Chapter 12 Chapter 12 The Lights of the Mansion: The Messenger Court

Mrs. Hurstwood was not aware of her husband's moral problems, but she might guess that he had them, for she knew him all too well. She was the sort of woman who would do anything to piss her off. Hess Oh had no idea what she would do under certain circumstances. He had never seen her fly into a fit of rage. In fact, she wasn't the type to get angry. She had no confidence in men and knew they were going to make mistakes. Wrong. She is too calculating to let her suspicions be exposed by unnecessary quarrels. It will lose the news and gain the upper hand. She will not let her anger vent out in one go. She To bide her time, to weigh, to study the details, to accumulate information until her powers allow her to get what she wants. At the same time, if there is an opportunity to inflict great or small harm on the object of her revenge, she will not hesitate to do so. But When hurting each other, she will not let her opponent know what is wrong. She is a cold and selfish woman who likes to hide many thoughts in her heart, and she does not show her face at all, and she does not even reveal a little bit of winking .

Hurstwood was aware of her temper, but did not really know it. He had lived with her without incident, and he was even somewhat satisfied. He was not at all afraid of her...he had no reason to be. She... she was still somewhat proud of him, reinforced by her desire to maintain her social status. But she was secretly glad that most of her husband's property was in her name, which was a more important family than it is today. Hurstwood's measures when she was attractive. His wife had no reason to worry that their family relations would be troubled, but the shadow of discord made her think from time to time that this arrangement of property was in her favor. This advantageous position made her become Difficult to manage. Hurstwood played it safe, because if she displeased him, everything was at stake.

When Hurstwood Carrie and Drouet were in a box at the McVicar Theater that evening, his son George Jr. happened to be there. He and Ha Saw Carmichael, the third partner in the local silk wholesaler, His daughter sat in the sixth row of the main hall. Hurstwood did not see his son, because he sat as far back as possible in his chair, which was his habit. So that when he leaned forward, the people in the first six rows Only half of his body can be seen. He is used to sitting in this way in every theater, trying not to attract attention, if it is not good for him to be too exposed. When encountering the possibility of his behavior being misunderstood or misrepresented, he is very careful in every move, always looking around cautiously, and estimating the price that his body may have to pay for being exposed for a while. At breakfast the next day, his son said :

"I saw you last night, father." "Were you at the McVicar's last night?" asked Hurstwood in the most cheerful tone. "Yes," said little George. "Who did you go with?" "With Miss Carmichael." Mrs. Hurstwood cast a questioning look at her husband, and it was impossible to tell from his expression whether it was really a casual visit to the theatre, as they were talking about. "How was the play?" she asked. "Very well," said Hurstwood, "it's an old play, Rip Van Winkle." "Who did you go with?" inquired his wife with affected indifference.

"Charlie Drouet and his wife. They're friends of Moy's, and they're here to play." Because of his position, such an explanation usually does not cause any trouble. His wife thinks it is natural that his position sometimes requires him to go out alone for entertainment. But recently when his wife asked him to go out with her at night, He excused several times, saying that he was busy with work and couldn't get away. Just yesterday morning, when she asked him to accompany her out that night, he refused. "I remember you saying you weren't free last night," she said carefully.

"I don't have time," he exclaimed, "and I couldn't do anything about getting into a play out of nowhere. I worked overtime until two o'clock in the morning." For the time being the matter was over, but it left a knot of dissatisfaction in his heart. It was the first time he had disregarded his wife's rights in this way. Over the years, his affection for her had grown weak, and his company was boring. .Now there is a rising sun on the eastern horizon, and the waning moon has lost its luster in the western sky. He just wants to turn his back on his old life, and any call to turn back annoys him.

She, on the other hand, demanded from him the full fulfillment of all the obligations imposed by their marriage, even though the affection which was the substance of the marriage had ceased to exist. "We're going to town this afternoon," she said a few days later, "and I want you to meet Mr and Mrs Philip at Kingsley's. They're staying at the Tremont Hotel. We ought to show them around." " After what happened on Wednesday, he could no longer refuse, though the vanity and ignorance of Philip and his wife was very dull. He complied so reluctantly that he went out annoyed.

"It can't happen again," he thought. "I don't want to waste my time walking the streets with these tourists. I have things to do." A short time later, Mrs. Hurstwood made a similar request, but this time for the afternoon play. "My dear," he answered, "I'm not free, I'm too busy." "You have time for other people," she replied, already in a very unhappy tone. "Nothing of the sort," he replied, "I just can't avoid business engagements, that's all." "Well, if you don't go, you don't go," she screamed. Her lips were tightly shut, and the antagonism between the two sides increased.

On the other hand, his interest in Drouet's little working girl increased almost simultaneously. The young lady, under the pressure of her situation and the teachings of her new friends, changed markedly. She had the understanding of a fighter for emancipation, and more A life of ostentation cast a seductive radiance upon her. It was not so much her knowledge that increased her lust for material things. Mrs. Hale's long discourses on wealth and position taught her to distinguish the degrees of wealth. Mrs. Hale likes to go for a drive in the sunny afternoon, to see the mansions and lawns she cannot afford to live in, to feast her eyes and get some spiritual comfort. In the North District, along the current North Lakeside Road, a Beautiful mansions. The lake was not yet embanked with stones and granite. Well-ordered roads divided the lawns into blocks, which looked very pleasing, and the new mansion was very grand. The winter was just over. , ushered in the first fine weather of early spring. Mrs. Hale hired a buggy and invited Carrie to play for an afternoon. They drove first through Lincoln Park, and then drove to the luxurious residential area of ​​​​Evanston. 4 o'clock Driving back, I arrived at the northern end of Beihubin Road at about 5 o'clock. In this season of the year, the days are still short and the nights are long. Evening twilight has begun to fall on this big city. The street lamps have been lit, and the soft light is like The translucent liquid poured down. There was a gentle breath in the air, which spoke to the soul and skin with infinite softness. Carrie felt that the weather was fine. Her mind was matured by many associations and inspirations this day. They While driving along the flat road, a carriage occasionally passed by their car. She saw a car stop. The attendants got out of the car first and opened the door for a gentleman. Came back in the afternoon. She saw faint lights in luxury houses behind the large green lawns. She caught a glimpse sometimes of a chair, sometimes of a table, sometimes of a corner of a rich room. Hardly anything else She was attracted more strongly than these fleeting views. Childhood dreams of fairy caves and royal palaces were now revived. She imagined the people who lived in these carved galleries and painted buildings living a carefree life. The days of contentment. These mansions, with their finely carved porches, and the globe-like chandeliers lighting the coffered-paneled doors with painted stained-glass windows, are here, she's sure, to be happy. Ah, if she could To have a house like this, to stroll down the wide front door, step over the rich porch that seemed to her like jewels, walk in with rich clothes and walk gracefully to give orders, and all sorrows will be gone, all pains will be gone. Healed without treatment. She watched for a long time, amazed, rejoiced, and hoped. Her restless heart was like the seductive singing of the sea banshee Siren whispering in her ears.

"If we could have a house like this," said Mrs. Hale quietly, "how happy it would be." "But they say no one is happy in the world," answered Carrie. She has heard the hypocritical philosophy of the fox who can't eat the grapes countless times. "However, it seems to me," said Mrs. Hale, "that people want as much as they can to live in a nice mansion than to live there." When she got home, she felt that her lodgings were far worse than those mansions. She was not too stupid not to see that they lived in only three modestly furnished flats. She did not compare her present lodging with her former lodging. In comparison, it was compared with the luxurious mansions she had just seen. She still seemed to see those palace-like gates shining before her eyes, and she seemed to hear the carriage with luxurious cushions rumbling past her side. After all, who is Drouet? What is she herself? She sits in the rocking chair by the window, rocking, thinking. The brightly lit buildings and houses on Warren Street and Ashland Avenue behind the park. She was immersed in these thoughts and didn't want to go downstairs to eat. Sadness made her not want to move, she just wanted to sit in the rocking chair, rocking and humming a little song Some old tunes crept into her mind, and as she sang these songs, her heart sank. She hoped, hoped, hoped. For a while she missed the cottages back home in Columbia, and for a while she longed for the mansions on North Lakeside Road A beautiful house. For a while, she envied the beautiful dress of a certain lady, and for a while, she thought of a certain charming scenery. A lingering sadness came to her heart, mixed with hesitation, hope and fantasy. In the end, she felt that her situation seemed infinitely lonely and desolate, Her lips trembled. The hours were passing, and she sat in the shadow by the window, humming to herself, with joy, though she did not realize it.

Carrie was in the midst of these moods, when the apartment servant came up to say that Mr. Hurstwood was asking Mr. and Mrs. Drouet to see him in the drawing-room below. "I guess he doesn't know Charlie's gone," thought Carrie. She hardly saw the manager throughout the winter, but for various reasons, mainly because of the deep impression he left on her, she never forgot him. She was at a loss for a while, wondering if she could meet guests .But after looking in the mirror, she was relieved, and went down the stairs. Hurstwood was well dressed and personable as usual. He had not heard that Drouet was away. But the news did not affect his spirits, and he began to chat about the general subjects that would interest Carrie. His ease was astonishing. He was one of those experienced men who knew what he had to say to please him. He knew very well that Carrie loved to hear him, so he had no trouble talking. Carrie was charmed by his talk. He moved his chair closer, and his voice became so soft that it seemed that he was whispering something. His conversation was almost entirely about men and various entertainments. He has been in many places and has seen a lot. I don’t know. Anyway, he made Carrie wish she could see these things herself. At the same time, he drew her attention to himself. She was constantly aware of his charisma and presence. Sometimes, to emphasize a point, he smiled She looked up slowly, and she was drawn to his eyes like a magnet. He had no trouble getting her to approve of what he said. Once he touched her hand to strengthen him. She just smiled back. There seemed to be an aura about him that permeated her. He didn't dull for a moment, on the contrary he seemed to make her smart too. At least, under his influence, she Be active and bring out the best in herself. She seems to be smarter with him than with others. At least, he seems to find so many good things in her that are worthy of praise. His There was nothing condescending in his manner, and Drouet always regarded himself as a benefactor. Every time they met since their acquaintance, whether Drouet was present or not, there was a delicate personal feeling between the two of them, a feeling which Carrie found difficult to articulate. She was not naturally a glib person. She never She is not good at pouring out her thoughts. What dominates her is a kind of strong and deep emotion, but she can't say the key and weighty words. As for the wink and emotion, which woman is willing to reveal it? She and Du There was never such a sympathy between Drouet, and in fact it was impossible. When she committed herself to him, she was both compelled by her own poverty and moved by the generosity of Drouet. Now She was moved by this undercurrent of emotion from Hurstwood, which Drouet knew nothing of. Hurstwood's glance was as moving as a lover's coursing, and still more touching. It does not require you to A decision is made and there is no answer. People tend to place too much importance on words. They mistakenly think that conversation will produce great effects. In fact, in all eloquence, words are often the most shallow part. They are only vague representations of the surging passion hidden behind words And wishes. The tongue will only distract people. Only when the tongue stops talking can the heart hear the voice of another heart. In this conversation she heard not so much his words as the voice of what he stood for. How persuasive was his gentle appearance. How obvious was his dignity! The growing desire is like a gentle hand gently pressing on her heart. She doesn't have to tremble, because that hand is invisible. She doesn't have to worry about others gossiping, and she doesn't have to blame herself... because it doesn't matter He was beseeching her, persuading her, seducing her, to relinquish her old rights and accept new ones, and yet he said nothing to prove that he had done so. In other words, the conversation they were having was little more than the murmur of an orchestra, providing background music for the drama to unfold. "Have you ever looked at the buildings on Lake Shore Drive in the North End?" asked Hurstwood. "I just came back from seeing it this afternoon... Mrs. Hale and I. Very pretty, isn't it?" "It's very pretty," he answered. "Oh, really," said Carrie faintly, "I should like to live in that kind of house." "You are unhappy," said Hurstwood slowly, after a pause. He looked up earnestly, and kept looking into her eyes. He guessed that the words had struck a deep chord in her heart, and now he had a chance to speak for himself. He leaned forward quietly, and with The eyes were fixed on her for a long time. He felt that the moment was now. She tried to move, but it was useless. The eyes poured out all the strength of a man's nature, and he had good reasons for doing so. He just watched , watching. The longer this situation lasted, the more difficult her situation became. The little worker was caught in a whirlpool of feelings, and the more she sank, the pillars that supported her drifted away one by one. "Well," she said at last, "you mustn't look at me that way." "I can't help it," he said. She lightened up a little and let the situation go on, which added to his confidence. "You are not satisfied with your present life, are you?" "Yes," she said weakly. He saw that he had the situation under control... he felt it, and he reached out to touch hers. "You can't do this," she cried, jumping up. "I didn't mean to," he said lightly. She could have run away, but she didn't. She didn't interrupt their conversation, but he was already dreaming happily. Presently he got up to go. "Don't be sorry," he said kindly, "things will be all right after a while." She didn't answer because she couldn't think of what to say. "We're good friends, aren't we?" he said, holding out his hand. "Yes," she replied. "Don't tell anyone about our meeting. I'll see you next time." He kept holding her hand. "I can't promise you," she said suspiciously. "You ought to be a little more generous," he said. The frankness of his words touched her. "Let's not talk about it any more," she said. "Good," he said, brightening up. He went down the steps and into his carriage. Carrie shut the door, and went upstairs to her own room. Before the looking-glass she unfastened her lace cravat and the pretty crocodile belt which she had lately just bought it. "I'm getting worse and worse," she said, genuinely troubled and ashamed, "and I don't seem to be doing anything right." After a while she let her hair fall loose in brown waves, her mind still thinking about the events of that evening. "I don't know," she murmured at last, "I don't know what I should do." "Well," thought Hurstwood, as he drove off in the cab, "she does like me, and I know that." For the full four miles to the hotel office, the excited manager happily whistled an old tune he hadn't thought of for fifteen years.