Chapter 15 Chapter Fifteen Annoying Old Ties: The Charm of Youth

As his attachment to Carrie deepened, Hurstwood now cared little for his home. Everything he did for it was perfunctory. He ate breakfast at the same table with his wife and children. , but he was thinking of things that had nothing to do with them. He read the newspaper while eating, and the superficial conversations of his children aroused his interest in reading the newspaper. There was a coldness between him and his wife, as if separated by a a gap. Now that he had Carrie, he had hope of regaining his happiness again. It was now a pleasure to go to the business district every evening. In these days when the days were short and the nights long, the street lamps flickered merrily overhead when he went out in the evening. He was experiencing again now that feeling which quickens a lover's pace. He had almost forgotten what it was like. As he looked at his fine dress, he imagined what Carrie would think...  And Carrie's eyes were those of youth.

When he was flooded with these emotions, he was irritated to hear his wife's voice, to hear the demands that insisted on calling him from his dream to the tedious reality of his family. Relationships are bound like chains. "Jorlow," said Mrs. Hurstwood, in that demanding tone he had long known, "get us a quarter-ticket to the races." "Do you want to go to every horse race?" He raised his voice unconsciously. "Yes," she replied. The races they were talking about were about to be held at Washington Park on the South Side. Among those who disapproved of strict rules and conservative old-fashioned ideas. These races were important social occasions. Mrs. Hurstwood had never had a full season before. But this year, for some reasons, she wants a special box. One of the reasons is that her neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey, a family of rich men who have made a fortune from the coal business, have already booked a box. Secondly, Dr. Bill, whom she likes, a gentleman who loves horses and lottery games, has told her that he intends to race one of his two-year-old colts. Third, she wants to take this opportunity to show off how beautiful it has been. She wanted Jessica to marry a rich man. Finally, she wanted to show off on the occasion. The idea of ​​showing face to acquaintances and general audiences was as important a motive as any other.

Hurstwood considered his wife's request for some time without answering. They were sitting in the living room on the second floor, waiting for supper. He had engaged Carrie Drouet that night to see The Engagement, and I came back to change clothes. "Are you sure you can't get a single ticket?" he asked, not daring to say anything harsher. "No," she replied impatiently. "Well," he said, annoyed at her manner, "you needn't be so angry, I'm just asking." "I'm not mad," she snapped, "I just want you to get a ticket for the season."

"Then I'll tell you," he replied, looking at her with clear, determined eyes, "that tickets for the season are not so easy to get. I'm not sure the track manager will give me one." He kept thinking about his friendship with the giants of the racetrack. "Then we can pay for one," she cried sharply. "You put it lightly," he said, "a season ticket costs $150." "I'm not arguing with you," she said in a non-negotiable tone, "I just want one, that's all." She had stood up and walked angrily towards the door.

"Well, then go and get the tickets yourself," he said coldly, his tone less severe. As usual, there was one less person at the table that night. His attitude had calmed down the next morning, and he got her tickets just in time, but that didn't heal the rift between them. He didn't care about spending most of his income on family expenses, but he didn't like that. A practice of asking for this and that despite his objections. "Did you know, Mother?" said Jessica another day, "the Spencers are getting ready to go on vacation." "I don't know. Where are they going?"

"To Europe," said Jessica. "I met Jokin yesterday, and she told me that herself. She's even more elated now." "Did she say when she was leaving?" "Monday, I think. It's time for them to put their departure in the papers again. They always do that." "Never mind it," said Mrs. Hurstwood comfortingly; "we'll be there some day." Hurstwood's eyes moved slowly over the paper, but he said nothing. "'We're sailing from New York to Liverpool,' cried Jessica mockingly, imitating her friend, ''expect to spend most of the summer in France, . . . It's like going to Europe."

"It must be great if you're so jealous," put in Hurstwood. It annoyed him to see his daughter's emotions in the matter. "Don't be angry about these people, my dear boy," said Mrs. Hurstwood. "Is George gone?" Jessica asked her mother another day. If she hadn't asked, Hurstwood would have known nothing about it. "Where has he been?" he asked, looking up. He had never been kept from the family before. "He's gone to Phaidon," said Jessica, not paying any attention to the fact that her father hadn't taken much notice of it.

"What are you doing there?" He asked again. Thinking that he had to ask again and again to understand the family affairs, he was secretly annoyed and wronged. "Go to the tennis match," said Jessica. "He didn't say anything to me," said Hurstwood at last, unable to restrain his displeasure. "I guess he must have forgotten," said his wife frankly. He had always been treated in the family with a certain respect, a respect mingled with admiration and awe. The casual relationship which still remained between him and his daughter was something he had deliberately pursued. But this casualness was limited to He speaks casually and always in a respectful tone. However, no matter what the previous relationship was, there was a lack of love between them. Now, however, he doesn't even know what they are doing. He no longer cares about them. Familiar. Sometimes he sees them at the dinner table, sometimes not. He sometimes hears some of what they are doing, but mostly not. Sometimes their conversation makes him puzzled,  … .Because they were talking about things they planned to do or had done while he was away. What hurt him even more was the feeling that many things in the family were left untold to him. Jessica was beginning to feel her own Leave the business to no one else. Little George acted as if he were quite a man, and therefore ought to have his own private affairs. Hurstwood saw all this, and could not help feeling sad. For he was used to In order to be respected as the head of the family... at least on the surface... he feels that his importance should not start to decline here. Worse, he sees his wife growing With this indifference and independent mood. He was left alone with only the obligation to pay the bills.

But he reassured himself that he himself was not unloved after all. At home things had to be left to them, but outside he had Carrie at last. He pictured in his mind the comfortable room in Auden's apartment, where He had spent several pleasant evenings there. He imagined Carrie waiting for his return in their cozy cottage once Drouet had been left altogether. How wonderful it would all be. He was optimistic. attitude, trusting that nothing would arise that would lead Drouet to disclose to Carrie that he was married. Things had been going so well that he believed nothing would change. He would soon persuade Carrie, when Everything will be satisfactory.

From the second day after seeing the play, he began to write to her uninterruptedly...a letter every morning, and begged her to do the same. He didn't have much literary accomplishment, but his social experience added His growing love for her gave his letters a touch of style. Every day he hunkered down on his desk in the office and carefully crafted his love letters. He bought a box of elegantly colored perfumed stationery with his initials on it. , he locked the papers in a drawer in his office. His friends marveled at how much he was writing. The five bartenders watched with respect for their manager with so much paper to do.

Hurstwood was also amazed at the fluency of his own writing. According to the natural laws governing all human activities, what he wrote had an effect on himself first. He began to feel the tenderness of his pen. He wrote The more he read, the better he understood his own feelings. He was charmed by the expression of his inner feelings in words. He believed that Carrie deserved the affection he expressed in his letter, and he was convinced of it. If youth and beauty should be recognized in life at the time of flowers, Carrie is indeed worthy of people's love. Her experience has not lost the freshness and purity of her heart, which is the charm of her body. Her Shui Lingling's big eyes were full of tenderness, without a trace of frustration. A layer of doubt and longing bothered her, but these only made her gaze and words take on a hopeful expression. Whether it was When she was talking, her mouth sometimes showed a sad look. But she was not often sad, because the shape of her lips when she made certain sounds seemed to be the embodiment of sorrow, which aroused people's love. Her actions were timid, without a hint of aggressiveness. Her life experience made her different from those majestic ladies, and she had no arrogance and arrogance. Still lacking in self-confidence, it's just that the little experience she's had has made her less timid. She wants fun, she wants status, but she still doesn't know what those things are. Every day, the kaleidoscope of life gives some The new thing shines, and this thing becomes the object of her pursuit. But when the kaleidoscope is turned again, something else becomes perfect again. In her spiritual world, she was naturally sentimental, as people of her character often are. Many things can arouse sadness in her... The weak, the poor and helpless, all aroused. Her grief. Her heart ached for those pale and ragged people who passed her hopelessly with pathetic numbness. In the evening, from her window, she could see the poorly dressed girl She sympathized with them from the bottom of her heart as they hurried home, panting from a workshop in the West End. She would stand there, bite her lip, watch them go by, shaking her head in thought. Ah, they could say Nothing, she thought, how miserable it is to be without clothes and money. The faded clothes hanging down from them are sad. "And they've got such a hard job to do!" was her only sigh. In the street she sometimes saw men at work... Irishmen with pickaxes, coalmen with piles of coal to shovel, Americans doing some kind of heavy labor... .These people moved her deeply. Although she doesn't have to do hard work now, the hard work made her feel more chilled than when she experienced it. She looked at these hard workers through a misty imagination, a kind of hazy half-light The semi-dark light...that is the mood of poetry. Seeing the face in the window, she sometimes thinks of her old father working in the mill, wearing flour-stained overalls. Seeing the shoemaker filling the shoes Making shoe lasts, seeing the blacksmith smelting iron in the basement window, or seeing the carpenter working with his coat off and his sleeves rolled up in the upper window, all these reminded her of the scene of the mill. She was very sad, though she seldom said it. Her sympathy was always poured out to the lower classes of cattle and horses. She herself had just jumped out of the sea of ​​​​suffering, and she certainly felt it deeply. Hurstwood did not know that he was dealing with such a delicate and tender girl. But it was in her, after all, that attracted him. He never attempted to analyze the nature of his love. To him, It was enough to know her soft eyes, her soft actions, and her kind and optimistic thoughts. She was like a lily, but he never detected from what depths of water the flower drew her soft Beautiful and fragrant. Nor could he understand the muck and the loam in which it took root. He approached the lily because it was soft and fresh. It enlivened his feelings, it made the morning so good and meaningful. Physically, she was greatly improved. The clumsiness of manner was gone, leaving only a trace of amusing, which made her every movement as lovely as the most perfect grace. On her little feet she wore They were beautiful high-heeled shoes. She also knew a good deal now about those lace and neck decorations that greatly enhance the feminine appearance. Her figure has been matured, and her figure is full and round, which is admirable. Hurstwood wrote to her one morning asking to meet her at Jefferson Park, Monroe Street. He did not think it advisable for him to call on Auden's flats now, even if Drouet were at home. The next day at 1 o'clock in the afternoon he came to this beautiful little park. He found a simple long bench under the green leaves of a lilac bush beside the park path. It was a beautiful spring day before summer in the year. By the pond some clean-dressed children were launching white canvas boats. In the shade of a green tower a uniformed policeman was resting with arms folded, his baton in his belt. On the lawn, An old gardener was trimming some bushes with a pair of gardener's shears. Under the clear blue sky in early summer, sparrows were busy on the trees with dense green leaves, chirping and jumping among the shiny green leaves from time to time. Hurstwood left the house that morning, as usual, full of unhappiness. At the hotel he had nothing to do to pass the time, for he had no need to write letters that day. When he set out to come here, he left his troubles behind him like those and now, in the cool shade of the trees, he looked about him with a lover's imagination. He heard the heavy passing of the wagons in the neighboring street, but it sounded at a great distance. There was only a faint humming in his ears. The noise of the surrounding city could only be faintly heard. Occasionally, a bell sounded, as distant as music. A new happy life without connection. In his imagination, he was the old Hurstwood again, the Hurstwood who was neither married nor fixed. The children... danced with them, accompanied them home, lingered at their door. He almost wished he could go back to that time... He almost felt himself in this pleasant environment A free man without family concerns. At two o'clock Carrie came briskly down the path toward him, her face as fresh as a rose-petal, and all neat and tidy. She wore a new sailor's hat with a pretty strip of white spots on her head. Blue ribbon, this hat is worn in this season. She is wearing a long blue dress made of fine material and a blue striped shirt on a white background. There is a hair-thin strip on the white background, which matches the skirt very well. Brown leather shoes are occasionally exposed under the long skirt. She holds gloves in her hands. Hurstwood looked up at her happily. "There you are at last, my dear," he said warmly, rising to meet her, and taking her hand in his own. "Yes," she smiled. "Are you worried that I won't come?" "I don't know," he replied. He looked at her, her brow dripping with sweat from the haste of walking. So he took out his soft silk handkerchief perfumed, and wiped her face here and there. "Well," he said affectionately, "that's all." They were together, looking at each other, and felt very happy. When the excitement of the first meeting calmed down, he said: "When is Charlie going out again?" "I don't know," she answered. "He said he had something to do in the company." Hurstwood grew serious, and fell into silent thought. "I want you to leave him." His eyes turned to the children playing with boats, as if making a small request. "Where are we going then?" she asked in the same tone, rolling her gloves in her hands, and looking at a nearby tree. "Where do you want to go?" he asked. The tone in which he said this made it seem to her that she must show that she did not like living here. "We can't stay in Chicago," she replied. He didn't expect her to have this idea, and he didn't expect her request to move to another place. "Why not?" he asked softly. "Well, because," said she, "because I don't like staying here." He listened to the words, but he did not deeply understand the meaning of the words. These words sounded unimportant now, and it was not time to make an immediate decision. "In that case I shall have to give up my position." He said this in a light tone, as if the matter were not worthy of serious consideration. Carrie thought for a moment as she admired the beauty around her. "I don't want to live in Chicago with him here." She thought of Drouet as she said this. "It's a big city, my dearest," answered Hurstwood. "It would be like moving to another town if you moved to the South Side." He has set his sights on that place as the place to build the incense nest. "Anyway," said Carrie, "as long as he's here, I don't want to marry. I don't want to elope." The proposal of marriage was a blow to Hurstwood. He saw clearly that it was her idea. . . . He felt the obstacle difficult to overcome. For a moment bigamy flashed vaguely in his thoughts. The thought. He could not conceive of the consequences of it. So far he could see no progress for him except in winning her affection. He looked at her and felt how beautiful she was. How wonderful it was to be loved by her, Even getting into trouble for it is worth it! In his eyes, she is more valuable, she is worth pursuing desperately, that is all. How different she is from the women who are easy to get! He has removed those women from his head expelled out. "Don't you know when he's going out?" said Hurstwood softly. She shook her head. he sighed. "You're a stubborn little girl, aren't you?" he said after a while, looking up into her eyes. Hearing this, she felt a tenderness flow through her body. His words sounded to her as a kind of admiration, and she was proud of it, and she felt tender affection for the man who admired her so much. "No," she said coquettishly. "But what can I do?" He folded his hands again, and looked across the lawn at the street. "I wish you could come to me," he said quietly, "and I don't want to be so separated from you. What's the use of us waiting? You can't be any happier, are you?" "Happy?" she cried softly. "You know it's impossible." "Then we're wasting our time for nothing now," he continued quietly. "If you're not happy, do you think I'm happy? I sit and write to you most of the day. Listen I said, Carrie," cried his voice suddenly with passion, and he gazed into her eyes, "I can't live without you, that's all. Then," he said resignedly, his white palm Tan, finally said, "What do you want me to do?" Carrie was deeply moved by his throwing the blame on her in this way. It was a woman's heart that was most touched by such a nominal, seemingly placing all decision in women's hands. "Can't you wait a little longer?" she said tenderly, "I'll try to find out when he's gone." "Then what's the use?" He was still so desperate and helpless. "Then perhaps we can arrange to go somewhere together." In fact, what to do, she is no more clear than before. But now out of sympathy, her psychology has really fallen into the state of female submission and concession. But Hurstwood did not understand her state of mind. He was still wondering how she could be persuaded... how she could be moved to give up Drouet. He began to wonder how her feelings for him could be. Where would she go. He wanted to test her with a question. Finally, he thought of a proposal. This kind of proposal can not only cover up his own wishes, but also test the resistance of the other party to our wishes, so as to find a way out. His proposal was just nonsense, without serious consideration, and His real intentions have nothing to do with it. "Carrie," he said, looking her in the eye, with an air of seriousness, "if I come to see you next week, or this week, say tonight . . . To tell you that I must get out of here...I can't stay a minute longer, and I'm never coming back here...Will you go with me?" His lover looked at him affectionately, before he finished his question, her answer was ready. "Of course," she said. "Won't you argue with me about refusing to go, or need to make arrangements to go?" "No, if you can't wait." He smiled when she saw her take him seriously. It was a good chance, he thought, for him to hang out for a week. He would have told her he was only joking, but that would put a bruise on her face. The lovely seriousness drove away. It was so pleasing to see her so serious that he let it go and let her go on taking it seriously. "What if we don't have time to get married here?" he added, as the sudden thought occurred to him. "It would be all right if we got married as soon as we got there." "That's what I intended." "OK." It seemed to him now that the sun was shining brightly this morning. He wondered how he could have thought of such a good idea. Even though it seemed unlikely, he couldn't help beaming at the ingenuity of his question. How much she loved him. There was no doubt in his mind now that he would find a way to get her. "Well," he said jokingly, "I'll come and take you away some night," he said, laughing. "But if you don't marry me, I won't live with you," added Carrie thoughtfully. "I wouldn't ask you to do that," he said, gently shaking her hand. She now understood what he meant, and she was exceedingly happy. She loved him all the more at the thought that he would rescue her from her present predicament. As for him, he did not take to heart the clause of marriage. What he thinks is that since she loves him, nothing can hinder his ultimate happiness. "Let's walk," he said cheerfully, rising to look around the lovely park. "All right," said Carrie. They passed the young Irishman, who looked after them enviously. "What a handsome couple," he thought to himself, "must be very rich."