什么这么慌慌张张的？”杜洛埃迟疑起来。现在和她面面相对，他却不知道该怎么办。他毫无外交家的素质，既不善窥探人的内心思想又不会观察细枝末节。

“你什么时候回来的？”他傻乎乎地问。

“噢，大概个把小时前。你问这个干什么？”“今早我回来时，你不在家，”他说，“因此我想你出去了。”“是啊，”嘉莉简单地回答说，“我去散步了。”

杜洛埃惊讶地看着她。尽管他在这种事上并不怕失了面子，他还是不知道如何开口。他直瞪瞪地看着她，不加一点掩饰，于是她终于开口问道：“你为什么这么看着我？出了什么事了？”“没什么，”他回答说，“我只是在想心事。”“想什么心事？”她微笑地问道，被他的态度弄糊涂了。

“嗯，没什么--没什么了不起的事。”

“那你脸上的神气怎么怪怪的呢？”

杜洛埃站在梳妆台旁边，神情可笑地凝视着她。他已经脱下帽子和手套，现在正摆弄着离他最近的那些小化妆品。他不太相信眼前这个秀丽的姑娘会做出让他不满的事情来。他很乐意相信一切正常，并没有发生什么事情。可是女仆告诉他的消息刺痛着他的心。他想直截了当地提出这事，但是不知道该说什么。

“今天上午你到哪里去了？”他终于问道，他的话毫无份量。

“我去散步了，”嘉莉说。

“真是去散步吗？”他问。

“是啊，你为什么要这样问？”

她现在看出他已经听到了什么风声，所以她的态度立刻变得含蓄保留，她的脸色也变得苍白了。

“我想你也许不是去散步的，”他徒劳无益地旁敲侧击说。

嘉莉注视着他。这一注视使她正在消失的勇气又开始恢复一点了。她看出他并没有多少信心，凭一个女人的直觉，她感到没有必要惊慌失措。

“你为什么这样说？”她皱起美丽的额头问道。“你今晚的举动太奇怪了。”“我感到心里不自在，”他答道。

他们互相注视了一会儿。杜洛埃开始变得不顾一切，直截了当地提出了自己的问题：“你和赫斯渥是怎么一回事？”他问道。

“我和赫斯渥？你是什么意思？”

“我不在的时候他来了十几次，是不是？”“十几次，”嘉莉心虚地重复道，“不，没有。你是什么意思？”“有人说，你和他一起坐马车出去兜风，还说他每天晚上都来这里。”“没有这种事，”嘉莉答道，“这不是真的。谁告诉你的？”她脸涨得通红，一直红到了头发根。可是由于屋里的光线已经变得昏暗，杜洛埃并没有看出她的脸色的变化。既然嘉莉矢口否认，为自己辩解，他对嘉莉的信赖又大大恢复了。

“嗯，反正有人告诉我，”他说。“你肯定没有吗？”“当然肯定，”嘉莉说。“你自己也知道他来过几次。”杜洛埃想了一会儿。

“我只知道你告诉我的那几次，”他终于说。

他紧张不安地在屋里走来走去。嘉莉在一旁狼狈地看着他。

“嗯，我知道我没有跟你说过这样的话，”嘉莉恢复了镇定说道。

“如果我是你的话。”杜洛埃没有去注意她的最后一句话，自顾自地说下去，“我是不会和他有任何瓜葛的。你知道，他是个结了婚的男人。”“谁--谁结了婚？“嘉莉结结巴巴地问。

“当然是赫斯渥啊，”杜洛埃答道。他注意到了这话的效果，感到自己这一下显然给了她一个打击。

“赫斯渥！”嘉莉叫着站了起来。听了这个消息，她的脸色变了好几次。她茫然地看着四周，想着心事。

“这是谁告诉你的？”她问道，完全没想到她不该对这个消息露出关切，这不合她的身份，这么问简直是不打自招了。

“怎么，这事我知道。我一向知道的，”杜洛埃说。

嘉莉正试图从迷茫的思绪中理出一个头绪来。她的样子可怜兮兮的，然而在她心中油然而生的各种感情中却没有一丝令人精神崩溃的怯意。

“我想我告诉过你了。”他又补充说。

“不，你没有告诉过我，”她反驳说，她的说话能力突然恢复了。“你根本就没有提到过一丁点这类事情。”杜洛埃吃惊地听她说话，感到她的话里有点新东西。

“我记得我说过的，”他说。

嘉莉非常庄重地四周看看，然后走到窗子边去。

“你不该和他有来往的，”杜洛埃委屈地说，“你也不想想我给你帮了多少忙。”“你，你！”嘉莉说，“你给我帮了什么忙？”各种矛盾的情感在她的小脑袋瓜里汹涌起伏--为事情的暴露而羞愧，为赫斯渥的背信弃义感到耻辱，又为杜洛埃的欺瞒和他现在对她的嘲笑感到气恼。在她思想中有一点现在是明确的了：这事都怪他不好。这是毫无疑问的了。他为什么要把赫斯渥介绍给她--赫斯渥，一个已婚男人，却从来没有提醒她一声？现在先别管赫斯渥的背理悖行--他为什么要这样做？他为什么不警告她一声？他明明可耻地辜负了她对他的一片信赖，现在却还站在那里，高谈他给她帮的忙！

“好哇，你说的倒有意思，”杜洛埃嚷道，一点没想到自己刚才的话已经激怒了嘉莉。“我想我已经为你帮过不少忙了。”“你帮了我吗？”她回答说，“你欺骗了我，这就是你帮的忙。你用虚假的名义把你的那些狐朋狗党带到这里来。你把我变成了--呵！”说到这里她的声音哽咽了，悲伤地把她的一双小手紧紧合在一起。

“我看不出这和你的事有什么联系，”杜洛埃说道，他感到莫名其妙。

“不错，”她恢复了平静，咬牙切齿地说，“不错，你当然看不出了。你什么东西也看不出来。你不能一开始就告诉我，是吗？你一定要让我出了丑，事情弄得不可收拾了才告诉我。现在你又拿你得到的消息鬼鬼祟祟地来盘问我，还要大谈你给我帮的忙。”杜洛埃从来没想到嘉莉的性格中还有这一面。她情绪激动，两眼冒火，嘴唇颤抖着，全身心感到自己受了伤害而怒气满腔。

“谁鬼鬼祟祟来了？”他反问道，微微有点愧疚，但是认定自己受了冤枉。

“就是你，”嘉莉跺着脚说，“你是个自高自大、讨厌透顶的胆小鬼。你就是这样的人。你如果有点男子汉大丈夫的气概，你就不会想到要干这种事。”推销员目瞪口呆了。

“我不是胆小鬼，”他说。“不管怎么说，你和别的男人来往又是什么意思？”“别的男人！”嘉莉叫了起来。“别的男人--你自己心里明白是怎么一回事。我确实和赫斯渥出去了，可是这要怪谁不好？不是你把他带到这里来的吗？你自己告诉他，让他来这里带我出去玩。现在玩过了，你倒跑来对我说，我不该和他来往的，他是有妇之夫。”她说到“有妇之夫”就说不下去了，痛苦地扭曲着双手。赫斯渥欺骗她的消息像一把刀捅到了她的心里。

“呵，呵！”她抽泣着，但是竭力克制着，眼睛里竟然还没有冒出泪水，“呵，呵！”“嗯，我没有想到我不在时你会和他交往密切，”杜洛埃固执地说。

“没想到！”嘉莉说，她现在让这个家伙的古怪态度彻底激怒了。“你当然想不到了，你只想得到一厢情愿的事情。你只想到把我当作你的玩物--一个玩具。哼，我要让你知道这办不到。我要和你一刀两断。把你那些破玩意儿拿回去吧，我不要了。”她说着摘下了他送给她的一个小饰针，用力扔到地上。

然后在屋里走来走去，像是要收拾属于她的东西。

她的举动不仅让杜洛埃恼火，也让他进一步迷住了。他吃惊地看着她，终于说道：“我不明白你的怒气是从哪里来的。这件事是我有理。你看在我为你做的一切的份上，不应该做对不起我的事。”“你为我做了什么事情？”嘉莉问。她仰着头，张着嘴，火直往外冒。

“我看我做的不算少了。”推销员说着看了看四周。“你要的所有衣服，我都给你买了。对不对？我还带你去逛了你想逛的所有地方。我有的，你也有。而且你的东西比我的还多。”不管怎么说，嘉莉不是忘恩负义的人。从理智上来说，她当然认识到杜洛埃给她的好处。她几乎不知道该如何来回答他，然而她的怒气并没有气息。她感到杜洛埃已经给她造成了无法弥补的伤害。

“是我问你要的吗？”她反问道。

“嗯，是我送的，”杜洛埃说，“但是你接受了！”“听你说话的口气，好像是我问你讨的，”嘉莉说，“你站在那里唠唠叨叨吹嘘你为我做的事。我不要你这些玩意了，我不要了。你今晚就拿走，你爱拿这些东西怎么办，就怎么办好了。

这里一分钟我也不想呆了。”

“这倒真有意思！”他答道，想到自己即将蒙受的损失生气了。“东西用过了，然后把我大骂一通，准备拍拍起股走路了。

真是典型的女人作风。你一无所有的时候我收留了你。好，等你遇到别人了，我就一无是处了。我早就知道会有这种结果。”想到自己对她这么好，却落到这下场，他确实很伤心，真是天理何在。

“不是这么回事，”嘉莉说，“我并不是要和别人私奔。是你让人难受，一点不体恤人。我恨你。我告诉你，我不想和你住在一起了。你是个侮辱人的大--”说到这里她打住了，迟疑着没有说出骂人的话，“否则你就不会这么对我说话了。”她已拿了她的帽子和外套，把外套套在单薄的晚装上。几绺卷发从头一侧的发带里掉了出来，在她红得发烧的脸颊上晃荡。她又气又愧，非常地伤心，大眼睛里已经蕴满了痛苦的热泪，不过还没有掉下来。她心烦意乱，束手无策，没有目的也没有结果地东摸摸西想想，不知这场争吵会怎么收常“好哇，这样结束倒不错，”杜洛埃说，“想卷铺盖走了，是不是？你真行埃我敢打赌，你和赫斯渥打得火热，否则你不会这样做的。这房子我不要了。你不用为了我搬走。你可以继续住这里，我才不在乎呢。但是老天爷在上，你对不起我。”“我再也不和你住在一起了，”嘉莉说。“我不愿意和你一起生活了。自从来这里以后，你什么也不干，就会自吹自擂。”“哇，根本没这回事，”他回答。

嘉莉朝门口走去。

“你到哪里去？”他说着大步走了过来，拦住了她。

“让我出去，”她说。

“你去哪里？”他又问了一遍。

他这人特别富有同情心。所以虽然满腹委屈，但是看到嘉莉要离家出走，不知会飘零到哪里去，心就不由得软了。

嘉莉不回答，只是去拉门。

这局面实在太让她受不了了。她又徒劳地拉了一下门以后，再也忍不住了，就放声哭了起来。

“好了，嘉德，你理智一点，”杜洛埃柔声说道。“你这么冲出去有什么好处呢？你没有什么地方好去。何不就留在这里，安静下来呢？我不打扰你，我不想再留在这里了。”嘉莉抽抽搭搭地从门边走到窗前，哭得说不出话来了。

“理智一点嘛，”他说，“我并不是要阻拦你。你想走你就走好了。但何不把这事先仔细想想呢？老天在上，我绝没有拦你的意思。"他没有得到回答，不过他的请求让她安静下来了。

“你留在这里，我走，”他终于又补充说。

嘉莉听着他的话，心里百感交集。就像小船失去了锚，她的思绪毫无逻辑地四处漂浮，一会为这个想法难受，一会为那个念头生气。她想到自己的不是，赫斯渥的不是，杜洛埃的不是，又想到他们各自对自己的情意和帮助。她想到出外谋生的艰难--她已经失败过一次了。她又想到不可能再留在这里了，她已经没有资格住在这些房间里了。这些思绪再加上吵架给神经带来的压力，使她的思想就像一团乱麻，理不出个头绪来--一条没有锚的小船受风雨的摆布，除了随波逐流，无能为力。

这样过了几分钟，杜洛埃有了个新主意。他走过来，把手搭在她身上，开口说，“这样吧--”“别碰我！”嘉莉说着挪开身子，但是仍用手帕捂着眼睛。

“现在别去管吵嘴这回事了，把它放一边去吧。不管怎样，你可以在这里住到月底。然后你可以想想怎么办好一点。怎么样？"嘉莉没有回答。

“你最好就这么办，”他说，“你现在收拾行李离开，一点用处也没有。你无处可去。”他仍然没得到回答。

“如果你同意这么办，我们暂时就不谈了。我搬出去祝”嘉莉从眼睛上微微取下手帕，看着窗外。

“你愿意这么做吗？”他问道。

仍然没有回答。

“你愿意吗？”他重复道。

她只是茫然地看着窗外的马路。

“喂，说话呀，”他说，“告诉我，你愿意吗？”“我不知道，”嘉莉迫不得已地轻声说。

“答应我，就照我说的做。”他说，“我们就不再谈这件事了。这样做对你是最好的。”嘉莉听着他的话，但是没法理智地回答他。她感觉得到他对她很温柔，他对她的兴趣并没有减弱，这使她一阵内疚。她真是左右为难。

至于杜洛埃，他的态度是一个妒忌的情人的态度。他的感情很复杂，为受骗生气，为失去嘉莉难过，为自己的失败伤心。

他想以某种方法重获他的权利，然而他的权利包括继续拥有嘉莉，并且让她承认自己错了。

“你答应吗？”他催促道。

“嗯，让我想想，”嘉莉说。

虽然这回答仍模棱两可，但是比刚才的回答进了一步。看起来，如果他们能想个法子聊聊的话，这场争吵就会过去了。

嘉莉感到羞愧，杜洛埃感到委屈。他开始假装往旅行箱里装东西。

现在，当嘉莉用眼角打量他时，她的脑子里开始有了正确一点的想法。不错，他是有错，可是她自己干的又算什么事呢？

他尽管一心想着自己，但是他和气，善良，心眼好。在这场争吵中从头到尾他没有说过一句严厉的话。另一方面，那个赫斯渥是个更大的骗子。他的温柔和激情全是装出来的，他一直在对她撒谎。啊，男人的奸诈！而她竟然会爱他。当然现在一点爱也谈不上了，她现在再不会和赫斯渥见面了。她要写信给他，把她的想法告诉他。那么，她该怎么办呢？这里的房子还在，杜洛埃仍在恳求她留下来。显然，如果一切安排妥当，她还可以像以往那样住在这里。这要比流落街头无处栖身好得多。

她脑子里在想着这一切时，杜洛埃在翻箱倒柜地寻找他的衬衫领子。他又化了不少时间，才找到了一个衬衫的饰扣。

他并不急于收拾行李。他感到嘉莉的吸引力并没有减弱。他无法想象他和嘉莉的关系会随着他走出这个房间而告终。一定会有什么解决的办法，有什么办法能让她承认自己不好，承认他是对的--他们就可以言归于好，把赫斯渥永远排除出去了。老天啊，这个家伙的无耻的欺骗行为，实在让人恶心。

“你是不是在想上舞台试试？”沉默了几分钟以后，他问道。

他猜测着她有什么打算。

“我还不知道我会做什么，”嘉莉说。

“如果你想上舞台，也许我能帮助你。那一行里我有不少朋友。”她没有回答。

“不要身无分文地出外闯荡。让我帮助你，”他说，“在这里独自谋生不容易。”嘉莉只是坐在摇椅里摇着。

“我不愿意你这样出去遇到重重困难。”

他又提出了一些别的细节问题，但是嘉莉继续在摇椅里摇着。

过了一会儿，他又说道：“你把这件事都告诉我，我们把这事了结了，不好吗？你并不爱赫斯渥，对不对？”“你为什么又开始提这件事？”嘉莉说，“都怪你不好。”“不！不怪我，”他回答说。

“没错，你也有不是，”嘉莉说，“你为什么对我撒那样的谎呢？”“但是你并没有和他有多少瓜葛，是不是？”杜洛埃又问，他急于听到嘉莉的直截了当的否定，这样他才可以感到安心。

“我不想谈这件事，”嘉莉说。这样盘问她来达成和解，实在让她痛苦。

“嘉德，你这样做有什么用处呢？”推销员固执地问。他停止收拾行李，富有表情地举起一只手：“你至少该让我知道我现在的地位。”“我不愿意说，”嘉莉回答。她感到除了发脾气，她无法躲闪。“不管发生了什么事，都要怪你不好。”“那么说，你确实爱他了？”杜洛埃说。他这次完全停下手来，感到一阵怒气上涌。

“别说了！”嘉莉说。

“哼，我可不愿意做傻瓜，”杜洛埃叫道，“你想和他鬼混，你就去和他鬼混好了。我可不会让你牵着鼻子走。你愿意告诉我也好，不愿意告诉我也好，随你的便。反正我不想再当傻瓜了。”他把已经找出来的最后几件东西一下子塞进旅行箱，怒冲冲地啪地关上盖子。然后他一把抓起为了理行李脱掉的外套，捡起手套，就往外走。

“对我来说，你见鬼去吧，”走到门边时，他说道。“我可不是吃奶的小孩子。”说着他猛地拉开门，出去时，又猛力关上门。

嘉莉坐在窗边听着这一切，对于推销员的突然发怒感到非常吃惊。她简直不敢相信自己的眼睛和耳朵--他一直是一个那么善良和气的人。她当然不懂得人类强烈情感的来源。

真正的爱情之火是一种微妙的东西。它会像磷火那样发出捉摸不定的光芒，跳跃着飞向欢乐的仙境。可是它也会像熔炉里的火焰一样熊熊燃烧。而妒忌往往为爱情之火的迸发提供了燃料。