Thus, the society column of a daily paper, and a week later Mrs. Merriam arrived, and the house on Lafayette Square was taken possession of.
It was one of the older houses,—a large and substantial one, whose rather rigorous exterior3 still held forth4 promises of possibilities in the way of interior development. Arbuthnot heard Bertha mention one day that one of Mrs. Sylvestre's chief reasons for selecting it was that it "looked quiet," and he reflected upon this afterward5 as being rather unusual as the reason of a young and beautiful woman.
"Though, after all, she 'looks quiet' herself," was his mental comment. "If I felt called upon to remark upon her at all, I should certainly say that she was a perfectly6 composed person. Perhaps that is the groove7 she chooses to live in, or it may be simply her nature. I shouldn't mind knowing which."
He was rather desirous of seeing what she would make of the place inside, but the desire was by no means strong enough to lead him to make his first call upon her an hour earlier than he might have been expected according to the strictest canons of good taste.
On her part Mrs. Sylvestre found great pleasure in[Pg 283] the days spent in establishing herself. For years her life had been an unsettled one, and the prospect8 of arranging a home according to her own tastes—and especially a home in Washington—was very agreeable to her. Her fortune was large, her time was her own, and as in the course of her rambling10 she had collected innumerable charming and interesting odds11 and ends, there was no reason why her house should not be a delightful12 one.
For several days she was quite busy and greatly interested. She found her pictures, plaques13, and hangings even more absorbing than she had imagined they would be. She spent her mornings in arranging and rearranging cabinets, walls, and mantels, and moved about her rooms wearing a faint smile of pleasure on her lips, and a faint tinge14 of color on her cheeks.
"Really," she said to Bertha, who dropped in to see her one morning, and found her standing15 in the middle of the room reflecting upon a pretty old blue cup and saucer, "I am quite happy in a quiet way. I seem to be shut in from the world and life, and all busy things, and to find interest enough in the color of a bit of china, or the folds of a portière. It seems almost exciting to put a thing on a shelf, and then take it down and put it somewhere else."
When Arbuthnot passed the house he saw that rich Eastern-looking stuffs curtained the windows, and great Indian jars stood on the steps and balconies, as if ready for plants. In exhausting the resources of the universe Mr. Sylvestre had given some attention to India, and, being a man of caprices, had not returned from his explorings empty-handed. A carriage stood before the house, and the door being open, revealed glimpses of pictures and hangings in the hall, which were pleasantly suggestive.
"She will make it attractive," Arbuthnot said to himself. "That goes without saying. And she will be rather perilously16 so herself."
[Pg 284]
His first call upon her was always a very distinct memory to him. It was made on a rather chill and unpleasant evening, and, being admitted by a servant into the hall he had before caught a glimpse of, its picturesque17 comfort and warmth impressed themselves upon him in the strongest possible contrast to the raw dampness and darkness of the night. Through half-drawn portières he had a flitting glance at two or three rooms and a passing impression of some bright or deep point of color on drapery, bric-à-brac, or pictures, and then he was ushered18 into the room in which Mrs. Sylvestre sat herself. She had been sitting before the fire with a book upon her lap, and she rose to meet him, still holding the volume in her hand. She was dressed in violet and wore a large cluster of violets loosely at her waist. She looked very slender, and tall, and fair, and the rich, darkly glowing colors of the furniture and hangings formed themselves into a background for her, as if the accomplishment19 of that end had been the sole design of their existence. Arbuthnot even wondered if it was possible that she would ever again look so well as she did just at the instant she rose and moved forward, though he recognized the folly20 of the thought before ten minutes had passed.
She looked quite as well when she reseated herself, and even better when she became interested in the conversation which followed. It was a conversation which dealt principally with the changes which had taken place in Washington during her absence from it. She found a great many.
"It strikes me as a little singular that you do not resent them more," said Arbuthnot.
"Most of them are changes for the better," she answered.
"Ah!" he returned; "but that would not make any difference to the ordinary mind—unless it awakened22 additional resentment23. There is a sense of personal injury in recognizing that improvements have been made entirely24 without our assistance."
[Pg 285]
"I do not feel it," was her reply, "or it is lost in my pleasure in being at home again."
"She has always thought of it as 'home' then," was Arbuthnot's mental comment. "That is an inadvertent speech which tells a story."
His impressions of the late Mr. Sylvestre were not agreeable ones. He had heard him discussed frequently by men who had known him, and the stories told of him were not pleasant. After fifteen minutes in the crucible25 of impartial26 public opinion, his manifold brilliant gifts and undeniable graces and attainments27 had a habit of disappearing in vapor28, and leaving behind them a residuum of cold-blooded selfishness and fine disregard of all human feelings in others, not easily disposed of. Arbuthnot had also noticed that there was but one opinion expressed on the subject of his marriage.
"He married a lovely girl twelve or fifteen years younger than himself," he had heard a man say once. "I should like to see what he has made of her."
"You would!" ejaculated an older man. "I shouldn't! Heaven forbid!"
It added greatly to Arbuthnot's interest in her that she bore no outward signs of any conflict she might have passed through. Whatever it had been, she had borne it with courage, and kept her secret her own. The quiet of her manner was not suggestive either of sadness or self-repression, and she made no apparent effort to evade29 mention of her married life, though, as she spoke30 of herself but seldom, it seemed entirely natural that she should refer rarely to the years she had passed away from Washington.
When, a little later, Mrs. Merriam came in, she proved to be as satisfactory as all other appurtenances to the household. She was a picturesque, elderly woman, with a small, elegant figure, an acute little countenance31, and large, dark eyes, which sparkled in the most amazing manner at times. She was an old[Pg 286] Washingtonian herself, had lived through several administrations, and had made the most of her experience. She seemed to have personally known the notabilities of half a century, and her reminiscences gave Arbuthnot a feeling of being surpassingly youthful and modern. She had been living abroad for the last seven years, and, finding herself at home once more, seemed to settle down with a sense of relief.
"It is a bad habit to get into—this of living abroad," she said. "It is a habit, and it grows on one. I went away intending to remain a year, and I should probably have ended my existence in Europe if Mrs. Sylvestre had not brought me home. I was always a little homesick, too, and continually felt the need of a new administration; but I lacked the resolution it required to leave behind me the things I had become accustomed to."
When he went away Arbuthnot discovered that it was with her he had talked more than with Mrs. Sylvestre, and yet, while he had been in the room, it had not occurred to him that Mrs. Sylvestre was silent. Her silence was not unresponsiveness. When he looked back upon it he found that there was even something delicately inspiring in it. "It is that expression of gentle attentiveness32 in her eyes," he said. "It makes your most trivial remark of consequence, and convinces you that, if she spoke, she would be sure to say what it would please you most to hear. It is a great charm."
For a few moments before returning to his rooms he dropped in upon the Amory household.
There was no one in the parlor33 when he entered but Colonel Tredennis, who stood with his back to the fire, apparently34 plunged35 deep in thought, his glance fixed36 upon the rug at his feet. He was in evening dress, and held a pair of white gloves in his hand, but he did not wear a festive37 countenance. Arbuthnot thought that he looked jaded38 and worn. Certainly there were deep lines left on his forehead, even when he glanced up and straightened it.
[Pg 287]
"I am waiting for Mrs. Amory," he said. "Amory is out of town, and, as we were both going to the reception at the Secretary of State's, I am to accompany her. I think she will be down directly. Yes, there she is."
They saw her through the portières descending39 the staircase as he spoke. She was gleaming in creamy satin and lace, and carried a wrap over her arm. She came into the room with a soft rustle40 of trailing draperies, and Tredennis stirred slightly, and then stood still.
"Did I keep you waiting very long?" she said. "I hope not," and then turned to Arbuthnot, as she buttoned her long glove deliberately41.
"Richard has gone to Baltimore with a theatre party," she explained. "Miss Varien went and half-a-dozen others. I did not care to go; and Richard persuaded Colonel Tredennis to assume his responsibilities for the evening and take me to the Secretary of State's. The President is to be there, and as I have not yet told him that I approve of his Cabinet and don't object to his message, I feel I ought not to keep him in suspense42 any longer."
"Your approval will naturally remove a load of anxiety from his mind," said Arbuthnot. "Can I be of any assistance to you in buttoning that glove?"
She hesitated a second and then extended her wrist. To Arbuthnot, who had occasionally performed the service for her before, there was something novel both in the hesitation43 and the delicate suggestion of coquettish surrender in her gesture. It had been the chief of her charms for him that her coquetries were of the finer and more reserved sort, and that they had never expended44 themselves upon him. This was something so new that his momentary45 bewilderment did not add to his dexterity46, and the glove-buttoning was of longer duration than it would otherwise have been.
While it was being accomplished47 Colonel Tredennis[Pg 288] looked on in silence. He had never buttoned a woman's glove in his life. It seemed to him that it was scarcely the thing for a man who was neither husband, brother, nor lover to do. If there was any deep feeling in his heart, how could this careless, conventional fellow stand there and hold her little wrist and meet her lifted eyes without betraying himself? His reasoning was not very logical in its nature: it was the reasoning of pain and hot anger, and other uneasy and masterful emotions, which so got the better of him that he turned suddenly away that he might not see, scarcely knowing what he did. It was an abrupt48 movement and attracted Arbuthnot's attention, as also did something else,—a movement of Bertha's,—an unsteadiness of the gloved hand which, however, was speedily controlled or ended. He glanced at her, but only to find her smiling, though her breath came a little quickly, and her eyes looked exceedingly bright.
"I am afraid you find it rather troublesome," she said.
"Extremely," he replied; "but I look upon it in the light of moral training, and, sustained by a sense of duty, will endeavor to persevere49."
He felt the absurdity50 and triviality of the words all the more, perhaps, because as he uttered them he caught a glimpse of Tredennis' half-averted face. There was that in its jaded look which formed too sharp a contrast to inconsequent jesting.
"It is not getting easier for him," was his thought. "It won't until it has driven him harder even than it does now."
Perhaps there was something in his own humor which made him a trifle more susceptible51 to outward influences than usual. As has been already intimated, he had his moods, and he had felt one of them creeping upon him like a shadow during his brief walk through the dark streets.
"I hear the carriage at the door," he said, when he[Pg 289] had buttoned the glove. "Don't let me detain you, I am on my way home."
"You have been?"—questioned Bertha, suddenly awakening52 to a new interest on her own part.
"I called upon Mrs. Sylvestre," he answered.
And then he assisted her to put on her wrap and they all went out to the carriage together. When she was seated and the door closed, Bertha leaned forward and spoke through the open window.
"Don't you think the house very pretty?" she inquired.
"Very," was his brief reply, and though she seemed to expect him to add more, he did not do so, and the carriage drove away and left him standing upon the sidewalk.
"Ah!" said Bertha, leaning back, with a faint smile, "he will go again and again, and yet again."
"Will he?" said the colonel. "Let us hope he will enjoy it." But the truth was that the subject did not awaken21 in him any absorbing interest.
"Oh! he will enjoy it," she responded.
"And Mrs. Sylvestre?" suggested Tredennis.
"He will never be sure what she thinks of him, or what she wishes him to think of her, though she will have no caprices, and will always treat him beautifully, and the uncertainty53 will make him enjoy himself more than ever."
"Such a state of bliss," said the colonel, "is indeed greatly to be envied."
He was always conscious of a rather dreary54 sense of bewilderment when he heard himself giving voice in his deep tones to such small change as the above remark. Under such circumstances there was suggested to him the idea that for the moment he had changed places with some more luckily facile creature and represented him but awkwardly. And yet, of late, he had found himself gradually bereft55 of all other conversational56 resource. Since the New Year's day, when Bertha had called his attention to the weather, he had seen in her[Pg 290] no vestige57 of what had so moved him in the brief summer holiday in which she had seemed to forget to arm herself against him.
It appeared that his place was fixed for him, and that nothing remained but to occupy it with as good a grace as possible. But he knew he had not borne it well at the outset. It was but nature that he should have borne it ill, and have made some effort at least to understand the meaning of the change in her.
"All this goes for nothing," he had said to her; but it had not gone for nothing, after all. A man who loves a woman with the whole force of his being, whether it is happily or unhappily, is not a well-regulated creature wholly under his own control. His imagination will play him bitter tricks and taunt58 him many an hour, both in the bright day and in the dead watches of the night, when he wakens to face his misery59 alone. He will see things as they are not, and be haunted by phantoms60 whose vague outlines torture him, while he knows their unreality.
"It is not true," he will say. "It cannot be—and yet if it should be—though it is not."
A word, a smile, the simplest glance or tone, will distort themselves until their very slightness seems the most damning proof. But that he saw his own folly and danger, there were times on those first days when Tredennis might have been betrayed by his fierce sense of injury into mistakes which it would have been impossible for him to retrieve61 by any after effort. But even in the moments of his greatest weakness he refused to trifle with himself. On the night of the New Year's day when Bertha and Agnes had sat together, he had kept a vigil too. The occupant of the room below his had heard him walking to and fro, and had laid his restlessness to a great number of New Year's calls instead of to a guilty conscience. But the colonel had been less lenient62 with himself, and had fought a desperate battle in the silent hours.
[Pg 291]
"What rights have I," he had said, in anguish63 and humiliation64,—"what rights have I at the best? If her heart was as tender toward me as it seems hard, that would be worse than all. It would seem then that I must tear myself from her for her sake as well as for my own. As it is I can at least be near her, and torture myself and let her torture me, and perhaps some day do her some poor kindness of which she knows nothing. Only I must face the truth that I have no claim upon her—none. If she chooses to change her mood, why should I expect or demand an explanation? The wife of one man, the—the beloved of another—O Bertha! Bertha!" And he buried his face in his hands and sat so in the darkness, and in the midst of his misery he seemed to hear again the snatch of song she had sung as she sat on the hill-side, with her face half upturned to the blue sky.
The memory of that day, and of some of those which had gone before it, cost him more than all else. It came back to him suddenly when he had reduced himself to a dead level of feeling; once or twice, when he was with Bertha herself, it returned to him with such freshness and vivid truth, that it seemed for a moment that a single word would sweep every barrier away, and they would stand face to face, speaking the simple truth, whatever it might be.
"Why not?" he thought. "Why not, after all, if she is unhappy and needs a friend, why should it not be the man who would bear either death or life for her?" But he said nothing of this when he spoke to her. After their first two or three interviews he said less than ever. Each of those interviews was like the first. She talked to him as she talked to Arbuthnot, to Planefield, to the attachés of the legations, to the clever newspaper man from New York or Boston, who was brought in by a friend on one of her evenings, because he wished to see if the paragraphists had overrated her attractions. She paid him graceful65 conventional attentions; she met[Pg 292] him with a smile when he entered; if he was grave, she hoped he was not unwell or out of spirits; she made fine, feathery, jesting little speeches, as if she expected them to amuse him; she gave him his share of her presence, of her conversation, of her laugh, and went her way to some one else to whom she gave the same things.
"And why should I complain?" he said.
But he did complain, or some feverish66, bitter ache in his soul complained for him, and wrought67 him all sorts of evil, and wore him out, and deepened the lines on his face, and made him feel old and hopeless. He was very kind to Janey in those days and spent a great deal of time with her. It was Janey who was his favorite, though he was immensely liberal to Jack68, and bestowed69 upon Meg, who was too young for him, elaborate and expensive toys, which she reduced to fragments and dissected71 and analyzed72 with her brother's assistance. He used to go to see Janey in the nursery and take her out to walk and drive, and at such times felt rather glad that she was not like her mother. She bore no likeness73 to Bertha, and was indeed thought to resemble the professor, who was given to wondering at her as he had long ago wondered at her mother. The colonel fancied that it rested him to ramble74 about in company with this small creature. They went to the parks, hand in hand, so often that the nurse-maids who took their charges there began to know them quite well, the popular theory among them being that the colonel was an interesting widower75, and the little one his motherless child. The winter was a specially9 mild one, even for Washington, and it was generally pleasant out of doors, and frequently Janey's escort sat on one of the green benches and read his paper while she disported76 herself on the grass near him, or found entertainment in propelling her family of dolls up and down the walk in their carriage. They had long and interesting conversations together, and once or twice even went to the Capitol itself, and visited the House and the Senate,[Pg 293] deriving77 much pleasure and benefit from looking down upon the rulers of their country "rising to points of order" in their customary awe-inspiring way. On one of these occasions, possibly overpowered by the majesty78 of the scene, Janey fell asleep, and an hour later, as Bertha stepped from her carriage, with cards and calling-list in hand, she encountered a large, well-known figure, bearing in its arms, with the most astonishing accustomed gentleness and care, a supine little form, whose head confidingly79 reposed80 on the broadest of shoulders.
"She went to sleep," said the colonel, with quite a paternal82 demeanor83.
He thought at first that Bertha was going to kiss the child. She made a step forward, an eager tenderness kindling84 in her eyes, then checked herself and laughed, half shrugging her shoulders.
"May I ask if you carried her the entire length of the avenue in the face of the multitude?" she said. "You were very good, and displayed most delightful moral courage if you did; but it must not occur again. She must not go out without a nurse, if she is so much trouble."
"She is no trouble," he answered, "and it was not necessary to carry her the length of the avenue."
Bertha went into the house before him.
"I will ring for a nurse," she said at the parlor door. "She will be attended to—and you are extremely amiable85. I have been calling all the afternoon and have just dropped in for Richard, who is going with me to the Drummonds' musicale."
But Tredennis did not wait for the nurse. He knew the way to the nursery well enough, and bore off his little burden to her own domains86 sans cérémonie, while Bertha stood and watched him from below.
If she had been gay the winter before, she was gayer still now. She had her afternoon for reception and her evening at home, and gave, also, a series of more elaborate and formal entertainments. At these[Pg 294] festivities the political element was represented quite brilliantly. She professed87 to have begun at last to regard politics seriously, and, though this statement was not received with the most entire confidence, the most liberal encouragement was bestowed upon her. Richard, especially, seemed to find entertainment in her whim88. He even admitted that he himself took an interest in the affairs of the nation this winter. He had been awakened to it by his intimacy89 with Planefield, which increased as the business connected with the Westoria lands grew upon him. There was a great deal of this business to be transacted90, it appeared, though his references to the particular form of his share of it were never very definite, being marked chiefly by a brilliant vagueness which, Bertha was wont91 to observe, added interest to the subject.
"I should not understand if you explained it, of course," she said. "And, as I don't understand, I can give play to a naturally vivid imagination. All sorts of events may depend upon you. Perhaps it is even necessary of you to 'lobby,' and you are engaged in all sorts of machinations. How do people 'lobby,' Richard, and is there an opening in the profession for a young person of undeniable gifts and charms?"
In these days Planefield presented himself more frequently than ever. People began to expect to see his large, florid figure at the "evenings" and dinner-parties, and gradually he and his friends formed an element in them. It was a new element, and not altogether the most delightful one. Some of the friends were not remarkable92 for polish of manner and familiarity with the convenances, and one or two of them, after they began to feel at ease, talked a good deal in rather pronounced tones, and occasionally enjoyed themselves with a freedom from the shackles93 of ceremony which seemed rather to belong to some atmosphere other than that of the pretty, bright parlors94. But it would not have been easy to determine what Bertha thought of the matter.[Pg 295] She accepted Richard's first rather apologetic mention of it gracefully95 enough, and, after a few evenings, he no longer apologized.
"They may be a trifle uncouth," he had said; "but some of them are tremendous fellows when you understand them,—shrewd, far-seeing politicians, who may astonish the world any day by some sudden, brilliant move. Such men nearly always work their way from the ranks, and have had no time to study the graces; but they are very interesting, and will appreciate the attention you show them. There is that man Bowman, for instance,—began life as a boy in a blacksmith's shop, and has been in Congress for years. They would send him to the Senate if they could spare him. He is a positive mine of political information, and knows the Westoria business from beginning to end."
"They all seem to know more or less of it," said Bertha. "That is our atmosphere now. I am gradually assimilating information myself."
But Tredennis did not reconcile himself to the invasion. He looked on in restless resentment. What right had such men to be near her, was his bitter thought. Being a man himself, he knew more of some of them than he could remember without anger or distaste. He could not regard them impartially96 as mere97 forces, forgetting all else. When he saw Planefield at her side, bold, fulsome98, bent99 on absorbing her attention and frequently succeeding through sheer thick-skinned pertinacity100, he was filled with wrathful repulsion. This man at least he knew had no right to claim consideration from her, and yet somehow he seemed to have established himself in an intimacy which appeared gradually to become a part of her every-day life. This evening, on entering the house, he had met him leaving it, and when he went into the parlor he had seen upon Bertha's little work-table the customary sumptuous101 offering of Jacqueminot roses. She carried the flowers in her hand now—their heavy perfume filled the carriage.
[Pg 296]
"There is no use in asking why she does it," he was thinking. "I have given up expecting to understand her. I suppose she has a reason. I won't believe it is as poor a one as common vanity or coquetry. Such things are beneath her."
He understood himself as little as he understood her. There were times when he wondered how long his unhappiness would last, and if it would not die a natural death. No man's affection and tenderness could feed upon nothing and survive, he told himself again and again. And what was there to sustain his? This was not the woman he had dreamed of,—from her it should be easy enough for him to shake himself free. What to him were her cleverness, her bright eyes, her power over herself and others, the subtle charms and graces which were shared by all who came near her? They were only the gift of a finer order of coquette, who was a greater success than the rest because nature had been lavish102 with her. It was not these things which could have changed and colored all life for him. If all his thoughts of her had been mere fancies it would be only natural that he should outlive his experience, and in time look back upon it as simply an episode which might have formed a part of the existence of any man. There had been nights when he had left the house, thinking it would be far better for him never to return if he could remain away without awakening comment; but, once in the quiet of his room, there always came back to him memories and fancies he could not rid himself of, and which made the scenes he had left behind unreal. He used to think it must be this which kept his tenderness from dying a lingering death. When he was alone it seemed as if he found himself face to face again with the old, innocent ideal that followed him with tender, appealing eyes and would not leave him. He began to have an odd fancy about the feeling. It was as if, when he left the silent room, he left in it the truth and reality of his dream and found them there when he returned.
[Pg 297]
"Why do you look at me so?" Bertha said to him one night, turning suddenly aside from the group she had been the central figure of. "You look at me as if—as if I were a ghost, and you were ready to see me vanish into thin air."
He made a slight movement as if rousing himself.
"That is it," he answered. "I am waiting to see you vanish."
"But you will not see it," she said. "You will be disappointed. I am real—real! A ghost could not laugh as I do—and enjoy itself. Its laugh would have a hollow sound. I assure you I am very real indeed."
But he did not answer her, and, after looking at him with a faint smile for a second or so, she turned to her group again. To-night, as they drove to their destination, once or twice, in passing a street-lamp, the light, flashing into the carriage, showed him that Bertha leaned back in her corner with closed eyes, her flowers lying untouched on her lap. He thought she seemed languid and pale, though she had not appeared so before they left the house. And this touched him, as such things always did. There was no moment, however deep and fierce his bewildered sense of injury might have been before it, when a shade of pallor on her cheek, or of sadness in her eyes, a look or tone of weariness, would not undo103 everything, and stir all his great heart with sympathy and the tender longing104 to be kind to her. The signs of sadness or pain in any human creature would have moved him, but such signs in her overwhelmed him and swept away every other feeling but this yearning105 desire to shield and care for her. He looked at her now with anxious eyes and bent forward to draw up her wrap which had slipped from her shoulders.
"Are you warm enough, Bertha?" he said, with awkward gentleness. "It is a raw night. You should have had more—more shawls—or whatever they are."
She opened her eyes with a smile.
"More shawls!" she said. "We don't wear shawls[Pg 298] now when we go to receptions. They are not becoming enough, even when they are very grand indeed. This is not a shawl,—it is a sortie du bal, and a very pretty one; but I think I am warm enough, thank you, and it was very good in you to ask." And though he had not known that his own voice was gentle, he recognized that hers was.
"Somebody ought to ask," he answered. And just then they turned the corner into a street already crowded with carriages, and their own drew up before the lighted front of a large house. Tredennis got out and gave Bertha his hand. As she emerged from the shadow of the carriage, the light fell upon her again, and he was impressed even more forcibly than before with her pallor.
"You would have been a great deal better at home," he said, impetuously. "Why did you come here?"
She paused a second, and it seemed to him as if she suddenly gave up some tense hold she had previously106 kept upon her external self. There was only the pathetic little ghost of a smile in her lifted eyes.
"Yes, I should be better at home," she said, almost in a whisper. "I would rather be asleep with—with the children."
"Then why in Heaven's name do you go?" he protested. "Bertha, let me take you home and leave you to rest. It must be so—I"—
But the conventionalities did not permit that he should give way to the fine masculine impulse which might have prompted him in the heat of his emotions to return her to the carriage by the sheer strength of his unaided arm, and he recognized his own tone of command, and checked himself with a rueful sense of helplessness.
"There is the carriage of the French minister," said Bertha, "and madame wonders who detains her. But—if I were a regiment107 of soldiers, I am sure I should obey you when you spoke to me in such a tone as that."
[Pg 299]
And as if by magic she was herself again, and, taking her roses from him, went up the carpeted steps lightly, and with a gay rustle of trailing silk and lace.
The large rooms inside were crowded with a distinguished108 company, made up of the material which forms the foundation of every select Washingtonian assemblage. There were the politicians, military and naval109 men, attachés of legations, foreign ministers and members of the Cabinet, with their wives and daughters, or other female relatives. A distinguished scientist loomed110 up in one corner, looking disproportionately modest; a well-known newspaper man chatted in another. The Chinese minister, accompanied by his interpreter, received with a slightly wearied air of quiet patience the conversational attentions proffered111 him. The wife of the Secretary of State stood near the door with her daughter, receiving her guests as they entered. She was a kindly112 and graceful woman, whose good breeding and self-poise had tided her safely over the occasionally somewhat ruffled113 social waters of two administrations. She had received a hundred or so of callers each Wednesday,—the majority of them strangers, and in the moments of her greatest fatigue114 and lassitude had endeavored to remember that each one of them was a human being, endowed with human vanity and sensitiveness; she had not flinched115 before the innocent presumption116 of guileless ignorance; she had done her best by timorousness117 and simplicity118; she had endeavored to remember hundreds of totally uninteresting people, and if she had forgotten one of them who modestly expected a place in her memory had made an effort to repair the injury with aptness and grace. She had given up pleasures she enjoyed and repose81 she needed, and had managed to glean119 entertainment and interesting experience by the way, and in course of time, having occupied for years one of the highest social positions in the land, and done some of the most difficult and laborious120 work, would retire simply and [Pg 300]gracefully, more regretted than regretting, and would look back upon her experience more as an episode in her husband's career than her own.
She was one of the few women who produced in Professor Herrick neither mild perturbation nor mental bewilderment. He had been a friend of her husband's in his youth, and during their residence in Washington it had been his habit to desert his books and entomological specimens121 once or twice in the season for the purpose of appearing in their parlors. There was a legend that he had once presented himself with a large and valuable beetle122 pinned to the lapel of his coat, he having absentmindedly placed it in that conspicuous123 position in mistake for the flower Bertha had suggested he should decorate himself with.
He was among the guests to-night, her hostess told Bertha, as she shook hands with her.
"We were very much pleased to see him, though we do not think he looks very well," she said. "I think you will find him talking to Professor Borrowdale, who has just returned from Central America."
She gave Bertha a kind glance of scrutiny124.
"Are you looking very well?" she said. "I am afraid you are not. That is not a good way to begin a season."
"I am afraid," said Bertha, laughing, "that I have not chosen my dress well. Colonel Tredennis told me, a few moments ago, that I ought to be at home."
They passed on shortly afterward, and, on the way to the other room, Bertha was unusually silent. Tredennis wondered what she was thinking of, until she suddenly looked up at him and spoke.
"Am I so very haggard?" she said.
"I should not call it haggard," he answered. "You don't look very well."
She gave her cheek a little rub with her gloved hand.
"No; you should not call it haggard," she said, "that is true. It is bad enough not to look well. One should[Pg 301] always have a little rouge125 in one's pocket. But you will see that the excitement will do me good."
"Will it, Bertha?" said the colonel.
But, whether the effect it produced upon her was a good or bad one, it was certainly strong enough. The room was full of people she knew or wished to know. She was stopped at every step by those who spoke to her, exchanging gay speeches with her, paying her compliments, giving her greeting. Dazzling young dandies forgot their indifference126 to the adulation of the multitude, in their eagerness to make their bows and their bon mots before her; their elders and superiors were as little backward as themselves, and in a short time she had gathered quite a little court about her, in which there was laughter and badinage127, and an exhilarating exchange of gayeties. The celebrated128 scientist joined the circle, the newspaper man made his way into it, and a stately, gray-haired member of the Supreme129 Bench relaxed his grave face in it, and made more clever and gallant130 speeches than all his younger rivals put together; it was even remarked that the Oriental visage of the Chinese ambassador himself exhibited an expression of more than slight curiosity and interest. He addressed a few words to his interpreter as he passed. But somehow Colonel Tredennis found himself on the outer edge of the enchanted131 ground. It was his own fault, perhaps. Yes, it was his own fault, without a doubt. Such changes were too rapid for him, as he himself had said before. He did not understand them; they bewildered and wounded him, and gave him a sense of insecurity, seeming to leave him nothing to rely on. Was it possible that sadness or fatigue which could be so soon set aside and lost sight of could be very real? And if these things which had so touched his heart were unreal and caprices of the moment, what was there left which might not be unreal too? Could she look pale, and make her voice and her little hand tremulous at will when she chose to produce an effect, and why should it please her to [Pg 302]produce effects upon him? She had never cared for him, or shown kindness or friendly feeling for him, but in those few brief days in Virginia. Was she so flippant, such a coquette and trifler that, when there was no one else to play her pretty tricks upon, she must try them on him and work upon his sympathies in default of being able to teach him the flatteries and follies132 of men who loved her less? He had heard of women who were so insatiable in their desire for sensation that they would stoop to such things, but he did not believe he had ever met one. Perhaps he had met several, and had been too ingenuous133 and generous to understand their wiles134 and arts. At any rate, they had always been myths to him, and it seemed to him that he himself, as well as all existence, must have changed when he could even wonder if such a thing might be true of Bertha. But nothing could be more certain than that there were no longer any traces of her weariness about her. A brilliant color glowed in her cheeks, her eyes were as bright as diamonds, there was something,—some vividness about her before which every other woman in the room paled a little, though there were two or three great beauties present, and she had never taken the attitude of a beauty at all. The colonel began to see, at last, that there was a shade of something else, too, in her manner, from which it had always before been free. In the midst of all her frivolities she had never been reckless, and there had never been any possibility that the looker-on could bear away with him any memory which had not the charm of fineness about it. But to-night, as one man hung over her chair, and others stood around and about it, one holding her fan, another wearing in his coat a rose which had fallen from her bouquet135, all sharing her smiles and vying136 in their efforts to win them, Tredennis turned away more than once with a heavy heart.
"I would go home if I could leave her," he said. "I don't want to see this. I don't know what it means. This is no place for me."
[Pg 303]
But he could not leave her, and so lingered about and looked on, and when he was spoken to answered briefly137 and abstractedly, scarcely knowing what he said. There was no need that he should have felt himself desolate138, since there were numbers of pretty and charming women in the rooms who would have been pleased to talk to him, and who, indeed, showed something of this kindly inclination139 when they found themselves near him; his big, soldierly figure, his fine sun-browned face, his grave manner, and the stories they heard of him, made him an object of deep interest to women, though he had never recognized the fact. They talked of him and wondered about him, and made up suitable little romances which accounted for his silence and rather stern air of sadness. The favorite theory was that he had been badly treated in his early youth by some soulless young person totally unworthy of the feeling he had lavished140 upon her, and there were two or three young persons—perhaps even a larger number—who, secretly conscious of their own worthiness141 of any depth of affection, would not have been loath142 to bind143 up his wounds and pour oil upon them and frankincense and myrrh, if such applications would have proved effectual. There were among these some very beautiful and attractive young creatures indeed, and as their parents usually shared their interest in the colonel, he was invited to kettledrums and musicales, and theatre parties and dinners, and always welcomed warmly when he was encountered anywhere. But though he received these attentions with the simple courtesy and modest appreciation144 of all kindness which were second nature with him, and though he paid his party calls with the most unflinching, conventional promptness, and endeavored to return the hospitalities in masculine fashion by impartially sending bouquets145 to mammas and daughters alike, it frequently happened that various reasons prevented his appearing at the parties; or if he appeared he disappeared quite early;[Pg 304] and, indeed, if he had been any other man he would have found it difficult to make his peace with the young lady who discovered that the previous engagement which had kept him away from her kettledrum had been a promise made to little Janey Amory that he would take her to see Tom Thumb.
"It is very kind in you to give us any of your time at all," Bertha had said to him once, "when you are in such demand. Richard tells me your table is strewn with invitations, and there is not a belle146 of his acquaintance who is so besieged147 with attentions. Mr. Arbuthnot is filled with envy. He has half-a-dozen new songs which he plays without music, and he has learned all the new dances, and yet is not invited half so much."
"It is my conversational powers they want," was the colonel's sardonic148 reply.
"That goes without saying," responded Bertha. "And if you would only condescend149 to waltz, poor Laurence's days of usefulness would be over. Won't you be persuaded to let me give you a lesson?"
And she came toward him with mocking in her eyes and her hands extended.
But the colonel blushed up to the roots of his hair and did not take them.
"I should tread on your slippers150, and knock off the buckles151, and grind them into powder," he said. "I should tear your gown and lacerate your feelings, and you could not go to the German to-night. I am afraid I am not the size for waltzing."
"You are the size for anything and everything," said Bertha, with an exaggerated little obeisance152. "It is we who are so small that we appear insignificant153 by contrast."
This, indeed, was the general opinion, that his stalwart proportions were greatly to his advantage, and only to be admired. Among those who admired them most were graceful young waltzers, who would have given up that delightful and exhilarating exercise on any[Pg 305] occasion, if Colonel Tredennis would have sat out with them in some quiet corner, where the eyes of a censorious world might be escaped. Several such were present to-night, and cast slightly wistful glances at him as they passed to and fro, or deftly154 managed to arrange little opportunities for conversations which, however, did not flourish and grow strong even when the opportunities were made. It was not entertainment of this sort—innocent and agreeable as it might be—that Colonel Tredennis wanted. It would be difficult to say exactly what he wanted, indeed, or what satisfaction he obtained from standing gnawing155 his great mustache among Mrs. Amory's more versatile156 and socially gifted adorers.
He did not want to be a witness of her coquetries—they were coquetries, though to the sophisticated they might appear only delightful ones, and a very proper exercise of feminine fascination157 upon their natural prey158; but to this masculine prude, who unhappily loved her and had no honest rights in her, and whose very affection was an emotion against which his honor must struggle, it was a humiliation that others should look on and see that she could so amuse herself.
So he stood on the outer edge of the little circle, and was so standing when he first caught sight of the professor at the opposite end of the room. He left his place then and went over to him. The sight of the refined, gentle, old face brought to him something bordering on a sense of relief. It removed a little of his totally unreasonable159 feeling of friendlessness and isolation160.
"I have been watching you across the room," the professor said, kindly. "I wondered what you were thinking about? You looked fierce, my boy, and melancholy161. I think there were two or three young ladies who thought you very picturesque as you stared at the floor and pulled your mustache, but it seemed to me that your air was hardly gay enough for a brilliant occasion."
[Pg 306]
"I was thinking I was out of place and wishing I was at home," replied the colonel, with a short laugh, unconsciously pulling his mustache again. "And I dare say I was wishing I had Mrs. Amory's versatility162 of gifts and humor. I thought she was tired and unwell when I helped her out of the carriage; but it seems that I was mistaken, or that the atmosphere of the great world has a most inspiring effect."
The professor turned his spectacles upon the corner Tredennis had just left.
"Ah!" he remarked quietly; "it is Bertha, is it? I fancied it might be, though it was not easy to see her face, on account of the breadth of Commander Barnacles' back. And it was you who came with her?"
"Yes," said Tredennis.
"I rather expected to see Mr. Arbuthnot," said the professor. "I think Richard gave me the impression that I should."
"We saw Mr. Arbuthnot just before we left the house," returned the colonel. "He had been calling upon Mrs. Sylvestre."
"Upon Mrs. Sylvestre!" echoed the professor, and then he added, rather softly, "Ah, she is another."
"Another!" Tredennis repeated.
"I only mean," said the professor, "that I am at my old tricks again. I am wondering what will happen now to that beautiful, graceful young woman."
He turned his glance a little suddenly upon Tredennis' face.
"Have you been to see her?" he inquired.
"Not yet."
"Why not yet?"
"Perhaps because she is too beautiful and graceful," Tredennis answered. "I don't know of any other reason. I have not sufficient courage."
"Mr. Arbuthnot has sufficient courage," said the professor. "And some of those gentlemen across the room would not shrink from the ordeal163. They will all go to[Pg 307] see her,—Commander Barnacles included,—and she will be kind to them every one. She would be kind to me if I went to see her—and some day I think I shall."
He glanced across at Bertha. She was talking to Commander Barnacles, who was exhibiting as much chivalric164 vivacity165 as his breadth would allow. The rest of her circle were listening and laughing, people outside it were looking at her with interest and curiosity.
"She is very gay to-night," the professor added. "And I dare say Mrs. Sylvestre could give us a better reason for her gayety than we can see on the surface."
"Is there always a reason?" said the colonel. For the moment he was pleasing himself with the fancy that he was hardening his heart.
But just at this moment a slight stir at one of the entrances attracted universal attention. The President had come in, and was being welcomed by his host and hostess. He presented to the inspection166 of those to whom he was not already a familiar object, the unimposing figure of a man past middle life, his hair grizzled, his face lined, his expression a somewhat fatigued168 one.
"Yes, he looks tired," said Bertha to the newspaper man who stood near her, "though it is rather unreasonable in him. He has nothing to do but satisfy the demands of two political parties who hate each other, and to retrieve the blunders made during a few score years by his predecessors169, and he has four years to do it in—and every one will give him advice. I wonder how he likes it, and if he realizes what has happened to him. If he were a king and had a crown to look at and try on in his moments of uncertainty, or if he were obliged to attire170 himself in velvet171 and ermine occasionally, he might persuade himself that he was real; but how can he do so when he never wears anything but an ordinary coat, and cannot cut people's heads off, or bowstring them, and hasn't a dungeon172 about him? Perhaps he feels as if he is imposing167 on us and is secretly a little[Pg 308] ashamed of himself. I wonder if he is not haunted by a disagreeable ghost who persists in reminding him of the day when he will only be an abject173 ex-President and we shall pity where we don't condemn174 him; and he will be dragged to the Capitol in the triumphal car of the new one and know that he has awakened from his dream; or, perhaps, he will call it a nightmare and be glad it is over."
"That is Planefield who came in with him," said her companion. "He would not object to suffer from a nightmare of the same description."
"Would he be willing to dine off the indigestibles most likely to produce it?" said Bertha. "You have indigestibles on your political menu, I suppose. I have heard so, and that they are not always easy to swallow because the cooks at the Capitol differ so about the flavoring."
"Planefield would not differ," was the answer. "And he would dine off them, and breakfast and sup off them, and get up in the night to enjoy them, if he could only bring about the nightmare."
"Is there any possibility that he will accomplish it?" Bertha inquired. "If there is, I must be very kind to him when he comes to speak to me. I feel a sort of eagerness to catch his eye and nod and beck and bestow70 wreathed smiles upon him already; but don't let my modest thrift175 waste itself upon a mere phantasy if the prospect is that the indigestibles will simply disagree with him and will not produce the nightmare." And the colonel, who was just approaching with the professor, heard her and was not more greatly elated than before.
It was not very long, of course, before there was an addition to the group. Senator Planefield found his way to it—to the very centre of it, indeed,—and so long as it remained a group formed a permanent feature in its attractions. When he presented himself Bertha gave him her hand with a most bewitching little smile, whose suggestion of archness was somehow made to [Pg 309]include the gentleman with whom she had previously been talking. Her manner was so gracious and inspiring that Planefield was intoxicated176 by it and wondered what it meant. He was obliged to confess to himself that there were many occasions when she was not so gracious, and if he had been easily rebuffed, the wounds his flourishing and robust177 vanity received might have led him to retire from the field. Frequently, when he was most filled with admiration178 of her cleverness and spirit, he was conscious of an uneasy sense of distrust, not only of her, but of himself. There was one special, innocent, and direct gaze of which her limpid179 eyes were capable, which sometimes made him turn hot and cold with uncertainty, and there was also a peculiarly soft and quiet tone in her voice which invariably filled him with perturbation.
"She's such a confounded cool little devil," he had said, gracefully, to a friend on one occasion when he was in a bad humor. "She's afraid of nothing, and she's got such a hold on herself that she can say anything she likes, with a voice as soft as silk, and look you straight in the eyes like a baby while she does so; and when you say the words over to yourself you can't find a thing to complain of, while you know they drove home like knives when she said them herself. She looks like a school-girl half the time; but she's made up of steel and iron, and—the devil knows what."
She did not look like a school-girl this evening,—she was far too brilliant and self-possessed and entertaining; but he had nothing to complain of and plenty to congratulate himself upon. She allowed him to take the chair near her which its occupant reluctantly vacated for him; she placed no obstacles in the way of his conversational desires, and she received all his jokes with the most exhilarating laughter. Perhaps it was because of all this that he thought he had never seen her so pretty, so well dressed, and so inspiring. When he told her so, in a clumsy whisper, a sudden red flushed[Pg 310] her cheek, her eyes fell, and she did not reply, as he had feared she would, with a keen little two-edged jest far more discouraging than any displeasure at his boldness would have been. He could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses, and found it necessary to remain silent a few seconds to give himself time to recover his equilibrium180. It was he who was with her when Tredennis saw her presentation to the President, who, it was said, had observed her previously and was pleased, after the interview was over, to comment admiringly upon her and ask various questions concerning her. It doubtless befell His Excellency to be called upon to be gracious and ready of speech when confronted with objects less inspiring than this young person, and it might have been something of this sort which caused him to wear a more relaxed countenance and smile more frequently than before when conversing181 with her, and also to appear to be in no degree eager to allow her to make her bow and withdraw.
It was just after she had been permitted to make this obeisance and retire that Colonel Tredennis, standing near a group of three persons, heard her name mentioned and had his ears quickened by the sound.
The speakers were a man and two women.
"Her name," he heard a feminine voice say, "is Amory. She is a little married woman who flirts182."
"Oh!" exclaimed the man, "that is Mrs. Amory, is it—the little Mrs. Amory? And—yes—that is Planefield with her now. He generally is with her, isn't he?"
"At present," was the answer. "Yes."
The colonel felt his blood warming. He began to think he recognized the voice of the first speaker, and when he turned found he was not mistaken. It belonged to the "great lady" who had figured prominently in the cheery little encounter whose story had been related with such vivacity the first evening he had dined with the Amorys. She had, perhaps, not enjoyed this [Pg 311]encounter as impartially as had her opponent, and had probably not forgotten it so soon. She wore the countenance of a woman with an excellent memory, and not totally devoid183 of feminine prejudice. Perhaps she had been carrying her polished little stone in her pocket, and turning it occasionally ever since the memorable184 occasion when justice had been meted185 out to her not so largely tempered with mercy as the faultless in character might have desired.
"The matter gives rise to all the more comment," she remarked, "because it is something no one would have expected. Her family is entirely respectable. She was a Miss Herrick, and though she has always been a gay little person, she has been quite cleverly prudent186. Her acquaintances are only just beginning to realize the state of affairs, and there is a great division of opinion, of course. The Westoria lands have dazzled the husband, it is supposed, as he is a person given to projects, and he has dazzled her—and the admirer is to be made use of."
The man—a quiet, elderly man, with an astutely187 humorous countenance—glanced after Bertha as she disappeared into the supper-room. She held her roses to her face, and her eyes smiled over them as Planefield bent to speak to her.
"It is a tremendous affair,—that Westoria business," he said. "And it is evident she has dazzled the admirers. There is a good deal of life and color, and—audacity about her, isn't there?"
"There is plenty of audacity," responded his companion with calmness. "I think that would be universally admitted, though it is occasionally referred to as wit and self-possession."
"But she has been very much liked," timorously188 suggested the third member of the group, who was younger and much less imposing. "And—and I feel sure I have heard women admire her as often as men."
"A great deal may be accomplished by cleverness and[Pg 312] prudence189 of that particular kind," was the answer. "And, as I said, she has been both prudent and clever."
"It isn't pleasant to think about," remarked the man. "She will lose her friends and—and all the rest of it, and may gain nothing in the end. But I suppose there is a good deal of that sort of thing going on here. We outsiders hear it said so, and are given to believing the statement."
"It does not usually occur in the class to which this case belongs," was the response. "The female lobbyist is generally not so—not so"—
"Not so picturesque as she is painted," ended her companion with a laugh. "Well, I consider myself all the more fortunate in having seen this one who is picturesque, and has quite a charming natural color of her own."
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1
deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
immortals
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| 不朽的人物( immortal的名词复数 )； 永生不朽者 | |
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3
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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6
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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7
groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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8
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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9
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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10
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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11
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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12
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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13
plaques
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| （纪念性的）匾牌( plaque的名词复数 )； 纪念匾； 牙斑； 空斑 | |
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14
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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15
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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16
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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17
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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18
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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21
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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22
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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23
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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24
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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25
crucible
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| n.坩锅，严酷的考验 | |
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26
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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27
attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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28
vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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29
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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30
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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31
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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32
attentiveness
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| [医]注意 | |
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33
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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34
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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35
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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36
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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37
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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38
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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39
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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40
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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41
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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42
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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43
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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44
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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45
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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46
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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47
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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48
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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49
persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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50
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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51
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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52
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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53
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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54
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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55
bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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56
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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57
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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58
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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59
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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60
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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61
retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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62
lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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63
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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64
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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65
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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66
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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67
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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68
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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69
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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71
dissected
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|
| adj.切开的，分割的，（叶子）多裂的v.解剖（动物等）( dissect的过去式和过去分词 )；仔细分析或研究 | |
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72
analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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73
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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74
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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75
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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76
disported
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| v.嬉戏，玩乐，自娱( disport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
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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78
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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79
confidingly
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| adv.信任地 | |
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80
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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82
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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83
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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84
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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85
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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86
domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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87
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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88
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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89
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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90
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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91
wont
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|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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92
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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93
shackles
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| 手铐( shackle的名词复数 )； 脚镣； 束缚； 羁绊 | |
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94
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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95
gracefully
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|
| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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96
impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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97
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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98
fulsome
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| adj.可恶的，虚伪的，过分恭维的 | |
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99
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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100
pertinacity
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| n.执拗，顽固 | |
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101
sumptuous
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|
| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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102
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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103
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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104
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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105
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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106
previously
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|
| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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107
regiment
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|
| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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108
distinguished
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|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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109
naval
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|
| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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110
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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111
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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112
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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113
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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114
fatigue
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|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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115
flinched
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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117
timorousness
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| n.羞怯，胆怯 | |
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118
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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119
glean
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| v.收集(消息、资料、情报等) | |
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120
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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121
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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122
beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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123
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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124
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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125
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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126
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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127
badinage
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| n.开玩笑，打趣 | |
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128
celebrated
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|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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129
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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130
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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131
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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132
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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133
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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134
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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135
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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136
vying
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| adj.竞争的；比赛的 | |
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137
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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138
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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139
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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140
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
worthiness
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| 价值，值得 | |
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142
loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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143
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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144
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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145
bouquets
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| n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 )；（酒的）芳香 | |
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146
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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147
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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148
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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149
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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150
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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151
buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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152
obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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153
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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154
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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155
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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156
versatile
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| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
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157
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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158
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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159
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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160
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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161
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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162
versatility
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| n.多才多艺，多样性，多功能 | |
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163
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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164
chivalric
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| 有武士气概的，有武士风范的 | |
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165
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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166
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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167
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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168
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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169
predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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170
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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171
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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172
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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173
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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174
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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175
thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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176
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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177
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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178
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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179
limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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180
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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181
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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182
flirts
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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183
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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184
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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185
meted
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| v.（对某人）施以，给予（处罚等）( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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186
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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187
astutely
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| adv.敏锐地；精明地；敏捷地；伶俐地 | |
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188
timorously
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| adv.胆怯地，羞怯地 | |
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189
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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