Mr. Neefit's fortune had not been rapid in early life. He had begun with a small capital and a small establishment, and even now his place of business was very limited in size. He had been clever enough to make profit even out of its smallness,—and had contrived9 that it should be understood that the little back room in which men were measured was so diminutive10 because it did not suit his special business to welcome a crowd. It was his pride, he said, to wait upon hunting men,—but with the garments of the world at large he wished to have no concern whatever. In the outer shop, looking into Conduit Street, there was a long counter on which goods were unrolled for inspection11; and on which an artist, the solemnity of whose brow and whose rigid12 silence betokened13 the nature of his great employment, was always cutting out leather. This grave man was a German, and there was a rumour14 among young sportsmen that old Neefit paid this highly-skilled operator ￡600 a year for his services! Nobody knew as he did how each morsel15 of leather would behave itself under the needle, or could come within two hairbreadths of him in accuracy across the kneepan. As for measuring, Mr. Neefit did that himself,—almost always. To be measured by Mr. Neefit was as essential to perfection as to be cut out for by the German. There were rumours16, indeed, that from certain classes of customers Mr. Neefit and the great foreigner kept themselves personally aloof17. It was believed that Mr. Neefit would not condescend18 to measure a retail19 tradesman. Latterly, indeed, there had arisen a doubt whether he would lay his august hand on a stockbroker20's leg; though little Wallop, one of the young glories of Capel Court, swears that he is handled by him every year. "Confound 'is impudence," says Wallop; "I'd like to see him sending a foreman to me. And as for cutting, d'you think I don't know Bawwah's 'and!" The name of the foreign artist is not exactly known; but it is pronounced as we have written it, and spelt in that fashion by sporting gentlemen when writing to each other.
Our readers may be told in confidence that up to a very late date Mr. Neefit lived in the rooms over his shop. This is certainly not the thing for a prosperous tradesman to do. Indeed, if a tradesman be known not to have a private residence, he will hardly become prosperous. But Neefit had been a cautious man, and till two years before the commencement of our story, he had actually lived in Conduit Street,—working hard, however, to keep his residence a deep secret from his customers at large. Now he was the proud possessor of a villa21 residence at Hendon, two miles out in the country beyond the Swiss Cottage; and all his customers knew that he was never to be found before 9.30 a.m., or after 5.15 p.m.
As we have said, Mr. Neefit had his troubles, and one of his great troubles was our young friend, Ralph Newton. Ralph Newton was a hunting man, with a stud of horses,—never less than four, and sometimes running up to seven and eight,—always standing22 at the Moonbeam, at Barnfield. All men know that Barnfield is in the middle of the B. B. Hunt,—the two initials standing for those two sporting counties, Berkshire and Buckinghamshire. Now, Mr. Neefit had a very large connexion in the B. B., and, though he never was on horseback in his life, subscribed23 twenty-five pounds a year to the pack. Mr. Ralph Newton had long favoured him with his custom; but, we are sorry to say, Mr. Ralph Newton had become a thorn in the flesh to many a tradesman in these days. It was not that he never paid. He did pay something; but as he ordered more than he paid, the sum-total against him was always an increasing figure. But then he was a most engaging, civil-spoken young man, whose order it was almost impossible to decline. It was known, moreover, that his prospects were so good! Nevertheless, it is not pleasant for a breeches-maker to see the second hundred pound accumulating on his books for leather breeches for one gentleman. "What does he do with 'em?" old Neefit would say to himself; but he didn't dare to ask any such question of Mr. Newton. It isn't for a tradesman to complain that a gentleman consumes too many of his articles. Things, however, went so far that Mr. Neefit found it to be incumbent25 on him to make special inquiry26 about those prospects. Things had gone very far indeed,—for Ralph Newton appeared one summer evening at the villa at Hendon, and absolutely asked the breeches-maker to lend him a hundred pounds! Before he left he had taken tea with Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Neefit on the lawn, and had received almost a promise that the loan should be forthcoming if he would call in Conduit Street on the following morning. That had been early in May, and Ralph Newton had called, and, though there had been difficulties, he had received the money before three days had passed.
Mr. Neefit was a stout27 little man, with a bald head and somewhat protrusive28 eyes, whose manners to his customers contained a combination of dictatorial29 assurance and subservience30, which he had found to be efficacious in his peculiar31 business. On general subjects he would rub his hands, and bow his head, and agree most humbly32 with every word that was uttered. In the same day he would be a Radical33 and a Conservative, devoted34 to the Church and a scoffer35 at parsons, animated36 on behalf of staghounds and a loud censurer of aught in the way of hunting other than the orthodox fox. On all trivial outside subjects he considered it to be his duty as a tradesman simply to ingratiate himself; but in a matter of breeches he gave way to no man, let his custom be what it might. He knew his business, and was not going to be told by any man whether the garments which he made did or did not fit. It was the duty of a gentleman to come and allow him to see them on while still in a half-embryo condition. If gentlemen did their duty, he was sure that he could do his. He would take back anything that was not approved without a murmur37;—but after that he must decline further transactions. It was, moreover, quite understood that to complain of his materials was so to insult him that he would condescend to make no civil reply. An elderly gentleman from Essex once told him that his buttons were given to breaking. "If you have your breeches,—washed,—by an old woman,—in the country,"—said Mr. Neefit, very slowly, looking into the elderly gentleman's face, "and then run through the mangle,—the buttons will break." The elderly gentleman never dared even to enter the shop again.
Mr. Neefit was perhaps somewhat over-imperious in matters relating to his own business; but, in excuse for him, it must be stated that he was, in truth, an honest tradesman;—he was honest at least so far, that he did make his breeches as well as he knew how. He had made up his mind that the best way to make his fortune was to send out good articles,—and he did his best. Whether or no he was honest in adding on that additional half guinea to the price because he found that the men with whom he dealt were fools enough to be attracted by a high price, shall be left to advanced moralists to decide. In that universal agreement with diverse opinions there must, we fear, have been something of dishonesty. But he made the best of breeches, put no shoddy or cheap stitching into them, and was, upon the whole, an honest tradesman.
From 9.30 to 5.15 were Mr. Neefit's hours; but it had come to be understood by those who knew the establishment well, that from half-past twelve to half-past one the master was always absent. The young man who sat at the high desk, and seemed to spend all his time in contemplating38 the bad debts in the ledger39, would tell gentlemen who called up to one that Mr. Neefit was in the City. After one it was always said that Mr. Neefit was lunching at the Restaurong. The truth was that Mr. Neefit always dined in the middle of the day at a public-house round the corner, having a chop and a "follow chop," a pint40 of beer, a penny newspaper and a pipe. When the villa at Hendon had been first taken Mrs. Neefit had started late dinners; but that vigilant41 and intelligent lady had soon perceived that this simply meant, in regard to her husband, two dinners a day,—and apoplexy. She had, therefore, returned to the old ways,—an early dinner for herself and daughter, and a little bit of supper at night. Now, one day in June,—that very Saturday on which Sir Thomas Underwood brought his niece home to Fulham, the day after that wicked kiss on the lawn at Fulham, Ralph Newton walked into Neefit's shop during the hour of Mr. Neefit's absence, and ordered,—three pair of breeches. Herr "Bawwah," the cutter, who never left his board during the day for more than five minutes at a time, remained, as was his custom, mute and apparently42 inattentive; but the foreman came down from his perch43 and took the order. Mr. Neefit was out, unfortunately;—in the City. Ralph Newton remarked that his measure was not in the least altered, gave his order, and went out.
"Three pair?—leather?" asked Mr. Neefit, when he returned, raising his eyebrows44, and clearly showing that the moment was not one of unmixed delight.
"Two leather;—one cord," said the foreman. "He had four pair last year," said Mr. Neefit, in a tone so piteous that it might almost have been thought that he was going to weep.
"One hundred and eighty-nine pounds, fourteen shillings, and nine pence was the Christmas figure," said the foreman, turning back to a leaf in the book, which he found without any difficulty. Mr. Neefit took himself to the examination of certain completed articles which adorned45 his shop, as though he were anxious to banish46 from his mind so painful a subject. "Is he to 'ave 'em, Mr. Neefit?" asked the foreman. The master was still silent, and still fingered the materials which his very soul loved. "He must 'ave a matter of twenty pair by him,—unless he sells 'em," said the suspicious foreman.
"He don't sell 'em," said Mr. Neefit. "He ain't one of that sort. You can put 'em in hand, Waddle47."
"Very well, Mr. Neefit. I only thought I'd mention it. It looked queer like, his coming just when you was out."
"I don't see anything queer in it. He ain't one of that sort. Do you go on." Mr. Waddle knew nothing of the hundred pounds, nor did he know that Ralph Newton had,—twice drank tea at Hendon. On both occasions Mrs. Neefit had declared that if ever she saw a gentleman, Mr. Newton was a gentleman; and Miss Neefit, though her words had been very few, had evidently approved of Mr. Newton's manners. Now Miss Neefit was a beauty and an heiress.
Mr. Waddle had hardly been silenced, and had just retired48 with melancholy49 diligence amidst the records of unsatisfactory commercial transactions, before Ralph Newton again entered the shop. He shook hands with Mr. Neefit,—as was the practice with many favourite customers,—and immediately went to work in regard to his new order, as though every Christmas and every Midsummer saw an account closed on his behalf in Mr. Neefit's books. "I did say just now, when I found you were out, that last year's lines would do; but it may be, you know, that I'm running a little to flesh."
"We can't be too particular, Mr. Newton," said the master.
"It's all for your sake that I come," said the young sportsman, walking into the little room, while Mr. Neefit followed with his scraps50 of paper and tapes, and Waddle followed him to write down the figures. "I don't care much how they look myself."
"Oh, Mr. Newton!"
"I shouldn't like 'em to wrinkle inside the knee, you know."
"That isn't likely with us, I hope, Mr. Newton."
"And I own I do like to be able to get into them."
"We don't give much trouble in that way, Mr. Newton."
"But the fact is I have such trust in you and the silent gentleman out there, that I believe you would fit me for the next twenty years, though you were never to see me."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Newton,—2, 4, and 1/8th, Waddle. I think Mr. Newton is a little stouter51. But, perhaps, you may work that off before November, Mr. Newton. Thank you, Mr. Newton;—I think that'll do. You'll find we shan't be far wrong. Three pair, Mr. Newton?"
"Yes;—I think three pair will see me through next season. I don't suppose I shall hunt above four days, and I have some by me."
Some by him! There must be drawers full of them,—presses full of them, chests full of them! Waddle, the melancholy and suspicious Waddle, was sure that their customer was playing them false,—raising money on the garments as soon as they were sent to him; but he did not dare to say anything of this after the snubbing which he had already received. If old Neefit chose to be done by a dishonest young man it was nothing to him. But in truth Waddle did not understand men as well as did his master;—and then he knew nothing of his master's ambitious hopes.
"The bishops52 came out very strong last night;—didn't they?" said Ralph, in the outer shop.
"Very strong, indeed, Mr. Newton;—very strong."
"But, after all, they're nothing but a pack of old women."
"That's about what they are, Mr. Newton."
"Not but what we must have a Church, I suppose."
"We should do very badly without a Church, Mr. Newton. At least that is my opinion." Then Ralph left the shop, and the breeches-maker bowed him out of the door.
"Fifty thousand pounds!" said Ralph Newton to himself, as he walked into Bond Street and down to his club. When a man is really rich rumour always increases his money,—and rumour had doubled the fortune which Mr. Neefit had already amassed53. "That means two thousand a year; and the girl herself is so pretty, that upon my honour I don't know which is the prettier,—she or Clary. But fancy old Neefit for one's father-in-law! Everybody is doing it now; but I don't think I'd do it for ten times the money. The fact is, one has got to get used to these things, and I am not used to it yet. I soon shall be,—or to something worse." Such was the nature of Ralph's thoughts as he walked away from Mr. Neefit's house to his club.
Mr. Neefit, as he went home, had his speculations54 also. In making breeches he was perfect, and in putting together money he had proved himself to be an adept55. But as to the use of his money, he was quite as much at a loss as he would have been had he tried to wear the garments for which he measured his customers so successfully. He had almost realised the truth that from that money he himself could extract, for himself, but little delight beyond that which arose simply from the possession. Holidays destroyed him. Even a day at home at Hendon, other than Sunday, was almost more than he could endure. The fruition of life to him was in the completing of breeches, and its charm in a mutton-chop and a pipe of tobacco. He had tried idleness, and was wise enough to know almost at the first trial that idleness would not suit him. He had made one mistake in life which was irreparable. He had migrated from Conduit Street to a cold, comfortless box of a house at a place in which, in order that his respectability might be maintained, he was not allowed to show his face in a public-house. This was very bad, but he would not make bad worse by giving up so much of Conduit Street as was still left to him. He would stick to the shop. But what would he do with his money? He had but one daughter. Thinking of this, day after day, month after month, year after year, he came slowly to the conclusion that it was his duty to make his daughter a lady. He must find some gentleman who would marry her, and then would give that gentleman all his money,—knowing as he did so that the gentleman would probably never speak to him again. And to this conclusion he came with no bitterness of feeling, with no sense of disappointment that to such an end must come the exertions56 of his laborious57 and successful life. There was nothing else for him to do. He could not be a gentleman himself. It seemed to be no more within his reach than it is for the gentleman to be an angel. He did not desire it. He would not have enjoyed it. He had that sort of sense which makes a man know so thoroughly58 his own limits that he has no regret at not passing them. But yet in his eyes a gentleman was so grand a thing,—a being so infinitely59 superior to himself,—that, loving his daughter above anything else, he did think that he could die happy if he could see her married into a station so exalted60. There was a humility61 in this as regarded himself and an affection for his child which were admirable.
The reader will think that he might at any rate have done better than to pitch upon such a one as Ralph Newton; but then the reader hardly knows Ralph Newton as yet, and cannot at all realise the difficulty which poor Mr. Neefit experienced in coming across any gentleman in such a fashion as to be able to commence his operations. It is hardly open to a tradesman to ask a young man home to his house when measuring him from the hip62 to the knee. Neefit had heard of many cases in which gentlemen of money had married the daughters of commercial men, and he knew that the thing was to be done. Money, which spent in other directions seemed to be nearly useless to him, might be used beneficially in this way. But how was he to set about it? Polly Neefit was as pretty a girl as you shall wish to see, and he knew that she was pretty. But, if he didn't take care, the good-looking young gasfitter, next door to him down at Hendon, would have his Polly before he knew where he was. Or, worse still, as he thought, there was that mad son of his old friend Moggs, the bootmaker, Ontario Moggs as he had been christened by a Canadian godfather, with whom Polly had condescended63 already to hold something of a flirtation64. He could not advertise for a genteel lover. What could he do?
Then Ralph Newton made his way down to the Hendon villa,—asking for money. What should have induced Mr. Newton to come to him for money he could not guess;—but he did know that, of all the young men who came into his back shop to be measured, there was no one whose looks and manners and cheery voice had created so strong a feeling of pleasantness as had those of Mr. Ralph Newton. Mr. Neefit could not analyse it, but there was a kind of sunshine about the young man which would have made him very unwilling65 to press hard for payment, or to stop the supply of breeches. He had taken a liking66 to Ralph, and found himself thinking about the young man in his journeys between Hendon and Conduit Street. Was not this the sort of gentleman that would suit his daughter? Neefit wanted no one to tell him that Ralph Newton was a gentleman,—what he meant by a gentleman,—and that Wallop the stockbroker was not. Wallop the stockbroker spoke24 of himself as though he was a very fine fellow indeed; but to the thinking of Mr. Neefit, Ontario Moggs was more like a gentleman than Mr. Wallop. He had feared much as to his daughter, both in reference to the handsome gasfitter and to Ontario Moggs, but since that second tea-drinking he had hoped that his daughter's eyes were opened.
He had made inquiry about Ralph Newton, and had found that the young man was undoubtedly heir to a handsome estate in Hampshire,—a place called Newton Priory, with a parish of Newton Peele, and lodges67, and a gamekeeper, and a park. He knew from of old that Ralph's uncle would have nothing to do with his nephew's debts; but he learned now as a certainty that the uncle could not disinherit his nephew. And the debts did not seem to be very high;—and Ralph had come into some property from his father. Upon the whole, though of course there must be a sacrifice of money at first, Neefit thought that he saw his way. Mr. Newton, too, had been very civil to his girl,—not simply making to her foolish flattering little speeches, but treating her,—so thought Neefit,—exactly as a high-bred gentleman would treat the lady of his thoughts. It was a high ambition; but Neefit thought that there might possibly be a way to success.
Mrs. Neefit had been a good helpmate to her husband,—having worked hard for him when hard work on her part was needed,—but was not altogether so happy in her disposition68 as her lord. He desired to shine only in his daughter,—and as a tradesman. She was troubled by the more difficult ambition of desiring to shine in her own person. It was she who had insisted on migrating to Hendon, and who had demanded also the establishment of a one-horse carriage. The one-horse carriage was no delight to Neefit, and hardly gave satisfaction to his wife after the first three months. To be driven along the same roads, day after day, at the rate of six miles an hour, though it may afford fresh air, is not an exciting amusement. Mrs. Neefit was not given to reading, and was debarred by a sense of propriety69 from making those beef-steak puddings for which, within her own small household, she had once been so famous. Hendon she found dull; and, though Hendon had been her own choice, she could not keep herself from complaining of its dulness to her husband. But she always told him that the fault lay with him. He ought to content himself with going to town four times a week, and take a six weeks' holiday in the autumn. That was the recognised mode of life with gentlemen who had made their fortunes in trade. Then she tried to make him believe that constant seclusion70 in Conduit Street was bad for his liver. But above all things he ought to give up measuring his own customers with his own hands. None of their genteel neighbours would call upon his wife and daughter as long as he did that. But Mr. Neefit was a man within whose bosom71 gallantry had its limits. He had given his wife a house at Hendon, and was contented72 to take that odious73 journey backwards74 and forwards six days a week to oblige her. But when she told him not to measure his own customers, "he cut up rough" as Polly called it. "You be blowed," he said to the wife of his bosom. He had said it before, and she bore it with majestic75 equanimity76.
Polly Neefit was, as we have said, as pretty a girl as you shall wish to see, in spite of a nose that was almost a pug nose, and a mouth that was a little large. I think, however, that she was perhaps prettier at seventeen, when she would run up and down Conduit Street on messages for her father,—who was not as yet aware that she had ceased to be a child,—than she became afterwards at Hendon, when she was twenty. In those early days her glossy77 black hair hung down her face in curls. Now, she had a thing on the back of her head, and her hair was man?uvred after the usual fashion. But her laughing dark eyes were full of good-humour, and looked as though they could be filled also with feeling. Her complexion78 was perfect,—perfect at twenty, though from its nature it would be apt to be fixed79, and perhaps rough and coarse at thirty. But at twenty it was perfect. It was as is the colour of a half-blown rose, in which the variations from white to pink, and almost to red, are so gradual and soft as to have no limits. And then with her there was a charm beyond that of the rose, for the hues80 would ever be changing. As she spoke or laughed, or became serious or sat thoughtless, or pored over her novel, the tint81 of her cheek and neck would change as this or that emotion, be it ever so slight, played upon the current of her blood. She was tall, and well made,—perhaps almost robust82. She was good-humoured, somewhat given to frank coquetry, and certainly fond of young men. She had sense enough not to despise her father, and was good enough to endeavour to make life bearable to her mother. She was clever, too, in her way, and could say sprightly83 things. She read novels, and loved a love story. She meant herself to have a grand passion some day, but did not quite sympathise with her father's views about gentlemen. Not that these views were discussed between them, but each was gradually learning the mind of the other. It was very pleasant to Polly Neefit to waltz with the good-looking gasfitter;—and indeed to waltz with any man was a pleasure to Polly, for dancing was her Paradise upon earth. And she liked talking to Ontario Moggs, who was a clever man and had a great deal to say about many things. She believed that Ontario Moggs was dying for her love, but she had by no means made up her mind that Ontario was to be the hero of the great passion. The great passion was quite a necessity for her. She must have her romance. But Polly was aware that a great passion ought to be made to lead to a snug84 house, half a dozen children, and a proper, church-going, roast-mutton, duty-doing manner of life. Now Ontario Moggs had very wild ideas. As for the gasfitter he danced well and was good-looking, but he had very little to say for himself. When Polly saw Ralph Newton,—especially when he sat out on the lawn with them and smoked cigars on his second coming,—she thought him very nice. She had no idea of being patronised by any one, and she was afraid of persons whom she called "stuck-up" ladies and gentlemen. But Mr. Newton had not patronised her, and she had acknowledged that he was—very nice. Such as she was, she was the idol85 of her father's heart and the apple of his eye. If she had asked him to give up measuring, he might have yielded. But then his Polly was too wise for that.
We must say a word more of Mrs. Neefit, and then we shall hope that our readers will know the family. She had been the daughter of a breeches-maker, to whom Neefit had originally been apprenticed,—and therefore regarded herself as the maker of the family. But in truth the business, such as it was now in its glory, had been constructed by her husband, and her own fortune had been very small. She was a stout, round-faced, healthy, meaningless woman, in whom ill-humour would not have developed itself unless idleness,—that root of all evil,—had fallen in her way. As it was, in the present condition of their lives, she did inflict86 much discomfort87 on poor Mr. Neefit. Had he been ill, she would have nursed him with all her care. Had he died, she would have mourned for him as the best of husbands. Had he been three parts ruined in trade, she would have gone back to Conduit Street and made beef-steak puddings almost without a murmur. She was very anxious for his Sunday dinner,—and would have considered it to be a sin to be without a bit of something nice for his supper. She took care that he always wore flannel88, and would never let him stay away from church,—lest worse should befall him. But she couldn't let him be quiet. What else was there left for her to do but to nag89 him? Polly, who was with her during the long hours of the day, would not be nagged90. "Now, mamma!" she'd say with a tone of authority that almost overcame mamma. And if mamma was very cross, Polly would escape. But during the long hours of the night the breeches-maker could not escape;—and in minor91 matters the authority lay with her. It was only when great matters were touched that Mr. Neefit would rise in his wrath92 and desire his wife "to be blowed."
No doubt Mrs. Neefit was an unhappy woman,—more unfortunate as a woman than was her husband as a man. The villa at Hendon had been heavy upon him, but it had been doubly heavy upon her. He could employ himself. The legs of his customers, to him, were a blessed resource. But she had no resource. The indefinite idea which she had formed of what life would be in a pretty villa residence had been proved to be utterly93 fallacious,—though she had never acknowledged the fallacy either to husband or daughter. That one-horse carriage in which she was dragged about, was almost as odious to her as her own drawing-room. That had become so horrible that it was rarely used;—but even the dining-room was very bad. What would she do there, poor woman? What was there left for her to do at all in this world,—except to nag at her husband?
Nevertheless all who knew anything about the Neefits said that they were very respectable people, and had done very well in the world.
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maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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degenerating
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的现在分词 ) | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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compensating
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| 补偿，补助，修正 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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condescend
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retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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stockbroker
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| n.股票（或证券），经纪人（或机构） | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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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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subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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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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incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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protrusive
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| adj.伸出的，突出的 | |
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dictatorial
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| adj. 独裁的，专断的 | |
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subservience
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| n.有利，有益；从属（地位），附属性；屈从，恭顺；媚态 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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scoffer
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| 嘲笑者 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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waddle
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| vi.摇摆地走；n.摇摆的走路(样子) | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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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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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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stouter
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| 粗壮的( stout的比较级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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amassed
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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lodges
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| v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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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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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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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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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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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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sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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84
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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86
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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88
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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89
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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90
nagged
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| adj.经常遭责怪的；被压制的；感到厌烦的；被激怒的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的过去式和过去分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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93
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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