It was late afternoon when they wound up the discussion as to what Dick should do, he must be most kind and yet eliminate himself. When the doctors stood up at last, Dick’s eyes fell outside the window to where a light rain was falling—Nicole was waiting, expectant, somewhere in that rain. When, presently, he went out buttoning his oil-skin at the throat, pulling down the brim of his hat, he came upon her immediately under the roof of the main entrance.

“I know a new place we can go,” she said. “When I was ill I didn’t mind sitting inside with the others in the evening—what they said seemed like everything else. Naturally now I see them as ill and it’s—it’s—”

“You’ll be leaving soon.”

“Oh, soon. My sister, Beth, but she’s always been called Baby, she’s coming in a few weeks to take me somewhere; after that I’ll be back here for a last month.”

“The older sister?”

“Oh, quite a bit older. She’s twenty-four—she’s very English. She lives in London with my father’s sister. She was engaged to an Englishman but he was killed—I never saw him.”

Her face, ivory gold against the blurred sunset that strove through the rain, had a promise Dick had never seen before: the high cheek-bones, the faintly wan quality, cool rather than feverish, was reminiscent of the frame of a promising colt—a creature whose life did not promise to be only a projection of youth upon a grayer screen, but instead, a true growing; the face would be handsome in middle life; it would be handsome in old age: the essential structure and the economy were there.

“What are you looking at?”

“I was just thinking that you’re going to be rather happy.”

Nicole was frightened:“Am I? All right—things couldn’t be worse than they have been.”

In the covered woodshed to which she had led him, she sat cross-legged upon her golf shoes, her burberry wound about her and her cheeks stung alive by the damp air. Gravely she returned his gaze, taking in his somewhat proud carriage that never quite yielded to the wooden post against which he leaned; she looked into his face that always tried to discipline itself into molds of attentive seriousness, after excursions into joys and mockeries of its own. That part of him which seemed to fit his reddish Irish coloring she knew least; she was afraid of it, yet more anxious to explore—this was his more masculine side: the other part, the trained part, the consideration in the polite eyes, she expropriated without question, as most women did.

“At least this institution has been good for languages,” said Nicole.“I’ve spoken French with two doctors, and German with the nurses, and Italian, or something like it, with a couple of scrub-women and one of the patients, and I’ve picked up a lot of Spanish from another.”

“That’s fine.”

He tried to arrange an attitude but no logic seemed forth-coming.

“—Music too. Hope you didn’t think I was only interested in ragtime. I practise every day—the last few months I’ve been taking a course in Zurich on the history of music. In fact it was all that kept me going at times—music and the drawing.” She leaned suddenly and twisted a loose strip from the sole of her shoe, and then looked up. “I’d like to draw you just the way you are now.”

It made him sad when she brought out her accomplishments for his approval.

“I envy you. At present I don’t seem to be interested in anything except my work.”

“Oh, I think that’s fine for a man,” she said quickly. “But for a girl I think she ought to have lots of minor accomplishments and pass them on to her children.”

“I suppose so,” said Dick with deliberated indifference.

Nicole sat quiet. Dick wished she would speak so that he could play the easy r?le of wet blanket, but now she sat quiet.

“You’re all well,” he said. “Try to forget the past; don’t overdo things for a year or so. Go back to America and be a débutante and fall in love—and be happy.”

“I couldn’t fall in love.” Her injured shoe scraped a cocoon of dust from the log on which she sat.

“Sure you can,” Dick insisted. “Not for a year maybe, but sooner or later.” Then he added brutally:“You can have a perfectly normal life with a houseful of beautiful descendants. The very fact that you could make a complete comeback at your age proves that the precipitating factors were pretty near everything. Young woman, you’ll be pulling your weight long after your friends are carried off screaming.”

—But there was a look of pain in her eyes as she took the rough dose, the harsh reminder.

“I know I wouldn’t be fit to marry any one for a long time,” she said humbly.

Dick was too upset to say any more. He looked out into the grain field trying to recover his hard brassy attitude.

“You’ll be all right—everybody here believes in you. Why, Doctor Gregory is so proud of you that he’ll probably—”

“I hate Doctor Gregory.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

Nicole’s world had fallen to pieces, but it was only a flimsy and scarcely created world; beneath it her emotions and instincts fought on. Was it an hour ago she had waited by the entrance, wearing her hope like a corsage at her belt?

…Dress stay crisp for him, button stay put, bloom narcissus—air stay still and sweet.

“It will be nice to have fun again,” she fumbled on. For a moment she entertained a desperate idea of telling him how rich she was, what big houses she lived in, that really she was a valuable property—for a moment she made herself into her grandfather, Sid Warren, the horse-trader. But she survived the temptation to confuse all values and shut these matters into their Victorian side-chambers—even though there was no home left to her, save emptiness and pain.

“I have to go back to the clinic. It’s not raining now.”

Dick walked beside her, feeling her unhappiness, and wanting to drink the rain that touched her cheek.

“I have some new records,” she said. “I can hardly wait to play them. Do you know—”

After supper that evening, Dick thought, he would finish the break; also he wanted to kick Franz’s bottom for having partially introduced him to such a sordid business. He waited in the hall. His eyes followed a beret, not wet with waiting like Nicole’s beret, but covering a skull recently operated on. Beneath it human eyes peered, found him and came over:

“Bonjour, Docteur.”

“Bonjour, Monsieur.”

“Il fait beau temps.”

“Oui, merveilleux.”

“Vous êtes ici maintenant?”

“Non, pour la journée seulement.”

“Ah, bon. Alors—au revoir, Monsieur.”

Glad at having survived another contact, the wretch in the beret moved away. Dick waited. Presently a nurse came downstairs and delivered him a message.

“Miss Warren asks to be excused, Doctor. She wants to lie down. She wants to have dinner upstairs to-night.”

The nurse hung on his response, half expecting him to imply that Miss Warren’s attitude was pathological.

“Oh, I see. Well—” He rearranged the flow of his own saliva, the pulse of his heart. “I hope she feels better. Thanks.”

He was puzzled and discontent. At any rate it freed him.

Leaving a note for Franz begging off from supper, he walked through the countryside to the tram station. As he reached the platform, with spring twilight gilding the rails and the glass in the slot machines, he began to feel that the station, the hospital, was hovering between being centripetal and centrifugal. He felt frightened. He was glad when the substantial cobble-stones of Zurich clicked once more under his shoes.

He expected to hear from Nicole next day but there was no word. Wondering if she was ill, he called the clinic and talked to Franz.

“She came downstairs to luncheon yesterday and to-day,” said Franz.“She seemed a little abstracted and in the clouds. How did it go off?”

Dick tried to plunge over the Alpine crevasse between the sexes.

“We didn’t get to it—at least I didn’t think we did. I tried to be distant, but I didn’t think enough happened to change her attitude if it ever went deep.”

Perhaps his vanity had been hurt that there was no coup de grace to administer.

“From some things she said to her nurse I’m inclined to think she understood.”

“All right.”

“It was the best thing that could have happened. She doesn’t seem over-agitated—only a little in the clouds.”

“All right, then.”

“Dick, come soon and see me.”

这场定策会结束时已近傍晚时分。对迪克的要求是，既要和颜悦色，又要不陷入感情的旋涡。最后，医生们站了起来。迪克朝窗外望去，见外边细雨霏霏，而尼科尔淋着雨在等他。他立刻穿上雨衣，扣上雨衣的领扣，拉低帽檐，向外走去，在大门口的屋檐下跟尼科尔撞了个满怀。

“我找到一个新地方，咱们可以去看看。”她说，“我不愿傍晚时分坐在屋里和病友们闲扯，她们说的话似乎不着边际，叫人听不懂。当然，现在我也明白了，她们是有病嘛，这是……这是……”

“你很快就要走了。”

“哦，是的。我老姐贝丝——大家总叫她芭比——这几个星期就来接我，带我出去旅游，然后把我送回来，在这儿再待最后一个月。”

“你老姐？”

“哦，她比我大得多，今年都二十四岁了。她跟我姑妈住在伦敦，英国味十足。她曾跟一个英国人订了婚，但那个英国人被打死了——我一直都没见过他。”

夕阳透过雨雾洒下淡淡的晚霞，给她那象牙般白皙的面颊上镀上一层金色，使迪克看到了一种前所未见的美——鹅蛋形脸庞，肤色香娇玉嫩，神情淡雅而非狂躁。这种美会叫人想起前途光明的小马驹——如此的人间尤物，其青春绝非昙花一现，而会经久不息地放射光彩；这样的面容，中年仍会美丽如初，老年亦然，因为它的轮廓和五官是永远不变的。

“你在看什么？”

“我在想，你就要过快乐的日子了。”

尼科尔不禁愕然，说道：“我吗？算了吧……情况糟得不能再糟了。”

她把他领到一个柴棚里，盘腿坐在她的高尔夫球鞋上，身上裹着雨衣，双颊被雨水冲洗过后越发显得娇艳。他痴痴地望着她，她也默默地朝他看。她觉得他风度翩翩，即便斜倚在木柱上，也不减玉树临风般的英姿。她深情地看着他的脸——那张脸有时洋溢着喜悦，有时露出自我嘲讽的表情，但过后总会恢复原样，显得严肃和专注。那张脸跟他那微红的爱尔兰人的肤色显得很协调，然而却有几分神秘，这是她极不了解的，甚至有点害怕，但又急于想探个究竟，因为里面包含着男子汉的气概。至于其他方面，他可谓训练有素，一双眼睛里既有彬彬有礼的儒雅，又有体贴入微的深情——对于这些，她跟大多数女性一样心领神会地想据为己有。

“在这家诊所，至少对练习说外语是有好处的。”尼科尔说，“我跟两个医生说法语，跟护士说德语，跟几个清洁女工和一个病人说意大利语什么的，还跟另一个病人学了不少西班牙语。”

“这挺好嘛。”

他试图摆出一种合适的姿态，但不知什么样的姿态最为合适。

“在音乐方面我也很有长进。但愿你不会看低我，以为我只对拉格泰姆音乐感兴趣。我每天都练习……最近几个月，我一直在苏黎世听音乐史课程。实际上，有时支撑着我的正是这一切——音乐和绘画。”她突然弯下身子，将一根踩在鞋底的鞋带拉出来系紧，接着抬起头来，“我想把你现在这个样子画下来。”

她如数家珍般列举了自己的成就，以期获得他的赞许，谁知却叫他感到一阵沮丧。只听他说：“我真羡慕你。我现在除了自己的工作，似乎对什么都不感兴趣。”

“哦，我想这对一个男人来说是好事，”她赶忙说，“但对一个女子而言，我觉得应该懂得琴棋书画，这样有利于相夫教子。”

“我想是这样的。”迪克故作不经意地说。

尼科尔不再吱声。迪克倒希望她说话，如此可以让心情沮丧的他扮演一个较为轻松的角色，然而她默然不语。

“你已经康复了，”他说，“把过去的事争取全都忘了吧。在一两年的时间内别过度劳累。回到美国后，进入社交界，与人相爱……幸幸福福过日子吧。”

“我怕是爱不起来了。”她动了动身子，坐着的那只鞋子从圆木上蹭下了一团泥土。

“你当然会有爱情的，”迪克鼓励地说，“也许这一两年还不会，但这是迟早的事。”接着，他用一种有点强硬的语气说：“你完全可以过正常的生活，生许多漂亮的儿女。你年纪尚小，完全可以恢复过来，一切都将会顺风顺水。年轻人，看着你的女友一个个出嫁，你要是不在乎才怪呢。”

听了这话，她眼里露出痛苦之色，像是吃了难吃的药，满嘴的苦味。

“我这辈子怕是不适合嫁人了。”她凄苦地说。

迪克心情沉重，不知说什么才好。他望着远处的农田，努力想恢复原先那种镇定的神态。

“一切都会好的……这儿所有的人对你都很有信心。格雷戈里医生为你感到自豪，也许将会……”

“我恨格雷戈里医生。”

“哦，你不该恨他。”

尼科尔的世界已经成了碎片，不过这只是一个脆弱的、几乎尚未成型的世界；在她的内心深处，情感和本能仍在进行着不屈的搏斗。就在一个小时前，她在大门口等迪克时，心里还充满了如鲜花一般灿烂的憧憬！

女为悦己者容——但见她衣着齐整，姿容艳丽，犹如一朵娇艳欲滴的水仙，散发出缕缕馨香。

“要是能再次快乐地生活，那该有多好啊！”她吞吞吐吐地说。一时间，她突然产生了一个念头，想对迪克说她是多么富有，家里的房屋是多么高大气派，实际上可以说富比王侯。刹那间，她仿佛成了她的祖父锡德·沃伦——一个腰缠万贯的马贩子。不过，她幸好避开了这种因价值观混淆而产生的诱惑，将这些念头关进了维多利亚时代的闺阁里，她甚至觉得自己现在无家可归，有的只是空虚和痛苦。

“雨停了，该回诊所去了。”

迪克走在她身边，心里能感受得到她的忧伤，恨不能吻一吻她那沾着雨滴的脸颊。

“我有几张新唱片，”她说，“我真想马上就放给你听。你知道……”

那天晚餐时间已过，迪克心乱如麻，觉得必须结束这段感情。他真想踢弗朗茨的屁股一脚，因为可以说是弗朗茨使他陷入了如此纠结的境地。他来到大厅里等着，冲着一顶贝雷帽多看了几眼——这顶贝雷帽看上去跟尼科尔在雨中等他时戴的那顶湿漉漉的贝雷帽很像，但戴帽人却是一个手术不久的病人。那人眼睛骨碌碌一转，看见他后便走了过来，说道：“你好，医生。”

“你好，先生。”

“天气真好。”

“是的，相当好。”

“你现在住在这儿？”

“不，只是今天来看看。”

“哦，很好。好吧……再见，先生。”

迪克不愿跟人接触，很高兴这个戴贝雷帽的可怜人识趣地走开了。他待在大厅里继续等尼科尔。过了一会儿，一个护士下楼来，给他带来一个口信，说道：“沃伦小姐请你原谅，医生。她需要躺一躺。今天晚饭她想在楼上吃。”

护士站在那儿观察他的反应，可能是想看看他是否有怪罪沃伦小姐无礼的神情。

“噢，我知道了。好吧……”他咽了口唾沫，控制了一下情绪说，“希望她很快好起来。谢谢。”

他感到有些困惑，也有几分不满，但总算可以抽身了。

他给弗朗茨留下一张便条，说自己不能和他一起吃晚饭了，然后便穿过田野去了电车站。走上站台，但见春日的晚霞给铁轨和自动售货机的玻璃窗染上了一层黄金色。他感到车站和诊所之间有两种力量在起作用——一种是离心力，一种是向心力。这叫他有点不知所措。令他高兴的是，就在这时电车来了，脚下那坚实的苏黎世鹅卵石铺就的站台在微微颤动。

第二天，他期待着能接到尼科尔的电话，但左等右等也没有电话打过来。他心想她可能病了，于是就打电话到诊所向弗朗茨了解情况。

“她昨天和今天都是下楼吃的饭，”弗朗茨说，“她像是有什么心事，愁眉不展的。究竟是怎么回事？”

迪克真想能解释得清楚两性之间那深不可测的关系。

“我们的关系没有发展到那一步……至少我是这么看的。我努力保持一段距离，但我认为她陷得很深，不会因为我表现淡漠就转变态度的。”

他也许因为自己的虚荣心受到了尼科尔的伤害，也就不顾体面地如此说道。

“但从她对护士所说的一些话看来，我倒是觉得她是知道自己的处境的。”

“那倒好。”

“能出现这种情况再好不过了。她似乎并非魂不守舍的模样，只是有点阴郁罢了。”

“那倒是挺好的。”

“迪克，早点儿来看我哟。”