She felt some little triumph at her heart in thinking that Sir Lionel had wished to marry her. Had she not, she would hardly have been a woman. But by far her strongest feeling was one of dislike to him for not having wished to marry Miss Baker2. She had watched the gallant3 soldier closely for the last year, and well knew how tenderly he had been used to squeeze Miss Baker's hand. He had squeezed her own hand too; but what was that? She made others the subject of jokes, and was prepared to be joked upon herself. Whatever Oliver Sir Lionel, or other person, might give her, she would give back to him or to her—always excepting Mrs. Leake—a Rowland that should be quite as good. But Miss Baker was no subject for a joke, and Sir Lionel was in duty bound to have proposed to her.
It is perhaps almost true that no one can touch pitch and not be defiled4. Miss Todd had been touching5 pitch for many years past, and was undoubtedly6 defiled to a certain extent. But the grime with her had never gone deep; it was not ingrained; it had not become an ineradicable stain; it was dirt on which soap-and-water might yet operate. May we not say that her truth and good-nature, and love of her fellow-creatures, would furnish her at last with the means whereby she might be cleansed7?
She was of the world, worldly. It in no way disgusted her that Sir Lionel was an old rip, and that she knew him to be so. There were a great many old male rips at Littlebath and elsewhere. Miss Todd's path in life had brought her across more than one or two such. She encountered them without horror, welcomed them without shame, and spoke8 of them with a laugh rather than a shudder9. Her idea was, that such a rip as Sir Lionel would best mend his manners by marriage; by marriage, but not with her. She knew better than trust herself to any Sir Lionel.
And she had encountered old female rips; that is, if dishonesty in money-dealings, selfishness, coarseness, vanity, absence of religion, and false pretences10, when joined to age, may be held as constituting an old female rip. Many such had been around her frequently. She would laugh with them, feed them, call on them, lose her money to them, and feel herself no whit11 degraded. Such company brought on her no conviction of shame. But yet she was not of them. Coarse she was; but neither dishonest, nor selfish, nor vain, nor irreligious, nor false.
Such being the nature of the woman, she had not found it necessary to display any indignation when Sir Lionel made his offer; but she did feel angry with him on Miss Baker's behalf. Why had he deceived that woman, and made an ass12 of himself? Had he had any wit, any knowledge of character, he would have known what sort of an answer he was likely to get if he brought his vows13 and offers to the Paragon14. There he had been received with no special favour. No lures15 had been there displayed to catch him. He had not been turned out of the house when he came there, and that was all. So now, as she put on her bonnet, she determined16 to punish Sir Lionel.
But in accusing her suitor of want of judgment17, she was quite in the dark as to his real course of action. She little knew with how profound a judgment he was managing his affairs. Had she known, she would hardly have interfered18 as she now did. As she put her foot on the step of the fly she desired her servant to drive to Montpellier Terrace.
She was shown into the drawing-room, and there she found Miss Baker and Miss Gauntlet; not our friend Adela, but Miss Penelope Gauntlet, who was now again settled in Littlebath.
"Well, ladies," said Miss Todd, walking up the room with well-assured foot and full comfortable presence, "I've news to tell you."
They both of them saw at a glance that she had news. Between Miss P. Gauntlet and Miss Todd there had never been cordiality. Miss Todd was, as we have said, of the world, worldly; whereas Miss Gauntlet was of Dr. Snort, godly. She belonged plainly to the third set of which we have spoken; Miss Todd was an amalgamation19 of the two first. Miss Baker, however, was a point of union, a connecting rod. There was about her a savouring of the fragrance20 of Ebenezer, but accompanied, it must be owned, by a whiff of brimstone. Thus these three ladies were brought together; and as it was manifest that Miss Todd had news to tell, the other two were prepared to listen.
"What do you think, ladies?" and she sat herself down, filling an arm-chair with her goodly person. "What do you think has happened to me to-day?"
"Perhaps the doctor has been with you," said Miss P. Gauntlet, not alluding21 to the Littlebath Galen, but meaning to insinuate22 that Miss Todd might have come thither23 to tell them of her conversion24 from the world.
"Better than ten doctors, my dear"—Miss Penelope drew herself up very stiffly—"or twenty! I've had an offer of marriage. What do you think of that?"
Miss P. Gauntlet looked as though she thought a great deal of it. She certainly did think that had such an accident happened to her, she would not have spoken of it with such a voice, or before such an audience. But now her face, which was always long and thin, became longer and thinner, and she sat with her mouth open, expecting further news.
Miss Baker became rather red, then rather pale, and then red again. She put out her hand, and took hold of the side of the chair in which she sat; but she said nothing. Her heart told her that that offer had been made by Sir Lionel.
"You don't wish me joy, ladies," said Miss Todd.
"But you have not told us whether you accepted it," said Miss Penelope.
"Ha! ha! ha! No, that's the worst of it. No, I didn't accept it. But, upon my word, it was made."
Then it was not Sir Lionel, thought Miss Baker, releasing her hold of the chair, and feeling that the blood about her heart was again circulating.
"And is that all that we are to know?" asked Miss Penelope.
"Oh, my dears, you shall know it all. I told my lover that I should keep no secrets. But, come, you shall guess. Who was it, Miss Baker?"
"I couldn't say at all," said Miss Baker, in a faint voice.
"Perhaps Mr. O'Callaghan," suggested Miss Penelope, conscious, probably, that an ardent25 young evangelical clergyman is generally in want of an income.
"Mr. O'Callaghan!" shouted Miss Todd, throwing up her head with scorn. "Pho! The gentleman I speak of would have made me a lady. Lady—! Now who do you think it was, Miss Baker?"
"Oh, I couldn't guess at all," said poor Miss Baker. But she now knew that it was Sir Lionel. It might have been worse, however, and that she felt—much worse!
"Was it Sir Lionel Bertram?" asked the other.
"Ah! Miss Gauntlet, you know all about the gentlemen of Littlebath. I can see that. It was Sir Lionel. Wasn't that a triumph?"
"And you refused him?" asked Miss Penelope.
"Of course I did. You don't mean to say that you think I would have accepted him?"
To this Miss Penelope made no answer. Her opinions were of a mixed sort. She partly misbelieved Miss Todd—partly wondered at her. Unmarried ladies of a certain age, whatever may be their own feelings in regard to matrimony on their own behalf, seem always impressed with a conviction that other ladies in the same condition would certainly marry if they got an opportunity. Miss Penelope could not believe that Miss Todd had rejected Sir Lionel; but at the same time she could not but be startled also by the great fact of such a rejection26. At any rate her course of duty was open. Littlebath should be enlightened on the subject before the drawing-room candles were lit that evening; or at any rate that set in Littlebath to which she belonged. So she rose from her chair, and, declaring that she had sat an unconscionable time with Miss Baker, departed, diligent27, about her work.
"Well, what do you think of that, my dear?" said Miss Todd, as soon as the two of them were left alone.
It was strange that Miss Todd, who was ordinarily so good-natured, who was so especially intent on being good-natured to Miss Baker, should have thus roughly communicated to her friend tidings which were sure to wound. But she had omitted to look at it in this light. Her intention had been to punish Sir Lionel for having been so grossly false and grossly foolish. She had seen through him—at least, hardly through him; had seen at least that he must have been doubting between the two ladies, and that he had given up the one whom he believed to be the poorer. She did not imagine it possible that, after having offered to her, he should then go with a similar offer to Miss Baker. Had such an idea arisen in her mind, she would certainly have allowed Miss Baker to take her chance of promotion28 unmolested.
Miss Baker gave a long sigh. Now that Miss Gauntlet was gone she felt herself better able to speak; but, nevertheless, any speech on the subject was difficult to her. Her kind heart at once forgave Miss Todd. There could now be no marriage between that false one and her friend; and therefore, if the ice would only get itself broken, she would not be unwilling29 to converse30 upon the subject. But how to break the ice!
"I always thought he would," at last she said.
"Did you?" said Miss Todd. "Well, he certainly used to come there, but I never knew why. Sometimes I thought it was to talk about you."
"Oh, no!" said Miss Baker, plaintively31.
"I gave him no encouragement—none whatever;—used to send him here and there—anything to get rid of him. Sometimes I thought—" and then Miss Todd hesitated.
"Thought what?" asked Miss Baker.
"Well, I don't want to be ill-natured; but sometimes I thought that he wanted to borrow money, and didn't exactly know how to begin."
"To borrow money!" He had once borrowed money from Miss Baker.
"Well, I don't know; I only say I thought so. He never did."
Miss Baker sighed again, and then there was a slight pause in the conversation.
"But, Miss Todd—"
"Well, my dear!"
"Do you think that—"
"Think what? Speak out, my dear; you may before me. If you've got any secret, I'll keep it."
"Oh! I've got no secret; only this. Do you think that Sir Lionel is—is poor—that he should want to borrow money?"
"Well; poor! I hardly know what you call poor. But we all know that he is a distressed32 man. I suppose he has a good income, and a little ready money would, perhaps, set him up; but there's no doubt about his being over head and ears in debt, I suppose."
This seemed to throw a new and unexpected light on Miss Baker's mind. "I thought he was always so very respectable," said she.
"Hum-m-m!" said Miss Todd, who knew the world.
"Eh?" said Miss Baker, who did not.
"It depends on what one means by respectable," said Miss Todd.
"I really thought he was so very—"
"Hum-m-m-m," repeated Miss Todd, shaking her head.
And then there was a little conversation carried on between these ladies so entirely33 sotto voce that the reporter of this scene was unable to hear a word of it. But this he could see, that Miss Todd bore by far the greater part in it.
At the end of it, Miss Baker gave another, and a longer, and a deeper sigh. "But you know, my dear," said Miss Todd, in her most consolatory34 voice, and these words were distinctly audible, "nothing does a man of that sort so much good as marrying."
"Does it?" asked Miss Baker.
"Certainly; if his wife knows how to manage him."
And then Miss Todd departed, leaving Miss Baker with much work for her thoughts. Her female friend Miss Baker had quite forgiven; but she felt that she could never quite forgive him. "To have deceived me so!" she said to herself, recurring35 to her old idea of his great respectability. But, nevertheless, it was probably his other sin that rankled36 deepest in her mind.
Of Miss Baker it may be said that she had hardly touched the pitch; at any rate, that it had not defiled her.
Sir Lionel was somewhat ill at ease as he walked from the Paragon to his livery stables. He had certainly looked upon success with Miss Todd as by no means sure; but, nevertheless, he was disappointed. Let any of us, in any attempt that we may make, convince ourselves with ever so much firmness that we shall fail, yet we are hardly the less down-hearted when the failure comes. We assure ourselves that we are not sanguine37, but we assure ourselves falsely. It is man's nature to be sanguine; his nature, and perhaps his greatest privilege.
And Sir Lionel, as he walked along, began to fear that his own scruples38 would now stand in the way of that other marriage—of that second string to his bow. When, in making his little private arrangements within his own mind, he had decided39 that if Miss Todd rejected him he would forthwith walk off to Miss Baker, it never occurred to him that his own feelings would militate against such a proceeding40. But such was now absolutely the fact. Having talked about "dear Sarah," he found that even he would have a difficulty in bringing himself to the utterance41 of "dear Mary."
He went to bed, however, that night with the comfortable reflection that any such nonsense would be dissipated by the morning. But when the morning came—his morning, one p.m.—his feeling he found was the same. He could not see Miss Baker that day.
He was disgusted and disappointed with himself. He had flattered himself that he was gifted with greater firmness; and now that he found himself so wanting in strength of character, he fretted42 and fumed43, as men will do, even at their own faults. He swore to himself that he would go to-morrow, and that evening went to bed early, trying to persuade himself that indigestion had weakened him. He did great injustice44, however, to as fine a set of internal organs as ever blessed a man of sixty.
At two o'clock next day he dressed himself for the campaign in Montpellier Terrace; but when dressed he was again disorganised. He found that he could not do it. He told himself over and over again that with Miss Baker there need be no doubt; she, at least, would accept him. He had only to smile there, and she would smile again. He had only to say "dear Mary," and those soft eyes would be turned to the ground and the battle would be won.
But still he could not do it. He was sick; he was ill; he could not eat his breakfast. He looked in the glass, and found himself to be yellow, and wrinkled, and wizened45. He was not half himself. There were yet three weeks before Miss Baker would leave Littlebath. It was on the whole better that his little arrangement should be made immediately previous to her departure. He would leave Littlebath for ten days, and return a new man. So he went up to London, and bestowed46 his time upon his son.
At the end of the ten days much of his repugnance47 had worn off. But still the sound of that word "Sarah," and the peal48 of laughter which followed, rang in his ears. That utterance of the verbiage49 of love is a disagreeable task for a gentleman of his years. He had tried it, and found it very disagreeable. He would save himself a repetition of the nuisance and write to her.
He did so. His letter was not very long. He said nothing about "Mary" in it, but contented50 himself with calling her his dearest friend. A few words were sufficient to make her understand what he meant, and those few words were there. He merely added a caution, that for both their sakes, the matter had better not at present be mentioned to anybody.
Miss Baker, when she received this letter, had almost recovered her equanimity51. Hers had been a soft and gentle sorrow. She had had no fits of bursting grief; her wailings had been neither loud nor hysterical52. A gentle, soft, faint tinge53 of melancholy54 had come upon her; so that she had sighed much as she sat at her solitary55 tea, and had allowed her novel to fall uncared for to the ground. "Would it not be well for her," she said to herself more than once, "to go to Hadley? Would not any change be well for her?" She felt now that Caroline's absence was a heavy blow to her, and that it would be well that she should leave Littlebath. It was astonishing how this affair of Miss Todd's reconciled her to her future home.
And then, when she was thus tranquil56, thus resigned, thus all but happy, came this tremendous letter, upsetting her peace of mind, and throwing her into a new maze57 of difficulties.
She had never said to herself at any time that if Sir Lionel did propose she would accept him. She had never questioned herself as to the probability of such an event. That she would have accepted him a fortnight ago, there can be no doubt; but what was she to do now?
It was not only that Sir Lionel had made another tender of his hand to another lady ten or twelve days since, but to this must be added the fact that all Littlebath knew that he had done so. Miss Todd, after the first ebullition of her comic spleen, had not said much about it; but Miss P. Gauntlet's tongue had not been idle. She, perhaps, had told it only to the godly; but the godly, let them be ever so exclusive, must have some intercourse58 with the wicked world; and thus every lady in Littlebath now knew all about it. And then there were other difficulties. That whispered conversation still rang in her ears. She was not quite sure how far it might be her mission to reclaim59 such a man as Sir Lionel—this new Sir Lionel whom Miss Todd had described. And then, too, he was in want of money. Why, she was in want of money herself!
But was there not something also to be said on the other side? It is reported that unmarried ladies such as Miss Baker generally regret the forlornness of their own condition. If so, the fault is not their own, but must be attributed to the social system to which they belong. The English world is pleased to say that an unmarried lady past forty has missed her hit in life—has omitted to take her tide at the ebb60; and what can unmarried ladies do but yield to the world's dictum? That the English world may become better informed, and learn as speedily as may be to speak with more sense on the subject, let us all pray.
But, in the meantime, the world's dictum was strong at Littlebath, and did influence this dear lady. She would prefer the name of Lady Bertram to that of Miss Baker for the remainder of the term of years allotted61 to her. It would please her to walk into a room as a married woman, and to quit herself of that disgrace, which injustice and prejudice, and the folly62 of her own sex rather than of the other, had so cruelly attached to her present position. And then, to be Lady Bertram! There were but few angels at this time in Littlebath, and Miss Baker was not one of them: she had a taint63 of vanity in her composition; but we doubt if such female vanity could exist in any human breast in a more pardonable form than it did in hers.
And then, perhaps, this plan of marrying might have the wished-for effect on Sir Lionel's way of living;—and how desirable was this! Would it not be a splendid work for her to reclaim a lost colonel? Might it not be her duty to marry him with this special object?
There certainly did appear to be some difficulty as to money. If, as Miss Todd assured her, Sir Lionel were really in difficulties, her own present annuity—all that she could absolutely call her own—her one hundred and eighty-nine pounds, seventeen shillings and threepence per annum—would not help them much. Sir Lionel was at any rate disinterested64 in his offer; that at least was clear to her.
And then a sudden light broke in upon her meditations65. Sir Lionel and the old gentleman were at variance66. We allude67 to the old gentleman at Hadley: with the other old gentleman, of whom we wot, it may be presumed that Sir Lionel was on tolerably favourable68 terms. Might not she be the means of bringing the two brothers together? If she were Lady Bertram, would not the old gentleman receive Sir Lionel back to his bosom69 for her sake—to his bosom, and also to his purse? But before she took any step in the dark, she resolved to ask the old gentleman the question.
It is true that Sir Lionel had desired her to speak to no person on the subject; but that injunction of course referred to strangers. It could not but be expected that on such a matter she should consult her best friends. Sir Lionel had also enjoined70 a speedy answer; and in order that she might not disappoint him in this matter, she resolved to put the question at once to Mr. Bertram. Great measures require great means. She would herself go to Hadley on the morrow—and so she wrote a letter that night, to beg that her uncle would expect her.
"So; you got tired of Littlebath before the month was out?" said he.
"Oh! but I am going back again."
"Going back again! Then why the d—— have you come up now?" Alas71! it was too clear that the old gentleman was not in one of his more pacific moods.
As these words were spoken, Miss Baker was still standing72 in the passage, that she might see her box brought in from the fly. She of course had on her bonnet, and thickest shawl, and cloak. She had thick boots on also, and an umbrella in her hand. The maid was in the passage, and so was the man who had driven her. She was very cold, and her nose was blue, and her teeth chattered73. She could not tell her tale of love in such guise74, or to such audience.
"What the d—— has brought you up?" repeated the old gentleman, standing with his two sticks at the sitting-room75 door. He did not care who heard him, or how cold it was, or of what nature might be her present mission. He knew that an extra journey from Littlebath to London and back, flys and porters included, would cost two pounds ten shillings. He knew, or thought that he knew, that this might have been avoided. He also knew that his rheumatism76 plagued him, that his old bones were sore, that he could not sleep at night, that he could not get into the city to see how things went, and that the game was coming to an end with him, and that the grave was claiming him. It was not surprising that the old gentleman should be cross.
"I'll tell you if you'll let me come into the room," said Miss Baker. "Take the box upstairs, Mary. Half a crown! oh no, two shillings will be quite enough." This economy was assumed to pacify77 the old gentleman; but it did not have the desired effect. "One and sixpence," he holloed out from his crutches78. "Don't give him a halfpenny more."
"Please, sir, the luggage, sir," said the fly driver.
"Luggage!" shouted the old man. His limbs were impotent, but his voice was not; and the fly-driver shook in his shoes.
"There," said Miss Baker, insidiously79 giving the man two and threepence. "I shall not give you a farthing more." It is to be feared that she intended her uncle to think that his limit had not been exceeded.
And then she was alone with Mr. Bertram. Her nose was still blue, and her toes still cold; but at any rate she was alone with him. It was hard for her to tell her tale; and she thoroughly80 wished herself back at Littlebath; but, nevertheless, she did tell it. The courage of women in some conditions of life surpasses anything that man can do.
"I want to consult you about that," said she, producing Sir Lionel's letter.
The old gentleman took it, and looked at it, and turned it. "What! it's from that swindler, is it?" said he.
"It's from Sir Lionel," said Miss Baker, trembling. There were as yet no promising81 auspices82 for the fraternal reconciliation83.
"Yes; I see who it's from—and what is it all about? I shan't read it. You can tell me, I suppose, what's in it."
"I had hoped that perhaps, sir, you and he might—"
"Might what?"
"Be brought together as brothers and friends."
"Brothers and friends! One can't choose one's brother; but who would choose to be the friend of a swindler? Is that what the letter is about?"
"Not exactly that, Mr. Bertram."
"Then what the d—— is it?"
"Sir Lionel, sir, has made me—"
"Made you what? Put your name to a bill, I suppose."
"No; indeed he has not. Nothing of that kind."
"Then what has he made you do?"
"He has not made me do anything; but he has sent me—an—an offer of marriage." And poor Miss Baker, with her blue nose, looked up so innocently, so imploringly84, so trustingly, that any one but Mr. Bertram would have comforted her.
"An offer of marriage from Sir Lionel!" said he.
"Yes," said Miss Baker, timidly. "Here it is; and I have come up to consult you about the answer." Mr. Bertram now did take the letter, and did read it through.
"Well!" he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head gently. "Well!"
"I thought it better to do nothing without seeing you. And that is what has brought me to Hadley in such a hurry."
"The audacious, impudent85 scoundrel!"
"You think, then, that I should refuse him?"
"You are a fool, an ass! a downright old soft-headed fool!" Such was the old gentleman's answer to her question.
"But I didn't know what to say without consulting you," said Miss Baker, with her handkerchief to her face.
"Not know! Don't you know that he's a swindler, a reprobate86, a penniless adventurer? Good heavens! And you are such a fool as that! It's well that you are not to be left at Littlebath by yourself."
Miss Baker made no attempt to defend herself, but, bursting into tears, assured her uncle that she would be guided by him. Under his absolute dictation she wrote the enclosed short answer to Sir Lionel.
Hadley, January —, 184—.
Dear Sir,
Mr. Bertram says that it will be sufficient to let you know that he would not give me a penny during his life, or leave me a penny at his death if I were to become your wife.
Yours truly,
Mary Baker.
That was all that the old gentleman would allow; but as she folded the letter, she surreptitiously added the slightest imaginable postscript87 to explain the matter—such words as occurred to her at the spur of the moment.
"He is so angry about it all!"
After that Miss Baker was not allowed back to Littlebath, even to pack up or pay her bills, or say good-bye to those she left behind. The servant had to do it all. Reflecting on the danger which had been surmounted88, Mr. Bertram determined that she should not again be put in the way of temptation.
And this was the end of Sir Lionel's wooing.
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bonnet
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baker
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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defiled
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| v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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touching
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undoubtedly
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cleansed
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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shudder
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pretences
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whit
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ass
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vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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paragon
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lures
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determined
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judgment
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interfered
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amalgamation
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fragrance
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alluding
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conversion
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ardent
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rejection
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diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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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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consolatory
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| adj.慰问的，可藉慰的 | |
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recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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verbiage
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| n.冗词；冗长 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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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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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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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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reclaim
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| v.要求归还，收回；开垦 | |
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ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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77
pacify
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| vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒)；抚慰 | |
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crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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insidiously
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| 潜在地，隐伏地，阴险地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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81
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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82
auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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83
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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84
imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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85
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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86
reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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87
postscript
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| n.附言，又及；(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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88
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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