Mrs. Hurstwood was not aware of any of her husband's moral defections, though she might readily have suspected his tendencies, which she well understood. She was a woman upon whose action under provocation you could never count. Hurstwood, for one, had not the slightest idea of what she would do under certain circumstances. He had never seen her thoroughly aroused. In fact, she was not a woman who would fly into a passion. She had too little faith in mankind not to know that they were erring. She was too calculating to jeopardize any advantage she might gain in the way of information by fruitless clamour. Her wrath would never wreak itself in one fell blow. She would wait and brood, studying the details and adding to them until her power might be commensurate with her desire for revenge. At the same time, she would not delay to inflict any injury, big or little, which would wound the object of her revenge and still leave him uncertain as to the source of the evil. She was a cold, self-centred woman, with many a thought of her own which never found expression, not even by so much as the glint of an eye.

Hurstwood felt some of this in her nature, though he did not actually perceive it. He dwelt with her in peace and some satisfaction. He did not fear her in the least--there was no cause for it. She still took a faint pride in him, which was augmented by her desire to have her social integrity maintained. She was secretly somewhat pleased by the fact that much of her husband's property was in her name, a precaution which Hurstwood had taken when his home interests were somewhat more alluring than at present. His wife had not the slightest reason to feel that anything would ever go amiss with their household, and yet the shadows which run before gave her a thought of the good of it now and then. She was in a position to become refractory with considerable advantage, and Hurstwood conducted himself circumspectly because he felt that he could not be sure of anything once she became dissatisfied.

It so happened that on the night when Hurstwood, Carrie, and Drouet were in the box at McVickar's, George, Jr., was in the sixth row of the parquet with the daughter of H. B. Carmichael, the third partner of a wholesale dry-goods house of that city. Hurstwood did not see his son, for he sat, as was his wont, as far back as possible, leaving himself just partially visible, when he bent forward, to those within the first six rows in question. It was his wont to sit this way in every theatre-to make his personality as inconspicuous as possible where it would be no advantage to him to have it otherwise.

He never moved but what, if there was any danger of his conduct being misconstrued or ill-reported, he looked carefully about him and counted the cost of every inch of conspicuity.

The next morning at breakfast his son said:

"I saw you, Governor, last night."

"Were you at McVickar's?" said Hurstwood, with the best grace in the world.

"Yes," said young George.

"Who with?"

"Miss Carmichael."

Mrs. Hurstwood directed an inquiring glance at her husband, but could not judge from his appearance whether it was any more than a casual look into the theatre which was referred to.

"How was the play?" she inquired.

"Very good," returned Hurstwood, "only it's the same old thing, 'Rip Van Winkle.'"

"Whom did you go with?" queried his wife, with assumed indifference.

"Charlie Drouet and his wife. They are friends of Moy's, visiting here."

Owing to the peculiar nature of his position, such a disclosure as this would ordinarily create no difficulty. His wife took it for granted that his situation called for certain social movements in which she might not be included. But of late he had pleaded office duty on several occasions when his wife asked for his company to any evening entertainment. He had done so in regard to the very evening in question only the morning before.

"I thought you were going to be busy," she remarked, very carefully.

"So I was," he exclaimed. "I couldn't help the interruption, but I made up for it afterward by working until two."

This settled the discussion for the time being, but there was a residue of opinion which was not satisfactory. There was no time at which the claims of his wife could have been more unsatisfactorily pushed. For years he had been steadily modifying his matrimonial devotion, and found her company dull. Now that a new light shone upon the horizon, this older luminary paled in the west. He was satisfied to turn his face away entirely, and any call to look back was irksome.

She, on the contrary, was not at all inclined to accept anything less than a complete fulfilment of the letter of their relationship, though the spirit might be wanting.

"We are coming down town this afternoon," she remarked, a few days later. "I want you to come over to Kinsley's and meet Mr. Phillips and his wife. They're stopping at the Tremont, and we're going to show them around a little."

After the occurrence of Wednesday, he could not refuse, though the Phillips were about as uninteresting as vanity and ignorance could make them. He agreed, but it was with short grace. He was angry when he left the house.

"I'll put a stop to this," he thought. "I'm not going to be bothered fooling around with visitors when I have work to do."

Not long after this Mrs. Hurstwood came with a similar proposition, only it was to a matinee this time.

"My dear," he returned, "I haven't time. I'm too busy."

"You find time to go with other people, though," she replied, with considerable irritation.

"Nothing of the kind," he answered. "I can't avoid business relations, and that's all there is to it."

"Well, never mind," she exclaimed. Her lips tightened. The feeling of mutual antagonism was increased.

On the other hand, his interest in Drouet's little shop-girl grew in an almost evenly balanced proportion. That young lady, under the stress of her situation and the tutelage of her new friend, changed effectively. She had the aptitude of the struggler who seeks emancipation. The glow of a more showy life was not lost upon her. She did not grow in knowledge so much as she awakened in the matter of desire. Mrs. Hale's extended harangues upon the subjects of wealth and position taught her to distinguish between degrees of wealth. Mrs. Hale loved to drive in the afternoon in the sun when it was fine, and to satisfy her soul with a sight of those mansions and lawns which she could not afford. On the North Side had been erected a number of elegant mansions along what is now known as the North Shore Drive. The present lake wall of stone and granitoid was not then in place, but the road had been well laid out, the intermediate spaces of lawn were lovely to look upon, and the houses were thoroughly new and imposing. When the winter season had passed and the first fine days of the early spring appeared, Mrs. Hale secured a buggy for an afternoon and invited Carrie. They rode first through Lincoln Park and on far out towards Evanston, turning back at four and arriving at the north end of the Shore Drive at about five o'clock. At this time of year the days are still comparatively short, and the shadows of the evening were beginning to settle down upon the great city. Lamps were beginning to burn with that mellow radiance which seems almost watery and translucent to the eye. There was a softness in the air which speaks with an infinite delicacy of feeling to the flesh as well as to the soul. Carrie felt that it was a lovely day. She was ripened by it in spirit for many suggestions. As they drove along the smooth pavement an occasional carriage passed. She saw one stop and the footman dismount, opening the door for a gentleman who seemed to be leisurely returning from some afternoon pleasure. Across the broad lawns, now first freshening into green, she saw lamps faintly glowing upon rich interiors. Now it was but a chair, now a table, now an ornate corner, which met her eye, but it appealed to her as almost nothing else could. Such childish fancies as she had had of fairy palaces and kingly quarters now came back. She imagined that across these richly carved entrance-ways, where the globed and crystalled lamps shone upon panelled doors set with stained and designed panes of glass, was neither care nor unsatisfied desire. She was perfectly certain that here was happiness. If she could but stroll up yon broad walk, cross that rich entrance-way, which to her was of the beauty of a jewel, and sweep in grace and luxury to possession and command--oh! How quickly would sadness flee; how, in an instant, would the heartache end. She gazed and gazed, wondering, delighting, longing, and all the while the siren voice of the unrestful was whispering in her ear.

"If we could have such a home as that," said Mrs. Hale sadly, "how delightful it would be."

"And yet they do say," said Carrie, "that no one is ever happy."

She had heard so much of the canting philosophy of the grapeless fox.

"I notice," said Mrs. Hale, "that they all try mighty hard, though, to take their misery in a mansion."

When she came to her own rooms, Carrie saw their comparative insignificance. She was not so dull but that she could perceive they were but three small rooms in a moderately well-furnished boarding-house. She was not contrasting it now with what she had had, but what she had so recently seen. The glow of the palatial doors was still in her eye, the roll of cushioned carriages still in her ears. What, after all, was Drouet? What was she? At her window, she thought it over, rocking to and fro, and gazing out across the lamp-lit park toward the lamp-lit houses on Warren and Ashland avenues. She was too wrought up to care to go down to eat, too pensive to do aught but rock and sing. Some old tunes crept to her lips, and, as she sang them, her heart sank. She longed and longed and longed. It was now for the old cottage room in Columbia City, now the mansion upon the Shore Drive, now the fine dress of some lady, now the elegance of some scene. She was sad beyond measure, and yet uncertain, wishing, fancying. Finally, it seemed as if all her state was one of loneliness and forsakenness, and she could scarce refrain from trembling at the lip. She hummed and hummed as the moments went by, sitting in the shadow by the window, and was therein as happy, though she did not perceive it, as she ever would be.

While Carrie was still in this frame of mind, the house-servant brought up the intelligence that Mr. Hurstwood was in the parlour asking to see Mr. and Mrs. Drouet.

"I guess he doesn't know that Charlie is out of town," thought Carrie.

She had seen comparatively little of the manager during the winter, but had been kept constantly in mind of him by one thing and another, principally by the strong impression he had made. She was quite disturbed for the moment as to her appearance, but soon satisfied herself by the aid of the mirror, and went below.

Hurstwood was in his best form, as usual. He hadn't heard that Drouet was out of town. He was but slightly affected by the intelligence, and devoted himself to the more general topics which would interest Carrie. It was surprising--the ease with which he conducted a conversation. He was like every man who has had the advantage of practice and knows he has sympathy. He knew that Carrie listened to him pleasurably, and, without the least effort, he fell into a train of observation which absorbed her fancy. He drew up his chair and modulated his voice to such a degree that what he said seemed wholly confidential. He confined himself almost exclusively to his observation of men and pleasures. He had been here and there, he had seen this and that. Somehow he made Carrie wish to see similar things, and all the while kept her aware of himself. She could not shut out the consciousness of his individuality and presence for a moment. He would raise his eyes slowly in smiling emphasis of something, and she was fixed by their magnetism. He would draw out, with the easiest grace, her approval. Once he touched her hand for emphasis and she only smiled. He seemed to radiate an atmosphere which suffused her being. He was never dull for a minute, and seemed to make her clever. At least, she brightened under his influence until all her best side was exhibited. She felt that she was more clever with him than with others. At least, he seemed to find so much in her to applaud. There was not the slightest touch of patronage. Drouet was full of it.

There had been something so personal, so subtle, in each meeting between them, both when Drouet was present and when he was absent, that Carrie could not speak of it without feeling a sense of difficulty. She was no talker. She could never arrange her thoughts in fluent order. It was always a matter of feeling with her, strong and deep. Each time there had been no sentence of importance which she could relate, and as for the glances and sensations, what woman would reveal them? Such things had never been between her and Drouet. As a matter of fact, they could never be. She had been dominated by distress and the enthusiastic forces of relief which Drouet represented at an opportune moment when she yielded to him. Now she was persuaded by secret current feelings which Drouet had never understood. Hurstwood's glance was as effective as the spoken words of a lover, and more. They called for no immediate decision, and could not be answered.

People in general attach too much importance to words. They are under the illusion that talking effects great results. As a matter of fact, words are, as a rule, the shallowest portion of all the argument. They but dimly represent the great surging feelings and desires which lie behind. When the distraction of the tongue is removed, the heart listens.

In this conversation she heard, instead of his words, the voices of the things which he represented. How suave was the counsel of his appearance! How feelingly did his superior state speak for itself! The growing desire he felt for her lay upon her spirit as a gentle hand. She did not need to tremble at all, because it was invisible; she did not need to worry over what other people would say--what she herself would say--because it had no tangibility. She was being pleaded with, persuaded, led into denying old rights and assuming new ones, and yet there were no words to prove it. Such conversation as was indulged in held the same relationship to the actual mental enactments of the twain that the low music of the orchestra does to the dramatic incident which it is used to cover.

"Have you ever seen the houses along the Lake Shore on the North Side?" asked Hurstwood.

"Why, I was just over there this afternoon--Mrs. Hale and I. Aren't they beautiful?"

"They're very fine," he answered.

"Oh, me," said Carrie, pensively. "I wish I could live in such a place."

"You're not happy," said Hurstwood, slowly, after a slight pause.

He had raised his eyes solemnly and was looking into her own. He assumed that he had struck a deep chord. Now was a slight chance to say a word in his own behalf. He leaned over quietly and continued his steady gaze. He felt the critical character of the period. She endeavoured to stir, but it was useless. The whole strength of a man's nature was working. He had good cause to urge him on. He looked and looked, and the longer the situation lasted the more difficult it became. The little shop-girl was getting into deep water. She was letting her few supports float away from her.

"Oh," she said at last, "you mustn't look at me like that."

"I can't help it," he answered.

She relaxed a little and let the situation endure, giving him strength.

"You are not satisfied with life, are you?"

"No," she answered, weakly.

He saw he was the master of the situation--he felt it. He reached over and touched her hand.

"You mustn't," she exclaimed, jumping up.

"I didn't intend to," he answered, easily.

She did not run away, as she might have done. She did not terminate the interview, but he drifted off into a pleasant field of thought with the readiest grace. Not long after he rose to go, and she felt that he was in power.

"You mustn't feel bad," he said, kindly; "things will straighten out in the course of time."

She made no answer, because she could think of nothing to say.

"We are good friends, aren't we?" he said, extending his hand.

"Yes," she answered.

"Not a word, then, until I see you again."

He retained a hold on her hand.

"I can't promise," she said, doubtfully.

"You must be more generous than that," he said, in such a simple way that she was touched.

"Let's not talk about it any more," she returned.

"All right," he said, brightening.

He went down the steps and into his cab. Carrie closed the door and ascended into her room. She undid her broad lace collar before the mirror and unfastened her pretty alligator belt which she had recently bought.

"I'm getting terrible," she said, honestly affected by a feeling of trouble and shame. "I don't seem to do anything right."

She unloosed her hair after a time, and let it hang in loose brown waves. Her mind was going over the events of the evening.

"I don't know," she murmured at last, "what I can do."

"Well," said Hurstwood as he rode away, "she likes me all right; that I know."

The aroused manager whistled merrily for a good four miles to his office an old melody that he had not recalled for fifteen years.

赫斯渥太太并不知道她丈夫的道德问题，不过她也许能猜出他有这种习性，因为她对他再了解不过了。她是那种惹恼了什么都干得出来的女人。赫斯渥一点没想到在某些情况下她会做出什么事来。他从来没见过她勃然大怒。事实上，她不是那种动辄发火的人。她对男人们没有信心，知道他们总要犯错误的。她太工于心计，不愿意让无谓的大吵大闹暴露出自己的疑心。那样会听不到消息，占不了上风。她不会让她的怒气一古脑儿发泄出来。她要等待时机，盘算掂量，研究细节，积累信息，直到她的力量可以使她如愿以偿。与此同时，如果有机会对她的报复对象施加大大小小的伤害，她也不会迟疑不干。

但是在伤害对方时，她不会让她的对手知道毛病究竟出在什么地方。她是一个冷酷自私的女人，喜欢把许多想法藏在心里，面子上一点不露声色，连眼色也不透露出一点。

赫斯渥对她这种脾气虽然有所觉察，但并不真正清楚。他和她一起生活一直相安无事，他甚至有些满意。他一点也不怕她--他没有理由要怕她。她还有几分为他自豪，她要保持社会地位的愿望又加强了这种自豪。不过她暗暗高兴，因为她丈夫的大部分财产放在她的名下，这是家庭比今日更具吸引力时赫斯渥采取的措施。他太太没有理由要担心他们的家庭关系会出问题，但是不和的阴影使她不时想到这种财产安排对她有利。这种有利地位使她变得难以驾御。赫斯渥小心从事，因为一旦她对他不满，他的一切就岌岌可危了。

那天晚上，赫斯渥、嘉莉和杜洛埃在麦克维卡戏院包厢里看戏时，他儿子小乔治恰巧也在那里。他和当地绸缎批发行的第三合伙人哈·索·卡迈克尔的千金坐在正厅第六排。赫斯渥没有看到他儿子，因为他坐在椅子里时身子尽量往后靠，这是他的习惯。这样当他身子前倾时，前六排的人只能看见他半个身子。在每个戏院他都习惯这么坐法，尽量不要引人注目，如果太暴露了对自己没有好处的话。

碰到自己的行为有被人误解或误传的可能时，他的一举一动就特别小心，总是小心翼翼地打量四周，估量暴露一时身体可能要付出的代价。

第二天早饭时，他儿子说：

“昨天晚上我看见你了，老爸。”

“你昨晚在麦克维卡戏院吗？”赫斯渥用最欣然的口气问道。

“是啊，”小乔治说。

“你和谁一起去的？”

“和卡迈克尔小姐一起。”

赫斯渥太太向她丈夫投去疑问的目光，从他的表情看不出是否真像他们在聊的那样只是偶然去戏院看场戏。

“戏怎么样？”她问道。

“很好，”赫斯渥说，"还是一出老戏《瑞普凡·温克尔》。”“你和谁一起去的？”他的妻子装出漫不经心的神气追问道。

“查理·杜洛埃和他的妻子。他们是莫埃的朋友，到这里来玩玩的。”由于他的职位的关系，这样的解释一般不会引起什么麻烦。他的妻子认为，他的职务有时需要他单独出外应酬，那是理所当然的。但是近来他太太要他晚上陪她出去玩时，他好几次推托说事情忙，脱不开身。就在昨天早上，她要他当晚陪着出去时，他就推掉了。

“我记得你说你昨晚没空的，”她斟字酌句地说道。

“我是没空，”他嚷了起来，“凭空插进看戏这码事我也没办法。我后来加班一直干到半夜２点。”暂时这件事就算过去了，但是心里留下了不满的疙瘩。他对他妻子的权利这样置之不顾还是第一次。多年来，他对她的感情日益淡薄，感到和她在一起很乏味。现在东方地平线上升起了一轮朝阳，这弯残月就在西边天际失去了光泽。对于旧的生活他只想掉头不顾，任何要他回头的呼唤都叫他恼火。

另一方面，她却要求他完全履行他们婚姻关系规定的一切义务，尽管作为婚姻实质的感情已不复存在了。

“今天下午我们要去市里，”几天以后她说，“我要你到金斯莱大菜馆来见见菲力气先生和太太。他们在屈莱芒旅馆下榻。我们应该带他们观光一下。”在发生了星期三这事以后，他无法再拒绝了，尽管菲力普两口子虚荣愚昧，非常令人乏味。他很勉强地答应下来，因此出门时很恼火。

“这种事不能再发生了，”他想，“我可不愿意浪费时间陪这些游客逛大街。我还有事要做呢。”隔了不久，赫斯渥太太提出了一个类似的要求，不过这次是看下午场的戏。

“亲爱的，”他回答，“我没空，我太忙了。”“你却有时间陪别人去，”她回答时口气已很不快了。

“没有这回事，”他回答，“我只是躲不掉商业应酬，就是这么回事。”“好，不去就不去，”她尖叫道。她的嘴唇紧闭着，双方的敌对情绪增加了。

另一方面，他对杜洛埃的小女工的兴趣几乎是在同步增加。那位年轻的小姐，在处境的压力和新朋友的教诲下，变化显著。她具有寻求解放的斗士的悟性，更排场的生活向她发出了诱人的光辉。与其说她的知识增加了，不如说她对物质的欲望增强了。海尔太太关于财富和地位的长篇宏论教会了她区分财富的等级。

海尔太太喜欢在阳光明媚的下午坐车兜风，去瞧瞧她住不起的华厦和草坪，饱饱眼福，得些心灵上的安慰。在北区沿着现在的北湖滨路已建起了一批漂亮的府郏那个湖当时还没有用石块和花岗岩铺的湖堤。井然有序的道路把草坪分隔成一块块的，看上去很悦目，簇新的府第十分气派宏伟。冬季刚过，迎来了早春最初的好天气。海尔太太租了一辆轻便马车，请嘉莉一起去玩一下午。她们先驱车穿过林肯公园，然后驶向伊凡斯顿豪华住宅区。４点钟驾车往回走，大约５点钟到了北湖滨路的北端。一年的这个季节，仍是昼短夜长。黄昏的暮色已开始降临在这大城市。路灯已点亮了，柔和的光辉像半透明的液体倾泻下来。空气中透出温和的气息，以无限的轻柔向人的心灵和肌肤倾诉。嘉莉感到天气真好。这一天因为许多的联想和启迪，她的心灵成熟了。她们沿着平坦的马路行驶时，偶而有马车从她们车旁驶过。她看见一辆车停了下来。随从先下车，为一位先生打开车门。他似乎很悠闲，刚刚从哪里玩了一下午回来。她看见在大片冒出嫩绿的草坪后面，一座座豪华住宅里隐隐透出灯光。她有时瞧见一把椅子，有时瞧见一张桌子，有时瞧见富丽的房间一角。几乎没有任何别的东西比这些一闪而过的景色更强烈地吸引她了。童年时关于仙窟琼林和王室宫殿的梦想现在又复活了。她想象着住在这些雕廊画栋大厦里的人们过着无忧无虑心满意足的日子。这些华厦的门廊精雕细琢，门口的球形水晶灯照着方格镶板的大门，门上装有绘图彩色玻璃。她敢肯定这里就是幸福之所在。啊，如果她能拥有这样一幢大宅，漫步走过门前宽敞的走道，跨过在她看来像珠宝堆砌的富丽门廊，服饰华贵步态优雅地走进去发号施令，那么一切悲伤都会一扫而光，一切痛苦都会不治而愈。她久久地看着看着，惊叹着，欣喜着，企盼着。她那不安份的心灵就像海上女妖塞伦富有惑力的歌声在耳边不断地低诉。

“如果我们能拥有一栋像这样的住宅，”海尔太太幽幽地说，“那会多么快活埃““不过人家说，世上没有一个人是幸福的。”嘉莉回答。

那个吃不到葡萄的狐狸的伪善哲理她听过不知多少遍了。

“不过，依我看来，”海尔太太说，“人们拼命想住进漂亮大厦去，情愿去那里吃苦呢。”她回到家时，感到她的住处比那些华厦差远了。她不至于蠢到看不出，他们住的只是小小三间摆设中等的公寓房间。她没有拿眼下的住处和她过去的住处相比，而是和她才看到的华厦美宅相比。她眼前仿佛还看见那些宫殿般的大门在闪光，耳朵里似乎还听到座垫华丽的马车从身旁辚辚驶过。说到底，杜洛埃算哪号人物？她自己又算得什么呢？她坐在窗前的摇椅里，一边摇着，一边想着。她的目光投向窗外，隔着华灯下的公园，凝视着公园后的华伦街和阿希兰大道上灯火通明的楼房住宅。她沉浸在这些思绪里，不想下楼去吃饭。忧愁伤感使她不想动弹，只想坐在摇椅里，摇着哼着小曲。一些老调子悄悄浮上心头，当她唱着这些歌，她的心在往下沉。她企盼着，企盼着，企盼着。一会儿思念哥伦比亚老家的村舍，一会儿渴望着北湖滨路上的华厦美宅。一会儿艳羡某位小姐的漂亮服装，一会儿又想起某个迷人的景色。绵绵的忧伤袭上心头，夹杂着犹豫、希冀和幻想。到最后，她觉得她的处境似乎无限孤独和凄凉，嘴唇禁不住颤抖起来。时光在流逝，她坐在窗旁的阴影里，低低哼唱着，心里开心起来，尽管她自己并没有意识到。

嘉莉正沉湎在这种情绪中，公寓仆人上来说，赫斯渥先生在楼下客厅求见杜洛埃先生和太太。

“我猜想他不知道查理出门了，”嘉莉想。

整个冬天她几乎没有见到这位经理先生，但是由于这样那样的原因，主要是他留下的深刻印象，她对他始终没有忘怀。她一时有点不知所措，不知自己这样子能不能见客。但是照了镜子以后，她放下心来，于是走下楼梯。

赫斯渥像往常一样打扮入时，风度翩翩。他没有听说杜洛埃出门了。不过这个消息没有影响他的情绪，他开始聊起那些嘉莉会感兴趣的一般话题。他聊天时的轻松自如真令人吃惊。

他是那种阅历丰富的人，知道自己的谈吐讨人喜欢。他很清楚嘉莉爱听他说话，所以毫不费劲地聊着。他的谈吐把嘉莉迷住了。他把椅子挪近些，语调变得那么轻柔，好像他在说什么悄悄话似的。他的谈话几乎完全是关于男人和各种娱乐的。他到过许多地方，见多识广。不知怎么的，他使嘉莉盼望自己也能见识见识这些事物。与此同时，他把她的注意力引向自己。

她无时无刻不在意识到他的个人魅力和存在。有时为了强调某一点，他微笑着慢慢抬起目光，于是她就像碰到磁铁一样，被他的眼神吸引住了。他没费一点劲就使她对他的话表示赞许。有一次他碰了一下她的手来加强他的语气，她只报以一笑。他身上似乎散发出一种氛围，渗透到她全身心。他没有一刻让人乏味，相反他似乎让她也变得聪明起来。至少，在他的影响下她变得活跃起来，把自己身上的优点充分显示出来。她觉得自己和他在一起时，似乎比和别人在一起时来得聪明。至少，他似乎在她身上发现那么多的优点值得夸奖。他的举止里没有一点儿屈尊俯就的意思，而杜洛埃总以恩人自居。

自相识以来，每次见面，不管杜洛埃是不是在场，他们俩人之间都有一种微妙的个人感情，一种嘉莉感到很难说清的感情。她天生不是个伶牙俐齿的人。她从来不善于把自己的意思哗哗往外倒。主宰着她的是一种强烈深沉的感情，可她却说不出关键有份量的话来。至于眼色和感情，又有哪个女人肯暴露呢？她和杜洛埃之间从来没有这种情感的交融，事实上也是不可能的。当她委身于他时，她既为自己的贫困所迫，也为杜洛埃表现的慷慨解困的义气所感动。现在她为赫斯渥传来的这股感情暗流而动心，这种情感是杜洛埃根本不懂的。赫斯渥的目光像情人的喁喁情话一样动人，而且更加让人动心。它不要你立刻作出决定，也无法回答。

人们往往把话语看得太重要。他们误以为谈话会产生巨大的效果。事实上，在一切雄辩中，语言往往是最浅薄的部分。

它们只是模糊地代表了语言背后所隐藏的汹涌澎湃的激情和愿望。舌头只会让人分心，只有舌头停止说话，心灵才能听见另一颗心声。

在这次谈话中，她听到的与其说是他的话，不如说是他所代表的那些东西的声音。他温文尔雅的外表本身就多么具有说服力埃他身份高贵又是多么显而易见！他对她日益增长的欲望，像一个温柔的手轻轻按在她的心上。她不必颤栗，因为那个手是无形的。她不必担心别人会说闲话，也不用自我责备--因为这一切不着形迹，无法看见。他在恳求她，说服她，引诱她，去放弃旧的权利，接受新的权利，然而他什么话也没有说，可以证实他这么做了。就他们俩的实际思想活动而言，他们正在开展的那场交谈只相当于管弦乐队的低低乐声，为戏剧情节的展开提供背景音乐。

“你有没有去看看北区湖岸大道那一带的楼房？”赫斯渥问道。

“我今天下午刚去那里看了回来--海尔太太和我一起去的。非常漂亮，是不是？““是很漂亮，”他回答。

“唉，真的，”嘉莉幽幽地说，“我真想住在那种房子里。”“你感到不快乐，“赫斯渥停顿了一下，慢慢说道。

他认真地抬起目光，一直注视着她的眼睛。他猜想这句话深深拨动了她的心弦，现在有点机会为自己说上句话了。他静静地向前倾着身子，用目光久久注视着她。他感到现在是关键时刻了。她竭力想挪动一下，但是没有用。这目光倾注了一个男人天性中的全部力量，而他有充分的理由这么做。他就这么注视着，注视着。这局面持续得越久，她的处境就越困难。这小女工陷入了感情的漩涡之中，越陷越深，那几根支撑她的柱子一根根都漂走了。

“喂，”她终于说道，“你不可以这么看我的。”“我忍不住，”他说道。

她的心情轻松了一点，让这局面继续下去，这增加了他的信心。

“你不满意你目前的生活，是吗？”

“是的，”她微弱地说。

他看出，他已控制了局面--他感觉到了，他伸出手去抚摸她的手。

“你不可以这样的，”她嚷着跳了起来。

“我不是有意的，”他轻描淡写地说。

她本来可以跑掉的，可是她没有走。她并没有中止他们的交谈，但是他已在快活地想入非非了。不久他站了起来要走了。

“你别难过，”他和气地说，“过段时间，事情会好的。”她没有回答，因为她想不起说什么好。

“我们是好朋友，是不是？”他说着伸出手来。

“是的，”她答道。

“别和人提起我们见面的事。下次我再来看你。”他一直握着她的手不放。

“我没法答应你，”她心怀疑虑地说。

“你应该稍许大方一点，”他说。他的话很直率，使她受了感动。

“我们别再提这个了，”她说。

“好，”他说着，容光焕发了。

他下了台阶，走进自己的马车。嘉莉关上门，到楼上自己的房间去。她在镜子前解开自己的宽花边领饰，又解下了漂亮的鳄鱼皮带，那是她最近才买的。

“我越变越坏了，”她说道，真心感到烦恼和羞愧，“我好像哪件事也没有做对。”过了一会儿，她解开头发，让秀发像棕色的波浪松松地垂下来，她的脑子还在想当天晚上的这件事。

“我不知道，”她终于喃喃自语，“我不知道我该怎么办。”“嗯，”赫斯渥坐着马车离开时，心里想，“她确实喜欢我的，这一点我知道。”在去酒店办公室的整整四英里的路上，这位心情兴奋的经理快乐地吹着口哨，那是一首有十五年没想起过的旧曲子。