His letters were not enthusiastic on the subject of mercantile occupations. He described himself as being still painfully loose in his figures. He was also more firmly persuaded than ever—now when it was unfortunately too late—that he preferred engineering to trade. In spite of this conviction; in spite of headaches caused by sitting on a high stool and stooping over ledgers1 in unwholesome air; in spite of want of society, and hasty breakfasts, and bad dinners at chop-houses, his attendance at the office was regular, and his diligence at the desk unremitting. The head of the department in which he was working might be referred to if any corroboration2 of this statement was desired. Such was the general tenor3 of the letters; and Frank’s correspondent and Frank’s father differed over them as widely as usual. Mr. Vanstone accepted them as proofs of the steady development of industrious4 principles in the writer. Mr. Clare took his own characteristically opposite view. “These London men,” said the philosopher, “are not to be trifled with by louts. They have got Frank by the scruff of the neck—he can’t wriggle5 himself free—and he makes a merit of yielding to sheer necessity.”
The three months’ interval6 of Frank’s probation7 in London passed less cheerfully than usual in the household at Combe-Raven.
As the summer came nearer and nearer, Mrs. Vanstone’s spirits, in spite of her resolute8 efforts to control them, became more and more depressed9.
“I do my best,” she said to Miss Garth; “I set an example of cheerfulness to my husband and my children—but I dread10 July.” Norah’s secret misgivings11 on her sister’s account rendered her more than usually serious and uncommunicative, as the year advanced. Even Mr. Vanstone, when July drew nearer, lost something of his elasticity12 of spirit. He kept up appearances in his wife’s presence—but on all other occasions there was now a perceptible shade of sadness in his look and manner. Magdalen was so changed since Frank’s departure that she helped the general depression, instead of relieving it. All her movements had grown languid; all her usual occupations were pursued with the same weary indifference13; she spent hours alone in her own room; she lost her interest in being brightly and prettily14 dressed; her eyes were heavy, her nerves were irritable15, her complexion16 was altered visibly for the worse—in one word, she had become an oppression and a weariness to herself and to all about her. Stoutly17 as Miss Garth contended with these growing domestic difficulties, her own spirits suffered in the effort. Her memory reverted18, oftener and oftener, to the March morning when the master and mistress of the house had departed for London, and then the first serious change, for many a year past, had stolen over the family atmosphere. When was that atmosphere to be clear again? When were the clouds of change to pass off before the returning sunshine of past and happier times?
The spring and the early summer wore away. The dreaded19 month of July came, with its airless nights, its cloudless mornings, and its sultry days.
On the fifteenth of the month, an event happened which took every one but Norah by surprise. For the second time, without the slightest apparent reason—for the second time, without a word of warning beforehand—Frank suddenly re-appeared at his father’s cottage.
Mr. Clare’s lips opened to hail his son’s return, in the old character of the “bad shilling”; and closed again without uttering a word. There was a portentous20 composure in Frank’s manner which showed that he had other news to communicate than the news of his dismissal. He answered his father’s sardonic21 look of inquiry22 by at once explaining that a very important proposal for his future benefit had been made to him, that morning, at the office. His first idea had been to communicate the details in writing; but the partners had, on reflection, thought that the necessary decision might be more readily obtained by a personal interview with his father and his friends. He had laid aside the pen accordingly, and had resigned himself to the railway on the spot.
After this preliminary statement, Frank proceeded to describe the proposal which his employers had addressed to him, with every external appearance of viewing it in the light of an intolerable hardship.
The great firm in the City had obviously made a discovery in relation to their clerk, exactly similar to the discovery which had formerly23 forced itself on the engineer in relation to his pupil. The young man, as they politely phrased it, stood in need of some special stimulant24 to stir him up. His employers (acting under a sense of their obligation to the gentleman by whom Frank had been recommended) had considered the question carefully, and had decided25 that the one promising26 use to which they could put Mr. Francis Clare was to send him forthwith into another quarter of the globe.
As a consequence of this decision, it was now, therefore, proposed that he should enter the house of their correspondents in China; that he should remain there, familiarizing himself thoroughly27 on the spot with the tea trade and the silk trade for five years; and that he should return, at the expiration28 of this period, to the central establishment in London. If he made a fair use of his opportunities in China, he would come back, while still a young man, fit for a position of trust and emolument29, and justified30 in looking forward, at no distant date, to a time when the House would assist him to start in business for himself. Such were the new prospects32 which—to adopt Mr. Clare’s theory—now forced themselves on the ever-reluctant, ever-helpless and ever-ungrateful Frank. There was no time to be lost. The final answer was to be at the office on “Monday, the twentieth”: the correspondents in China were to be written to by the mail on that day; and Frank was to follow the letter by the next opportunity, or to resign his chance in favor of some more enterprising young man.
Mr. Clare’s reception of this extraordinary news was startling in the extreme. The glorious prospect31 of his son’s banishment33 to China appeared to turn his brain. The firm pedestal of his philosophy sank under him; the prejudices of society recovered their hold on his mind. He seized Frank by the arm, and actually accompanied him to Combe-Raven, in the amazing character of visitor to the house!
“Here I am with my lout,” said Mr. Clare, before a word could be uttered by the astonished family. “Hear his story, all of you. It has reconciled me, for the first time in my life, to the anomaly of his existence.” Frank ruefully narrated34 the Chinese proposal for the second time, and attempted to attach to it his own supplementary35 statement of objections and difficulties. His father stopped him at the first word, pointed36 peremptorily37 southeastward (from Somersetshire to China); and said, without an instant’s hesitation38: “Go!” Mr. Vanstone, basking39 in golden visions of his young friend’s future, echoed that monosyllabic decision with all his heart. Mrs. Vanstone, Miss Garth, even Norah herself, spoke40 to the same purpose. Frank was petrified41 by an absolute unanimity42 of opinion which he had not anticipated; and Magdalen was caught, for once in her life, at the end of all her resources.
So far as practical results were concerned, the sitting of the family council began and ended with the general opinion that Frank must go. Mr. Vanstone’s faculties43 were so bewildered by the son’s sudden arrival, the father’s unexpected visit, and the news they both brought with them, that he petitioned for an adjournment44 before the necessary arrangements connected with his young friend’s departure were considered in detail. “Suppose we all sleep upon it?” he said. “Tomorrow our heads will feel a little steadier; and to-morrow will be time enough to decide all uncertainties45.” This suggestion was readily adopted; and all further proceedings46 stood adjourned47 until the next day.
That next day was destined48 to decide more uncertainties than Mr. Vanstone dreamed of.
Early in the morning, after making tea by herself as usual, Miss Garth took her parasol and strolled into the garden. She had slept ill; and ten minutes in the open air before the family assembled at breakfast might help to compensate49 her, as she thought, for the loss of her night’s rest.
She wandered to the outermost50 boundary of the flower-garden, and then returned by another path, which led back, past the side of an ornamental51 summer-house commanding a view over the fields from a corner of the lawn. A slight noise—like, and yet not like, the chirruping of a bird—caught her ear as she approached the summer-house. She stepped round to the entrance; looked in; and discovered Magdalen and Frank seated close together. To Miss Garth’s horror, Magdalen’s arm was unmistakably round Frank’s neck; and, worse still, the position of her face, at the moment of discovery, showed beyond all doubt that she had just been offering to the victim of Chinese commerce the first and foremost of all the consolations52 which a woman can bestow53 on a man. In plainer words, she had just given Frank a kiss.
In the presence of such an emergency as now confronted her, Miss Garth felt instinctively54 that all ordinary phrases of reproof55 would be phrases thrown away.
“I presume,” she remarked, addressing Magdalen with the merciless self-possession of a middle-aged56 lady, unprovided for the occasion with any kissing remembrances of her own—“I presume (whatever excuses your effrontery57 may suggest) you will not deny that my duty compels me to mention what I have just seen to your father?”
“I will save you the trouble,” replied Magdalen, composedly. “I will mention it to him myself.”
With those words, she looked round at Frank, standing58 trebly helpless in a corner of the summer-house. “You shall hear what happens,” she said, with her bright smile. “And so shall you,” she added for Miss Garth’s especial benefit, as she sauntered past the governess on her way back to the breakfast-table. The eyes of Miss Garth followed her indignantly; and Frank slipped out on his side at that favorable opportunity.
Under these circumstances, there was but one course that any respectable woman could take—she could only shudder59. Miss Garth registered her protest in that form, and returned to the house.
When breakfast was over, and when Mr. Vanstone’s hand descended60 to his pocket in search of his cigar-case, Magdalen rose; looked significantly at Miss Garth; and followed her father into the hall.
“Papa,” she said, “I want to speak to you this morning—in private.”
“Ay! ay!” returned Mr. Vanstone. “What about, my dear!”
“About—” Magdalen hesitated, searching for a satisfactory form of expression, and found it. “About business, papa,” she said.
Mr. Vanstone took his garden hat from the hall table—opened his eyes in mute perplexity—attempted to associate in his mind the two extravagantly61 dissimilar ideas of Magdalen and “business”—failed—and led the way resignedly into the garden.
His daughter took his arm, and walked with him to a shady seat at a convenient distance from the house. She dusted the seat with her smart silk apron62 before her father occupied it. Mr. Vanstone was not accustomed to such an extraordinary act of attention as this. He sat down, looking more puzzled than ever. Magdalen immediately placed herself on his knee, and rested her head comfortably on his shoulder.
“Am I heavy, papa?” she asked.
“Yes, my dear, you are,” said Mr. Vanstone—“but not too heavy for me. Stop on your perch63, if you like it. Well? And what may this business happen to be?”
“It begins with a question.”
“Ah, indeed? That doesn’t surprise me. Business with your sex, my dear, always begins with questions. Go on.”
“Papa! do you ever intend allowing me to be married?”
Mr. Vanstone’s eyes opened wider and wider. The question, to use his own phrase, completely staggered him.
“This is business with a vengeance64!” he said. “Why, Magdalen! what have you got in that harum-scarum head of yours now?”
“I don’t exactly know, papa. Will you answer my question?”
“I will if I can, my dear; you rather stagger me. Well, I don’t know. Yes; I suppose I must let you be married one of these days—if we can find a good husband for you. How hot your face is! Lift it up, and let the air blow over it. You won’t? Well—have your own way. If talking of business means tickling65 your cheek against my whisker I’ve nothing to say against it. Go on, my dear. What’s the next question? Come to the point.”
She was far too genuine a woman to do anything of the sort. She skirted round the point and calculated her distance to the nicety of a hair-breadth.
“We were all very much surprised yesterday—were we not, papa? Frank is wonderfully lucky, isn’the?”
“He’s the luckiest dog I ever came across,” said Mr. Vanstone “But what has that got to do with this business of yours? I dare say you see your way, Magdalen. Hang me if I can see mine!”
She skirted a little nearer.
“I suppose he will make his fortune in China?” she said. “It’s a long way off, isn’t it? Did you observe, papa, that Frank looked sadly out of spirits yesterday?”
“I was so surprised by the news,” said Mr. Vanstone, “and so staggered by the sight of old Clare’s sharp nose in my house, that I didn’t much notice. Now you remind me of it—yes. I don’t think Frank took kindly66 to his own good luck; not kindly at all.”
“Do you wonder at that, papa?”
“Yes, my dear; I do, rather.”
“Don’t you think it’s hard to be sent away for five years, to make your fortune among hateful savages67, and lose sight of your friends at home for all that long time? Don’t you think Frank will miss us sadly? Don’t you, papa?—don’t you?”
“Gently, Magdalen! I’m a little too old for those long arms of yours to throttle68 me in fun.—You’re right, my love. Nothing in this world without a drawback. Frank will miss his friends in England: there’s no denying that.”
“You always liked Frank. And Frank always liked you.”
“Yes, yes—a good fellow; a quiet, good fellow. Frank and I have always got on smoothly69 together.”
“You have got on like father and son, haven’t you?”
“Certainly, my dear.”
“Perhaps you will think it harder on him when he has gone than you think it now?”
“Likely enough, Magdalen; I don’t say no.”
“Perhaps you will wish he had stopped in England? Why shouldn’t he stop in England, and do as well as if he went to China?”
“My dear! he has no prospects in England. I wish he had, for his own sake. I wish the lad well, with all my heart.”
“May I wish him well too, papa—with all my heart?”
“Certainly, my love—your old playfellow—why not? What’s the matter? God bless my soul, what is the girl crying about? One would think Frank was transported for life. You goose! You know, as well as I do, he is going to China to make his fortune.”
“He doesn’t want to make his fortune—he might do much better.”
“The deuce he might! How, I should like to know?”
“I’m afraid to tell you. I’m afraid you’ll laugh at me. Will you promise not to laugh at me?”
“Anything to please you, my dear. Yes: I promise. Now, then, out with it! How might Frank do better?”
“He might marry Me.”
If the summer scene which then spread before Mr. Vanstone’s eyes had suddenly changed to a dreary70 winter view—if the trees had lost all their leaves, and the green fields had turned white with snow in an instant—his face could hardly have expressed greater amazement71 than it displayed when his daughter’s faltering72 voice spoke those four last words. He tried to look at her—but she steadily73 refused him the opportunity: she kept her face hidden over his shoulder. Was she in earnest? His cheek, still wet with her tears, answered for her. There was a long pause of silence; she waited—with unaccustomed patience, she waited for him to speak. He roused himself, and spoke these words only: “You surprise me, Magdalen; you surprise me more than I can say.”
At the altered tone of his voice—altered to a quiet, fatherly seriousness—Magdalen’s arms clung round him closer than before.
“Have I disappointed you, papa?” she asked, faintly. “Don’t say I have disappointed you! Who am I to tell my secret to, if not to you? Don’t let him go—don’t! don’t! You will break his heart. He is afraid to tell his father; he is even afraid you might be angry with him. There is nobody to speak for us, except—except me. Oh, don’t let him go! Don’t for his sake—” she whispered the next words in a kiss—“Don’t for Mine!”
Her father’s kind face saddened; he sighed, and patted her fair head tenderly. “Hush, my love,” he said, almost in a whisper; “hush!” She little knew what a revelation every word, every action that escaped her, now opened before him. She had made him her grown-up playfellow, from her childhood to that day. She had romped74 with him in her frocks, she had gone on romping75 with him in her gowns. He had never been long enough separated from her to have the external changes in his daughter forced on his attention. His artless, fatherly experience of her had taught him that she was a taller child in later years—and had taught him little more. And now, in one breathless instant, the conviction that she was a woman rushed over his mind. He felt it in the trouble of her bosom76 pressed against his; in the nervous thrill of her arms clasped around his neck. The Magdalen of his innocent experience, a woman—with the master-passion of her sex in possession of her heart already!
“Have you thought long of this, my dear?” he asked, as soon as he could speak composedly. “Are you sure—?”
She answered the question before he could finish it.
“Sure I love him?” she said. “Oh, what words can say Yes for me, as I want to say it? I love him—!” Her voice faltered77 softly; and her answer ended in a sigh.
“You are very young. You and Frank, my love, are both very young.”
She raised her head from his shoulder for the first time. The thought and its expression flashed from her at the same moment.
“Are we much younger than you and mamma were?” she asked, smiling through her tears.
She tried to lay her head back in its old position; but as she spoke those words, her father caught her round the waist, forced her, before she was aware of it, to look him in the face—and kissed her, with a sudden outburst of tenderness which brought the tears thronging78 back thickly into her eyes. “Not much younger, my child,” he said, in low, broken tones—“not much younger than your mother and I were.” He put her away from him, and rose from the seat, and turned his head aside quickly. “Wait here, and compose yourself; I will go indoors and speak to your mother.” His voice trembled over those parting words; and he left her without once looking round again.
She waited—waited a weary time; and he never came back. At last her growing anxiety urged her to follow him into the house. A new timidity throbbed79 in her heart as she doubtingly approached the door. Never had she seen the depths of her father’s simple nature stirred as they had been stirred by her confession80. She almost dreaded her next meeting with him. She wandered softly to and fro in the hall, with a shyness unaccountable to herself; with a terror of being discovered and spoken to by her sister or Miss Garth, which made her nervously81 susceptible82 to the slightest noises in the house. The door of the morning-room opened while her back was turned toward it. She started violently, as she looked round and saw her father in the hall: her heart beat faster and faster, and she felt herself turning pale. A second look at him, as he came nearer, re-assured her. He was composed again, though not so cheerful as usual. She noticed that he advanced and spoke to her with a forbearing gentleness, which was more like his manner to her mother than his ordinary manner to herself.
“Go in, my love,” he said, opening the door for her which he had just closed. “Tell your mother all you have told me—and more, if you have more to say. She is better prepared for you than I was. We will take to-day to think of it, Magdalen; and to-morrow you shall know, and Frank shall know, what we decide.”
Her eyes brightened, as they looked into his face and saw the decision there already, with the double penetration83 of her womanhood and her love. Happy, and beautiful in her happiness, she put his hand to her lips, and went, without hesitation, into the morning-room. There, her father’s words had smoothed the way for her; there, the first shock of the surprise was past and over, and only the pleasure of it remained. Her mother had been her age once; her mother would know how fond she was of Frank. So the coming interview was anticipated in her thoughts; and—except that there was an unaccountable appearance of restraint in Mrs. Vanstone’s first reception of her—was anticipated aright. After a little, the mother’s questions came more and more unreservedly from the sweet, unforgotten experience of the mother’s heart. She lived again through her own young days of hope and love in Magdalen’s replies.
The next morning the all-important decision was announced in words. Mr. Vanstone took his daughter upstairs into her mother’s room, and there placed before her the result of the yesterday’s consultation84, and of the night’s reflection which had followed it. He spoke with perfect kindness and self-possession of manner—but in fewer and more serious words than usual; and he held his wife’s hand tenderly in his own all through the interview.
He informed Magdalen that neither he nor her mother felt themselves justified in blaming her attachment85 to Frank. It had been in part, perhaps, the natural consequence of her childish familiarity with him; in part, also, the result of the closer intimacy86 between them which the theatrical87 entertainment had necessarily produced. At the same time, it was now the duty of her parents to put that attachment, on both sides, to a proper test—for her sake, because her happy future was their dearest care; for Frank’s sake, because they were bound to give him the opportunity of showing himself worthy88 of the trust confided89 in him. They were both conscious of being strongly prejudiced in Frank’s favor. His father’s eccentric conduct had made the lad the object of their compassion90 and their care from his earliest years. He (and his younger brothers) had almost filled the places to them of those other children of their own whom they had lost. Although they firmly believed their good opinion of Frank to be well founded—still, in the interest of their daughter’s happiness, it was necessary to put that opinion firmly to the proof, by fixing certain conditions, and by interposing a year of delay between the contemplated91 marriage and the present time.
During that year, Frank was to remain at the office in London; his employers being informed beforehand that family circumstances prevented his accepting their offer of employment in China. He was to consider this concession92 as a recognition of the attachment between Magdalen and himself, on certain terms only. If, during the year of probation, he failed to justify93 the confidence placed in him—a confidence which had led Mr. Vanstone to take unreservedly upon himself the whole responsibility of Frank’s future prospects—the marriage scheme was to be considered, from that moment, as at an end. If, on the other hand, the result to which Mr. Vanstone confidently looked forward really occurred—if Frank’s probationary94 year proved his claim to the most precious trust that could be placed in his hands—then Magdalen herself should reward him with all that a woman can bestow; and the future, which his present employers had placed before him as the result of a five years’ residence in China, should be realized in one year’s time, by the dowry of his young wife.
As her father drew that picture of the future, the outburst of Magdalen’s gratitude95 could no longer be restrained. She was deeply touched—she spoke from her inmost heart. Mr. Vanstone waited until his daughter and his wife were composed again; and then added the last words of explanation which were now left for him to speak.
“You understand, my love,” he said, “that I am not anticipating Frank’s living in idleness on his wife’s means? My plan for him is that he should still profit by the interest which his present employers take in him. Their knowledge of affairs in the City will soon place a good partnership96 at his disposal, and you will give him the money to buy it out of hand. I shall limit the sum, my dear, to half your fortune; and the other half I shall have settled upon yourself. We shall all be alive and hearty97, I hope”—he looked tenderly at his wife as he said those words—“all alive and hearty at the year’s end. But if I am gone, Magdalen, it will make no difference. My will—made long before I ever thought of having a son-in-law divides my fortune into two equal parts. One part goes to your mother; and the other part is fairly divided between my children. You will have your share on your wedding-day (and Norah will have hers when she marries) from my own hand, if I live; and under my will if I die. There! there! no gloomy faces,” he said, with a momentary98 return of his every-day good spirits. “Your mother and I mean to live and see Frank a great merchant. I shall leave you, my dear, to enlighten the son on our new projects, while I walk over to the cottage—”
He stopped; his eyebrows99 contracted a little; and he looked aside hesitatingly at Mrs. Vanstone.
“What must you do at the cottage, papa?” asked Magdalen, after having vainly waited for him to finish the sentence of his own accord.
“I must consult Frank’s father,” he replied. “We must not forget that Mr. Clare’s consent is still wanting to settle this matter. And as time presses, and we don’t know what difficulties he may not raise, the sooner I see him the better.”
He gave that answer in low, altered tones; and rose from his chair in a half-reluctant, half-resigned manner, which Magdalen observed with secret alarm.
She glanced inquiringly at her mother. To all appearance, Mrs. Vanstone had been alarmed by the change in him also. She looked anxious and uneasy; she turned her face away on the sofa pillow—turned it suddenly, as if she was in pain.
“Are you not well, mamma?” asked Magdalen.
“Quite well, my love,” said Mrs. Vanstone, shortly and sharply, without turning round. “Leave me a little—I only want rest.”
Magdalen went out with her father.
“Papa!” she whispered anxiously, as they descended the stairs; “you don’t think Mr. Clare will say No?”
“I can’t tell beforehand,” answered Mr. Vanstone. “I hope he will say Yes.”
“There is no reason why he should say anything else—is there?”
She put the question faintly, while he was getting his hat and stick; and he did not appear to hear her. Doubting whether she should repeat it or not, she accompanied him as far as the garden, on his way to Mr. Clare’s cottage. He stopped her on the lawn, and sent her back to the house.
“You have nothing on your head, my dear,” he said. “If you want to be in the garden, don’t forget how hot the sun is—don’t come out without your hat.”
He walked on toward the cottage.
She waited a moment, and looked after him. She missed the customary flourish of his stick; she saw his little Scotch100 terrier, who had run out at his heels, barking and capering101 about him unnoticed. He was out of spirits: he was strangely out of spirits. What did it mean?
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ledgers
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| n.分类账( ledger的名词复数 ) | |
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corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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probation
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| n.缓刑(期)，(以观后效的)察看；试用(期) | |
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resolute
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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dread
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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elasticity
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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prettily
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irritable
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complexion
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stoutly
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reverted
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dreaded
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portentous
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sardonic
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inquiry
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formerly
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stimulant
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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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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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expiration
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| n.终结，期满，呼气，呼出物 | |
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emolument
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| n.报酬，薪水 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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banishment
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| n.放逐，驱逐 | |
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narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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supplementary
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| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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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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petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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unanimity
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| n.全体一致，一致同意 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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adjournment
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| 休会； 延期； 休会期； 休庭期 | |
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uncertainties
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| 无把握( uncertainty的名词复数 )； 不确定； 变化不定； 无把握、不确定的事物 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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outermost
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| adj.最外面的，远离中心的 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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effrontery
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| n.厚颜无耻 | |
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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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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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tickling
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| 反馈，回授，自旋挠痒法 | |
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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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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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throttle
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| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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romped
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| v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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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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penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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84
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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85
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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93
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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probationary
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| 试用的，缓刑的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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99
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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capering
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的现在分词 )；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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