Sister Carrie / Сестра Кэрри. Книга для чтения на английском языке

Carrie looked gratefully at Hurstwood, and smiled at Drouet. The former took the air of a mere friend. He was simply there to enjoy himself. Anything that Carrie did was pleasing to him, nothing more.

“There,” he said, holding back one of his own good cards, and giving Carrie a chance to take a trick. “I count that clever playing for a beginner.”

The latter laughed gleefully as she saw the hand coming her way. It was as if she were invincible when Hurstwood helped her.

He did not look at her often. When he did, it was with a mild light in his eye. Not a shade was there of anything save geniality and kindness. He took back the shifty, clever gleam, and replaced it with one of innocence. Carrie could not guess but there it was pleasure with him in the immediate thing. She felt that he considered she was doing a great deal.

“It’s unfair to let such playing go without earning something,” he said after a time, slipping his finger into the little coin pocket of his coat. “Let’s play for dimes[50 - dimes – американская монета в 10 центов].”

“All right,” said Drouet, fishing for bills.

Hurstwood was quicker. His finger were full of new ten-cent pieces. “Here we are,” he said, supplying each one with a little stack.

“Oh, this gambling,” smiled Carrie. “It’s bad.”

“No,” said Drouet, “only fun. If you never play for more than that, you will go to Heaven.”

“Don’t you moralize,” said Hurstwood to Carrie gently, “until you see what becomes of the money.”

Drouet smiled.

“If your husband gets them, he’ll tell you how bad it is.”

Drouet laughed loud.

There was such an ingratiating tone about Hurstwood’s voice, the insinuation was so perceptible that even Carrie got the humor of it.

“When do you leave?” said Hurstwood to Drouet.

“On Wednesday,” he replied.

“It’s rather hard to have your husband running about like that, isn’t it?” said Hurstwood, addressing Carrie.

“She’s going along with me this time,” said Drouet.

“You must both go with me to the theater before you go.”

“Certainly,” said Drouet. “Eh, Carrie?”

“I’d like it ever so much,” she replied.

Hurstwood did his best to see that Carrie won the money. He rejoined in her success, kept counting her winnings, and finally gathered and put them in her extended hand. They spread a little lunch, at which he served the wine, and afterwards he used fine tact in going.

“Now,” he said, addressing first Carrie and then Drouet with his eyes, “you must be ready at 7:30. I’ll come and get you.”

They went with him to the door and there was his cab waiting, its red lamps gleaming cheerfully in the shadow.

“Now,” he observed to Drouet, with a tone of good fellowship, “when you leave your wife alone, you must let me show her around a little. It will break up her loneliness.”

“Sure,” said Drouet, quite pleased at the attention shown.

“You’re so kind,” observed Carrie.

“Not at all,” said Hurstwood, “I would want you husband to do as much for me.”

He smiled and went lightly away. Carrie was thoroughly impressed. She had never come in contact with such grace. As for Drouet, he was equally pleased.

“There’s a nice man,” he remarked to Carrie, as they returned to their cozy chamber. “A good friend of mine, too.”

“He seems to be,” said Carrie.

Chapter XI

The Persuasion of Fashion: Feeling Guards o’er its Own

Carrie was an apt student of fortune’s ways – of for time’s superficialities. Seeing a thing, she would immediately set to inquiring how she would look, properly related to it.

“My dear,” said the lace collar she secured from Partridge’s, “I fit you beautifully; don’t give me up.”

“Ah, such little feet,” said the leather of the soft new shoes; “how effectively I cover them. What a pity they should ever want my aid.”

Once these things were in her hand, on her person, she might dream of giving them up; the method by which they came might intrude itself so forcibly that she would ache to be rid of the thought of it, but she would not give them up. “Put on the old clothes – that torn pair of shoes,” was called to her by her conscience in vain. She could possibly have conquered the fear of hunger and gone back; the thought of hard work and a narrow round of suffering would, under the last pressure of conscience have yielded, but spoil her appearance? – be old-clothed and poor-appearing? – never!

Drouet heightened her opinion on this and allied subjects in such a manner as to weaken her power of resisting their influence.

“Did you see that women who went by just now?” he said to Carrie on the first day they took a walk together. “Fine stepper, wasn’t she?”[51 - Fine stepper, wasn’t she? – Прекрасная походка, не правда ли?]

Carrie looked, and observed the grace commended.

“Yes, she is” she returned, cheerfully, a little suggestion of possible defect in herself awakening in her mind. If that was so fine, she must look at it more closely. Instinctively, she felt a desire to imitate it. Surely she could do that too.

Carrie took the instructions affably. She saw what Drouet liked; in vague way she saw where he was weak. It lessens a woman’s opinion of a man when she learns that his admiration is so pointedly and generously distributed. She sees but one object of supreme compliment in this world, and that is herself. If a man is to succeed with many women, he must be all in all to each[52 - he must be all in all to each – он должен целиком отдавать себя каждой].

In her own apartments Carrie saw things that were lessons in the same school.

In the same house with her lived an official of one of the theatres, Mr. Frank A. Hale, manager of the Standard, and his wife, a pleasing-looking brunette of thirty-five. They were people of a sort very common in America today, who live respectably from hand to mouth. His wife, quite attractive, affected the feeling of youth, and objected to that sort of home life which means the care of a house and the raising of a family. Like Drouet and Carrie, they also occupied three rooms on the floor above. Not long after she arrived Mrs. Hale established social relations with her, and together they went about. For a long time this was her only companionship, and the gossip of the manager’s wife formed the medium, through which she saw the world. Such trivialities, such praises of wealth, such conventional expression of morals as sifted through this passive creature’s mind, fell upon Carrie and for the while confused her.

On the other hand, her own feelings were a corrective influence. Their constant drag to something better was not to be denied. By those things which address the heart was she steadily recalled. In the apartments across the hall were a young girl and her mother. They were from Evansville, Indiana, the wife and daughter of a railroad treasurer. The daughter was here to study music, the mother to keep her company.

Carrie did not make their acquaintance, but she saw the daughter coming in and going out. A few times she had seen her at the piano in the parlor, and not infrequently had heard her play. This young woman was particularly dressy for her station, and wore a jeweled ring or two which flashed upon her white fingers as she played.

Now Carrie was affected by music. Her nervous composition responded to certain strains, much as certain strings of a harp vibrate when a corresponding key of a piano is struck. She was delicately molded in sentiment and answered with vague ruminations to certain wistful chords. They awoke longings for those things which she did not have. They caused her cling closer to things she possessed. One shorts song the young lady played in a most soulful and tender mood. Carrie heard it through the open door from the parlor below. In was at that hour between afternoon and night when, for the idle, the wanderer, things are apt to take on a wistful aspect. The mind wanders forth on far journeys and returns with sheaves of withered and departed joys. Carrie sat at her window looking out.

While she was in this mood Drouet came in, bringing with him an entirely different atmosphere. It was dusk and Carrie had neglected to light the lamp. The fire in the grate, too, had burned low.

“Where are you, Cad?” he said, using a pet name he had given her.

“Here,” she answered.