After the election, however, the fact that he had had a past at all had ceased to be of any moment whatever. A future—of four years—lay before him, and must be utilized19; after that, the Deluge20. The opposing party sneered21, vilified22, and vaunted themselves in the truth of their predictions concerning his incapacity; the non-opposing party advised, lauded23, cautioned, mildly discouraged, and in a most human revulsion of feeling showed their unprejudiced frankness by openly condemning24 on frequent occasions. The head of the nation having appointed an official from among his immediate26 supporters, there arose a clamor of adverse27 criticism upon a course which lowered the gifts of his sacred office to the grade of mere28 payment for value received. Having made a choice from without the circle, he called down upon himself frantic29 accusations30 of ingratitude31 to those to whom he owed all. There lay before him the agreeable alternatives of being a renegade or a monument of bribery33 and corruption34, and if occasionally these alternatives lost for a moment their attractiveness, and the head of the nation gave way to a sense of perplexity, and was guilty of forming in secret a vague wish that the head of the nation was on some other individual's shoulders, or even went to the length of[Pg 222] wishing that the head upon his own shoulders was his own property, and not a football for the vivacious35 strength of the nation to expend36 itself upon,—if this occurred, though it is by no means likely, it certainly revealed a weakness of character and inadequacy37 to the situation which the nation could not have failed to condemn25. The very reasonable prophecy,—made by the party whose candidate had not been elected,—that the government must inevitably38 go to destruction and the country to perdition, had, through some singular oversight39 on the part of the powers threatened, not been fulfilled. After waiting in breathless suspense40 for the occurrence of these catastrophes41, and finding that they had apparently42 been postponed43 until the next election, the government had drawn44 a sigh of relief, and the country had gained courage to bestir itself cheerfully, with a view to such perquisites45 as might be obtained by active effort and a strong sense of general personal worthiness46 and fitness for any position.
There had descended47 upon the newly elected ruler an avalanche48 of seekers for office, a respectable number of whom laid in his hands the future salvation49 of their souls and bodies, and generously left to him the result. He found himself suddenly established as the guardian50 of the widow, the orphan51, and the friendless, and required to repair fortunes or provide them, as the case might be, at a moment's notice; his sympathies were appealed to, his interests, his generosity52, as an altogether omnipotent53 power in whose hands all things lay, and whose word was naturally law upon all occasions, great or small; and any failure on his part to respond to the entirely reasonable requests preferred was very properly laid to a tendency to abandoned scheming or to the heartless indifference54 of the great, which decision disposed of all difficulties in the argument, apart from such trivial ones as were left to the portion of the delinquent55 and were not referred to. Being called upon in his selection of his cabinet to display the judgment56 of Solomon, the diplomacy57 of [Pg 223]Talleyrand, and the daring of Napoleon, and above all to combine like powers in each official chosen, he might have faltered58 but for the assistance proffered59 him from all sides. This, and the fact that there was no lack of the qualifications required, supported him. Each day some monument of said qualifications, and others too numerous to mention, was presented to his notice. To propitiate60 the South it was suggested that he should appoint A——; to secure the North, B——; to control the East, C——; to sweep the West, D——; and to unite the country, E——. Circumstances having finally led him to decide upon G——, the government appeared to be in jeopardy61 again; but—possibly through having made use of its numerous opportunities of indulging in acrobatic efforts in the direction of losing its balance and regaining62 it again in an almost incredible manner—it recovered from the shock, and even retained its equilibrium63, upon finding itself in the end saddled with a cabinet whose selection was universally acknowledged to be a failure when it was not denounced as a crime.
On this particular New Year's day there were few traces on the social surface of the disasters which so short a time before had threatened to engulf64 all. Washington wore an aspect even gayer than usual. The presidential reception began the day in its most imposing65 manner. Lines of carriages thronged66 the drive before the White House, and the diplomatists, statesmen, officials, and glittering beings in naval68 and military uniform, who descended from them, were possibly cheered and encouraged by the comments of the lookers-on, who knew them and their glories and their shortcomings by heart. The comments were not specially69 loud, however. That which in an English crowd takes the form of amiable70 or unamiable clamor, in an American gathering71 of a like order resolves itself into a serene72 readiness of remark, which exalts73 or disposes of a dignity with equal impartiality74, and an ingenuous75 fearlessness of any consequence whatever, which would seem to argue that all[Pg 224] men are born free and some equal, though the last depends entirely upon circumstances. Each vehicle, having drawn up, deposited upon the stone steps of the broad portico76 a more or less picturesque77 or interesting personage. Now it was the starred and ribboned representative of some European court; again, a calm-visaged Japanese or Chinese official, in all the splendor78 of flowing robes and brilliant color; and, again, a man in citizen's clothes, whose unimposing figure represented such political eminence79 as to create more stir among the lookers-on than all the rest. Among equipages, there drove up at length a rather elegant little coupé, from which, when its door was opened, there sprang lightly to the stone steps the graceful80 figure of a young man, followed by an elder one. The young fellow, who was talking with much animation81, turned an exhilaratingly bright face upon the crowd about him.
"On the whole, I rather like it," he said.
"Oh!" responded his companion, "as to that, you like everything. I never saw such a fellow."
The younger man laughed quite joyously82.
"There is a great deal of truth in that," he said, "and I don't suppose you will deny that it is an advantage."
"An advantage!" repeated the other. "By Jupiter, I should think it was an advantage! Now, how long do you think this fellow will keep us waiting when we want him?"
"Oh!" was the answer; "he is Mrs. Amory's coachman, you know, and there isn't a doubt that he has had excellent training. She isn't fond of waiting."
"No," said the other, with a peculiar83 smile. "I should fancy she wasn't. Well, I guess we'll go in."
They turned to do so, and found themselves near a tall man in uniform, who almost immediately turned also, and revealed the soldierly visage of Colonel Tredennis.
He made a quick movement forward, which seemed to express some surprise.
[Pg 225]
"What, Amory!" he exclaimed. "You here, too? I was not at all sure that you had returned."
"I am scarcely sure myself yet," answered Richard, as he shook hands. "It only happened last night; but Bertha has been home a week. Is it possible you haven't seen her?"
"I have not seen anybody lately," said Tredennis, "and I did not know that she had returned until I read her name in the list of those who would receive."
"Oh, of course she will receive," said Richard. "And Planefield and I—you have met Senator Planefield?"
"How do you do?" said Senator Planefield, without any special manifestation84 of delight.
Tredennis bowed, and Richard went on airily, as they made their way in:
"Planefield and I have been sent out to do duty, and our list extends from Capitol Hill to Georgetown Heights."
"And he," said Senator Planefield, "professes85 to enjoy the prospect86."
"Why not?" said Richard. "It is a bright, bracing87 day, and there is something exhilarating in driving from house to house, to find one's self greeted at each by a roomful of charming women,—most of them pretty, some of them brilliant, all of them well dressed and in holiday spirits. It is delightful88."
"Do you find it delightful?" inquired Planefield, turning with some abruptness89 to Tredennis.
"I am obliged to own that I don't shine in society," answered Tredennis.
He knew there was nothing to resent in the question, but he was conscious of resenting something in the man himself. His big, prosperous-looking body and darkly florid face, with its heavy, handsome outlines, and keen, bold eyes, had impressed him unpleasantly from the first, and on each occasion of their meeting the impression seemed to deepen.
[Pg 226]
"Well, Amory shines," was his response, "and so does Mrs. Amory. We are to drop in and see her shine, as often as we happen to be in the neighborhood through the day."
They had reached the threshold of the reception-room by this time, and Richard, catching90 the last words, turned and spoke91.
"Of course you will be there yourself in the course of the day," he said. "We shall possibly meet you—and, by-the-by, you will see Mrs. Sylvestre. She arrived two days ago."
When they came out again Richard was in more buoyant spirits than before. The lighted rooms, the brilliant dresses, the many faces he knew or did not know, the very crush itself, had acted upon him like a fine wind. He issued forth into the light of day again, girded and eager for his day's work.
"There is nothing like Washington," he announced, "and especially nothing like Washington at the beginning of the season. Just at the outset, when one is meeting people for the first time since their return, they actually have the air of being glad to see one, and a man has a delightful evanescent sense of being somehow positively92 popular."
"Does it make you feel popular?" demanded Planefield of Tredennis, in his unceremonious fashion.
Tredennis presented to him an entirely immovable front.
"How do you find it?" he inquired.
The man laughed.
"Not as Amory does," he answered.
When the coupé appeared and he took his place at Richard's side, he bent93 forward to bestow94 on Tredennis, as they drove away, a glance expressive95 of but little favor.
"I don't like that fellow," he said. "Confound him!"
Richard settled himself in his corner of the carriage,[Pg 227] folding his fur-trimmed coat about him quite luxuriously96.
"Oh, no. Not confound him," he replied. "He is a delightful fellow—in his way."
"Confound his way, then," responded Planefield. "There's too much of it."
Richard leaned slightly forward to look at the tall, motionless figure himself, and the faintest possible change passed over his face as he did so.
"He is not exactly a malleable98 sort of fellow," he remarked, "and I suppose there might arise occasions when he would be a little in the way; but there is no denying that he is picturesque."
"Oh!" exclaimed his companion, with more fervor99 than grace. "The devil take his picturesqueness100!"
In the meantime Colonel Tredennis awaited the arrival of his own carriage, which had fallen back in the line. The surging of the crowd about him, the shouts of the policemen as they called up the vehicles, the rolling of vehicles and opening and shutting of doors, united themselves in an uproar101 which seemed to afford him a kind of seclusion102. The subject of his thoughts as he stood in the midst of the throng67 was not a new one; it was one from whose presence he had ceased to expect to free himself; but as the information in the morning paper had accelerated the pulse of emotion in him, so his brief interview with Richard Amory had quickened it again. Since the day when he had left her in Virginia, five months before, he had not seen Bertha at all, and had only heard from her directly once. She had been at Long Branch, Saratoga, Newport, and afterward103 visiting friends in the northern cities. After his return from the West, Richard had frequently been with her, and their letters to the professor had informed him that they were well and were involved in a round of gayeties.
How the time had passed for Tredennis he could not himself have told. When he had returned to [Pg 228]Washington he had lived and moved as a man in a dream. The familiar streets and buildings wore an unfamiliar104 look. It was a relief to find the places more deserted105 than before; his chief desire was to be, if possible, entirely alone. In the first vivid freshness of his impressions it seemed incredible that the days he had been living through had come to an end, and that absolutely nothing remained but the strange memory of them. At times it appeared that something must happen,—some impossible thing which would give reality to the past and motive106 to the future. If in any of his nightly walks before the closed and silent house he had suddenly seen that the shutters107 were opened and lights were shining within; if Bertha herself had, without warning, stood at the window and smiled upon him, he would have felt it at first only natural, even though he knew she was hundreds of miles away.
This for a few weeks, and then his exaltation died a gradual death for want of sustenance108, and there remained only the long, sultry days to be lived through and their work to be done. They were lived through, and their work was not neglected; but there was no one of them which dragged its slow length by without leaving marks upon him which neither time nor change could erase109 in any future that might come.
"Five months," he said, as he waited with the clamor about him, "is longer than it seems—it is longer."
And Miss Jessup, passing him at the moment and looking up, found herself so utterly110 at a loss for an adjective adequate to the description of his expression, that her own bright and alert little countenance111 fell, and existence temporarily palled112 upon her.
It was late in the day when he reached the Amorys. When he drove up several carriages stood before the door, one of them Bertha's own, from which Richard and Planefield had just descended. Two or three men were going into the house, and one or two were leaving it. Through the open door were to be seen the lighted hall,[Pg 229] and glimpses of bright rooms beyond, from which came the sound of voices, laughter, and the clink of glass.
Richard entered the house with Tredennis, and flung off his rather sumptuous113 outer garment with a laugh of relief.
"We have made fifty calls so far," he said, "and have enjoyed them enormously. What have you accomplished?"
"Not fifty, by any means," Tredennis answered, and then the man-servant took his coat, and they went into the parlors114.
They seemed to be full of men,—young men, middle-aged115 men, old men; even a half-grown boy or two had timorously116 presented themselves, with large hopes of finding dazzling entertainment in the convivialities of the day. The shutters were closed and the rooms brilliantly alight; there were flowers in every available corner, and three or four charmingly dressed women, each forming a bright central figure in a group of black coats, gave themselves to their task of entertainment with delightful animation.
For a moment Tredennis stood still. He did not see Bertha at once, though he fancied he heard her voice in the room adjoining, where, through the half-drawn portières, were to be seen men standing117, with coffee-cups, wine-glasses, or little plates in their hands, about a table bright with flowers, fruits, and all the usual glittering appurtenances. The next instant, amid a fresh burst of laughter, which she seemed to leave behind her, she appeared upon the threshold.
As she paused a second between the heavy curtains Tredennis thought suddenly of a brilliant tropical bird he had once seen somewhere, and the fancy had scarcely formed itself in his mind before she recognized him and came forward.
He had never seen her so brilliantly dressed before. The wonderful combination of rich and soft reds in her costume, the flash of the little jewelled bands clasped[Pg 230] close about her bare throat and arms, their pendants trembling and glowing in the light, the color on her cheeks, the look in her eyes, had a curiously118 bewildering effect upon him. When she gave him her hand he scarcely knew what to do with it, and could only wait for her to speak. And she spoke as if they had parted only an hour ago.
"At last," she said. "And it was very nice in you to leave me until the last, because now I know you will not feel obliged to go away so soon." And she withdrew her hand and opened her fan, and stood smiling up at him over its plumy border. "You see," she said, "that we have returned to our native atmosphere and may begin to breathe freely. Now we are real creatures again."
"Are we?" he answered. "Is that it?" and he glanced over the crowd, and then came back to her and looked her over from the glittering buckle119 on her slipper120 to the scintillating121 arrow in her hair. "I suppose we have," he added. "I begin to realize it."
"If you need anything to assist you to realize it," she said, "cast your eye upon Mr. Arbuthnot, and I think you will find him sufficient; for me, everything crystallized itself and all my doubts disappeared the moment I saw his opera hat, and heard his first remark about the weather. It is a very fine day," she added, with a serene air of originality, "a little cold, but fine and clear. Delightful weather for those of you who are making calls. It has often struck me that it must be unpleasant to undertake so much when the weather is against you. It is colder to-day than it was yesterday, but it will be likely to be warmer to-morrow. It is to be hoped that we shall have an agreeable winter."
"You might," he said, looking at her over the top of her fan, "induce them to mention it in the churches."
"That," she answered, "is the inspiration of true genius, and it shall be attended to at once, or—here is[Pg 231] Senator Planefield; perhaps he might accomplish something by means of a bill?"
The senator joined them in his usual manner, which was not always an engaging manner, and was at times a little suggestive of a disposition122 to appropriate the community, and was also a somewhat loud-voiced manner, and florid in its decorative123 style. It was, on the whole, less engaging than usual upon the present occasion. The fact that he was for some reason not entirely at ease expressed itself in his appearing to be very wonderfully at ease; indeed, metaphorically124 speaking, he appeared to have his hands in his pockets.
"A bill!" he said. "You have the floor, and I stand ready to second any motion you choose to make. I think we might put it through together. What can we do for you?"
"We want an appropriation125," Bertha answered,—"an appropriation of fine weather, which will enable Colonel Tredennis to be as giddy a butterfly of fashion as his natural inclination126 would lead him to desire to be."
Planefield glanced at Tredennis with a suggestion of grudging127 the momentary128 attention.
"Is he a butterfly of fashion?" he asked.
"What!" exclaimed Bertha,—"is it possible that you have not detected it? It is the fatal flaw upon his almost perfect character. Can it be that you have been taking him seriously, and mistakenly imagining that it was Mr. Arbuthnot who was frivolous129?"
"Arbuthnot," repeated the senator. "Which is Arbuthnot? How is a man to tell one from the other? There are too many of them!"
"What an agreeable way of saying that Colonel Tredennis is a host in himself!" said Bertha. "But I have certainly not found that there were too many of him, and I assure you that you would know Mr. Arbuthnot from the other after you had exchanged remarks with him. He has just been beguiled130 into the next room by Mrs. Sylvestre, who is going to give him some coffee."
[Pg 232]
"Mrs. Sylvestre," said Tredennis. "Richard told me she was with you, and I was wondering why I did not see her."
"You did not see her," said Bertha, "because I wished her to dawn upon you slowly, and, having that end in view, I arranged that Mr. Arbuthnot should occupy her attention when I saw you enter."
"He couldn't stand it all at once, could he?" remarked Planefield, whose manner of giving her his attention was certainly not grudging. He kept his eyes fixed131 on her face, and apparently found entertainment in her most trivial speech.
"It was not that, exactly," she answered. Then she spoke to Tredennis.
"She is ten times as beautiful as she was," she said, "and it would not be possible to calculate how many times more charming."
"That was not necessary," responded Tredennis.
He could not remove his own eyes from her face, even while he was resenting the fact that Planefield looked at her; he himself watched her every movement and change of expression.
"It was entirely unnecessary," she returned; "but it is the truth."
"You are trying to prejudice him against her," said Planefield.
"She is my ideal of all that a beautiful woman ought to be," she replied, "and I should like to form myself upon her."
"Oh, we don't want any of that," put in Planefield. "You are good enough for us."
She turned her attention to him. Her eyes met his with the most ingenuous candor132, and yet the little smile in them was too steady not to carry suggestion with it.
"Quite?" she said.
"Yes, quite," he answered, not so entirely at ease as before.
Her little smile did not waver in the least.
[Pg 233]
"Do you know," she said, "it seems almost incredible, but I will try to believe it. Now," she said to Tredennis, "if Senator Planefield will excuse me for a moment, I will take you into the other room. You shall speak to Mrs. Sylvestre. He has already seen her. Will you come?"
"I shall be very glad," he answered. He followed as she led him to the adjoining room. On its threshold she paused an instant.
"Exactly as I expected," she said. "She is listening to Mr. Arbuthnot."
Mr. Arbuthnot was standing at the end of the low mantel. He held a cup of coffee in his hand, but had apparently forgotten it in giving his attention to his very charming companion. This companion was, of course, Mrs. Sylvestre herself. Tredennis recognized her clear, faintly tinted133 face and light, willowy figure at once. She wore a dress of black lace, with purple passion-flowers, and she was looking at Arbuthnot with reflective eyes, almost the color of the flowers. She did not seem to be talking herself, but she was listening beautifully, with a graceful, receptive attention. Arbuthnot evidently felt it, and was improving his shining hour with a sense of enjoyment134 tempered by no lack of ability to avail himself of its fleeting135 pleasure.
It is possible, however, that his rapture136 at seeing Tredennis may have been tempered by the natural weakness of man, but he bore himself with his usual unperturbed equanimity137.
"There," he remarked to Mrs. Sylvestre, "is the most objectionable creature in Washington."
"Objectionable!" Mrs. Sylvestre repeated. "Bertha is bringing him here."
"Yes," responded Arbuthnot, "that is the objection to him, and it leaves him without a redeeming138 quality."
Mrs. Sylvestre gave him a charmingly interested glance, and the next instant made a slight movement forward.
[Pg 234]
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "it is Colonel Tredennis!" and she held out her hand with the most graceful gesture of welcome imaginable.
"It is very good of you to remember me," Tredennis said.
"It was not difficult," she answered, with a smile. And they fell, in the most natural manner, a step apart from the others, and she stood and looked at him as he spoke just as she had looked at Arbuthnot a moment before. Arbuthnot began to give mild attention to his coffee.
"It is quite cold," he said to Bertha. "Will you give me another cup?"
"Yes," she answered, and took it from his hand to carry it to the table. He followed her, and stood at her side as she poured the fresh cup out.
"It is my impression," he said, with serene illiberality139, "that she did not remember him at all."
"Yes, she did," Bertha replied. "She remembers everybody. That is one of her gifts. She has a great many gifts."
"I did not place implicit140 confidence in her intimation that she remembered me," he proceeded, still serenely141. "I liked the statement, and saw the good taste of it, and the excellent reasons for its being true; but I managed to restrain the na?ve impulses of a trusting nature. And it doesn't strike me as being so entirely plausible142 that she should have remembered Tredennis."
He paused suddenly and looked at Bertha's hand, in which she held the sugar-tongs and a lump of sugar.
"Will you have one lump, or two?" she asked.
Then he looked from her hand to her face. Her hand was trembling and her face was entirely without color. The look of strained steadiness in her uplifted eyes was a shock to him. It seemed to him that any one who chanced to glance at her must see it.
"You have been standing too long," he said. "You have tired yourself out again."
[Pg 235]
He took the cup of coffee from her.
"It is too late for you to expect many calls now," he said, "and if any one comes you can easily be found in the conservatory143. I am going to take you there, and let you sit down for a few seconds, at least."
He gave her his arm and carried the cup of coffee with him.
"You will have to drink this yourself," he said. "Have you eaten anything to-day?"
"No," she replied.
"I thought not. And then you are surprised to find your hand trembling. Don't you see what nonsense it is?"
"Yes."
He stepped with her into the tiny conservatory at the end of the room, and gave her a seat behind a substantial palm on a red stand. His eyes never left her face, though he went on talking in the most matter-of-fact tone.
"Drink that coffee," he said, "and then I will bring you a glass of wine and a sandwich."
She put out her hand as if to take the cup, but it fell, shaking, upon her lap.
"I can't," she said.
"You must," he replied.
The inflexibility144 of his manner affected145 her, as he had known it would. When he sat down in the low seat at her side, and held out the cup, she took it.
"Go and get the wine," she said, without looking at him.
He went at once, neither speaking nor glancing back at her. He was glad of the opportunity of turning his face away from her, since he felt that, in spite of his determination, it was losing something of its expressionless calm.
When he entered the room Mrs. Sylvestre still stood where he had left her. It was she who was speaking now, and Tredennis, who was listening, looking down upon her with an expression of much interest.
[Pg 236]
When he had procured146 a glass of wine and a sandwich Arbuthnot went to her.
"I have secreted147 Mrs. Amory in the conservatory," he said, "with a view of inducing her to take something in the form of sustenance. I can produce her at a moment's notice if she is needed."
"That was consideration," she replied.
"It was humanity," he answered, and went away.
Bertha had finished the coffee when he returned to her. The blanched148 look had left her, and her voice, when she spoke, sounded more natural and steady.
"It did me good," she said, and this time she looked at him, and there was something in her uplifted eyes which touched him.
"I knew it would," he answered.
"You always know," she said. "There is no one who knows so well what is good for me"; and she said it with great gentleness.
He took refuge from himself, as he sometimes found it discreet149 to do, in his usual airy lightness.
"I am all soul myself," he remarked, "as you may have observed, and I understand the temptation to scorn earthly food and endeavor to subsist150 wholly upon the plaudits of the multitude. You will, perhaps, permit me to remark that though the new gown"—with an approving glance at it—"is an immense and unqualified success, I doubt its power to sustain nature during the six or eight hours of a New Year's reception."
Bertha glanced down at it herself.
"Do you think it is pretty?" she asked.
"I shouldn't call it pretty," he replied. "I should call it something more impressive."
She still looked at it.
"It is a flaring151 thing," she said.
"No, it isn't," he returned, promptly152. "Not in the least. You might call it brilliant—if you insist on an adjective. It is a brilliant thing, and it is not like you in the least."
[Pg 237]
She turned toward him.
"No," she said, "it isn't like me in the least."
"It looks," remarked Arbuthnot, giving it some lightly critical attention, "as if you had taken a new departure."
"That is it exactly," she returned. "You always say the right thing. I have taken a new departure."
"Might I ask in what direction?" he inquired.
"Yes," she responded. "I will tell you, as a fair warning. I am going to be a dazzling and worldly creature."
"You are?" he said. "Now that is entirely sensible, though I should scarcely call it a new departure. You know you tried it last winter, with the most satisfying results. When Lent came on you had lost several pounds in weight and all your color; you had refined existence until neither rest nor food appeared necessary to you, and the future was naturally full of promise. Be gay, by all means; you'll find it pay, I assure you. Go to a lunch-party at one, and a reception at four, a dinner in the evening, and drop in at a German or so on your way home, taking precautions at the same time against neglecting your calling-list in the intervals153 these slight recreations allow you. Oh, I should certainly advise you to be gay."
"Laurence," she said, "do you think if one should do that every day, every day, and give one's self no rest, that after a while it would kill one?"
He regarded her fixedly154 for an instant.
"Do you want to die?" he asked, at last.
She sat perfectly155 still, and something terribly like, and yet terribly unlike, a smile crept slowly into her eyes as they met his. Then she replied, without flinching156 in the least, or moving her gaze:
"No."
He held up a long, slender forefinger157, and shook it at her, slowly, in his favorite gesture of warning.
"No," he said, "you don't; but, even if you fancied[Pg 238] you did, don't flatter yourself that it would happen. Shall I tell you what would occur? You would simply break down. You would lose your self-control and do things you did not wish to do; you would find it a physical impossibility to be equal to the occasion, and you would end by being pale and haggard—haggard, and discovering that your gowns were not becoming to you. How does the thing strike you?"
"It is very brutal158," she said, with a little shudder159; "but it is true."
"When you make ten remarks that are true," he returned, "nine of them are brutal. That is the charm of life."
"I don't think," she said, with inconsequent resentment160, "that you very much mind being brutal to me."
"A few minutes ago you said I knew what was good for you," he responded.
"You do," she said, "that is it, and it is only like me that I should hate you because you do. You must think," with a pathetic tone of appeal for herself in her voice, "that I do not mind being brutal to you; but I don't want to be. I don't want to do any of the things I am doing now."
She picked up the bouquet161 of Jacqueminot roses she had been carrying and had laid down near her.
"Don't talk about me," she said. "Let us talk about something else,—these, for instance. Do you know where they came from?"
"I could scarcely guess."
"Senator Planefield sent them to me."
He regarded them in silence.
"They match the dress," she said, "and they belong to it."
"Yes," he answered, "they match the dress."
Then he was silent again.
"Well," she said, restlessly, "why don't you say something to me?"
"There isn't anything to say," he replied.
[Pg 239]
"You are thinking that I am very bad?" she said.
"You are trying to persuade yourself that you are very bad, and are finding a fictitious162 excitement in it; but it is all a mistake. It won't prove the consolation163 you expect it to," he answered. "Suppose you give it up before it gives rise to complications."
"We are talking of Bertha Amory again," she said. "Let us talk about Agnes Sylvestre. Don't you find her very beautiful?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Why don't you say more than 'yes'?" she asked. "You mean more."
"I couldn't mean more," he answered. "I should think it was enough to mean that much; there are even circumstances under which it might be too much."
"She is lovelier than she used to be," said Bertha, reflectively; "and more fascinating."
"Yes to that also," he responded.
"Any one might love her," she went on, in the same tone. "Any one."
"I should think so," he replied, quietly.
"I do not see how it would be possible," she added, "for any one—who was thrown with her—to resist her—unless it was some one like you."
She turned a faint smile upon him.
"I am glad," she said, "that you are not susceptible164."
"So am I," he said, with some dryness.
"If you were susceptible you would go too," she ended. "And I don't want every one to leave me."
"Every one?" he repeated.
She rose as if to go, giving a light touch to the folds of her dress, and still smiling a little.
"Colonel Tredennis has fallen a victim," she said, "in the most natural and proper manner. I knew he would, and he has distinguished himself by at once carrying out my plans for him. Now we must go back to the parlors. I have rested long enough."
They returned just in time to meet a fresh party of[Pg 240] callers, and Arbuthnot was of necessity thrown for the time being upon his own resources. These did not fail him. He found entertainment in his surroundings until a certain opportunity he had rather desired presented itself to him. He observed that Mrs. Sylvestre was once more near him, and that the men occupying her attention were on the point of taking their leave. By the time they had done so he had dexterously165 brought to a close his conversation with his male companion, and had unobtrusively forwarded himself, in an entirely incidental manner, as an aspirant166 for her notice.
She received him with a quiet suggestion of pleasure in her smile.
"Have you enjoyed the day?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied. "I am almost sorry that it is so nearly over. It has been very agreeable."
Then he found her eyes resting upon him in the quiet and rather incomprehensible way which Bertha had counted among her chiefest charms.
"Have you enjoyed it?" she inquired.
"If I had not," he said, "I should feel rather like a defeated candidate. One may always enjoy things if one applies one's self."
She seemed to reflect upon him an instant again.
"You see a great deal of Bertha?" she said.
"Yes, a great deal. Would you mind telling me why you ask?"
"Because that remark was so entirely like her," she replied.
"Well," he returned, "there is no denying that I have formed myself upon her, and though the fact reveals me in all my shallow imitative weakness, I can offer the apology that the means justifies168 the end. Upon the whole, I am glad to be detected, as it points to a measure of success in the attempt."
"But," she went on, "she tells me that she has formed herself upon you."
[Pg 241]
"Ah!" he said; "she meant you to repeat it to me, her design being to betray me into a display of intoxicated169 vanity."
"She is very fond of you," she remarked.
"I am very fond of her," he answered, quickly—and then relapsing into his usual manner—"though that is not a qualification sufficiently170 rare to distinguish me."
"No," she said, "it is not."
Then she gave Bertha one of the glances.
"It was very thoughtful in you to take her into the conservatory," she said. "I was startled to see how pale she looked as you left the room."
"She is not strong," he said, "and she insists on ignoring the fact."
"Do you know," said Mrs. Sylvestre, "that was what struck me when we met for the first time in the autumn—that she was not strong. She used to be strong."
"If she would accept the fact she would get over it," he said; "but she won't."
"I met her first at Newport," said Mrs. Sylvestre, "just after Janey's illness. For a day or so I felt that I did not know her at all; but in course of time I got over the feeling; or she changed—I scarcely know which. I suppose the strain during the little girl's illness had been very severe?"
"There is no doubt of that," said Arbuthnot; "and her anxiety had been much exaggerated."
"I shall see a great deal of her this winter," she returned, "and perhaps I may persuade her to take care of herself."
He spoke with a touch of eager seriousness in his manner.
"I wish you would," he said. "It is what she needs, that some woman should call her attention to the mistake she is making."
"I will try to do it," she responded, gently. "I am fond of her too."
[Pg 242]
"And you intend remaining in Washington?" he asked.
"Yes. I have had no plans for three years. When first it dawned on me that it would interest me to make plans again, I thought of Washington. I have found a house in Lafayette Square, and I think I shall be established in it, with the assistance of my aunt, who is to live with me, in about three weeks."
"That sounds very agreeable," he remarked.
"I shall hope to make it sufficiently so," she said. "Will you come sometimes to see if my efforts are successful?"
"If you knew how unworthy I am," he responded, "even my abject172 gratitude32 for your kindness would not repay you for it."
"Are you so very unworthy?" she was beginning, when her eyes appeared to be caught by some object at the other side of the room.
It was not a particularly interesting object. It was merely the figure of an unprepossessing boy, whose provincial173 homeliness174 was rendered doubly impressive by his frightful175 embarrassment176. He had arrived a few moments before, with two more finished youths, whose mother Bertha knew, and, having been basely deserted by them at the outset, had stranded177 upon the treacherous178 shores of inexperience as soon as he had shaken hands.
Mrs. Sylvestre's beautiful eyes dwelt upon him a moment with sympathy and interest.
"Will you excuse me," she said to Arbuthnot, "if I go and talk to that boy? Bertha is too busy to attend to him, and he seems to know no one."
Arbuthnot gave the boy a glance. He would not have regretted any comparatively harmless incident which would have removed him, but his own very naturally ignoble179 desire not to appear to a disadvantage restrained the impulse prompting a derisive180 remark. And while he objected to the boy in his most pronounced manner, he did not object in the least to what he was clever enough[Pg 243] to see in his companion's words and the ready sympathy they expressed. Indeed, there was a side of him which derived181 definite pleasure from it.
"I will excuse you," he answered; "but I need you more than the boy does, and I cannot help believing that I am more worthy171 of you; though, of course, I only use the word in its relative sense. As I remarked before, I am unworthy, but as compared to the boy—He is a frightful boy," he added, seeming to take him in more fully12; "but I dare say his crimes are unpremeditated. Let me go with you and find out if I know his mother. I frequently know their mothers."
"If you do know his mother, I am sure it will be a great relief to him, and it will assist me," said Mrs. Sylvestre.
They crossed the room together, and, seeing them approach, the boy blushed vermilion and moved uneasily from one foot to the other. Gradually, however, his aspect changed a little. Here were rather attractive worldlings whose bearing expressed no consciousness whatever of his crime of boyhood. He met Mrs. Sylvestre's eyes and blushed less; he glanced furtively182 at Arbuthnot, and suddenly forgot his hands and became almost unconscious of his legs.
"I have been asking Mrs. Sylvestre," said Arbuthnot, with civil mendacity, "if you did not come with the Bartletts. I thought I saw you come in together."
"Yes," responded the boy. "I am a cousin of theirs."
"Then I have heard them speak of you," Arbuthnot returned. "And I think I had the pleasure of meeting your sister several times last winter,—Miss Hemmingway?"
"Yes," said the boy; "she was here on a visit."
In two minutes he found himself conversing183 almost fluently, and it was Arbuthnot who was his inspiration equally with Mrs. Sylvestre. He was a modest and inoffensive youth, and overestimated184 the brilliance185 of the scenes surrounding him, and the gifts and charms of his[Pg 244] new-found friends, with all the ardor186 of his tender years. To him, Arbuthnot's pale, well-bred face and simple, immaculate attire187 represented luxury, fashion, and the whirling vortex of society. The kindly188 imagination of simplicity189 bestowed190 upon him an unlimited191 income and an exalted192 position in the diplomatic corps193, at least; his ease of manner and readiness of speech seeming gifts only possible of attainment194 through familiarity with foreign courts and effete195 civilizations. When he was asked how he liked Washington, if he intended to spend the season with his relations, if he had made many calls, and if the day did not seem to be an unusually gay one, he accomplished the feat167 of answering each question, even adding an original remark or so of his own. The conversation seemed to assume a tone of almost feverish196 brilliancy in view of the social atmosphere surrounding these queries197. When he was led into the adjoining room to partake of refreshments198 he ate his lobster-salad with an honest young appetite, much aided by the fact that Mrs. Sylvestre gave him his coffee, and, taking a cup herself, sat down by him on a sofa. As he watched her, Arbuthnot was thinking her manner very soft and pretty, and, inspired by it, his own became all that could be desired in the way of dexterity199 and tact200. As he exercised himself in his entertainment, his first objections to the boy gradually vanished; he plied97 him with refreshments, and encouraged him to renewed conversational201 effort, deriving202 finally some satisfaction from finding himself able to bring to bear upon him with successful results his neatly203 arranged and classified social gifts. When the young Bartletts—who had been enjoying themselves immensely in the next room—suddenly remembered their charge, and came in search of him, their frank countenances204 expressed some surprise at the position they found him occupying. He was relating with some spirit the story of a boat-race, and Mrs. Sylvestre, who sat at his side, was listening with the most perfect air of attention and[Pg 245] pleasure, while Arbuthnot stood near, apparently bent upon losing nothing of the history. He ended the story with some natural precipitation and rose to go, a trifle of his embarrassment returning as he found himself once more, as it were, exposed to the glare of day. He was not quite sure what conventionality demanded of him in the way of adieus; but when Mrs. Sylvestre relieved him by extending her hand, nature got the better of him, and he seized it with ardor.
"I've had a splendid time," he said, blushing. "This is the nicest reception I've been to yet. The house is so pretty and—and everything. I was thinking I shouldn't go anywhere else; but I believe I shall now."
When he shook hands with Arbuthnot he regarded him with admiration205 and awe206.
"I'm much obliged to you," he said, his vague sense of indebtedness taking form. "If you ever come to Whippleville I'm sure my father would like to—to see you."
And he retired207 with his young relatives, blushing still, and occasionally treading on their feet, but his modesty208, notwithstanding, bearing with him an inoffensive air of self-respect, which would be more than likely to last him through the day, and perhaps a little beyond it.
Mrs. Sylvestre's eyes met Arbuthnot's when he was gone.
"You were very kind to him," she said.
"I am obliged to confess," he replied, "that it was nothing but the low promptings of vanity which inspired me. It dawned upon me that he was impressed by my superior ease and elegance209, and I seized the opportunity of exhibiting them."
"You knew just what to say to him," she added.
"That," he replied, "was entirely owing to the fact that I was a boy myself in the early part of the last century."
"He was an appreciative210 boy," she said, "and a[Pg 246] grateful one; but I am sure I could not have made him comfortable if you had not been so kind."
And she once again bestowed upon him the subtle flattery of appearing to lose herself an instant in reflection upon him.
There were no more callers after this. Later on an unconventional little dinner was served, during which Mrs. Sylvestre was placed between Arbuthnot and Tredennis, Planefield loomed211 up massive and florid at Bertha's side, and Richard devoted212 himself with delightful ardor to discussing French politics with the young woman who fell to his share.
This young woman, whose attire was perfect and whose manner was admirable, and who was furthermore endowed with a piquant213, irregular face and a captivating voice, had attracted Tredennis's attention early in the evening. She had been talking to Richard when he had seen her first, and she had been talking to Richard at intervals ever since, and evidently talking very well.
"I don't know your friend," he said to Bertha, after dinner, "and I did not hear her name when I was presented."
"Then you have hitherto lived in vain," said Bertha, glancing at her. "That is what Richard would tell you. Her name is Helen Varien."
"It is a very pretty name," remarked Tredennis.
"Ah!" said Bertha. "You certainly might trust her not to have an ugly one. She has attained that state of finish in the matter of her appendages214 which insures her being invariably to be relied on. I think she must even have invented her relatives—or have ordered them, giving carte blanche."
She watched her a moment with a smile of interest.
"Do you see how her sleeves fit?" she asked. "It was her sleeves which first attracted my attention. I saw them at a luncheon215 in New York, and they gave me new theories of life. When a woman can accomplish[Pg 247] sleeves like those, society need ask nothing further of her."
Tredennis glanced down at her own.
"Have you accomplished"—he suggested.
"In moments of rashness and folly," she answered, "I have occasionally been betrayed into being proud of my sleeves; but now I realize that the feeling was simply impious."
He waited with grim patience until she had finished, and then turned his back upon Miss Varien's sleeves.
"Will you tell me about Janey?" he said.
"When last I saw her, which was this morning," she replied, "she was as well as usual, and so were the others. Now I have no doubt they are all in bed."
"May I come and see them to-morrow, or the day after?"
"Yes," she answered. "And at anytime. I hope you will come often. Mrs. Sylvestre will be with me until her house is ready for her, and, as I said before, I wish you to know her well."
"I shall feel it a great privilege," he responded.
She leaned back a little in her chair, and regarded her with an expression of interest even greater than she had been aroused to by the contemplation of Miss Varien's sleeves.
"Have you found out yet," she inquired, "what her greatest charm is?"
"Is it by any chance a matter of sleeves?" he asked; and he made the suggestion stolidly216.
"No," she answered, "it is not sleeves. One's difficulty is to decide what it is. A week ago I thought it was her voice. Yesterday I was sure it was her eyelashes and the soft shadow they make about her eyes. About an hour ago I was convinced it was her smile, and now I think it must be her power of fixing her attention upon you. See how it flatters Mr. Arbuthnot, and how, though he is conscious of his weakness, he[Pg 248] succumbs217 to it. It will be very pleasant occupation during the winter to watch his struggles."
"Will he struggle?" said Tredennis, still immovably. "I don't think I would in his place."
"Oh, no," she answered. "You mustn't struggle."
"I will not," he returned.
She went on with a smile, as if he had spoken in the most responsive manner possible.
"Mr. Arbuthnot's struggles will not be of the usual order," she remarked. "He will not be struggling with his emotions, but with his vanity. He knows that she will not fall in love with him, and he has no intention of falling in love with her. He knows better—and he does not like affairs. But he will find that she is able to do things which will flatter him, and that it will require all his self-control to refrain from displaying his masculine delight in himself and the good-fortune which he has the secret anguish218 of knowing does not depend upon his merits. And his struggles at a decently composed demeanor219, entirely untinged by weak demonstrations220 of pleasure or consciousness of himself, will be a very edifying221 spectacle."
She turned her glance from Arbuthnot and Mrs. Sylvestre, whom she had been watching as she spoke, and looked up at Tredennis. She did so because he had made a rather sudden movement, and placed himself immediately before her.
"Bertha," he said, "I am going away."
Her Jacqueminot roses had been lying upon her lap. She picked them up before she answered him.
"You have made too many calls," she said. "You are tired."
"I have not made too many calls," he replied; "but I am tired. I am tired of this."
"I was afraid you were," she said, and kept her eyes fixed upon the roses.
"You were very fair to me," he said, "and you gave me warning. I told you I should not profit by it, and[Pg 249] I did not. I don't know what I expected when I came here to-day, but it was not exactly this. You are too agile222 for me; I cannot keep up with you."
"You are not modern," she said. "You must learn to adjust yourself rapidly to changes of mental attitude."
"No, I am not modern," he returned; "and I am always behindhand. I do not enjoy myself when you tell me it is a fine day, and that it was colder yesterday, and will be warmer to-morrow; and I am at a loss when you analyze223 Mr. Arbuthnot's struggles with his vanity."
"I am not serious enough," she interrupted. "You would prefer that I should be more serious."
"It would avail me but little to tell you what I should prefer," he said, obstinately224. "I will tell you a simple thing before I go,—all this counts for nothing."
She moved slightly.
"All this," she repeated, "counts for nothing."
"For nothing," he repeated. "You cannot change me. I told you that. You may give me some sharp wounds,—I know you won't spare those,—and because I am only a man I shall show that I smart under them; but they will not move me otherwise. Be as frivolous as you like, mock at everything human if you choose; but don't expect me to believe you."
She put the flowers to her face and held them there a second.
"The one thing I should warn you against," she said, "would be against believing me. I don't make the mistake of believing myself."
She put the flowers down.
"You think I am trying to deceive you," she said. "There would have to be a reason for my doing it. What should you think would be the reason?"
"So help me God!" he answered, "I don't know."
"Neither do I," she said.
Then she glanced about her over the room,—at Planefield, rather restively225 professing226 to occupy himself with[Pg 250] a pretty girl; at Miss Varien, turned a trifle sidewise in her large chair so that her beautiful sleeve was displayed to the most perfect advantage, and her vivacious face was a little uplifted as she spoke to Richard, who leaned on the high back of her seat; at Arbuthnot, talking to Agnes Sylvestre, and plainly at no loss of words; at the lights and flowers and ornamented227 tables seen through the portières,—and then she spoke again.
"I tell you," she said, "it is this that is real—this. The other was only a kind of dream."
She made a sudden movement and sat upright on her chair, as if she meant to shake herself free from something.
"There was no other," she said. "It wasn't even a dream. There never was anything but this."
She left her chair and stood up before him, smiling.
"The sky was not blue," she said, "nor the hills purple; there were no chestnut228 trees, and no carnations229. Let us go and sit with the rest, and listen to Mr. Arbuthnot and admire Miss Varien's sleeves."
But he stood perfectly still.
"I told you I was going away," he said, "and I am going. To-morrow I shall come and see the children—unless you tell me that you do not wish to see me again."
"I shall not tell you that," she returned, "because it would be at once uncivil and untrue."
"Then I shall come," he said.
"That will be kind of you," she responded, and gave him her hand, and after he had made his bow over it, and his adieus to the rest of the company, he left them.
Bertha crossed the room and stood near the fire, putting one foot on the fender, and shivering a little.
"Are you cold?" asked Miss Varien.
"Yes—no," she answered. "If I did not know better, I should think I was."
"Allow me," said Miss Varien, "to make the cheerful suggestion that that sounds quite like malaria230."
"Thank you," said Bertha; "that seems plausible, and I don't rebel against it. It has an air of dealing231 with glittering generalities, and yet it seems to decide matters for one. We will call it malaria."
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1
exigencies
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| n.急切需要 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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embellished
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| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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impugned
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| v.非难，指谪( impugn的过去式和过去分词 )；对…有怀疑 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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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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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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forger
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| v.伪造；n.（钱、文件等的）伪造者 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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probity
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| n.刚直；廉洁，正直 | |
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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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deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vilified
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| v.中伤，诽谤( vilify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lauded
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| v.称赞，赞美( laud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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condemning
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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bribery
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| n.贿络行为，行贿，受贿 | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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expend
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| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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inadequacy
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| n.无法胜任，信心不足 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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catastrophes
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| n.灾祸( catastrophe的名词复数 )；灾难；不幸事件；困难 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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43
postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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perquisites
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| n.（工资以外的）财务补贴( perquisite的名词复数 )；额外收入；（随职位而得到的）好处；利益 | |
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worthiness
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| 价值，值得 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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49
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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50
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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51
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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52
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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53
omnipotent
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| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
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54
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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55
delinquent
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| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
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56
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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57
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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58
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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59
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
propitiate
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| v.慰解，劝解 | |
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61
jeopardy
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| n.危险；危难 | |
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62
regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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63
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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64
engulf
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| vt.吞没，吞食 | |
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65
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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66
thronged
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|
| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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68
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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69
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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70
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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71
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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72
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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73
exalts
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| 赞扬( exalt的第三人称单数 )； 歌颂； 提升； 提拔 | |
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74
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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75
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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76
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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77
picturesque
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|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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78
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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79
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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80
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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81
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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82
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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83
peculiar
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|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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84
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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85
professes
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| 声称( profess的第三人称单数 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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86
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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87
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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88
delightful
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|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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89
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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90
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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91
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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92
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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93
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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94
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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95
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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96
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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97
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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98
malleable
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|
| adj.(金属)可锻的;有延展性的；(性格)可训练的 | |
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99
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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100
picturesqueness
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101
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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102
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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103
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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104
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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105
deserted
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|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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106
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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107
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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108
sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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109
erase
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| v.擦掉；消除某事物的痕迹 | |
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110
utterly
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|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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111
countenance
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|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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112
palled
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| v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
sumptuous
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|
| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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114
parlors
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|
| 客厅( parlor的名词复数 )； 起居室； （旅馆中的）休息室； （通常用来构成合成词）店 | |
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115
middle-aged
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|
| adj.中年的 | |
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116
timorously
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| adv.胆怯地，羞怯地 | |
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117
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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118
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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119
buckle
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|
| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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120
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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121
scintillating
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| adj．才气横溢的,闪闪发光的; 闪烁的 | |
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122
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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123
decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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124
metaphorically
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|
| adv. 用比喻地 | |
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125
appropriation
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| n.拨款，批准支出 | |
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126
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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127
grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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128
momentary
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|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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129
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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130
beguiled
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|
| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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131
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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132
candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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133
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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134
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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135
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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136
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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137
equanimity
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|
| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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138
redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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139
illiberality
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| n.吝啬，小气 | |
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140
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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141
serenely
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|
| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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142
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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143
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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144
inflexibility
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|
| n.不屈性，顽固，不变性；不可弯曲；非挠性；刚性 | |
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145
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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146
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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147
secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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148
blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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149
discreet
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|
| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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150
subsist
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| vi.生存，存在，供养 | |
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151
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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152
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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153
intervals
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|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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154
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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155
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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156
flinching
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
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157
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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158
brutal
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|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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159
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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160
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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161
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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162
fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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163
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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164
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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165
dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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166
aspirant
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| n.热望者；adj.渴望的 | |
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167
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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168
justifies
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|
| 证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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169
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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170
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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171
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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172
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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173
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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174
homeliness
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|
| n.简朴，朴实；相貌平平 | |
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175
frightful
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|
| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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176
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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177
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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178
treacherous
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|
| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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179
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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180
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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181
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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182
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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183
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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184
overestimated
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| 对（数量）估计过高，对…作过高的评价( overestimate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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185
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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186
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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187
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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188
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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189
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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190
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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191
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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192
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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193
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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194
attainment
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| n.达到，到达；［常pl.］成就，造诣 | |
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195
effete
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| adj.无生产力的，虚弱的 | |
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196
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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197
queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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198
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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199
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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200
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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201
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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202
deriving
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| v.得到( derive的现在分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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203
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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204
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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205
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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206
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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207
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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208
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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209
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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210
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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211
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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212
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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214
appendages
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| n.附属物( appendage的名词复数 )；依附的人；附属器官；附属肢体（如臂、腿、尾等） | |
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215
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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216
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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217
succumbs
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的第三人称单数 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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218
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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219
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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220
demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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221
edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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222
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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223
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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224
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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225
restively
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| adv.倔强地，难以驾御地 | |
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226
professing
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| 声称( profess的现在分词 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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227
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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228
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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229
carnations
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| n.麝香石竹，康乃馨( carnation的名词复数 ) | |
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230
malaria
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| n.疟疾 | |
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231
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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