The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald: The Great Gatsby, Tender Is the Night, This Side of Paradise, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, The Beautiful and Damned, The Love of the Last Tycoon and many more stories…. Фрэнсис Скотт ФицджеральдЧитать онлайн книгу.
The machine stops again and Narry comes into the room sniffing. Narry is exactly of the mold with which the collective temperaments of Helen and her family have stamped her. She is absolutely adamant with everyone not a member of the family and absolutely putty in the hands of the least capable of them.
Narry: You might just not call me “old lady.” (She sniffs, and handkerchiefs herself.) Goodness gracious! I feel old enough now with you going out.
Helen: Coming!
Narry: Coming—
Helen: (Her mind wandering to her feet, which carry her around the room to the sound of her voice.) “The moments pass into hours—the hours pass into years—and as she smiles through—”
Peremptory voice with the maternal rising accent ascends the stairs, and curls into the bedroom.
Voice: Hel-en.
Helen: (With more volume than you would imagine could go with such a deliciously useless figure) Yes, Mother.
Mother: (Drawing near.) Are you very nearly ready, dear? I am coming up. I have had such a hard time with one of the waiters.
Helen: I know, Mother. Tight as he could be. Narry and I watched him try to get up when they threw him outside into the yard.
Mother: (Now on the stairway landing) You and Narry should not have done any such thing, Helen dear. I am surprised at Narry. I—(She seems to pause and pant.)
Narry: (Almost shouting) I do declare, Mrs. Halycon. I—
Mrs. Halycon appears in the doorway and becomes the center of the stage. She is distinctly a factor in the family life. Neither her daughter’s slang nor her son’s bills discourage her in the least. She is jeweled and rouged to the dowager point.
Mrs. Halycon: Now, Narry. Now, Helen. (She produces a small notebook.) Sit down and be quiet. (Narry sits down anxiously on a chair which emerges from the screen of dresses. Helen returns to the pier-glass, and the sequence of expressions passes over her face in regular rotation.) Now, I’ve made some notes here—let’s see. I’ve made notes on things you must do. Just as I have thought of them, I have put them down. (She seats herself somewhere and becomes severely judicial.) First, and absolutely, you must not sit out with anyone. (Helen looks bored.) I’ve stood for it at your other dances and heaven knows how many dances of other people, but I will not, understand me, I will not endure to look all over for you when some friend of mine, or of your father’s, wants to meet you. You must tonight, you must all season—I mean you must stay in the ballroom, or some room where I can find you when I want you. Do you understand?
Helen: (Yawning) Oh, yes! You would think I didn’t know what to do.
Mrs. Halycon: Well, do it if you know how. I will not endure finding you in a dark corner of the conservatory, exchanging silliness with anyone, or listening to it.
Helen: (Sarcastically) Yes, listening to it is better.
Mrs. Halycon: And you positively cannot give more than two dances to young Cannel. I will not have everyone in town having you engaged before you have had a fair chance.
Helen: Same old line. You’d think from the way you talk that I was some horrible old man-chaser, or someone so weak and wobbly that you’d think I’d run off with someone. Mother, for heaven’s sake—
Mrs. Halycon: My dear, I am doing my very best for you.
Helen: (Wearily) I know. (She sits down decidedly on another invisible chair.) Mother, I happen, my dear, to have four dances with John Cannel. He called up, asked me for four of them, and what could I say? Besides, it’s a cut-in dance, and he would cut in as much as he wants anyhow. So what’s the difference? (Becoming impatient) You can’t run everything now, the way they did in the early nineties.
Mrs. Halycon: Helen, I’ve told you before that you can’t say early nineties to me.
Helen: Don’t treat me like a child then.
Mr. Halycon comes in. He is a small man with a large appearance and a board-of-directors heartiness.
Mr. Halycon: (Feeling that the usual thing is expected of him) Well, how is my little debutante daughter? About to flit into the wide, wide world?
Helen: No, Daddy, just taking a more licensed view of it.
Mr. Halycon: (Almost apologetically) Helen, I want you to meet a particular friend of mine, a youngish man—
Helen: About forty-five?
Mrs. Halycon: Helen!
Helen: Oh, I like them forty-five. They know life, and are so adorably tired-looking.
Mr. Halycon: And he is very anxious to meet you. He saw you when you came into my office one day, I believe—and let me tell you, he is a brainy man. Brought up from Providence by the—
Helen: (Interrupting) Yes, Daddy, I’ll be delighted to meet him. I’ll—
Enter Cecilia, Helen’s younger sister. Cecilia is sixteen, but socially precocious and outrageously wise on all matters pertaining to her sister. She has blonde hair, in contrast to her sister’s dark brown; and, besides, remarkable green eyes with a wistful trusting expression in them. However, there are very few people whom she trusts.
Cecilia: (Calmly surveying the disorder around her) Nice-looking room.
Helen: Well, what do you expect? Nothing but milliners, dressmakers and clumsy maids all day. (Narry rises and leaves the room.) What’s the matter with her?
Mrs. Halycon: You’ve hurt her feelings.
Helen: Have I? What time is it?
Mrs. Halycon: Quarter after eight. Are you ready? You’ve got too much powder on.
Helen: I know it.
Mr. Halycon: Well, look me up when you come down; I want to see you before the rush. I’ll be in the library with your uncle.
Mrs. Halycon: And don’t forget the powder.
Mr. and Mrs. Halycon go out.
Helen: Hook up my belt, will you, Cecilia?
Cecilia: Yes. (She sets at it, Helen in the meanwhile regarding herself in the mirror.) What are you looking at yourself all the time for?
Helen: (Calmly) Oh, just because I like myself.
Cecilia: I am all twittered! I feel as if I were coming out myself. It is rotten of them not to let me come to the dance.
Helen: Why, you’ve just only put your hair up. You’d look ridiculous.
Cecilia: (Quietly) I know where you keep your cigarettes and your little silver bottle.
Helen: (Starting so as to unloosen several hooks, which Cecilia patiently does over again) Why, you horrible child! Do you go prying around among all my things?
Cecilia: All right, tell Mother.
Helen: What do you do, just go through my drawers like a common little sneak-thief?
Cecilia: No, I don’t. I wanted a handkerchief, and I went to looking and I couldn’t help seeing them.
Helen: That’s what comes of letting you children fool around with no chaperons, read anything you want to, and dance until two every Saturday night all summer. If it comes to