It was a sweet September evening — very mild, very still; I had nothing to do; at that hour I knew Frances would be equally released from occupation; I thought she might possibly be wishing for her master, I knew I wished for my pupil. Imagination began with her low whispers, infusing into my soul the soft tale of pleasures that might be.
“You will find her reading or writing,” said she; “you can take your seat at her side; you need not startle her peace by undue10 excitement; you need not embarrass her manner by unusual action or language. Be as you always are; look over what she has written; listen while she reads; chide11 her, or quietly approve; you know the effect of either system; you know her smile when pleased, you you know the play of her looks when roused; you have the secret of awakening12 that expression you will, and you can choose amongst that pleasant variety. With you she will sit silent as long as it suits you to talk alone; you can hold her under a potent13 spell: intelligent as she is, eloquent14 as she can be, you can seal her lips, and veil her bright countenance15 with diffidence; yet, you know, she is not all monotonous17 mildness; you have seen, with a sort of strange pleasure, revolt, scorn, austerity, bitterness, lay energetic claim to a place in her feelings and physiognomy; you know that few could rule her as you do; you know she might break, but never bend under the hand of Tyranny and Injustice18, but Reason and Affection can guide her by a sign. Try their influence now. Go — they are not passions; you may handle them safely.”
“I will not go was my answer to the sweet temptress. “A man is master of himself to a certain point, but not beyond it. Could I seek Frances to-night, could I sit with her alone in a quiet room, and address her only in the language of Reason and Affection?”
“No,” was the brief, fervent19 reply of that Love which had conquered and now controlled me.
Time seemed to stagnate20; the sun would not go down; my watch ticked, but I thought the hands were paralyzed.
“What a hot evening!” I cried, throwing open the lattice; for, indeed, I had seldom felt so feverish21. Hearing a step ascending22 the common stair, I wondered whether the “locataire,” now mounting to his apartments, were as unsettled in mind and condition as I was, or whether he lived in the calm of certain resources, and in the freedom of unfettered feelings. What! was he coming in person to solve the problem hardly proposed in inaudible thought? He had actually knocked at the door — at my door; a smart, prompt rap; and, almost before I could invite him in, he was over the threshold, and had closed the door behind him.
“And how are you?” asked an indifferent, quiet voice, in the English language; while my visitor, without any sort of bustle23 or introduction, put his hat on the table, and his gloves into his hat, and drawing the only armchair the room afforded a little forward, seated himself tranquilly24 therein.
“Can’t you speak?” he inquired in a few moments, in a tone whose nonchalance25 seemed to intimate that it was much the same thing whether I answered or not. The fact is, I found it desirable to have recourse to my good friends “les besicles;” not exactly to ascertain26 the identity of my visitor — for I already knew him, confound his impudence27! but to see how he looked — to get a clear notion of his mien28 and countenance. I wiped the glasses very deliberately29, and put them on quite as deliberately; adjusting them so as not to hurt the bridge of my nose or get entangled30 in my short tufts of dun hair. I was sitting in the window-seat, with my back to the light, and I had him vis-a-vis; a position he would much rather have had reversed; for, at any time, he preferred scrutinizing31 to being scrutinized32. Yes, it was he, and no mistake, with his six feet of length arranged in a sitting attitude; with his dark travelling surtout with its velvet33 collar, his gray pantaloons, his black stock, and his face, the most original one Nature ever modelled, yet the least obtrusively34 so; not one feature that could be termed marked or odd, yet the effect of the whole unique. There is no use in attempting to describe what is indescribable. Being in no hurry to address him, I sat and stared at my ease.
“Oh, that’s your game — is it?” said he at last. “Well, we’ll see which is soonest tired.” And he slowly drew out a fine cigar-case, picked one to his taste, lit it, took a book from the shelf convenient to his hand, then leaning back, proceeded to smoke and read as tranquilly as if he had been in his own room, in Grove-street, X—-shire, England. I knew he was capable of continuing in that attitude till midnight, if he conceived the whim35, so I rose, and taking the book from his hand, I said —
“You did not ask for it, and you shall not have it.”
“It is silly and dull,” he observed, “so I have not lost much;” then the spell being broken, he went on. “I thought you lived at Pelet’s; I went there this afternoon. expecting to be starved to death by sitting in a boarding-school drawing-room, and they told me you were gone, had departed this morning; you had left your address behind you though, which I wondered at; it was a more practical and sensible precaution than I should have imagined you capable of. Why did you leave?”
“Because M. Pelet has just married the lady whom you and Mr. Brown assigned to me as my wife.”
“Oh, indeed!” replied Hunsden with a short laugh; “so you’ve lost both your wife and your place?”
“Precisely so.”
I saw him give a quick, covert36 glance all round my room; he marked its narrow limits, its scanty37 furniture: in an instant he had comprehended the state of matters — had absolved38 me from the crime of prosperity. A curious effect this discovery wrought39 in his strange mind; I am morally certain that if he had found me installed in a handsome parlour, lounging on a soft couch, with a pretty, wealthy wife at my side, he would have hated me; a brief, cold, haughty40 visit, would in such a case have been the extreme limit of his civilities, and never would he have come near me more, so long as the tide of fortune bore me smoothly41 on its surface; but the painted furniture, the bare walls, the cheerless solitude42 of my room relaxed his rigid43 pride, and I know not what softening44 change had taken place both in his voice and look ere he spoke45 again.
“You have got another place?”
“No.”
“You are in the way of getting one?”
“No.”
“That is bad; have you applied46 to Brown?”
“No, indeed.”
“You had better; he often has it in his power to give useful information in such matters.”
“He served me once very well; I have no claim on him, and am not in the humour to bother him again.”
“Oh, if you’re bashful, and dread47 being intrusive48, you need only commission me. I shall see him to-night; I can put in a word.”
“I beg you will not, Mr. Hunsden; I am in your debt already; you did me an important service when I was at X——; got me out of a den16 where I was dying: that service I have never repaid, and at present I decline positively49 adding another item to the account.”
“If the wind sits that way, I’m satisfied. I thought my unexampled generosity50 in turning you out of that accursed counting-house would be duly appreciated some day: ‘Cast your bread on the waters, and it shall be found after many days,’ say the Scriptures51. Yes, that’s right, lad — make much of me — I’m a nonpareil: there’s nothing like me in the common herd52. In the meantime, to put all humbug53 aside and talk sense for a few moments, you would be greatly the better of a situation, and what is more, you are a fool if you refuse to take one from any hand that offers it.”
“Very well, Mr. Hunsden; now you have settled that point, talk of something else. What news from X——?”
“I have not settled that point, or at least there is another to settle before we get to X——. Is this Miss Zenobie” (Zoraide, interposed I)—“well, Zoraide — is she really married to Pelet?”
“I tell you yes — and if you don’t believe me, go and ask the cure of St. Jacques.”
“And your heart is broken?”
“I am not aware that it is; it feels all right — beats as usual.”
“Then your feelings are less superfine than I took them to be; you must be a coarse, callous54 character, to bear such a thwack without staggering under it.”
“Staggering under it? What the deuce is there to stagger under in the circumstance of a Belgian schoolmistress marrying a French schoolmaster? The progeny55 will doubtless be a strange hybrid56 race; but that’s their Look out — not mine.”
“He indulges in scurrilous57 jests, and the bride was his affianced one!”
“Who said so?”
“Brown.”
I’ll tell you what, Hunsden — Brown is an old gossip.”
“He is; but in the meantime, if his gossip be founded on less than fact — if you took no particular interest in Miss Zoraide — why, O youthful pedagogue58! did you leave your place in consequence of her becoming Madame Pelet?”
“Because —” I felt my face grow a little hot; “because — in short, Mr. Hunsden, I decline answering any more questions,” and I plunged59 my hands deep in my breeches pocket.
Hunsden triumphed: his eyes — his laugh announced victory.
“What the deuce are you laughing at, Mr. Hunsden?”
“At your exemplary composure. Well, lad, I’ll not bore you; I see how it is: Zoraide has jilted you — married some one richer, as any sensible woman would have done if she had had the chance.”
I made no reply — I let him think so, not feeling inclined to enter into an explanation of the real state of things, and as little to forge a false account; but it was not easy to blind Hunsden; my very silence, instead of convincing him that he had hit the truth, seemed to render him doubtful about it; he went on:—
“I suppose the affair has been conducted as such affairs always are amongst rational people: you offered her your youth and your talents-such as they are — in exchange for her position and money: I don’t suppose you took appearance, or what is called love, into the account — for I understand she is older than you, and Brown says, rather sensible-looking than beautiful. She, having then no chance of making a better bargain, was at first inclined to come to terms with you, but Pelet — the head or a flourishing school — stepped in with a higher bid; she accepted, and he has got her: a correct transaction — perfectly60 so — business-like and legitimate61. And now we’ll talk of something else.”
“Do,” said I, very glad to dismiss the topic, and especially glad to have baffled the sagacity of my cross-questioner — if, indeed, I had baffled it; for though his words now led away from the dangerous point, his eyes, keen and watchful63, seemed still preoccupied64 with the former idea.
“You want to hear news from X——? And what interest can you have in X——? You left no friends there, for you made none. Nobody ever asks after you — neither man nor woman; and if I mention your name in company, the men look as if I had spoken of Prester John; and the women sneer65 covertly66. Our X—— belles67 must have disliked you. How did you excite their displeasure?”
“I don’t know. I seldom spoke to them — they were nothing to me. I considered them only as something to be glanced at from a distance; their dresses and faces were often pleasing enough to the eye: but I could not understand their conversation, nor even read their countenances68. When I caught snatches of what they said, I could never make much of it; and the play of their lips and eyes did not help me at all.”
“That was your fault, not theirs. There are sensible, as well as handsome women in X——; women it is worth any man’s while to talk to, and with whom I can talk with pleasure: but you had and have no pleasant address; there is nothing in you to induce a woman to be affable. I have remarked you sitting near the door in a room full of company, bent69 on hearing, not on speaking; on observing, not on entertaining; looking frigidly70 shy at the commencement of a party, confusingly vigilant71 about the middle, and insultingly weary towards the end. Is that the way, do you think, ever to communicate pleasure or excite interest? No; and if you are generally unpopular, it is because you deserve to be so.”
“Content!” I ejaculated.
“No, you are not content; you see beauty always turning its back on you; you are mortified72 and then you sneer. I verily believe all that is desirable on earth — wealth, reputation, love — will for ever to you be the ripe grapes on the high trellis: you’ll look up at them; they will tantalize73 in you the lust74 of the eye; but they are out of reach: you have not the address to fetch a ladder, and you’ll go away calling them sour.”
Cutting as these words might have been under some circumstances, they drew no blood now. My life was changed; my experience had been varied75 since I left X—— but Hunsden could not know this; he had seen me only in the character of Mr. Crimsworth’s clerk — a dependant76 amongst wealthy strangers, meeting disdain77 with a hard front, conscious of an unsocial and unattractive exterior78, refusing to sue for notice which I was sure would be withheld79, declining to evince an admiration80 which I knew would be scorned as worthless. He could not be aware that since then youth and loveliness had been to me everyday objects; that I had studied them at leisure and closely, and had seen the plain texture81 of truth under the embroidery82 of appearance; nor could he, keen-sighted as he was, penetrate83 into my heart, search my brain, and read my peculiar84 sympathies and antipathies85; he had not known me long enough, or well enough, to perceive how low my feelings would ebb86 under some influences, powerful over most minds; how high, how fast they would flow under other influences, that perhaps acted with the more intense force on me, because they acted on me alone. Neither could he suspect for an instant the history of my communications with Mdlle. Reuter; secret to him and to all others was the tale of her strange infatuation; her blandishments, her wiles87 had been seen but by me, and to me only were they known; but they had changed me, for they had proved that I could impress. A sweeter secret nestled deeper in my heart; one full of tenderness and as full of strength: it took the sting out of Hunsden’s sarcasm88; it kept me unbent by shame, and unstirred by wrath89. But of all this I could say nothing — nothing decisive at least; uncertainty90 sealed my lips, and during the interval91 of silence by which alone I replied to Mr. Hunsden, I made up my mind to be for the present wholly misjudged by him, and misjudged I was; he thought he had been rather too hard upon me, and that I was crushed by the weight of his upbraidings; so to re-assure me he said, doubtless I should mend some day; I was only at the beginning of life yet; and since happily I was not quite without sense, every false step I made would be a good lesson.
Just then I turned my face a little to the light; the approach of twilight92, and my position in the window-seat, had, for the last ten minutes, prevented him from studying my countenance; as I moved, however, he caught an expression which he thus interpreted:—
“Confound it! How doggedly93 self-approving the lad looks! I thought he was fit to die with shame, and there he sits grinning smiles, as good as to say, ‘Let the world wag as it will, I’ve the philosopher’s stone in my waist-coat pocket, and the elixir94 of life in my cupboard; I’m independent of both Fate and Fortune’”
“Hunsden — you spoke of grapes; I was thinking of a fruit I like better than your X—— hot-house grapes — an unique fruit, growing wild, which I have marked as my own, and hope one day to gather and taste. It is of no use your offering me the draught95 of bitterness, or threatening me with death by thirst: I have the anticipation96 of sweetness on my palate; the hope of freshness on my lips; I can reject the unsavoury, and endure the exhausting.”
“For how long?”
“Till the next opportunity for effort; and as the prize of success will be a treasure after my own heart, I’ll bring a bull’s strength to the struggle.”
“Bad luck crushes bulls as easily as bullaces; and, I believe, the fury dogs you: you were born with a wooden spoon in your mouth, depend on it.”
“I believe you; sad I mean to make my wooden spoon do the work of some people’s silver ladles: grasped firmly, and handled nimbly, even a wooden spoon will shovel97 up broth98.”
Hunsden rose: “I see,” said he; “I suppose you’re one of those who develop best unwatched, and act best unaided-work your own way. Now, I’ll go.” And, without another word, he was going; at the door he turned:—
“Crimsworth Hall is sold,” said he.
“Sold!” was my echo.
“Yes; you know, of course, that your brother failed three months ago?”
“What! Edward Crimsworth?”
“Precisely; and his wife went home to her fathers; when affairs went awry99, his temper sympathized with them; he used her ill; I told you he would be a tyrant100 to her some day; as to him —”
“Ay, as to him — what is become of him?”
“Nothing extraordinary — don’t be alarmed; he put himself under the protection of the court, compounded with his creditors101 — tenpence in the pound; in six weeks set up again, coaxed102 back his wife, and is flourishing like a green bay-tree.”
“And Crimsworth Hall — was the furniture sold too?”
“Everything — from the grand piano down to the rolling-pin.”
“And the contents of the oak dining-room — were they sold?”
“Of course; why should the sofas and chairs of that room be held more sacred than those of any other?”
“And the pictures?”
“What pictures? Crimsworth had no special collection that I know of — he did not profess103 to be an amateur.”
“There were two portraits, one on each side the mantelpiece; you cannot have forgotten them, Mr. Hunsden; you once noticed that of the lady —”
“Oh, I know! the thin-faced gentlewoman with a shawl put on like drapery. — Why, as a matter of course, it would be sold among the other things. If you had been rich, you might have bought it, for I remember you said it represented your mother: you see what it is to be without a sou.”
I did. “But surely,” I thought to myself, “I shall not always be so poverty-stricken; I may one day buy it back yet. — Who purchased it? do you know?” I asked.
“How is it likely? I never inquired who purchased anything; there spoke the unpractical man — to imagine all the world is interested in what interests himself! Now, good night — I’m off for Germany to-morrow morning; I shall be back here in six weeks, and possibly I may call and see you again; I wonder whether you’ll be still out of place!” he laughed, as mockingly, as heartlessly as Mephistopheles, and so laughing, vanished.
Some people, however indifferent they may become after a considerable space of absence, always contrive104 to leave a pleasant impression just at parting; not so Hunsden, a conference with him affected105 one like a draught of Peruvian bark; it seemed a concentration of the specially62 harsh, stringent106, bitter; whether, like bark, it invigorated, I scarcely knew.
A ruffled107 mind makes a restless pillow; I slept little on the night after this interview; towards morning I began to doze108, but hardly had my slumber109 become sleep, when I was roused from it by hearing a noise in my sitting room, to which my bed-room adjoined — a step, and a shoving of furniture; the movement lasted barely two minutes; with the closing of the door it ceased. I listened; not a mouse stirred; perhaps I had dreamt it; perhaps a locataire had made a mistake, and entered my apartment instead of his own. It was yet but five o’clock; neither I nor the day were wide awake; I turned, and was soon unconscious. When I did rise, about two hours later, I had forgotten the circumstance; the first thing I saw, however, on quitting my chamber110, recalled it; just pushed in at the door of my sitting-room111, and still standing112 on end, was a wooden packing-case — a rough deal affair, wide but shallow; a porter had doubtless shoved it forward, but seeing no occupant of the room, had left it at the entrance.
“That is none of mine,” thought I, approaching; “it must be meant for somebody else.” I stooped to examine the address:—
“Wm. Crimsworth, Esq., No —— St., Brussels.”
I was puzzled, but concluding that the best way to obtain information was to ask within, I cut the cords and opened the case. Green baize enveloped113 its contents, sewn carefully at the sides; I ripped the pack-thread with my pen-knife, and still, as the seam gave way, glimpses of gilding114 appeared through the widening interstices. Boards and baize being at length removed, I lifted from the case a large picture, in a magnificent frame; leaning it against a chair, in a position where the light from the window fell favourably115 upon it, I stepped back — already I had mounted my spectacles. A portrait-painter’s sky (the most sombre and threatening of welkins), and distant trees of a conventional depth of hue116, raised in full relief a pale, pensive-looking female face, shadowed with soft dark hair, almost blending with the equally dark clouds; large, solemn eyes looked reflectively into mine; a thin cheek rested on a delicate little hand; a shawl, artistically117 draped, half hid, half showed a slight figure. A listener (had there been one) might have heard me, after ten minutes’ silent gazing, utter the word “Mother!” I might have said more — but with me, the first word uttered aloud in soliloquy rouses consciousness; it reminds me that only crazy people talk to themselves, and then I think out my monologue118, instead of speaking it. I had thought a long while, and a long while had contemplated119 the intelligence, the sweetness, and — alas120! the sadness also of those fine, grey eyes, the mental power of that forehead, and the rare sensibility of that serious mouth, when my glance, travelling downwards121, fell on a narrow billet, stuck in the corner of the picture, between the frame and the canvas. Then I first asked, “Who sent this picture? Who thought of me, saved it out of the wreck122 of Crimsworth Hall, and now commits it to the care of its natural keeper?” I took the note from its niche123; thus it spoke:—
“There is a sort of stupid pleasure in giving a child sweets, a fool his bells, a dog a bone. You are repaid by seeing the child besmear his face with sugar; by witnessing how the fool’s ecstasy124 makes a greater fool of him than ever; by watching the dog’s nature come out over his bone. In giving William Crimsworth his mother’s picture, I give him sweets, bells, and bone all in one; what grieves me is, that I cannot behold125 the result; I would have added five shillings more to my bid if the, auctioneer could only have promised me that pleasure.
“H. Y. H.
“P.S. — You said last night you positively declined adding another item to your account with me; don’t you think I’ve saved you that trouble?”
I muffled126 the picture in its green baize covering, restored it to the case, and having transported the whole concern to my bed-room, put it out of sight under my bed. My pleasure was now poisoned by pungent127 pain; I determined128 to look no more till I could look at my ease. If Hunsden had come in at that moment, I should have said to him, “I owe you nothing, Hunsden — not a fraction of a farthing: you have paid yourself in taunts129!”
Too anxious to remain any longer quiescent130, I had no sooner breakfasted, than I repaired once more to M. Vandenhuten’s, scarcely hoping to find him at home; for a week had barely elapsed since my first call: but fancying I might be able to glean132 information as to the time when his return was expected. A better result awaited me than I had anticipated, for though the family were yet at Ostend, M. Vandenhuten had come over to Brussels on business for the day. He received me with the quiet kindness of a sincere though not excitable man. I had not sat five minutes alone with him in his bureau, before I became aware of a sense of ease in his presence, such as I rarely experienced with strangers. I was surprised at my own composure, for, after all, I had come on business to me exceedingly painful — that of soliciting133 a favour. I asked on what basis the calm rested — I feared it might be deceptive134. Ere long I caught a glimpse of the ground, and at once I felt assured of its solidity; I knew where it was.
M. Vandenhuten was rich, respected, and influential135; I, poor, despised and powerless; so we stood to the world at large as members of the world’s society; but to each other, as a pair of human beings, our positions were reversed. The Dutchman (he was not Flamand, but pure Hollandais) was slow, cool, of rather dense136 intelligence, though sound and accurate judgment137; the Englishman far more nervous, active, quicker both to plan and to practise, to conceive and to realize. The Dutchman was benevolent138, the Englishman susceptible139; in short our characters dovetailed, but my mind having more fire and action than his, instinctively140 assumed and kept the predominance.
This point settled, and my position well ascertained141, I addressed him on the subject of my affairs with that genuine frankness which full confidence can alone inspire. It was a pleasure to him to be so appealed to; he thanked me for giving him this opportunity of using a little exertion142 in my behalf. I went on to explain to him that my wish was not so much to be helped, as to be put into the way of helping143 myself; of him I did not want exertion — that was to be my part — but only information and recommendation. Soon after I rose to go. He held out his hand at parting — an action of greater significance with foreigners than with Englishmen. As I exchanged a smile with him, I thought the benevolence144 of his truthful145 face was better than the intelligence of my own. Characters of my order experience a balm-like solace146 in the contact of such souls as animated147 the honest breast of Victor Vandenhuten.
The next fortnight was a period of many alternations; my existence during its lapse131 resembled a sky of one of those autumnal nights which are specially haunted by meteors and falling stars. Hopes and fears, expectations and disappointments, descended148 in glancing showers from zenith to horizon; but all were transient, and darkness followed swift each vanishing apparition149. M. Vandenhuten aided me faithfully; he set me on the track of several places, and himself made efforts to secure them for me; but for a long time solicitation150 and recommendation were vain — the door either shut in my face when I was about to walk in, or another candidate, entering before me, rendered my further advance useless. Feverish and roused, no disappointment arrested me; defeat following fast on defeat served as stimulants151 to will. I forgot fastidiousness, conquered reserve, thrust pride from me: I asked, I persevered152, I remonstrated153, I dunned. It is so that openings are forced into the guarded circle where Fortune sits dealing154 favours round. My perseverance155 made me known; my importunity156 made me remarked. I was inquired about; my former pupils’ parents, gathering157 the reports of their children, heard me spoken of as talented, and they echoed the word: the sound, bandied about at random158, came at last to ears which, but for its universality, it might never have reached; and at the very crisis when I had tried my last effort and knew not what to do, Fortune looked in at me one morning, as I sat in drear and almost desperate deliberation on my bedstead, nodded with the familiarity of an old acquaintance — though God knows I had never met her before — and threw a prize into my lap.
In the second week of October, 18 — I got the appointment of English professor to all the classes of —— College, Brussels, with a salary of three thousand francs per annum; and the certainty of being able, by dint159 of the reputation and publicity160 accompanying the position, to make as much more by private means. The official notice, which communicated this information, mentioned also that it was the strong recommendation of M. Vandenhuten, negociant, which had turned the scale of choice in my favour.
No sooner had I read the announcement than I hurried to M. Vandenhuten’s bureau, pushed the document under his nose, and when he had perused161 it, took both his hands, and thanked him with unrestrained vivacity162. My vivid words and emphatic163 gesture moved his Dutch calm to unwonted sensation. He said he was happy — glad to have served me; but he had done nothing meriting such thanks. He had not laid out a centime — only scratched a few words on a sheet of paper.
Again I repeated to him —
“You have made me quite happy, and in a way that suits me; I do not feel an obligation irksome, conferred by your kind hand; I do not feel disposed to shun164 you because you have done me a favour; from this day you must consent to admit me to your intimate acquaintance, for I shall hereafter recur165 again and again to the pleasure of your society.”
“Ainsi soit-il,” was the reply, accompanied by a smile of benignant content. I went away with its sunshine in my heart.
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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chattels
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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pang
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longing
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rue
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prospects
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undue
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chide
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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17
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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18
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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19
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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20
stagnate
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| v.停止 | |
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21
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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22
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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23
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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24
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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25
nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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26
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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27
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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28
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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29
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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30
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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32
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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34
obtrusively
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| adv.冒失地，莽撞地 | |
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35
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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36
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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37
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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38
absolved
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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39
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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40
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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41
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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42
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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43
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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44
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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45
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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46
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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47
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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48
intrusive
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| adj.打搅的；侵扰的 | |
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49
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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50
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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51
scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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52
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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53
humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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54
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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55
progeny
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| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
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56
hybrid
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| n.(动，植）杂种，混合物 | |
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57
scurrilous
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| adj.下流的，恶意诽谤的 | |
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58
pedagogue
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| n.教师 | |
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59
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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60
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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61
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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62
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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63
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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64
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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65
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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66
covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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67
belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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68
countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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69
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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70
frigidly
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| adv.寒冷地；冷漠地；冷淡地；呆板地 | |
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71
vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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72
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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73
tantalize
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| vt.使干着急，逗弄 | |
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74
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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75
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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76
dependant
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| n.依靠的，依赖的，依赖他人生活者 | |
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77
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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78
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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79
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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80
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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81
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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82
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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83
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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84
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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85
antipathies
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| 反感( antipathy的名词复数 )； 引起反感的事物； 憎恶的对象； （在本性、倾向等方面的）不相容 | |
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86
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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87
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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88
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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89
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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90
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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91
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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92
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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93
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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94
elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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95
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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96
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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97
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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98
broth
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| n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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99
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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100
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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101
creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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102
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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103
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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104
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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105
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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106
stringent
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| adj.严厉的；令人信服的；银根紧的 | |
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107
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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108
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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109
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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110
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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111
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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112
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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113
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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115
favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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116
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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117
artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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118
monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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119
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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120
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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121
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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122
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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123
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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124
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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125
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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126
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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127
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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128
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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129
taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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130
quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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131
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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132
glean
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| v.收集(消息、资料、情报等) | |
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133
soliciting
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| v.恳求( solicit的现在分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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134
deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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135
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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136
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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137
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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138
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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139
susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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140
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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141
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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142
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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143
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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145
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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146
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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148
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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150
solicitation
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| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
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151
stimulants
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| n.兴奋剂( stimulant的名词复数 )；含兴奋剂的饮料；刺激物；激励物 | |
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152
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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154
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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155
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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156
importunity
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| n.硬要，强求 | |
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157
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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158
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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160
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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161
perused
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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162
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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164
shun
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| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
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recur
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| vi.复发，重现，再发生 | |
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