Hurstwood's residence on the North Side, near Lincoln Park, was a brick building of a very popular type then, a three-story affair with the first floor sunk a very little below the level of the street. It had a large bay window bulging out from the second floor, and was graced in front by a small grassy plot, twenty-five feet wide and ten feet deep. There was also a small rear yard, walled in by the fences of the neighbours and holding a stable where he kept his horse and trap.
The ten rooms of the house were occupied by himself, his wife Julia, and his son and daughter, George, Jr., and Jessica. There were besides these a maid-servant, represented from time to time by girls of various extraction, for Mrs. Hurstwood was not always easy to please.
"George, I let Mary go yesterday," was not an unfrequent salutation at the dinner table.
"All right," was his only reply. He had long since wearied of discussing the rancorous subject.
A lovely home atmosphere is one of the flowers of the world, than which there is nothing more tender, nothing more delicate, nothing more calculated to make strong and just the natures cradled and nourished within it. Those who have never experienced such a beneficent influence will not understand wherefore the tear springs glistening to the eyelids at some strange breath in lovely music. The mystic chords which bind and thrill the heart of the nation, they will never know.
Hurstwood's residence could scarcely be said to be infused with this home spirit. It lacked that toleration and regard without which the home is nothing. There was fine furniture, arranged as soothingly as the artistic perception of the occupants warranted. There were soft rugs, rich, upholstered chairs and divans, a grand piano, a marble carving of some unknown Venus by some unknown artist, and a number of small bronzes gathered from heaven knows where, but generally sold by the large furniture houses along with everything else which goes to make the "perfectly appointed house."
In the dining-room stood a sideboard laden with glistening decanters and other utilities and ornaments in glass, the arrangement of which could not be questioned. Here was something Hurstwood knew about. He had studied the subject for years in his business. He took no little satisfaction in telling each Mary, shortly after she arrived, something of what the art of the thing required. He was not garrulous by any means. On the contrary, there was a fine reserve in his manner toward the entire domestic economy of his life which was all that is comprehended by the popular term, gentlemanly. He would not argue, he would not talk freely. In his manner was something of the dogmatist. What he could not correct, he would ignore. There was a tendency in him to walk away from the impossible thing.
There was a time when he had been considerably enamoured of his Jessica, especially when he was younger and more confined in his success. Now, however, in her seventeenth year, Jessica had developed a certain amount of reserve and independence which was not inviting to the richest form of parental devotion. She was in the high school, and had notions of life which were decidedly those of a patrician. She liked nice clothes and urged for them constantly. Thoughts of love and elegant individual establishments were running in her head. She met girls at the high school whose parents were truly rich and whose fathers had standing locally as partners or owners of solid businesses. These girls gave themselves the airs befitting the thriving domestic establishments from whence they issued. They were the only ones of the school about whom Jessica concerned herself.
Young Hurstwood, Jr., was in his twentieth year, and was already connected in a promising capacity with a large real estate firm. He contributed nothing for the domestic expenses of the family, but was thought to be saving his money to invest in real estate. He had some ability, considerable vanity, and a love of pleasure that had not, as yet, infringed upon his duties, whatever they were. He came in and went out, pursuing his own plans and fancies, addressing a few words to his mother occasionally, relating some little incident to his father, but for the most part confining himself to those generalities with which most conversation concerns itself. He was not laying bare his desires for any one to see. He did not find any one in the house who particularly cared to see.
Mrs. Hurstwood was the type of woman who has ever endeavoured to shine and has been more or less chagrined at the evidences of superior capability in this direction elsewhere. Her knowledge of life extended to that little conventional round of society of which she was not--but longed to be--a member. She was not without realisation already that this thing was impossible, so far as she was concerned. For her daughter, she hoped better things. Through Jessica she might rise a little. Through George, Jr.'s, possible success she might draw to herself the privilege of pointing proudly. Even Hurstwood was doing well enough, and she was anxious that his small real estate adventures should prosper. His property holdings, as yet, were rather small, but his income was pleasing and his position with Fitzgerald and Moy was fixed. Both those gentlemen were on pleasant and rather informal terms with him.
The atmosphere which such personalities would create must be apparent to all. It worked out in a thousand little conversations, all of which were of the same calibre.
"I'm going up to Fox Lake to-morrow," announced George, Jr., at the dinner table one Friday evening.
"What's going on up there?" queried Mrs. Hurstwood.
"Eddie Fahrway's got a new steam launch, and he wants me to come up and see how it works."
"How much did it cost him?" asked his mother.
"Oh, over two thousand dollars. He says it's a dandy."
"Old Fahrway must be making money," put in Hurstwood.
"He is, I guess. Jack told me they were shipping Vegacura to Australia now--said they sent a whole box to Cape Town last week."
"Just think of that！" said Mrs. Hurstwood, "and only four years ago they had that basement in Madison Street."
"Jack told me they were going to put up a six-story building next spring in Robey Street."
"Just think of that！" said Jessica.
On this particular occasion Hurstwood wished to leave early.
"I guess I'll be going down town," he remarked, rising.
"Are we going to McVicker's Monday?" questioned Mrs. Hurstwood, without rising.
"Yes," he said indifferently.
They went on dining, while he went upstairs for his hat and coat. Presently the door clicked.
"I guess papa's gone," said Jessica.
The latter's school news was of a particular stripe.
"They're going to give a performance in the Lyceum, upstairs," she reported one day, "and I'm going to be in it."
"Are you?" said her mother.
"Yes, and I'll have to have a new dress. Some of the nicest girls in the school are going to be in it. Miss Palmer is going to take the part of Portia."
"Is she?" said Mrs. Hurstwood.
"They've got that Martha Griswold in it again. She thinks she can act."
"Her family doesn't amount to anything, does it?" said Mrs. Hurstwood sympathetically. "They haven't anything, have they?"
"No," returned Jessica, "they're poor as church mice."
She distinguished very carefully between the young boys of the school, many of whom were attracted by her beauty.
"What do you think?" she remarked to her mother one evening; "that Herbert Crane tried to make friends with me."
"Who is he, my dear?" inquired Mrs. Hurstwood.
"Oh, no one," said Jessica, pursing her pretty lips. "He's just a student there. He hasn't anything."
The other half of this picture came when young Blyford, son of Blyford, the soap manufacturer, walked home with her. Mrs. Hurstwood was on the third floor, sitting in a rocking-chair reading, and happened to look out at the time.
"Who was that with you, Jessica?" she inquired, as Jessica came upstairs.
"It's Mr. Blyford, mamma," she replied.
"Is it?" said Mrs. Hurstwood.
"Yes, and he wants me to stroll over into the park with him," explained Jessica, a little flushed with running up the stairs.
"All right, my dear," said Mrs. Hurstwood. "Don't be gone long."
As the two went down the street, she glanced interestedly out of the window. It was a most satisfactory spectacle indeed, most satisfactory.
In this atmosphere Hurstwood had moved for a number of years, not thinking deeply concerning it. His was not the order of nature to trouble for something better, unless the better was immediately and sharply contrasted. As it was, he received and gave, irritated sometimes by the little displays of selfish indifference, pleased at times by some show of finery which supposedly made for dignity and social distinction. The life of the resort which he managed was his life. There he spent most of his time. When he went home evenings the house looked nice. With rare exceptions the meals were acceptable, being the kind that an ordinary servant can arrange. In part, he was interested in the talk of his son and daughter, who always looked well. The vanity of Mrs. Hurstwood caused her to keep her person rather showily arrayed, but to Hurstwood this was much better than plainness. There was no love lost between them. There was no great feeling of dissatisfaction. Her opinion on any subject was not startling. They did not talk enough together to come to the argument of any one point. In the accepted and popular phrase, she had her ideas and he had his. Once in a while he would meet a woman whose youth, sprightliness, and humour would make his wife seem rather deficient by contrast, but the temporary dissatisfaction which such an encounter might arouse would be counterbalanced by his social position and a certain matter of policy. He could not complicate his home life, because it might affect his relations with his employers. They wanted no scandals. A man, to hold his position, must have a dignified manner, a clean record, a respectable home anchorage. Therefore he was circumspect in all he did, and whenever he appeared in the public ways in the afternoon, or on Sunday, it was with his wife, and sometimes his children. He would visit the local resorts, or those near by in Wisconsin, and spend a few stiff, polished days strolling about conventional places doing conventional things. He knew the need of it.
When some one of the many middle-class individuals whom he knew, who had money, would get into trouble, he would shake his head. It didn't do to talk about those things. If it came up for discussion among such friends as with him passed for close, he would deprecate the folly of the thing. "It was all right to do it--all men do those things--but why wasn't he careful? A man can't be too careful." He lost sympathy for the man that made a mistake and was found out.
On this account he still devoted some time to showing his wife about--time which would have been wearisome indeed if it had not been for the people he would meet and the little enjoyments which did not depend upon her presence or absence. He watched her with considerable curiosity at times, for she was still attractive in a way and men looked at her. She was affable, vain, subject to flattery, and this combination, he knew quite well, might produce a tragedy in a woman of her home position. Owing to his order of mind, his confidence in the sex was not great. His wife never possessed the virtues which would win the confidence and admiration of a man of his nature. As long as she loved him vigorously he could see how confidence could be, but when that was no longer the binding chain--well, something might happen.
During the last year or two the expenses of the family seemed a large thing. Jessica wanted fine clothes, and Mrs. Hurstwood, not to be outshone by her daughter, also frequently enlivened her apparel. Hurstwood had said nothing in the past, but one day he murmured.
"Jessica must have a new dress this month," said Mrs. Hurstwood one morning.
Hurstwood was arraying himself in one of his perfection vests before the glass at the time.
"I thought she just bought one," he said.
"That was just something for evening wear," returned his wife complacently.
"It seems to me," returned Hurstwood, "that she's spending a good deal for dresses of late."
"Well, she's going out more," concluded his wife, but the tone of his voice impressed her as containing something she had not heard there before.
He was not a man who traveled much, but when he did, he had been accustomed to take her along. On one occasion recently a local aldermanic junket had been arranged to visit Philadelphia-a junket that was to last ten days. Hurstwood had been invited.
"Nobody knows us down there," said one, a gentleman whose face was a slight improvement over gross ignorance and sensuality. He always wore a silk hat of most imposing proportions. "We can have a good time." His left eye moved with just the semblance of a wink. "You want to come along, George."
The next day Hurstwood announced his intention to his wife.
"I'm going away, Julia," he said, "for a few days."
"Where?" she asked, looking up.
"To Philadelphia, on business."
She looked at him consciously, expecting something else.
"I'll have to leave you behind this time."
"All right," she replied, but he could see that she was thinking that it was a curious thing. Before he went she asked him a few more questions, and that irritated him. He began to feel that she was a disagreeable attachment.
On this trip he enjoyed himself thoroughly, and when it was over he was sorry to get back. He was not willingly a prevaricator, and hated thoroughly to make explanations concerning it. The whole incident was glossed over with general remarks, but Mrs. Hurstwood gave the subject considerable thought. She drove out more, dressed better, and attended theatres freely to make up for it.
Such an atmosphere could hardly come under the category of home life. It ran along by force of habit, by force of conventional opinion. With the lapse of time it must necessarily become dryer and dryer--must eventually be tinder, easily lighted and destroyed.
赫斯渥一家住在林肯公园附近的北区。那是一幢三层楼的砖瓦房屋，底楼比街道稍稍低一点儿，这种式样的房子当时很流行。一个很大的凸式窗子从二楼伸出来，屋前有一块长两丈五宽一丈的草坪，屋后还有一个小院子，被隔壁人家的篱笆围在当中。那里有个马厩，是他养马和放马车的地方。
这栋楼有十个房间，住着他们一家四口：他和他妻子朱丽亚，他儿子小乔治和他女儿杰西卡。此外还有一个女仆，不过女仆的人选不停地在变换，哪儿来的姑娘都有，因为赫斯渥太太不是很容易侍候的。
“乔治，我昨天把玛丽打发了。”这一类谈话在他们家饭桌上经常可以听到。
“行啊，”他总是这么简单地回答一句。他早就厌倦这类怨气冲冲的话题了。
温馨的家庭气氛是世上最温柔最娇贵的一种花，没有什么东西能像它那样陶冶生活在其中的人们的品性，使他们变得坚强正直。从未在这种家庭环境中生活过的人们无法理解，为什么在听优美的音乐时，那奇妙的旋律会使人热泪盈眶，泪花在睫毛间闪烁。那种联结世人的心灵、激发他们情感的神秘心弦，是他们永远无法理解的。
赫斯渥的家说不上有这种温馨的气氛。这个家缺乏宽容体谅和关心爱护，而没有了这两样，家还算什么家呢？房间里家俱精美，照居住者审美观看来，布置得很是典雅，足以给人安慰了。房间里铺了柔软的地毯，还有华贵的沙发椅和长沙发，一架大钢琴，一座无名艺术家雕的维纳斯大理石雕像，一些不知道从哪里收集来的小铜器饰物摆设。不过这类东西和别的一些小玩意儿，那些大的家俱店一般都有出售，都是构成 “尽善尽美家庭住宅”不可缺的。
在吃饭间有一架餐柜，里面排列着闪闪发光的酒具、器皿和玻璃装饰品。这餐柜的安排完善是不容置疑的。在这方面赫斯渥是内行，他从事的工作使他对此有了多年的研究心得。
他很喜欢给每个新来的女仆谈谈这门酒具陈列的艺术。不过他并不是个饶舌的人，相反，在对待家庭事务方面，他抱着一种人们称为绅士风度的态度：优雅含蓄。他不和人争论，也不随便开口。在他身上有一种独断专行的派头。遇到没法纠正的事情，他就睁一眼闭一眼；而对无能为力的事情，他往往就绕开走了。
曾经有一段日子，他非常疼爱杰西卡。那时他年纪还轻，事业上的成功还很有限。但是现在杰西卡１７岁了，养成了一种冷漠独立的性格，这当然不会有助于增进父母的疼爱。她还在上高中，对于人生的见解，完全是贵族那一套。她喜欢漂亮的衣服，不断要求添置新衣服。满脑袋装的是恋爱婚姻建立豪华小家庭的设想。在学校里她结识了一些比她家有钱的女孩子。她们的父亲都是当地生意兴隆的公司商号的老板或者合伙人，所以这些女孩言谈举止中带着富家女子的那种傲气。杰西卡在学校里只和这些人交往。
年轻的小赫斯渥２０岁了，在一家大房地产公司做事，很有发展前途。家庭开销他是一点不负担的。家里人认为他正在攒钱准备投资房地产。他有几分才能，十分虚荣，爱好寻欢作乐，不过迄今为止他还没有让这方面的爱好损害他的责任心，不管他有什么责任心。他在家里进进出出，忙着他自己想干或者爱干的事，有时跟他母亲说上几句，有时和他父亲聊聊某件小事。不过总的来说，他的话题不超过闲聊的范围。他并不向家里任何人暴露他内心的愿望，他也没发现家里有人对此特别关心。
赫斯渥太太是那种爱出风头的女人，不过多多少少总有一些懊丧，因为总是发现某人在某方面比她更胜一筹。她的生活知识包括了上流社会人们的日常生活。她想跻身那个社会，可至今尚未如愿。她并非缺乏自知之明，看不出她这辈子别指望梦想成真。她把希望寄托在女儿身上，指望通过杰西卡，她的社会地位能有所提高。如果小赫斯渥事业成功，她可以在人前炫耀一番。其实赫斯渥本人干得也不赖。她盼望他的那桩房地产小投机生意能成功。目前他的财产还不大，不过他的收入很可观，他与老板费支杰拉德和莫埃的关系稳固，这两位先生和他保持着一种友好随便的关系。
可想而知，这么几个人组成的家庭会有什么气氛。这种气氛可以从无数次谈话中感觉出来。而且每次谈话都是大同小异。
“明天我要去福克斯湖，”星期五晚上小乔治在饭桌上宣布。
“去那里干吗？”赫斯渥太太问道。
“埃迪·法华买了条新汽艇。他请我去看看这船怎么样。”“花多少钱买的？”他母亲问。
“２０００多元。他说那船很漂亮。”
“老法华一定在赚大钱，”赫斯渥插了一句。
“我想那不假。杰克告诉我说，他们正运货去澳大利亚。他还说，他们上周给开普敦运去了一大箱。”“真是想不到，”赫斯渥太太说，“四年前他们还住在麦迪生大街的地下室呢。”“杰克告诉我，他们开春要在罗贝街盖一栋六层楼的大楼。”“真了不起，”杰西卡说。
这一次赫斯渥想早点离家。
“我想，我该去市里了。”他说着站起身来。
“星期一我们去不去麦克维克家呢？”赫斯渥太太问道，她仍坐在那里没有站起来。
“去好了，”他无所谓地回答。
他们继续吃饭，他上楼去取帽子和大衣。不久大门咔嚓响了一下。
“我猜爸已经走了，”杰西卡说。
杰西卡的学校新闻是另一种闲聊内容。
“学校要在礼堂楼上演一出戏。”她有一天报告说，“我也要参加。”“真的？“她妈妈说。
“是真的，我要做一套新衣服。学校里好几个最出色的女孩都要参加演戏。巴麦小姐将演女主角波希霞。”“是吗？”赫斯渥太太说。
“他们还找了玛莎·格里娥参加。她自以为会演戏。”“她家很穷，是吗？”赫斯渥太太同情地说，“她家什么也没有，是吗？”“是啊，”杰西卡回答，“他们穷得像教堂里的老鼠。”学校里的男孩子们不少为她的美貌倾倒。她对于他们掌握着最严格的分类标准。
“你觉得怎么样？”有一天傍晚她对她妈妈说，“那个赫伯特·克兰想要和我交朋友呢。”“他是谁啊，亲爱的？”赫斯渥太太问。
“噢，无名之辈，”杰西卡说着噘起了她美丽的嘴唇，“他只是学校里的一个学生。他什么也没有。”当肥皂厂主的儿子小布里福陪她回家时，她的态度就完全不一样了。赫斯渥太太正坐在三楼的摇椅里看书，正巧抬头朝窗外看。
“你刚才和谁在一起，杰西卡？”杰西卡上楼来时，她问道。
“是布里福先生，妈妈，”她回答。
“是吗？”赫斯渥太太说。
“是的。他想和我一起到公园去散散步，”杰西卡解释道，因为跑上楼来脸上现出了红晕。
“好吧，宝贝，”赫斯渥太太说，“别去太久了。”当这两个人走在马路上时，赫斯渥太太很感兴趣地在窗口看着。这样的事情是她乐意看到的，是的，非常乐意。
赫斯渥在这样的气氛里已经生活了多年，从未费心去思索它。他天生不愿烦神去追求更完美的生活，除非那种生活就在面前，和他目前的生活对比鲜明。事实上，他有得有失：他对他们在日常琐事上的自私冷漠感到恼怒，但有时又为他们讲体面摆排场而欣欣然，因为在他看来这有助于提高他们的尊严和社会地位。他经营的酒家，那才是他生活的中心。他大部分时间都泡在那里。傍晚回家时，这家看上去还是很不错的。
饭菜是一般仆人能烧出的那种，不过很少有令人难以下咽的时候。此外，对于儿女们的谈话，他也感兴趣，他们看上去气色总是那么好。赫太太爱虚荣，所以总是打扮得花枝招展的。赫斯渥认为，这总比朴素无华要好得多。他们之间已经谈不上爱情了，不过也没有很大的不满。她对任何事物都没有什么惊世骇俗的见解。他们之间谈得不多，所以不至于引起什么争执。
照普通流行的说法，他们同床异梦。有时他会遇到某个年轻活泼风趣的女人，相形之下，他的太太似乎大大不如。但是这种艳遇引起的不满是短暂的，因为他必须考虑自己的社会地位和利害得失。他不能让他的家庭关系出毛病，因为这样会影响他和老板的关系，他们不希望出丑闻。担任像他这样职位的人必须举止庄重，名誉清白，有一个体面的家庭立脚。因此他一举一动都很谨慎。下午或者星期天需要到公共场所露面时，他总是带上妻子，有时还加上他的子女。他到当地的游乐场所或者到附近威司康星州的度假地去住上两天时，总是规规矩矩，彬彬有礼，只到人们通常去的地方闲逛，只做人们通常做的事。他知道这样做的必要性。
他所认识的许多中产阶级成员中，如果哪个有钱的家伙在私生活上遇到了麻烦，他总是摇摇头，这种事情不谈为妙。
假如和那些可以算得上亲密朋友的人们谈起来，他会批评这事干得太愚蠢：“本来这事也算不得什么--哪个男人不做这种事呢--可是他为什么不小心一点呢？一个男人再小心也不为过份的。”他对于那些犯了错误又被人发现的家伙是不同情的。
为了这个缘故，他仍然花点时间带他太太去交际应酬。要不是他有需要应酬的人，要不是还有一些和她在场不在场无关的娱乐，这种时候本来会很令人乏味的。有时候他怀着好奇心观察着她，因为她风韵犹存，还有男人会朝她注目。她态度和气，爱慕虚荣，喜欢听人吹捧。他很清楚，这一切加在一起，有可能会给她那样家庭地位的妇女带来悲剧。就他的想法而言，他对女性没有多少信心。他的妻子从来不具有那种美德，可以赢得他这种人的信任和仰慕。他看得出，当她还热爱着他时，可以对她放心。可是一旦没有爱情来约束她--那么，也许会出什么事的。
近一两年来，家庭开销似乎很大。杰西卡不断要添置漂亮的新衣服，赫斯渥太太不愿意让女儿盖过自己，所以也不断更新她的服饰。过去赫斯渥对此从来没有说过什么，可是有一天他发了点牢骚。
“这个月杰西卡要买套新衣服，”赫斯渥太太一天早上说道。
赫斯渥当时正穿着一件做工讲究的西装背心站在镜子前打扮。
“她不是才买了一套新衣服吗？”他说。
“那套衣服是晚装，”他妻子心安理得地说道。
“看起来，”赫斯渥回答道，“她最近添衣服花的钱可不少了。”“是啊，可是她现在比过去交往多了。"他妻子这么结束了这番谈话，不过她注意到他的语气里有一点以往没有的东西。
他是一个不常旅行的人。不过他如果出门的话，总是习惯地带上她。最近市议会安排了一次到费城的访查旅行，要去十天时间，赫斯渥也接到了邀请。
“那里没人认识我们，”一位市议员先生对他说。他的绅士外表几乎无法遮掩他满脸的无知和淫欲，头上总是戴着一顶非常气派的高顶丝礼帽。“我们可以好好乐一乐。”他的左眼牵动了一下，算是眨眼了。“你一定要和我们一起去，乔治。”第二天赫斯渥就把自己的打算告诉他妻子。
“我要离开一下，朱丽亚，”他说“去几天工夫。”“去哪里？”她抬起头来问道。
“去费城，是公事。”
她故意看着他，等着他的下文。
“这一次我不带你一起去了。”
“好吧，”她答道。不过他看得出，她心里对这事起了疑心。
临走前，她又问了他几个问题，这使他很恼怒。他开始感到她是一个讨厌的包袱。
这次旅行，他玩得很痛快。到结束时，他还舍不得走。他并不是个喜欢支吾其辞的人，而又讨厌就这事作任何解释。所以他只笼统地讲了几句就把这事情搪塞过去了。但是赫斯渥太太在心里对这事琢磨了很久。她坐马车出门比以前频繁了，衣服穿得更考究了。她还经常上戏院看戏，要弥补自己这次的损失。
这种气氛很难称为家庭气氛。这种家庭生活靠习惯的力量和传统观念维系着，随着时间的推移，会变得越来越干枯--最终成为一团火绒，很容易着火，把一切烧毁。