按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
‘‘You must cure your feet；'' said he。 ‘‘I'll not live in the house with a person who is made fiendish by corns。 I think it's only corns。 I see no signs of bunions。''
‘‘You brute！'' cried his wife； rushing from the room。
But when they met again； he at once resumed the subject； telling her just how she could cure herselfand he kept on telling her； she apparently ignoring but secretly acting on his advice。 He knew what he was about； and her feet grew better； grew welland she was happier than she had been since girlhood when she began ruining her feet with tight shoes。
Six months after the marriage； Presbury and his wife were getting on about as comfortably as it is given to average humanity to get on in this world of incessant struggle between uncomfortable man and his uncomfortable environment。 But Mildred had become more and more unhappy。 Her mother； sometimes angrily； again reproachfullyand that was far harder to bear blamed her for ‘‘my miserable marriage to this low； quarrelsome brute。'' Presbury let no day pass without telling her openly that she was a beggar living off him； that she would better marry soon or he would take drastic steps to release himself of the burden。 When he attacked her before her mother； there was a violent quarrel from which Mildred fled to hide in her room or in the remotest part of the garden。 When he hunted her out to insult her alone； she sat or stood with eyes down and face ghastly pale； mute； quivering。 She did not inter… rupt； did not try to escape。 She was like the chained and spiritless dog that crouches and takes the shower of blows from its cruel master。
Where could she go？ Nowhere。 What could she do？ Nothing。 In the days of prosperity she had regarded herself as proud and high spirited。 She now wondered at herself！ What had become of the pride？ What of the spirit？ She avoided looking at her image in the glassthat thin； pallid face； those circled eyes； the drawn； sick expression about the mouth and nose。 ‘‘I'm stunned；'' she said to herself。 ‘‘I've been stunned ever since father's death。 I've never recoverednor has mother。'' And she gave way to tearsfor her father； she fancied； in fact； from shame at her weakness and helplessness。 She thoughthopedthat she would not be thus feeble and cowardly； if she were not living at home； in the house she loved； the house where she had spent her whole life。 And such a house！ Comfort and luxury and taste； every room； every corner of the grounds； full of the tenderest and most beautiful associations。 Also； there was her position in Hanging Rock。 Everywhere else she would be a stranger and would have either no position at all or one worse than that of the utter outsider。 There； she was of the few looked up to by the whole community。 No one knew； or even suspected； how she was degraded by her step… father。 Before the world he was courteous and considerate toward her as toward everybody。 Indeed； Presbury's natural instincts were gentle and kindly。 His hatred of Mildred and his passion for humiliating her were the result of his conviction that he had been tricked into the marriage and his inability to gratify his resentment upon his wife。 He could not make the mother suffer； but he could make the daughter sufferand he did。 Besides； she was of no use to him and would presently be an expense。
‘‘Your money will soon be gone；'' he said to her。 ‘‘If you paid your just share of the expenses it would be gone now。 When it is gone； what will you do？''
She was silent。
‘‘Your mother has written to your brother about you。''
Mildred lifted her head； a gleam of her former spirit in her eyes。 Then she remembered； and bent her gaze upon the ground。
‘‘But he； like the cur that he is； answered through a secretary that he wished to have nothing to do with either of you。''
Mildred guessed that Frank had made the marriage an excuse。
‘‘Surely some of your relatives will do something for you。 I have my hands full； supporting your mother。 I don't propose to have two strapping； worthless women hanging from my neck。''
She bent her head lower； and remained silent。
‘‘I warn you to bestir yourself；'' he went on。 ‘‘I give you four months。 After the first of the year you can't stay here unless you pay your shareyour third。''
No answer。
‘‘You hear what I say； miss？'' he demanded。
‘‘Yes；'' replied she。
‘‘If you had any sense you wouldn't wait until your last cent was gone。 You'd go to New York now and get something to do。''
‘‘What？'' she askedall she could trust herself to speak。
‘‘How should _I_ know？'' retorted he furiously。 ‘‘you are a stranger to me。 You've been educated； I assume。 Surely there's something you can do。 You've been out six years now； and have had no success； for you're neither married nor engaged。 You can't call it success to be flattered and sought by people who wanted invitations to this house when it was a social center。''
He paused for response from her。 None came。
‘‘You admit you are a failure？'' he said sharply。
‘‘Yes；'' said she。
‘‘You must have realized it several years ago；'' he went on。 ‘‘Instead of allowing your mother to keep on wasting money in entertaining lavishly here to give you a chance to marry； you should have been preparing yourself to earn a living。'' A pause。 ‘‘Isn't that true； miss？''
He had a way of pronouncing the word ‘‘miss'' that made it an epithet； a sneer at her unmarried and un… marriageable state。 She colored； paled； murmured：
‘‘Yes。''
‘‘Then； better late than never。 You'll do well to follow my advice and go to New York and look about you。''
‘‘I'llI'll think of it；'' stammered she。
And she did think of it。 But in all her life she had never considered the idea of money…making。 That was something for men； and for the middle and lower classes while Hanging Rock was regarded as most noisomely middle class by fashionable people； it did not so regard itself。 Money…making was not for ladies。 Like all her class； she was a constant and a severe critic of the women of the lower orders who worked for her as milliners； dressmakers； shop…attendants； cooks； maids。 But； as she now realized； it is one thing to pass upon the work of others； it is another thing to do work oneself。 She There was literally nothing that she could do。 Any occupation； even the most menial； was either beyond her skill or beyond her strength； or beyond both。
Suddenly she recalled that she could sing。 Her prostrate spirit suddenly leaped erect。 Yes； she could sing！ Her voice had been praised by experts。 Her singing had been in demand at charity entertainments where amateurs had to compete with professionals。 Then down she dropped again。 She sang well enough to know how badly she sangthe long and toilsome and expensive training that lay between her and operatic or concert or even music…hall stage。 Her voice was fine at times。 Againmost of the timeit was unreliable。 No； she could not hope to get paying employment even as a church choir…singer。 Miss Dresser who sang in the choir of the Good Shepherd for ten dollars a Sunday； had not nearly so good a voice as she； but it was reliable。
‘‘There is nothing I can donothing！''
All at once； w