For one thing, the ladies themselves had a morning manner, so to speak, which differed widely from the impressions he had had of their deportment the previous evening. They seemed now to be as simple and fresh and natural as the unadorned frocks they wore. They listened with an air of good-fellowship to him when he spoke3; they smiled at the right places; they acted as if they liked him, and were glad of his company.
The satisfied conviction that he was talking well, and behaving well, accompanied him in his progress through the meal. His confession4 at the outset of his great hunger, and of the sinister5 apprehensions6 which had assailed7 him in his loitering walk about the place, proved a most fortuitous beginning; after that, they were ready to regard everything he said as amusing.
“Oh, when we're by ourselves,” the kindly8 little old hostess explained to him, “my daughter and I breakfast always at nine. That was our hour yesterday morning, for example. But when my son is here, then it's farewell to regularity9. We put breakfast back till ten, then, as a kind of compromise between our own early habits and his lack of any sort of habits. Why we do it I couldn't say—because he never comes down in any event. He sleeps so well at Hadlow—and you know in town he sleeps very ill indeed—and so we don't dream of complaining. We're only too glad—for his sake.”
“And Balder,” commented the sister, “he's as bad the other way. He gets up at some unearthly hour, and has his tea and a sandwich from the still-room, and goes off with his rod or his gun or the dogs, and we never see him till luncheon10.”
“I've been on the point of asking so many times,” Miss Madden interposed—“is Balder a family name, or is it after the Viking in Matthew Arnold's poem?”
“It was his father's choice,” Lady Plowden made answer. “I think the Viking explanation is the right one—it certainly isn't in either family. I can't say that it attracted me much—at first, you know.”
“Oh, but it fits him so splendidly,” said Lady Cressage. “He looks the part, as they say. I always thought it was the best of all the soldier names—and you have only to look at him to see that he was predestined for a soldier from his cradle.”
“I wish the Sandhurst people would have a good long look at him, then,” put in the mother with earnestness underlying11 the jest of her tone. “The poor boy will never pass those exams in the world. It IS ridiculous, as his father always said. If there ever was a man who was made for a soldier, it's Balder. He's a gentleman, and he's connected by tradition with the Army, and he's mad about everything military—and surely he's as clever as anybody else at everything except that wretched matter of books, and even there it's only a defect of memory—and yet that suffices to prevent his serving his Queen. And all over England there are young gentlemen like that—the very pick of the hunting-fields, strong and brave as lions, fit to lead men anywhere, the very men England wants to have fighting her battles—and they can't get places in the Army because—what was it Balder came to grief over last time?—because they can't remember whether it's Ispahan or Teheran that's the capital of Persia.
“They are the fine old sort that would go and capture both places at the point of the bayonet—and find out their names afterward12—but it seems that's not what the Army wants nowadays. What is desired now is superior clerks, and secretaries and professors of languages—and much good they will do us when the time of trouble comes!”
“Then you think the purchase-system was better?” asked the American lady. “It always seemed to me that that must have worked so curiously13.”
“Prefer it?” said Lady Plowden. “A thousand times yes! My husband made one of the best speeches in the debate on it—one do I say?—first and last he must have made a dozen of them. If anything could have kept the House of Lords firm, in the face of the wretched Radical14 outcry, it would have been those speeches. He pointed15 out all the evils that would follow the change. You might have called it prophetic—the way he foresaw what would happen to Balder—or not Balder in particular, of course, but that whole class of young gentlemen.
“As he said, you have only to ask yourself what kind of people the lower classes naturally look up to and obey and follow. Will they be ordered about by a man simply because he knows Greek and Latin and Hebrew? Do they respect the village schoolmaster, for example, on account of his learning? Not in the very slightest! On the contrary, they regard him with the greatest contempt. The man they will serve is the man whose birth gives him the right to command them, or else the man with money in his pockets to make it worth their while. These two are the only leaders they understand. And if that's true here in England, in times of peace, among our own people, how much truer must it be of our soldiers, away from England, in a time of war?”
“But, mamma,” the Hon. Winifred intervened, “don't you see how badly that might work nowadays? now that the good families have so little money, and all the fortunes are in the hands of stockjobbing people—and so on? It would be THEIR sons who would buy all the commissions—and I'm sure Balder wouldn't get on at all with that lot.”
Lady Plowden answered with decision and great promptness. “You see so little of the world, Winnie dear, that you don't get very clear ideas of its movements. The people who make fortunes in England are every whit16 as important to its welfare as those who inherit names, and individually I'm sure they are often much more deserving. Every generation sniffs17 at its nouveaux riches, but by the next they have become merged18 in the aristocracy. It isn't a new thing in England at all. It has always been that way. Two-thirds of the peerage have their start from a wealthy merchant, or some other person who made a fortune. They are really the back-bone of England. You should keep that always in mind.”
“Of course—I see what you mean”—Winnie replied, her dark cheek flushing faintly under the tacit reproof19. She had passed her twenty-fifth birthday, but her voice had in it the docile20 self-repression of a school-girl. She spoke with diffident slowness, her gaze fastened upon her plate. “Of course—my grandfather was a lawyer—and your point is that merchants—and others who make fortunes—would be the same.”
“Precisely,” said Lady Plowden. “And do tell us, Mr. Thorpe”—she turned toward where he sat at her right and beamed at him over her spectacles, with the air of having been wearied with a conversation in which he bore no part—“is it really true that social discontent is becoming more marked in America, even, than it is with us in England?”
“I'm not an American, you know,” he reminded her. “I only know one or two sections of the country—and those only as a stranger. You should ask Miss Madden.”
“Me?” said Celia. “Oh, I haven't come up for my examinations yet. I'm like Balder—I'm preparing.”
“What I should like Mr. Thorpe to tell us,” suggested Lady Cressage, mildly, “is about the flowers in the tropics—in Java, for example, or some of the West Indies. One hears such marvelous tales about them.”
“Speaking of flowers,” Thorpe suddenly decided21 to mention the fact; “I met out in one of the greenhouses here this morning, an old acquaintance of mine, the gardener, Gafferson. The last time I saw him, he was running the worst hotel in the world in the worst country in the world—out in British Honduras.”
“But he's a wonderful gardener,” said Lady Cressage. “He's a magician; he can do what he likes with plants. It's rather a hobby of mine—or used to be—and I never saw his equal.”
Thorpe told them about Gafferson, in that forlorn environment on the Belize road, and his success in making them laugh drew him on to other pictures of the droll23 side of life among the misfits of adventure. The ladies visibly dallied24 over their tea-cups to listen to him; the charm of having them all to himself, and of holding them in interested entertainment by his discourse—these ladies of supremely25 refined associations and position—seemed to provide an inspiration of its own. He could hear that his voice was automatically modulating26 itself to their critical ears. His language was producing itself with as much delicacy27 of selection as if it came out of a book—and yet preserving the savour of quaint22, outlandish idiom which his listeners clearly liked. Upon the instant when Lady Plowden's gathering28 of skirts, and glance across the table, warned him that they were to rise, he said deliberately29 to himself that this had been the most enjoyable episode of his whole life.
There were cigar boxes on the fine old oak mantel, out in the hall, and Winnie indicated them to him with the obvious suggestion that he was expected to smoke. He looked her over as he lit his cigar—where she stood spreading her hands above the blaze of the logs, and concluded that she was much nicer upon acquaintance than he had thought. Her slight figure might not be beautiful, but beyond doubt its lines were ladylike. The same extenuating30 word applied31 itself in his mind to her thin and swarthy, though distinguished32, features. They bore the stamp of caste, and so did the way she looked at one through her eye-glasses, from under those over-heavy black eyebrows33, holding her head a little to one side. Though it was easy enough to guess that she had a spirit of her own, her gentle, almost anxious, deference34 to her mother had shown that she had it under admirable control.
He had read about her in a peerage at his sister's book-shop the previous day. Unfortunately it did not give her age, but that was not so important, after all. She was styled Honourable35. She was the daughter of one Viscount and the sister of another. Her grandfather had been an Earl, and the book had shown her to possess a bewildering number of relationships among titled folks. All this was very interesting to him—and somewhat suggestive. Vague, shapeless hints at projects rose in his brain as he looked at her.
“I'm afraid you think my brother has odd notions of entertaining his guests,” she remarked to him, over her shoulder. The other ladies had not joined them.
“Oh, I'm all right,” he protested cordially. “I should hate to have him put himself out in the slightest.” Upon consideration he added: “I suppose he has given up the idea of shooting to-day.”
“I think not,” she answered.” The keeper was about this morning, that is—and he doesn't often come unless they are to go out with the guns. I suppose you are very fond of shooting.”
“Well—I've done some—in my time,” Thorpe replied, cautiously. It did not seem necessary to explain that he had yet to fire his first gun on English soil. “It's a good many years,” he went on, “since I had the time and opportunity to do much at it. I think the last shooting I did was alligators36. You hit 'em in the eye, you know. But what kind of a hand I shall make of it with a shot-gun, I haven't the least idea. Is the shooting round I here pretty good?”
“I don't think it's anything remarkable37. Plowden says my brother Balder kills all the birds off every season. Balder's by way of being a crack-shot, you know. There are some pheasants, though. We saw them flying when we were out this morning.”
Thorpe wondered if it would be possible to consult her upon the question of apparel. Clearly, he ought to make some difference in his garb38, yet the mental vision of him-self in those old Mexican clothes revealed itself now as ridiculously impossible. He must have been out of his mind to have conceived anything so preposterous39 as rigging himself out, among these polished people, like a cow-puncher down on his luck.
“I wonder when your brother will expect to start,” he began, uneasily. “Perhaps I ought to go and get ready.”
“Ah, here comes his man,” remarked the sister. A round-faced, smooth-mannered youngster—whom Thorpe discovered to be wearing cord-breeches and leather leggings as he descended40 the stairs—advanced toward him and prefaced his message by the invariable salutation. “His Lordship will be down, sir, in ten minutes—and he hopes you'll be ready, sir,” the valet said.
“Send Pangbourn to this gentleman's room,” Miss Winnie bade him, and with a gesture of comprehensive submission41 he went away.
The calm readiness with which she had provided a solution for his difficulties impressed Thorpe greatly. It would never have occurred to him that Pangbourn was the answer to the problem of his clothes, yet how obvious it had been to her. These old families did something more than fill their houses with servants; they mastered the art of making these servants an integral part of the machinery42 of existence. Fancy having a man to do all your thinking about clothes for you, and then dress you, into the bargain. Oh, it was all splendid.
“It seems that we're going shooting,” Thorpe found himself explaining, a few moments later in his bedroom, to the attentive43 Pangbourn. He decided to throw himself with frankness upon the domestic's resourceful good-feeling. “I haven't brought anything for shooting at all. Somehow I got the idea we were going to do rough riding instead—and so I fetched along some old Mexican riding-clothes that make me feel more at home in the saddle than anything else would. You know how fond a man gets of old, loose things like that. But about this shooting—I want you to fix me out. What do I need? Just some breeches and leggings, eh? You can manage them for me, can't you?”
Pangbourn could and did—and it was upon his advice that the Mexican jacket was utilized44 to complete the out-fit. Its shape was beyond doubt uncommon45, but it had big pockets, and it looked like business. Thorpe, as he glanced up and down his image in the tall mirror of the wardrobe, felt that he must kill a large number of birds to justify46 the effect of pitiless proficiency47 which this jacket lent to his appearance.
“We will find a cap below, sir,” Pangbourn announced, with serenity48, and Thorpe, who had been tentatively fingering the big, flaring49 sombrero, thrust it back upon its peg50 as if it had proved too hot to handle.
Downstairs in the hall there was more waiting to be done, and there was nobody now to bear him company. He lit another cigar, tried on various caps till he found a leathern one to suit him, and then dawdled51 about the room and the adjoining conservatory52 for what seemed to him more than half an hour. This phase of the aristocratic routine, he felt, did not commend itself so warmly to him as did some others. Everybody else, however, seemed to regard it as so wholly a matter of course that Plowden should do as he liked, that he forbore formulating53 a complaint even to himself.
At last, this nobleman's valet descended the stairs once more. “His Lordship will be down very shortly now, sir,” he declared—“and will you be good enough to come into the gun-room, sir, and see the keeper?”
Thorpe followed him through a doorway54 under the staircase—the existence of which he had not suspected—into a bare-looking apartment fitted like a pantry with shelves. After the semi-gloom of the hall, it was almost glaringly lighted. The windows and another door opened, he saw, upon a court connected with the stable-yard. By this entrance, no doubt, had come the keeper, a small, brown-faced, brown-clothed man of mature years, with the strap55 of a pouch56 over his shoulder, who stood looking at the contents of the shelves. He mechanically saluted57 Thorpe in turn, and then resumed his occupation. There were numerous gun cases on the lower shelf, and many boxes and bags above.
“Did his Lordship say what gun?” the keeper demanded of the valet. He had a bright-eyed, intent glance, and his tone conveyed a sense of some broad, impersonal58, out-of-doors disdain59 for liveried house-men.
The valet, standing60 behind Thorpe, shrugged61 his shoulders and eloquently62 shook his head.
“Do you like an 'ammerless, sir?” the keeper turned to Thorpe.
To his intense humiliation63, Thorpe could not make out the meaning of the query64. “Oh, anything'll do for me,” he said, awkwardly smiling. “It's years since I've shot—I daresay one gun'll be quite the same as another to me.”
He felt the knowing bright eyes of the keeper taking all his measurements as a sportsman. “You'd do best with 'B,' sir, I fancy,” the functionary65 decided at last, and his way of saying it gave Thorpe the notion that “B” must be the weapon that was reserved for school-boys. He watched the operation of putting the gun together, and then took it, and laid it over his arm, and followed the valet out into the hall again, in dignified66 silence. To the keeper's remark—“Mr. Balder has its mate with him today, sir,” he gave only a restrained nod.
There were even now whole minutes to wait before Lord Plowden appeared. He came down the stairs then with the brisk, rather impatient air of a busy man whose plans are embarrassed by the unpunctuality of others. He was fully67 attired68, hob-nailed shoes, leggings, leather coat and cap, gloves, scarf round his throat and all—and he behaved as if there was not a minute to lose. He had barely time to shake perfunctorily the hand Thorpe offered him, and utter an absent-minded “How are you this morning?”
To the valet, who hurried forward to open the outer door, bearing his master's gun and a camp-stool, he said reproachfully, “We are very late today, Barnes.” They went out, and began striding down the avenue of trees at such a pace that the keeper and his following of small boys and dogs, who joined them near the road, were forced into a trot69 to keep up with it.
Thorpe had fancied, somehow, that a day's shooting would afford exceptional opportunities for quiet and intimate talk with his host, but he perceived very soon that this was not to be the case. They walked together for half a mile, it is true, along a rural bye-road first and then across some fields, but the party was close at their heels, and Plowden walked so fast that conversation of any sort, save an occasional remark about the birds and the covers between him and the keeper, was impracticable. The Hon. Balder suddenly turned up in the landscape, leaning against a gate set in a hedgerow, and their course was deflected70 toward him, but even when they came up to him, the expedition seemed to gain nothing of a social character. The few curt71 words that were exchanged, as they halted here to distribute cartridges72 and hold brief consultation73, bore exclusively upon the subject in hand.
The keeper assumed now an authority which Thorpe, breathing heavily over the unwonted exercise and hoping for nothing so much as that they would henceforth take things easy, thought intolerable. He was amazed that the two brothers should take without cavil74 the arbitrary orders of this elderly peasant. He bade Lord Plowden proceed to a certain point in one direction, and that nobleman, followed by his valet with the gun and the stool, set meekly75 off without a word. Balder, with equal docility76, vaulted77 the gate, and moved away down the lane at the bidding of the keeper. Neither of them had intervened to mitigate78 the destiny of their guest, or displayed any interest as to what was going to become of him.
Thorpe said to himself that he did not like this—and though afterward, when he had also climbed the gate and taken up his station under a clump79 of trees at the autocrat's behest, he strove to soothe80 his ruffled81 feelings by the argument that it was probably the absolutely correct deportment for a shooting party, his mind remained unconvinced. Moreover, in parting from him, the keeper had dropped a blunt injunction about firing up or down the lane, the tone even more than the matter of which nettled82 him.
To cap all, when he presently ventured to stroll about a little from the spot on which he had been planted, he caught a glimpse against the skyline of the distant Lord Plowden, comfortably seated on the stool which his valet had been carrying. It seemed to Thorpe at that moment that he had never wanted to sit down so much before in his life—and he turned on his heel in the wet grass with a grunt83 of displeasure.
This mood vanished utterly84 a few moments later. The remote sounds had begun to come to him, of boys shouting and dogs barking, in the recesses85 of the strip of woodland which the lane skirted, and at these he hastened back to his post. It did not seem to him a good place, and when he heard the reports of guns to right and left of him, and nothing came his way, he liked it less than ever; it had become a matter of offended pride with him, however, to relieve the keeper of no atom of the responsibility he had taken upon himself. If Lord Plowden's guest had no sport, the blame for it should rest upon Lord Plowden's over-arrogant keeper. Then a noise of a different character assailed his ears, punctuated86 as it were by distant boyish cries of “mark!” These cries, and the buzzing sound as of clockwork gone wrong which they accompanied and heralded87, became all at once a most urgent affair of his own. He strained his eyes upon the horizon of the thicket—and, as if by instinct, the gun sprang up to adjust its sight to this eager gaze, and followed automatically the thundering course of the big bird, and then, taking thought to itself, leaped ahead of it and fired. Thorpe's first pheasant reeled in the air, described a somersault, and fell like a plummet88.
He stirred not a step, but reloaded the barrel with a hand shaking for joy. From where he stood he could see the dead bird; there could never have been a cleaner “kill.” In the warming glow of his satisfaction in himself, there kindled89 a new liking90 of a different sort for Plowden and Balder. He owed to them, at this belated hour of his life, a novel delight of indescribable charm. There came to him, from the woods, the shrill91 bucolic92 voice of the keeper, admonishing93 a wayward dog. He was conscious of even a certain tenderness for this keeper—and again the cry of “mark!” rose, strenuously94 addressed to him.
Half an hour later the wood had been cleared, and Thorpe saw the rest of the party assembling by the gate. He did not hurry to join them, but when Lord Plowden appeared he sauntered slowly over, gun over arm, with as indifferent an air as he could simulate. It pleased him tremendously that no one had thought it worth while to approach the rendezvous95 by way of the spot he had covered. His eye took instant stock of the game carried by two of the boys; their combined prizes were eight birds and a rabbit, and his heart leaped within him at the count.
“Well, Thorpe?” asked Plowden, pleasantly. The smell of gunpowder96 and the sight of stained feathers had co-operated to brighten and cheer his mood. “I heard you blazing away in great form. Did you get anything?”
Thorpe strove hard to give his voice a careless note. “Let some of the boys run over,” he said slowly. “There are nine birds within sight, and there are two or three in the bushes—but they may have got away.”
“Gad!” said Balder.
“Magnificent!” was his brother's comment—and Thorpe permitted himself the luxury of a long-drawn, beaming sigh of triumph.
The roseate colouring of this triumph seemed really to tint97 everything that remained of Thorpe's visit. He set down to it without hesitation98 the visible augmentation of deference to him among the servants. The temptation was very great to believe that it had affected99 the ladies of the house as well. He could not say that they were more gracious to him, but certainly they appeared to take him more for granted. In a hundred little ways, he seemed to perceive that he was no longer held mentally at arm's length as a stranger to their caste. Of course, his own restored self-confidence could account for much of this, but he clung to the whimsical conceit100 that much was also due to the fact that he was the man of the pheasants.
Sunday was bleak101 and stormy, and no one stirred out of the house. He was alone again with the ladies at breakfast, and during the long day he was much in their company. It was like no other day he had ever imagined to himself.
On the morrow, in the morning train by which he returned alone to town, his mind roved luxuriously102 among the fragrant103 memories of that day. He had been so perfectly at home—and in such a home! There were some things which came uppermost again and again—but of them all he dwelt most fixedly104 upon the recollection of moving about in the greenhouses and conservatories105, with that tall, stately, fair Lady Cressage for his guide, and watching her instead of the flowers that she pointed out. Of what she had told him, not a syllable106 stuck in his mind, but the music of the voice lingered in his ears.
“And she is old Kervick's daughter!” he said to himself more than once.
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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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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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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sniffs
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的第三人称单数 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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dallied
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的过去式和过去分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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modulating
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| 调整( modulate的现在分词 )； （对波幅、频率的）调制； 转调； 调整或改变（嗓音）的音调 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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extenuating
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| adj.使减轻的，情有可原的v.（用偏袒的辩解或借口）减轻( extenuate的现在分词 )；低估，藐视 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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34
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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36
alligators
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| n.短吻鳄( alligator的名词复数 ) | |
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37
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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38
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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39
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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40
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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41
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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42
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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43
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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utilized
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| v.利用，使用( utilize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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46
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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47
proficiency
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| n.精通，熟练，精练 | |
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48
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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50
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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51
dawdled
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| v.混（时间）( dawdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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formulating
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| v.构想出( formulate的现在分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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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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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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functionary
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| n.官员；公职人员 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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72
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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cavil
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| v.挑毛病，吹毛求疵 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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mitigate
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| vt.（使）减轻，（使）缓和 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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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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nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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plummet
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| vi.(价格、水平等)骤然下跌；n.铅坠；重压物 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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91
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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92
bucolic
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| adj.乡村的；牧羊的 | |
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93
admonishing
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| v.劝告( admonish的现在分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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95
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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96
gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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97
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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98
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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99
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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100
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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101
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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102
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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103
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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104
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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105
conservatories
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| n.（培植植物的）温室，暖房( conservatory的名词复数 ) | |
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106
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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