The sister, Catherine, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty with a solid sticky bob of red hair and a complexion powdered milky white. Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to her face. When she moved about there was an incessant clicking as innumerable pottery bracelets jingled up and down upon her arms. She came in with such a proprietary haste and looked around so possessively at the furniture that I wondered if she lived here. But when I asked her she laughed immoderately, repeated my question aloud and told me she lived with a girl friend at a hotel.

Mr. McKee was a pale feminine man from the flat below. He had just shaved for there was a white spot of lather on his cheekbone and he was most respectful in his greeting to everyone in the room. He informed me that he was in the ‘artistic game’ and I gathered later that he was a photographer and had made the dim enlargement of Mrs. Wilson’s mother which hovered like an ectoplasm on the wall. His wife was shrill, languid, handsome and horrible. She told me with pride that her husband had photographed her a hundred and twenty-seven times since they had been married.

Mrs. Wilson had changed her costume some time before and was now attired in an elaborate afternoon dress of cream colored chiffon, which gave out a continual rustle as she swept about the room. With the influence of the dress her personality had also undergone a change. The intense vitality that had been so remarkable in the garage was converted into impressive hauteur. Her laughter, her gestures, her assertions became more violently affected moment by moment and as she expanded the room grew smaller around her until she seemed to be revolving on a noisy, creaking pivot through the smoky air.

汤姆和茉特尔（第一杯酒下肚之后威尔逊太太和我就彼此喊教名了）一重新露面，客人们就开始来敲公寓的门了。她妹妹凯瑟琳是一个苗条而俗气的女人，年纪三十上下，一头浓密的短短的红头发，脸上粉搽得像牛奶一样白。她的眉毛是拔掉又重画过的，画的角度还俏皮一些，可是天然的力量却要恢复旧观，弄得她脸有点眉目不清。她走动的时候，不断发出叮当叮当的声音，因为许多假玉手镯在她胳臂上面上上下下地抖动。她像主人一样大模大样走了进来，对家具扫视了一番，仿佛东西是属于她的，使我怀疑她是否就住在这里。但是等我问她时，她放声大笑，大声重复了我的问题，然后告诉我她和一个女朋友同住在一家旅馆里。麦基先生是住在楼下一层的一个白净的、女人气的男人。他刚刮过胡子，因为他颧骨上还有一点白肥皂沫。他和屋里每一个人打招呼时都毕恭毕敬。他告诉我他是“吃艺术饭”的，后来我才明白他是摄影师，墙上挂的威尔逊太太的母亲那幅像一片胚叶似的模糊不清的放大照片就是他摄制的。他老婆尖声尖气，没精打采，漂漂亮亮，可是非常讨厌。她得意洋洋地告诉我，自从他们结婚以来她丈夫已经替她照过一百二十七次相了。威尔逊太太不知什么时候又换了一套衣服，现在穿的是一件精致的奶油色雪纺绸的连衣裙，是下午做客穿的那种，她在屋子里转来转去的时候，衣裙就不断地沙沙作响。由于衣服的影响，她的个性也跟着起了变化。早先在车行里那么显著的活力变成了目空一切的hauteur。她的笑声、她的姿势、她的言谈，每一刻都变得越来越矫揉造作，同时随着她逐渐膨胀，她周围的屋子就显得越来越小，后来，她好像在烟雾弥漫的空气中坐在一个吱吱喳喳的木轴上不停地转动。