The week-end visit is a form of entertainment peculiar1 to Great Britain. It is a thing that could have been possible only in a land essentially2 aristocratic and mellow3, in which even the observance of the sabbath has become mellow. At every London terminus on a Saturday afternoon the outgoing trains have an unusually large proportion of first class carriages, and a peculiar abundance of rich-looking dressing-bags provoke the covetous4 eye. A discreet5 activity of valets and maids mingles6 with the stimulated7 alertness of the porters. One marks celebrities8 in gay raiment. There is an indefinable air of distinction upon platform and bookstall. Sometimes there are carriages reserved for especially privileged parties. There are greetings.
“And so you are coming too!”
“No, this time it is Shonts.”
“The place where they found the Rubens. Who has it now?” ...
Through this cheerfully prosperous throng9 went the Lord Chancellor10 with his high nose, those eyebrows11 of his which he seemed to be able 23to furl or unfurl at will and his expression of tranquil12 self-sufficiency. He was going to Shonts for his party and not for his pleasure, but there was no reason why that should appear upon his face. He went along preoccupied13, pretending to see nobody, leaving to others the disadvantage of the greeting. In his right hand he carried a small important bag of leather. Under his left arm he bore a philosophical14 work by Doctor MacTaggart, three illustrated15 papers, the Fortnightly Review, the day’s Times, the Hibbert Journal, Punch and two blue books. His Lordship never quite knew the limits set to what he could carry under his arm. His man, Candler, followed therefore at a suitable distance with several papers that had already been dropped, alert to retrieve16 any further losses.
At the large bookstall they passed close by Mrs. Rampound Pilby who, according to her custom, was feigning17 to be a member of the general public and was asking the clerk about her last book. The Lord Chancellor saw Rampound Pilby hovering18 at hand and deftly19 failed to catch his eye. He loathed20 the Rampound Pilbys. He speculated for a moment what sort of people could possibly stand Mrs. Pilby’s vast pretensions—even from Saturday to Monday. One dinner party on her right hand had glutted21 him for life. He chose a corner seat, took possession of both it and the seat opposite it in order to have somewhere to put his feet, left Candler to watch over and pack in his hand luggage and went high up the platform, remaining there with his back to the world—rather 24like a bigger more aquiline22 Napoleon—in order to evade23 the great novelist.
In this he was completely successful.
He returned however to find Candler on the verge24 of a personal conflict with a very fair young man in grey. He was so fair as to be almost an albino, except that his eyes were quick and brown; he was blushing the brightest pink and speaking very quickly.
“These two places,” said Candler, breathless with the badness of his case, “are engaged.”
“Oh ve-very well,” said the very fair young man with his eyebrows and moustache looking very pale by contrast, “have it so. But do permit me to occupy the middle seat of the carriage. With a residuary interest in the semi-gentleman’s place.”
“You little know, young man, whom you are calling a semi-gentleman,” said Candler, whose speciality was grammar.
“Here he is!” said the young gentleman.
“Which place will you have, my Lord?” asked Candler, abandoning his case altogether.
“Facing,” said the Lord Chancellor slowly unfurling the eyebrows and scowling25 at the young man in grey.
“Then I’ll have the other,” said the very fair young man talking very glibly26. He spoke27 with a quick low voice, like one who forces himself to keep going. “You see,” he said, addressing the great jurist with the extreme familiarity of the courageously28 nervous, “I’ve gone into this sort of thing before. First, mind you, I have a far look for a vacant corner. I’m not the sort to spoil 25sport. But if there isn’t a vacant corner I look for traces of a semi-gentleman. A semi-gentleman is one who has a soft cap and not an umbrella—his friend in the opposite seat has the umbrella—or he has an umbrella and not a soft cap, or a waterproof29 and not a bag, or a bag and not a waterproof. And a half interest in a rug. That’s what I call a semi-gentleman. You see the idea. Sort of divided beggar. Nothing in any way offensive.”
“Sir,” said the Lord Chancellor, interrupting in a voice of concentrated passion, “I don’t care a rap what you call a semi-gentleman. Will you get out of my way?”
“Just as you please,” said the very fair young gentleman, and going a few paces from the carriage door he whistled for the boy with the papers. He was bearing up bravely.
“Pink ’un?” said the very fair young gentleman almost breathlessly. “Black and White. What’s all these others? Athen?um? Sporting and Dramatic? Right O. And—Eh! What? Do I look the sort that buys a Spectator? You don’t know! My dear boy, where’s your savoir faire?”
§ 2
The Lord Chancellor was a philosopher and not easily perturbed30. His severe manner was consciously assumed and never much more than skin-deep. He had already furled his eyebrows and dismissed his vis-a-vis from his mind before the train started. He turned over the Hibbert Journal, and read in it with a large tolerance31.
26Dimly on the outskirts32 of his consciousness the very fair young man hovered33, as a trifling34 annoyance35, as something pink and hot rustling36 a sheet of a discordant37 shade of pink, as something that got in the way of his legs and whistled softly some trivial cheerful air, just to show how little it cared. Presently, very soon, this vague trouble would pass out of his consciousness altogether....
The Lord Chancellor was no mere38 amateur of philosophy. His activities in that direction were a part of his public reputation. He lectured on religion and ?sthetics. He was a fluent Hegelian. He spent his holidays, it was understood, in the Absolute—at any rate in Germany. He would sometimes break into philosophy at dinner tables and particularly over the desert and be more luminously39 incomprehensible while still apparently40 sober, than almost anyone. An article in the Hibbert caught and held his attention. It attempted to define a new and doubtful variety of Infinity41. You know, of course, that there are many sorts and species of Infinity, and that the Absolute is just the king among Infinities42 as the lion is king among the Beasts....
“I say,” said a voice coming out of the world of Relativity and coughing the cough of those who break a silence, “you aren’t going to Shonts, are you?”
The Lord Chancellor returned slowly to earth.
“Just seen your label,” said the very fair young man. “You see,—I’m going to Shonts.”
The Lord Chancellor remained outwardly serene43. He reflected for a moment. And then he fell into 27that snare44 which is more fatal to great lawyers and judges perhaps than to any other class of men, the snare of the crushing repartee45. One had come into his head now,—a beauty.
“Well—rather.”
“It would be a great pity,” said the Lord Chancellor with an effective blandness47, using a kind of wry48 smile that he employed to make things humorous, “it would be a great pity, don’t you think, to anticipate that pleasure.”
And having smiled the retort well home with his head a little on one side, he resumed with large leisurely49 movements the reading of his Hibbert Journal.
“Got me there,” said the very fair young man belatedly, looking boiled to a turn, and after a period of restlessness settled down to an impatient perusal50 of Black and White.
“There’s a whole blessed week-end of course,” the young man remarked presently without looking up from his paper and apparently pursuing some obscure meditations51....
A vague uneasiness crept into the Lord Chancellor’s mind as he continued to appear to peruse52. Out of what train of thought could such a remark arise? His weakness for crushing retort had a little betrayed him....
It was, however, only when he found himself upon the platform of Chelsome, which as everyone knows is the station for Shonts, and discovered Mr. and Mrs. Rampound Pilby upon the platform, 28looking extraordinarily53 like a national monument and its custodian54, that the Lord Chancellor, began to realize that he was in the grip of fate, and that the service he was doing his party by week-ending with the Laxtons was likely to be not simply joyless but disagreeable.
Well, anyhow, he had MacTaggart, and he could always work in his own room....
§ 3
By the end of dinner the Lord Chancellor was almost at the end of his large but clumsy endurance; he kept his eyebrows furled only by the most strenuous55 relaxation56 of his muscles, and within he was a sea of silent blasphemies57. All sorts of little things had accumulated....
He exercised an unusual temperance with the port and old brandy his host pressed upon him, feeling that he dared not relax lest his rage had its way with him. The cigars were quite intelligent at any rate, and he smoked and listened with a faintly perceptible disdain58 to the conversation of the other men. At any rate Mrs. Rampound Pilby was out of the room. The talk had arisen out of a duologue that had preceded the departure of the ladies, a duologue of Timbre59’s, about apparitions60 and the reality of the future life. Sir Peter Laxton, released from the eyes of his wife, was at liberty to say he did not believe in all this stuff; it was just thought transference and fancy and all that sort of thing. His declaration did not arrest the flow of feeble instances and experiences 29into which such talk invariably degenerates61. His Lordship remained carelessly attentive62, his eyebrows unfurled but drooping63, his cigar upward at an acute angle; he contributed no anecdotes64, content now and then to express himself compactly by some brief sentence of pure Hegelian—much as a Mahometan might spit.
“Why! come to that, they say Shonts is haunted,” said Sir Peter. “I suppose we could have a ghost here in no time if I chose to take it on. Rare place for a ghost, too.”
The very fair young man of the train had got a name now and was Captain Douglas. When he was not blushing too brightly he was rather good looking. He was a distant cousin of Lady Laxton’s. He impressed the Lord Chancellor as unabashed. He engaged people in conversation with a cheerful familiarity that excluded only the Lord Chancellor, and even at the Lord Chancellor he looked ever and again. He pricked65 up his ears at the mention of ghosts, and afterwards when the Lord Chancellor came to think things over, it seemed to him that he had caught a curious glance of the Captain’s bright little brown eye.
“What sort of ghost, Sir Peter? Chains? Eh? No?”
“Nothing of that sort, it seems. I don’t know much about it, I wasn’t sufficiently66 interested. No, sort of spook that bangs about and does you a mischief67. What’s its name? Plundergeist?”
“Poltergeist,” the Lord Chancellor supplied carelessly in the pause.
30“Runs its hand over your hair in the dark. Taps your shoulder. All nonsense. But we don’t tell the servants. Sort of thing I don’t believe in. Easily explained,—what with panelling and secret passages and priests’ holes and all that.”
“Priests’ holes!” Douglas was excited.
“Where they hid. Perfect rabbit warren. There’s one going out from the drawing-room alcove68. Quite a good room in its way. But you know,”—a note of wrath69 crept into Sir Peter’s voice,—“they didn’t treat me fairly about these priests’ holes. I ought to have had a sketch70 and a plan of these priests’ holes. When a chap is given possession of a place, he ought to be given possession. Well! I don’t know where half of them are myself. That’s not possession. Else we might refurnish them and do them up a bit. I guess they’re pretty musty.”
Captain Douglas spoke with his eye on the Lord Chancellor. “Sure there isn’t a murdered priest in the place, Sir Peter?” he asked.
“Nothing of the sort,” said Sir Peter. “I don’t believe in these priests’ holes. Half of ’em never had priests in ’em. It’s all pretty tidy rot I expect—come to the bottom of it....”
The conversation did not get away from ghosts and secret passages until the men went to the drawing-room. If it seemed likely to do so Captain Douglas pulled it back. He seemed to delight in these silly particulars; the sillier they were the more he was delighted.
The Lord Chancellor was a little preoccupied by one of those irrational71 suspicions that will 31sometimes afflict72 the most intelligent of men. Why did Douglas want to know all the particulars about the Shonts ghosts? Why every now and then did he glance with that odd expression at one’s face,—a glance half appealing and half amused. Amused! It was a strange fancy, but the Lord Chancellor could almost have sworn that the young man was laughing at him. At dinner he had had that feeling one has at times of being talked about; he had glanced along the table to discover the Captain and a rather plain woman, that idiot Timbre’s wife she probably was, with their heads together looking up at him quite definitely and both manifestly pleased by something Douglas was telling her....
What was it Douglas had said in the train? Something like a threat. But the exact words had slipped the Lord Chancellor’s memory....
The Lord Chancellor’s preoccupation was just sufficient to make him a little unwary. He drifted into grappling distance of Mrs. Rampound Pilby. Her voice caught him like a lasso and drew him in.
“Well, and how is Lord Moggeridge now?” she asked.
What on earth is one to say to such an impertinence?
She was always like that. She spoke to a man of the calibre of Lord Bacon as though she was speaking to a schoolboy home for the holidays. She had an invincible73 air of knowing all through everybody. It gave rather confidence to her work than charm to her manner.
32“Do you still go on with your philosophy?” she said.
“No,” shouted the Lord Chancellor, losing all self-control for the moment and waving his eyebrows about madly, “no, I go off with it.”
“For your vacations? Ah, Lord Moggeridge, how I envy you great lawyers your long vacations. I—never get a vacation. Always we poor authors are pursued by our creations, sometimes it’s typescript, sometimes it’s proofs. Not that I really complain of proofs. I confess to a weakness for proofs. Sometimes, alas74! it’s criticism. Such undiscerning criticism!...”
The Lord Chancellor began to think very swiftly of some tremendous lie that would enable him to escape at once without incivility from Lady Laxton’s drawing-room. Then he perceived that Mrs. Rampound Pilby was asking him; “Is that the Captain Douglas, or his brother, who’s in love with the actress woman?”
The Lord Chancellor made no answer. What he thought was “Great Silly Idiot! How should I know?”
“I think it must be the one,—the one who had to leave Portsmouth in disgrace because of the ragging scandal. He did nothing there, they say, but organize practical jokes. Some of them were quite subtle practical jokes. He’s a cousin of our hostess; that perhaps accounts for his presence....”
The Lord Chancellor’s comment betrayed the drift of his thoughts. “He’d better not try that sort of thing on here,” he said. “I abominate—clowning.”
33Drawing-room did not last very long. Even Lady Laxton could not miss the manifest gloom of her principal guest, and after the good-nights and barley75 water and lemonade on the great landing Sir Peter led Lord Moggeridge by the arm—he hated being led by the arm—into the small but still spacious76 apartment that was called the study. The Lord Chancellor was now very thirsty; he was not used to abstinence of any sort; but Sir Peter’s way of suggesting a drink roused such a fury of resentment77 in him that he refused tersely78 and conclusively79. There was nobody else in the study but Captain Douglas, who seemed to hesitate upon the verge of some familiar address, and Lord Woodenhouse, who was thirsty, too, and held a vast tumbler of whisky and soda80, with a tinkle81 of ice in it, on his knee in a way annoying to a parched82 man. The Lord Chancellor helped himself to a cigar and assumed the middle of the fireplace with an air of contentment, but he could feel the self-control running out of the heels of his boots.
Sir Peter, after a quite unsuccessful invasion of his own hearthrug—the Lord Chancellor stood like a rock—secured the big arm-chair, stuck his feet out towards his distinguished83 guest and resumed a talk that he had been holding with Lord Woodenhouse about firearms. Mergleson had as usual been too attentive to his master’s glass, and the fine edge was off Sir Peter’s deference84. “I always have carried firearms,” he said, “and I always shall. Used properly they are a great protection. Even in the country how are 34you to know who you’re going to run up against—anywhen?”
“But you might shoot and hit something,” said Douglas.
“Properly used, I said—properly used. Whipping out a revolver and shooting at a man, that’s not properly used. Almost as bad as pointing it at him—which is pretty certain to make him fly straight at you. If he’s got an ounce of pluck. But I said properly used and I mean properly used.”
The Lord Chancellor tried to think about that article on Infinities, while appearing to listen to this fool’s talk. He despised revolvers. Armed with such eyebrows as his it was natural for him to despise revolvers.
“Now, I’ve got some nice little barkers upstairs,” said Sir Peter. “I’d almost welcome a burglar, just to try them.”
“If you shoot a burglar,” said Lord Woodenhouse abruptly85, with a gust86 of that ill-temper that was frequent at Shonts towards bedtime, “when he’s not attacking you, it’s murder.”
Sir Peter held up an offensively pacifying87 hand. “I know that,” he said; “you needn’t tell me that.”
He raised his voice a little to increase his already excessive accentuations. “I said properly used.”
A yawn took the Lord Chancellor unawares and he caught it dexterously88 with his hand. Then he saw Douglas hastily pull at his little blond moustache to conceal89 a smile,—grinning 35ape! What was there to smile at? The man had been smiling all the evening.
Up to something?
“Now let me tell you,” said Sir Peter, “let me tell you the proper way to use a revolver. You whip it out and instantly let fly at the ground. You should never let anyone see a revolver ever before they hear it—see? You let fly at the ground first off, and the concussion90 stuns91 them. It doesn’t stun92 you. You expect it, they don’t. See? There you are—five shots left, master of the situation.”
“I think, Sir Peter, I’ll bid you good-night,” said the Lord Chancellor, allowing his eye to rest for one covetous moment on the decanter, and struggling with the devil of pride.
Sir Peter made a gesture of extreme friendliness93 from his chair, expressive94 of the Lord Chancellor’s freedom to do whatever he pleased at Shonts. “I may perhaps tell you a little story that happened once in Morocco.”
“My eyes won’t keep open any longer,” said Captain Douglas suddenly, with a whirl of his knuckles95 into his sockets96, and stood up.
Lord Woodenhouse stood up too.
“You see,” said Sir Peter, standing97 also but sticking to his subject and his hearer. “This was when I was younger than I am now, you must understand, and I wasn’t married. Just mooching about a bit, between business and pleasure. Under such circumstances one goes into parts of a foreign town where one wouldn’t go if one was older and wiser....”
36Captain Douglas left Sir Peter and Woodenhouse to it.
He emerged on the landing and selected one of the lighted candlesticks upon the table. “Lord!” he whispered. He grimaced98 in soliloquy and then perceived the Lord Chancellor regarding him with suspicion and disfavour from the ascending99 staircase. He attempted ease. For the first time since the train incident he addressed Lord Moggeridge.
“I gather, my lord,—don’t believe in ghosts?” he said.
“No, Sir,” said the Lord Chancellor, “I don’t.”
“They won’t trouble me to-night.”
“They won’t trouble any of us.”
“Fine old house anyhow,” said Captain Douglas.
§ 4
When the Lord Chancellor sat down before the thoughtful fire in the fine old panelled room assigned to him he perceived that he was too disturbed to sleep. This was going to be an infernal week-end. The worst week-end he had ever had. Mrs. Rampound Pilby maddened him; Timbre, who was a Pragmatist—which stands in the same relation to a Hegelian that a small dog does to a large cat—exasperated him; he loathed Laxton, detested101 Rampound Pilby and feared—as far as he was capable of fearing anything—Captain 37Douglas. There was no refuge, no soul in the house to whom he could turn for consolation102 and protection from these others. Slinker Bond could talk only of the affairs of the party, and the Lord Chancellor, being Lord Chancellor, had long since lost any interest in the affairs of the party; Woodenhouse could talk of nothing. The women were astonishingly negligible. There were practically no pretty women. There ought always to be pretty young women for a Lord Chancellor, pretty young women who can at least seem to listen....
And he was atrociously thirsty.
His room was supplied only with water,—stuff you use to clean your teeth—and nothing else....
No good thinking about it....
He decided103 that the best thing he could do to compose himself before turning in would be to sit down at the writing-table and write a few sheets of Hegelian—about that Infinity article in the Hibbert. There is indeed no better consolation for a troubled mind than the Hegelian exercises; they lift it above—everything. He took off his coat and sat down to this beautiful amusement, but he had scarcely written a page before his thirst became a torment104. He kept thinking of that great tumbler Woodenhouse had held,—sparkling, golden, cool—and stimulating105.
What he wanted was a good stiff whisky and a cigar, one of Laxton’s cigars, the only good thing in his entertainment so far.
And then Philosophy.
38Even as a student he had been a worker of the Teutonic type,—never abstemious106.
He thought of ringing and demanding these comforts, and then it occurred to him that it was a little late to ring for things. Why not fetch them from the study himself?...
He opened his door and looked out upon the great staircase. It was a fine piece of work, that staircase. Low, broad, dignified107....
There seemed to be nobody about. The lights were still on. He listened for a little while, and then put on his coat and went with a soft swiftness that was still quite dignified downstairs to the study, the study redolent of Sir Peter.
He made his modest collection.
Lord Moggeridge came nearer to satisfaction as he emerged from the study that night at Shonts than at any other moment during this ill-advised week-end. In his pocket were four thoroughly108 good cigars. In one hand he held a cut glass decanter of whisky. In the other a capacious tumbler. Under his arm, with that confidence in the unlimited109 portative power of his arm that nothing could shake, he had tucked the syphon. His soul rested upon the edge of tranquillity110 like a bird that has escaped the fowler. He was already composing his next sentence about that new variety of Infinity....
Then something struck him from behind and impelled111 him forward a couple of paces. It was something hairy, something in the nature, he thought afterwards, of a worn broom. And also 39there were two other things softer and a little higher on each side....
Then it was he made that noise like the young of some large animal.
He dropped the glass in a hasty attempt to save the syphon....
“What in the name of Heaven—?” he cried, and found himself alone.
“Captain Douglas!”
The thought leapt to his mind.
But indeed, it was not Captain Douglas. It was Bealby. Bealby in panic flight from Thomas. And how was Bealby to know that this large, richly laden112 man was the Lord Chancellor of England? Never before had Bealby seen anyone in evening dress except a butler, and so he supposed this was just some larger, finer kind of butler that they kept upstairs. Some larger, finer kind of butler blocking the path of escape. Bealby had taken in the situation with the rapidity of a hunted animal. The massive form blocked the door to the left....
In the playground of the village school Bealby had been pre?minent for his dodging113; he moved as quickly as a lizard114. His little hands, his head, poised115 with the skill of a practised butter, came against that mighty116 back, and then Bealby had dodged117 into the study....
But it seemed to Lord Moggeridge, staggering over his broken glass and circling about defensively, that this fearful indignity118 could come only from Captain Douglas. Foolery.... Blup, blup.... Sham119 Poltergeist. Imbeciles....
40He said as much, believing that this young man and possibly confederates were within hearing; he said as much—hotly. He went on to remark of an unphilosophical tendency about Captain Douglas generally, and about army officers, practical joking, Laxton’s hospitalities, Shonts.... Thomas, you will remember, heard him....
Nothing came of it. No answer, not a word of apology.
At last in a great dudgeon and with a kind of wariness120 about his back, the Lord Chancellor, with things more spoilt for him than ever, went on his way upstairs.
When the green baize door opened behind him, he turned like a shot, and a large foolish-faced butler appeared. Lord Moggeridge, with a sceptre-like motion of the decanter, very quietly and firmly asked him a simple question and then, then the lunatic must needs leap up three stairs and dive suddenly and upsettingly at his legs.
Lord Moggeridge was paralyzed with amazement121. His legs were struck from under him. He uttered one brief topographical cry.
(To Sir Peter unfortunately it sounded like “Help!”)
For a few seconds the impressions that rushed upon Lord Moggeridge were too rapid for adequate examination. He had a compelling fancy to kill butlers. Things culminated122 in a pistol shot. And then he found himself sitting on the landing beside a disgracefully dishevelled manservant, and his host was running downstairs to them with a revolver in his hand.
41On occasion Lord Moggeridge could produce a tremendous voice. He did so now. For a moment he stared panting at Sir Peter, and then emphasized by a pointing finger came the voice. Never had it been so charged with emotion.
“What does this mean, you, Sir?” he shouted. “What does this mean?”
It was exactly what Sir Peter had intended to say.
§ 5
Explanations are detestable things.
And anyhow it isn’t right to address your host as “You, Sir.”
§ 6
Throughout the evening the persuasion123 had grown in Lady Laxton’s mind that all was not going well with the Lord Chancellor. It was impossible to believe he was enjoying himself. But she did not know how to give things a turn for the better. Clever women would have known, but she was so convinced she was not clever that she did not even try.
Thing after thing had gone wrong.
How was she to know that there were two sorts of philosophy,—quite different? She had thought philosophy was philosophy. But it seemed that there were these two sorts, if not more; a round large sort that talked about the Absolute and was scornfully superior and rather irascible, and a jabby-pointed sort that called people “Tender” or “Tough,” and was generally 42much too familiar. To bring them together was just mixing trouble. There ought to be little books for hostesses explaining these things....
Then it was extraordinary that the Lord Chancellor, who was so tremendously large and clever, wouldn’t go and talk to Mrs. Rampound Pilby, who was also so tremendously large and clever. Repeatedly Lady Laxton had tried to get them into touch with one another. Until at last the Lord Chancellor had said distinctly and deliberately124, when she had suggested his going across to the eminent125 writer, “God forbid!” Her dream of a large clever duologue that she could afterwards recall with pleasure was altogether shattered. She thought the Lord Chancellor uncommonly126 hard to please. These weren’t the only people for him. Why couldn’t he chat party secrets with Slinker Bond or say things to Lord Woodenhouse? You could say anything you liked to Lord Woodenhouse. Or talk with Mr. Timbre. Mrs. Timbre had given him an excellent opening; she had asked, “Wasn’t it a dreadful anxiety always to have the Great Seal to mind?” He had simply grunted127.... And then why did he keep on looking so dangerously at Captain Douglas?...
Perhaps to-morrow things would take a turn for the better....
One can at least be hopeful. Even if one is not clever one can be that....
From such thoughts as these it was that this unhappy hostess was roused by a sound of smashing glass, a rumpus, and a pistol shot.
43She stood up, she laid her hand on her heart, she said “Oh!” and gripped her dressing-table for support....
After a long time and when it seemed that it was now nothing more than a hubbub128 of voices, in which her husband’s could be distinguished clearly, she crept out very softly upon the upper landing.
She perceived her cousin, Captain Douglas, looking extremely fair and frail129 and untrustworthy in a much too gorgeous kimono dressing-gown of embroidered130 Japanese silk. “I can assure you, my lord,” he was saying in a strange high-pitched deliberate voice, “on—my—word—of—honour—as—a—soldier, that I know absolutely nothing about it.”
“Sure it wasn’t all imagination, my lord?” Sir Peter asked with his inevitable131 infelicity....
She decided to lean over the balustrading and ask very quietly and clearly:
“Lord Moggeridge, please! is anything the matter?”
§ 6
All human beings are egotists, but there is no egotism to compare with the egotism of the very young.
Bealby was so much the centre of his world that he was incapable132 of any interpretation133 of this shouting and uproar134, this smashing of decanters and firing of pistol shots, except in reference to himself. He supposed it to be a Hue135 and Cry. He supposed that he was being hunted—hunted 44by a pack of great butlers hounded on by the irreparably injured Thomas. The thought of upstairs gentlefolks passed quite out of his mind. He snatched up a faked Syrian dagger136 that lay, in the capacity of a paper knife, on the study table, concealed137 himself under the chintz valance of a sofa, adjusted its rumpled138 skirts neatly139, and awaited the issue of events.
For a time events did not issue. They remained talking noisily upon the great staircase. Bealby could not hear what was said, but most of what was said appeared to be flat contradiction.
“Perchance,” whispered Bealby to himself, gathering140 courage, “perchance we have eluded141 them.... A breathing space....”
Then it seemed to Bealby that they were dispersing144 to beat the house for him. “Good-night again then,” said someone.
That puzzled him, but he decided it was a “blind.” He remained very, very still.
He heard a clicking in the apartment—the blue parlour it was called—between the study and the dining-room. Electric light?
Then some one came into the study. Bealby’s eye was as close to the ground as he could get it. He was breathless, he moved his head with an immense circumspection145. The valance was translucent146 but not transparent147, below it there was a crack of vision, a strip of carpet, the castors of chairs. Among these things he perceived feet—not ankles, it did not go up to that, but just feet. 45Large flattish feet. A pair. They stood still, and Bealby’s hand lighted on the hilt of his dagger.
The person above the feet seemed to be surveying the room or reflecting.
“Drunk!... Old fool’s either drunk or mad! That’s about the truth of it,” said a voice.
Mergleson! Angry, but parroty and unmistakable.
The feet went across to the table and there were faint sounds of refreshment148, discreetly149 administered. Then a moment of profound stillness....
“Ah!” said the voice at last, a voice renewed.
Then the feet went to the passage door, halted in the doorway150. There was a double click. The lights went out. Bealby was in absolute darkness.
Then a distant door closed and silence followed upon the dark....
“The Lord Chancellor’s going dotty,” said Mr. Mergleson, replying to the inevitable question. “That’s what’s up.” ...
“I tried to save the blessed syphon,” said Mr. Mergleson, pursuing his narrative153, “and ’e sprang on me like a leppard. I suppose ’e thought I wanted to take it away from ’im. ’E’d broke a glass already. ’Ow,—I don’t know. There it was, lying on the landing....”
“’Ere’s where ’e bit my ’and,” said Mr. Mergleson....
46A curious little side-issue occurred to Thomas. “Where’s young Kicker all this time?” he asked.
“Lord!” said Mr. Mergleson, “all them other things; they clean drove ’im out of my ’ed. I suppose ’e’s up there, hiding somewhere....”
He paused. His eye consulted the eye of Thomas.
“’E’s got behind a curtain or something,” said Mr. Mergleson....
“Queer where ’e can ’ave got to,” said Mr. Mergleson....
“Can’t be bothered about ’im,” said Mr. Mergleson.
“No good going and looking for ’im now,” said Mr. Mergleson. “Things upstairs,—they got to settle down....”
But in the small hours Mr. Mergleson awakened155 and thought of Bealby and wondered whether he was in bed. This became so great an uneasiness that about the hour of dawn he got up and went along the passage to Bealby’s compartment156. Bealby was not there and his bed had not been slept in.
That sinister157 sense of gathering misfortunes which comes to all of us at times in the small hours, was so strong in the mind of Mr. Mergleson that he went on and told Thomas of this disconcerting fact. Thomas woke with difficulty and rather crossly, but sat up at last, alive to the gravity of Mr. Mergleson’s mood.
47“If ’e’s found hiding about upstairs after all this upset,” said Mr. Mergleson, and left the rest of the sentence to a sympathetic imagination.
“Now it’s light,” said Mr. Mergleson after a slight pause, “I think we better just go round and ’ave a look for ’im. Both of us.”
So Thomas clad himself provisionally, and the two man-servants went upstairs very softly and began a series of furtive158 sweeping159 movements—very much in the spirit of Lord Kitchener’s historical sweeping movements in the Transvaal—through the stately old rooms in which Bealby must be lurking160....
§ 8
Man is the most restless of animals. There is an incessant161 urgency in his nature. He never knows when he is well off. And so it was that Bealby’s comparative security under the sofa became presently too irksome to be endured. He seemed to himself to stay there for ages, but as a matter of fact, he stayed there only twenty minutes. Then with eyes tempered to the darkness he first struck out an alert attentive head, then crept out and remained for the space of half a minute on all fours surveying the indistinct blacknesses about him.
Then he knelt up. Then he stood up. Then with arms extended and cautious steps he began an exploration of the apartment.
The passion for exploration grows with what 48it feeds upon. Presently Bealby was feeling his way into the blue parlour and then round by its shuttered and curtained windows to the dining-room. His head was now full of the idea of some shelter, more permanent, less pervious to housemaids, than that sofa. He knew enough now of domestic routines to know that upstairs in the early morning was much routed by housemaids. He found many perplexing turns and corners, and finally got into the dining-room fireplace where it was very dark and kicked against some fire-irons. That made his heart beat fast for a time. Then groping on past it, he found in the darkness what few people could have found in the day, the stud that released the panel that hid the opening of the way that led to the priest hole. He felt the thing open, and halted perplexed163. In that corner there wasn’t a ray of light. For a long time he was trying to think what this opening could be, and then he concluded it was some sort of back way from downstairs.... Well, anyhow it was all exploring. With an extreme gingerliness he got himself through the panel. He closed it almost completely behind him.
Careful investigation164 brought him to the view that he was in a narrow passage of brick or stone that came in a score of paces to a spiral staircase going both up and down. Up this he went, and presently breathed cool night air and had a glimpse of stars through a narrow slit-like window almost blocked by ivy165. Then—what was very disagreeable—something scampered166.
49When Bealby’s heart recovered he went on up again.
He came to the priest hole, a capacious cell six feet square with a bench bed and a little table and chair. It had a small door upon the stairs that was open and a niche167 cupboard. Here he remained for a time. Then restlessness made him explore a cramped168 passage, he had to crawl along it for some yards, that came presently into a curious space with wood on one side and stone on the other. Then ahead, most blessed thing! he saw light.
He went blundering toward it and then stopped appalled169. From the other side of this wooden wall to the right of him had come a voice.
“Come in!” said the voice. A rich masculine voice that seemed scarcely two yards away.
The voice soliloquized.
Bealby listened intently, and then when all was still again crept forward two paces more towards the gleam. It was a peephole.
The unseen speaker was walking about. Bealby listened, and the sound of his beating heart mingled with the pad, pad, of slippered172 footsteps. Then with a brilliant effort his eye was at the chink. All was still again. For a time he was perplexed by what he saw, a large pink shining dome162, against a deep greenish grey background. At the base of the dome was a kind of interrupted hedge, brown and leafless....
Then he realized that he was looking at the 50top of a head and two enormous eyebrows. The rest was hidden....
“Now,” said the occupant of the room, and suddenly he was standing up—Bealby saw a long hairy neck sticking out of a dressing-gown—and walking to the side of the room. “I won’t stand it,” said the great voice, “I won’t stand it. Ape’s foolery!”
Then the Lord Chancellor began rapping at the panelling about his apartment.
“Hollow! It all sounds hollow.”
Only after a long interval did he resume his writing....
All night long that rat behind the wainscot troubled the Lord Chancellor. Whenever he spoke, whenever he moved about, it was still; whenever he composed himself to write it began to rustle175 and blunder. Again and again it sniffed,—an annoying kind of sniff. At last the Lord Chancellor gave up his philosophical relaxation and went to bed, turned out the lights and attempted sleep, but this only intensified176 his sense of an uneasy, sniffing177 presence close to him. When the light was out it seemed to him that this Thing, whatever it was, instantly came into the room and set the floor creaking and snapping. A Thing perpetually attempting something and perpetually thwarted178....
The Lord Chancellor did not sleep a wink179. The first feeble infiltration180 of day found him sitting up in bed, wearily wrathful.... And now 51surely someone was going along the passage outside!
A great desire to hurt somebody very much seized upon the Lord Chancellor. Perhaps he might hurt that dismal181 farceur upon the landing! No doubt it was Douglas sneaking182 back to his own room after the night’s efforts.
The Lord Chancellor slipped on his dressing-gown of purple silk. Very softly indeed did he open his bedroom door and very warily183 peep out. He heard the soft pad of feet upon the staircase.
He crept across the broad passage to the beautiful old balustrading. Down below he saw Mergleson—Mergleson again!—in a shameful184 deshabille—going like a snake, like a slinking cat, like an assassin, into the door of the study. Rage filled the great man’s soul. Gathering up the skirts of his dressing-gown he started in a swift yet noiseless pursuit.
He followed Mergleson through the little parlour and into the dining-room, and then he saw it all! There was a panel open, and Mergleson very cautiously going in. Of course! They had got at him through the priest hole. They had been playing on his nerves. All night they had been doing it—no doubt in relays. The whole house was in this conspiracy185.
With his eyebrows spread like the wings of a fighting cock the Lord Chancellor in five vast noiseless strides had crossed the intervening space and gripped the butler by his collarless shirt as he was disappearing. It was like a hawk186 striking a sparrow. Mergleson felt himself 52clutched, glanced over his shoulder and, seeing that fierce familiar face again close to his own, pitiless, vindictive187, lost all sense of human dignity and yelled like a lost soul....
§ 9
Sir Peter Laxton was awakened from an uneasy sleep by the opening of the dressing-room door that connected his room with his wife’s.
He sat up astonished and stared at her white face, its pallor exaggerated by the cold light of dawn.
“Peter,” she said, “I’m sure there’s something more going on.”
“Something more going on?”
“Something—shouting and swearing.”
“You don’t mean—?”
She nodded. “The Lord Chancellor,” she said, in an awe-stricken whisper. “He’s at it again. Downstairs in the dining-room.”
Sir Peter seemed disposed at first to receive this quite passively. Then he flashed into extravagant188 wrath. “I’m damned,” he cried, jumping violently out of bed, “if I’m going to stand this! Not if he was a hundred Lord Chancellors189! He’s turning the place into a bally lunatic asylum190. Once—one might excuse. But to start in again.... What’s that?”
They both stood still listening. Faintly yet quite distinctly came the agonized191 cry of some imperfectly educated person,—“’Elp!”
“Here! Where’s my trousers?” cried Sir 53Peter. “He’s murdering Mergleson. There isn’t a moment to lose.”
§ 10
Until Sir Peter returned Lady Laxton sat quite still just as he had left her on his bed, aghast.
She could not even pray.
The sun had still to rise; the room was full of that cold weak inky light, light without warmth, knowledge without faith, existence without courage, that creeps in before the day. She waited.... In such a mood women have waited for massacre192....
She thought of her happy childhood upon the Yorkshire wolds, before the idea of week-end parties had entered her mind. The heather. The little birds. Kind things. A tear ran down her cheek....
§ 11
She put her hands to her heart. She would be brave.
“Yes,” she said. “Tell me.”
“He’s as mad as a hatter,” said Sir Peter.
She nodded for more. She knew that.
“Has he—killed anyone?” she whispered.
“He looked uncommonly like trying,” said Sir Peter.
She nodded, her lips tightly compressed.
54“Says Douglas will either have to leave the house or he does.”
“But—Douglas!”
“I know, but he won’t hear a word.”
“But why Douglas?”
“I tell you he’s as mad as a hatter. Got persecution195 mania196. People tapping and bells ringing under his pillow all night—that sort of idea.... And furious. I tell you,—he frightened me. He was awful. He’s given Mergleson a black eye. Hit him, you know. With his fist. Caught him in the passage to the priest hole—how they got there I don’t know—and went for him like a madman.”
“But what has Douglas done?”
“I know. I asked him, but he won’t listen. He’s just off his head.... Says Douglas has got the whole household trying to work a ghost on him. I tell you—he’s off his nut.”
Husband and wife looked at each other....
“Of course if Douglas didn’t mind just going off to oblige me,” said Sir Peter at last....
“It might calm him,” he explained.... “You see, it’s all so infernally awkward....”
“Is he back in his room?”
“Yes. Waiting for me to decide about Douglas. Walking up and down.”
“I’d been so looking forward to the lunch,” she said with a joyless smile. “The county—”
She could not go on.
“You know,” said Sir Peter, “one thing,—I’ll 55see to it myself. I won’t have him have a single drop of liquor more. If we have to search his room.”
“What I shall say to him at breakfast,” she said, “I don’t know.”
Sir Peter reflected. “There’s no earthly reason why you should be brought into it at all. Your line is to know nothing about it. Show him you know nothing about it. Ask him—ask him if he’s had a good night....”
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收听单词发音
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1
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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covetous
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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mingles
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| 混合，混入( mingle的第三人称单数 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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7
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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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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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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14
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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16
retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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18
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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glutted
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| v.吃得过多( glut的过去式和过去分词 )；（对胃口、欲望等）纵情满足；使厌腻；塞满 | |
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22
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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26
glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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27
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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courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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waterproof
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| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
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perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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36
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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37
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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luminously
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| 发光的； 明亮的； 清楚的； 辉赫 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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41
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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infinities
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| n.无穷大( infinity的名词复数 )；无限远的点；无法计算的量；无限大的量 | |
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43
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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44
snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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45
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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46
suavest
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| adj.平滑的( suave的最高级 )；有礼貌的；老于世故的 | |
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47
blandness
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| n.温柔，爽快 | |
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48
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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49
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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50
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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51
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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52
peruse
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| v.细读，精读 | |
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53
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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54
custodian
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| n.保管人，监护人；公共建筑看守 | |
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55
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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56
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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57
blasphemies
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| n.对上帝的亵渎，亵渎的言词[行为]( blasphemy的名词复数 )；侮慢的言词（或行为） | |
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58
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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59
timbre
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| n.音色，音质 | |
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60
apparitions
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| n.特异景象( apparition的名词复数 )；幽灵；鬼；（特异景象等的）出现 | |
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61
degenerates
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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62
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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63
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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64
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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65
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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66
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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67
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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68
alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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69
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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70
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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71
irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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72
afflict
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| vt.使身体或精神受痛苦，折磨 | |
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73
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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74
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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75
barley
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| n.大麦，大麦粒 | |
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76
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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77
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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78
tersely
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| adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
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79
conclusively
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| adv.令人信服地，确凿地 | |
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80
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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81
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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82
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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83
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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84
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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85
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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86
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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87
pacifying
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的现在分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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88
dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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89
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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90
concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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91
stuns
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| v.击晕( stun的第三人称单数 )；使大吃一惊；给（某人）以深刻印象；使深深感动 | |
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92
stun
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| vt.打昏，使昏迷，使震惊，使惊叹 | |
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93
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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94
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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95
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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96
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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97
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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98
grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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100
disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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101
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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103
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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104
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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105
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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106
abstemious
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| adj.有节制的，节俭的 | |
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107
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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108
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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109
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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110
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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111
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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113
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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114
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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115
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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116
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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117
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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118
indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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119
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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120
wariness
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| n. 注意,小心 | |
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121
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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122
culminated
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| v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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124
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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125
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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126
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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127
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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128
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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129
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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130
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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131
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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132
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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133
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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134
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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135
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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136
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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137
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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138
rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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140
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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141
eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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142
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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143
assuage
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| v.缓和，减轻，镇定 | |
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144
dispersing
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| adj. 分散的 动词disperse的现在分词形式 | |
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145
circumspection
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| n.细心，慎重 | |
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146
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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147
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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148
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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149
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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150
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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151
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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152
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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153
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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154
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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155
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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156
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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157
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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158
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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159
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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160
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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161
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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162
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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163
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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164
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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165
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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166
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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168
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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169
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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170
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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171
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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172
slippered
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| 穿拖鞋的 | |
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173
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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174
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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175
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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176
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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177
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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178
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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179
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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180
infiltration
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| n.渗透；下渗；渗滤；入渗 | |
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181
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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182
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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183
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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184
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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185
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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186
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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187
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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188
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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189
chancellors
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| 大臣( chancellor的名词复数 )； （某些美国大学的）校长； （德国或奥地利的）总理； （英国大学的）名誉校长 | |
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190
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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191
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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192
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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193
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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194
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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195
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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196
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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197
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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