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- Теодор Драйзер
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- Стр. 128/332
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It
was
interesting
to
note
how
,
able
though
he
was
,
and
bound
up
with
this
vast
street-railway
enterprise
which
was
beginning
to
affect
several
thousand
men
,
his
mind
could
find
intense
relief
and
satisfaction
in
the
presence
and
actions
of
Stephanie
Platow
.
It
is
not
too
much
to
say
that
in
her
,
perhaps
,
he
found
revivified
the
spirit
and
personality
of
Rita
Sohlberg
.
Rita
,
however
,
had
not
contemplated
disloyalty
--
it
had
never
occurred
to
her
to
be
faithless
to
Cowperwood
so
long
as
he
was
fond
of
her
any
more
than
for
a
long
time
it
had
been
possible
for
her
,
even
after
all
his
philanderings
,
to
be
faithless
to
Sohlberg
.
Stephanie
,
on
the
other
hand
,
had
the
strange
feeling
that
affection
was
not
necessarily
identified
with
physical
loyalty
,
and
that
she
could
be
fond
of
Cowperwood
and
still
deceive
him
--
a
fact
which
was
based
on
her
lack
as
yet
of
a
true
enthusiasm
for
him
.
She
loved
him
and
she
did
n't
.
Her
attitude
was
not
necessarily
identified
with
her
heavy
,
lizardish
animality
,
though
that
had
something
to
do
with
it
;
but
rather
with
a
vague
,
kindly
generosity
which
permitted
her
to
feel
that
it
was
hard
to
break
with
Gardner
Knowles
and
Lane
Cross
after
they
had
been
so
nice
to
her
.
Gardner
Knowles
had
sung
her
praises
here
,
there
,
and
everywhere
,
and
was
attempting
to
spread
her
fame
among
the
legitimate
theatrical
enterprises
which
came
to
the
city
in
order
that
she
might
be
taken
up
and
made
into
a
significant
figure
.
Lane
Cross
was
wildly
fond
of
her
in
an
inadequate
way
which
made
it
hard
to
break
with
him
,
and
yet
certain
that
she
would
eventually
.
There
was
still
another
man
--
a
young
playwright
and
poet
by
the
name
of
Forbes
Gurney
--
tall
,
fair
,
passionate
--
who
had
newly
arrived
on
the
scene
and
was
courting
her
,
or
,
rather
,
being
courted
by
her
at
odd
moments
,
for
her
time
was
her
own
.
In
her
artistically
errant
way
she
had
refused
to
go
to
school
like
her
sister
,
and
was
idling
about
,
developing
,
as
she
phrased
it
,
her
artistic
possibilities
.
Cowperwood
,
as
was
natural
,
heard
much
of
her
stage
life
.
At
first
he
took
all
this
palaver
with
a
grain
of
salt
,
the
babbling
of
an
ardent
nature
interested
in
the
flighty
romance
of
the
studio
world
.
By
degrees
,
however
,
he
became
curious
as
to
the
freedom
of
her
actions
,
the
ease
with
which
she
drifted
from
place
to
place
--
Lane
Cross
's
studio
;
Bliss
Bridge
's
bachelor
rooms
,
where
he
appeared
always
to
be
receiving
his
theatrical
friends
of
the
Garrick
Players
;
Mr.
Gardner
Knowles
's
home
on
the
near
North
Side
,
where
he
was
frequently
entertaining
a
party
after
the
theater
.
It
seemed
to
Cowperwood
,
to
say
the
least
,
that
Stephanie
was
leading
a
rather
free
and
inconsequential
existence
,
and
yet
it
reflected
her
exactly
--
the
color
of
her
soul
.
But
he
began
to
doubt
and
wonder
.
"
Where
were
you
,
Stephanie
,
yesterday
?
"
he
would
ask
,
when
they
met
for
lunch
,
or
in
the
evenings
early
,
or
when
she
called
at
his
new
offices
on
the
North
Side
,
as
she
sometimes
did
to
walk
or
drive
with
him
.
"
Oh
,
yesterday
morning
I
was
at
Lane
Cross
's
studio
trying
on
some
of
his
Indian
shawls
and
veils
.
He
has
such
a
lot
of
those
things
--
some
of
the
loveliest
oranges
and
blues
.
You
just
ought
to
see
me
in
them
.
I
wish
you
might
.
"
"
Alone
?
"
"
For
a
while
.
I
thought
Ethel
Tuckerman
and
Bliss
Bridge
would
be
there
,
but
they
did
n't
come
until
later
.
Lane
Cross
is
such
a
dear
.
He
's
sort
of
silly
at
times
,
but
I
like
him
.
His
portraits
are
so
bizarre
.
"
She
went
off
into
a
description
of
his
pretentious
but
insignificant
art
.
Cowperwood
marveled
,
not
at
Lane
Cross
's
art
nor
his
shawls
,
but
at
this
world
in
which
Stephanie
moved
.
He
could
not
quite
make
her
out
.
He
had
never
been
able
to
make
her
explain
satisfactorily
that
first
single
relationship
with
Gardner
Knowles
,
which
she
declared
had
ended
so
abruptly
.
Since
then
he
had
doubted
,
as
was
his
nature
;
but
this
girl
was
so
sweet
,
childish
,
irreconcilable
with
herself
,
like
a
wandering
breath
of
air
,
or
a
pale-colored
flower
,
that
he
scarcely
knew
what
to
think
.
The
artistically
inclined
are
not
prone
to
quarrel
with
an
enticing
sheaf
of
flowers
.
She
was
heavenly
to
him
,
coming
in
,
as
she
did
at
times
when
he
was
alone
,
with
bland
eyes
and
yielding
herself
in
a
kind
of
summery
ecstasy
.
She
had
always
something
artistic
to
tell
of
storms
,
winds
,
dust
,
clouds
,
smoke
forms
,
the
outline
of
buildings
,
the
lake
,
the
stage
.
She
would
cuddle
in
his
arms
and
quote
long
sections
from
"
Romeo
and
Juliet
,
"
"
Paolo
and
Francesca
,
"
"
The
Ring
and
the
Book
,
"
Keats
's
"
Eve
of
St.
Agnes
.
