All the information which had drifted to her knowledge since--and though she was not a distinctly curious or mean-natured woman, Mrs. Prendergast was not above cultivating and maintaining friendly relations with Dr. Wilmot's household, to all of whom she was as well known, and had been nearly as important, as their late mistress--confirmed her in the belief that the conduct of the suddenly-bereaved husband had been all that propriety11, good feeling, good taste, and good sense could possibly require. She bad not precisely12 defined in her imagination what it was that she looked for and expected in the interview which Wilmot had requested, with a little too much formality, certainly, to be reassuring13 with regard to any notions she might possibly have entertained with respect to the freedom and intimacy14 of their future relations. But she did not suffer herself to dwell on that matter of the formality. It was not unnatural15; there are persons, she knew, to whom that sort of thing seems proper when a death--what may be called an intimate death, that is to say--has taken place, who change all their ways and manners for a time, just as they put on mourning and use lugubrious16 stationery17. It was not very like what she would have expected of Wilmot, to enrol18 himself in the number of these formalists; but she did not allow the circumstance to impress her disagreeably. She possessed19 patience in as marked a degree as she possessed intelligence--patience, a much rarer and nearly as valuable a quality--and she was satisfied to wait until time should enable her to arrive at the free and frequent association with Wilmot, which was the first step to the end she had in view, and meant to keep in view. She was perfectly20 clear upon that point; none the leas clear that she did not discuss it in her own thoughts, or ponder over it; but she laid it quietly aside, to be produced and acted on when it should be required.
Therefore Henrietta Prendergast was disquieted21 and disconcerted by the tone and manner which Wilmot had assumed during their interview. Disquieted, because there was something in and under them which she could not fathom22; disconcerted, because everything in the interview betrayed and disappointed the expectations she had formed, and because her intention of conveying to Wilmot, by a frank and friendly manner, that it was within his power to continue in his own person the intimacy which had subsisted23 between herself and his wife, had been utterly24 routed and nullified.
"There was something in his mind with regard to Mabel," she said to herself, as she sat at her tea in her snug25 drawing-room on the same afternoon; "there certainly was something in his mind about her which was not in it when I saw him last. I wonder what it is. I wonder whether he has found anything? I am sure she never kept a journal; I shouldn't think so; I fancy no one ever does in real life, except they are so important as to be wanted for public purposes, or so vain as to think such demand likely. Besides, Mabel's trouble was not tragical26; it was only monotonous27 and uneventful. No; I am sure she did not keep a journal. So he has not found one; and he has not found any letters either. Mabel had very few to keep, and she burnt the scanty28 collection just as her illness began. I remember coming suddenly into the room, and fluttering the ashes all over her bed and toilet-table by opening the door. Yes, to be sure, the window was open; and she had had a fire kindled29 on purpose."
Mrs. Prendergast leaned her face upon her hand, struck her teaspoon30 thoughtfully against the edge of the tea-tray, and pondered deeply. She was trying to recall every little incident connected with the dead woman, in the endeavour to discover the secret of Wilmot's demeanour that day.
"Yes, she was sitting by the fire; a sandal-wood box was on the floor, and a heap of ashes in the grate. I remember looking rather surprised, and she said, 'You know, Hettie, one never can tell what may happen. You nor I either cannot tell whether I shall ever recover; and it is well to have all things in readiness.' I thought the observation rather absurd particularly, however true it might be generally, and told her so, for she was by no means seriously ill then. She still persisted, however. What a remarkable31 feature of poor Mabel's illness, by the bye, was her persistent32 and unalterable belief that she should die! The wish to die, no doubt, assisted it much at the end; but the conviction laid hold on her from the first."
Then Mrs. Prendergast remembered how Mrs. Wilmot had left everything in readiness; every article of household property, all her own private possessions, everything which had claimed her care, provided for; and though she knew that instances of such a morbid33 state of mind were not altogether wanting in the case of women in Mrs. Wilmot's state of health, she did not feel that such an hypothesis accounted for this particular case satisfactorily. In all other respects there had been such equality of disposition34, common sense, and absence of fancifulness about her friend, that she could not accept the explanation which suggested itself. This was not the first time that she had thought over this circumstance. It had been brought before her very forcibly when a packet was sent to her, with a kind but formal note from Wilmot, a day or two after his wife's funeral; which packet contained a few articles of jewelry35 and general ornament36, and a strip of paper, bearing merely the words: "I wish these to be given to Mrs. Prendergast.--M. W."
But now it assumed a more puzzling importance and deeper interest. Had Wilmot found anything among all her orderly possessions which had thrown any new light upon her life? Had he had a misunderstanding with Dr. Whittaker? Did he think his wife's life had been sacrificed by want of care, or want of attention or of skill? Had remorse seized him on this account, when he had succeeded in defeating its attack, in consequence of the revelation which she had made to him? Had he regained37 incredulity or indifference38 as regarded the years which had passed in miscomprehension, to be roused into inquietude and stern self-reproach by an appeal to his master passion, his professional knowledge and attainments39? If this were so, there would at least be some measure of punishment allotted40 to Chudleigh Wilmot; for he was a proud man, and sensitive on that point, if not on any other.
Henrietta Prendergast was well disposed towards Wilmot now, in the new aspect of affairs, and contemplating41 as she did certain dim future possibilities very grateful to her pertinacious42 disposition. But she was not sorry to think that he had something to suffer; and that something of a nature to oppress his spirits considerably43, and render him indifferent to the attractions of society. Before this desirable effect should have worn off, she would have contrived44 to make herself necessary to him. She had but little doubt of her power to accomplish this, if only the opportunity were afforded her. She knew she had plenty of ability, not of a kind which Wilmot would dislike, and certainly of a quality for which he did not give her credit. She had less attraction than Mabel, so far as good looks would go, but that would not be very far, she thought, with Dr. Wilmot. He might never care for her even so much as he had cared for Mabel; but his feelings towards her, if evoked45 at all, would be different, much more satisfactory, and to her mind, which was properly organised, quite sufficient.
If Henrietta's daydreams46 were of a more sober colour, they were no less unreal than the rosiest47 and most extravagant48 vision ever woven by youthful fancy. She had not seen Madeleine Kilsyth. She had indeed understood and witnessed Mabel's jealousy49, aroused by the devotion of her husband to the young Scotch50 girl. But she thought little of danger from this quarter. She had always understood--having a larger intellect and a wider perception, and above all, being an unconcerned spectator, uninjured by it in her affections or her rights--Wilmot's absorption in his profession much better than his wife had understood it. Something in her own nature, dim and undeveloped, answered to this absorption.
"If I had had any pursuit in life, I should have followed it just as eagerly; if I had had a career, I should have devoted51 myself to it just as entirely52," had been her frequent mental comment upon Wilmot's conduct. She quite understood the effect it produced on a woman of Mabel's temperament53, was perfectly convinced that it could not produce a similar effect on a woman of her own; but also believed that no such conduct would ever have been pursued towards her. The very something which enabled her to sympathise with him would have secured her from exclusion54 from the reality and the meaning of his life. "At least I should interest him," she had often said to herself, when she had seen how entirely Mabel failed to inspire him with interest; and in her lengthened55 cogitations on the evening of the day which had been marked by Wilmot's visit, she repeated the assurance with renewed conviction.
It was not that the remembrance of Miss Kilsyth did not occur to her very strongly; on the contrary, it occupied its fall share of her mind and attention. But she disposed of the subject very comfortably and finally by dwelling56 on the following points:
First, the distinction of rank and the difference in age between Miss Kilsyth and Dr. Wilmot were both considerable, important, and likely to form very efficient barriers against any extravagant notions on his part. Supposing--an unlikely supposition in the case of a man who added remarkable good sense to exceptional talent--he were to overlook this distinction of rank and difference of age, it was not probable that the young lady's relatives would accommodate themselves to any such blindness; while it was extremely probable they would regard any project on his part with respect to her as unmitigated presumption57.
So far she had pursued her cogitations without regard to the young girl herself--to this brilliant young beauty, upon whom, endowed with youth, beauty, rank, the prestige of one of the most fashionable and popular women in London (for Henrietta Prendergast had her relations with the great world, though she was not of it), life was just opening in the fulness of joy and splendour. But when she turned her attention in that direction, she found nothing to discourage her, nothing to fear. What could be more wildly improbable than that Chudleigh Wilmot should have made any impression on Miss Kilsyth of a nature to lead to the realisation of any hope which might suggest itself to the new-made widower58? Henrietta Prendergast was not a woman of much delicacy59 of mind or refinement60 of sentiment--if she had been, such self-communing as that of this evening would have been impossible within three weeks of her friend's death--but she was not so coarse, or indeed so ignorant of the nature and training of women like Madeleine Kilsyth, as to conceive the possibility of the girl's having fallen in love with a married man, even had that married man been of a far more captivating type than that presented by Chudleigh Wilmot. Madeleine's stepmother had not been restrained from such a suspicion by any superfluous61 delicacy; but Lady Muriel had an incentive62 to clear-sightedness which was wanting in Henrietta's case; and it must be said in justification63 of the acute woman of the world, that she was satisfied of the girl's perfect unconsciousness of the real nature of the sentiment which her jealous quick-sightedness had detected almost in the first hours of its existence.
The disqualification of his marriage removed, Henrietta still thought there could be nothing to dread64. The reminiscences attached to the doctor who had attended her through a long illness, was said to have saved her life, and had made himself very agreeable to his patient, were no doubt frankly65 kind and grateful; but they were very unlikely to be sentimental66, and the opportunities which might come in his way for rendering67 the tie already established stronger would be probably limited. "If anything were to be feared in that quarter," thought Henrietta, "and one could only manage to get a hint conveyed to Lady Muriel, the thing would be done at once."
Henrietta pronounced this opinion in her own mind with perfect confidence. And she was right. If Lady Muriel Kilsyth had had no more interest in Wilmot than that which during his sojourn68 at Kilsyth he might have inspired in the least important inmate69 of the house, she would have acted precisely as she had done. This was her strong tower of defence, her excuse, her justification. If Wilmot's admiration70 of her stepdaughter had not had in it the least element of offence to herself, she would at once have opposed it, have endeavoured to prevent its growth and manifestation71, just as assiduously as she had done. Herein was her safety. So, though Henrietta Prendergast was entirely unaware72 of anything that had taken place; though she had never spoken to Lady Muriel in her life, she had, as it happened, speculated upon her quite correctly. So her self-conference came to a close, without any misgiving74, discouragement, or hesitation75.
"Mabel knew some people who knew the Kilsyths," Henrietta Prendergast had said to Wilmot in their first interview; but she had not mentioned that the people who knew the Kilsyths were acquaintances of hers, and that she had been present on the occasion when Mabel had acquired all the information which she had taken to heart so keenly. Such was, however, the case; and Henrietta made up her mind, when she had reasoned herself out of the first feeling of discouragement which her interview with Wilmot had caused, though not out of the conviction that there was something in his mind which she had not been able to come at, that she would call on Mrs. and Miss Charlwood without delay. She might not learn anything about Wilmot by so doing, but she could easily introduce the Kilsyths into the conversation; and it could not fail to be useful to her to gain a clear insight, into what sort of people they were, and especially to know whether Miss Kilsyth had any declared or supposed admirers as yet. So she went to bed that night with her mind tolerably easy on the whole, though her last waking thought was of the strange something in Chudleigh Wilmot's manner which she had not been able to penetrate76.
It chanced, however, that Mrs. Prendergast did not fulfil her intention so soon as she had purposed. On awaking the following morning, she found that she had taken cold, a rather severe cold. She was habitually77 careful of her health, and as the business on which she had intended to go out was not pressing, she thought it wiser to remain at home. The next day she was no better; the day after a little worse. On the fourth day she thought she should be justified78 in asking Wilmot to give her a call. On the very rare occasions when she had required medical attendance she had had recourse to her friend's husband; and it occurred to her that the present opportunity was favourable79 for impressing him with a sense that she desired to maintain the former relation unbroken. To increase and intensify80 it would be her business later.
So Mrs. Prendergast sent for Dr. Wilmot; but in answer to the summons Dr. Whittaker presented himself.
They had not met since they had stood together by Mabel's deathbed, and the recollection softened81 Henrietta, though she felt at once surprised and angry at the substitution.
"I am doing Wilmot's work, except in the very particular cases," Dr. Whittaker explained.
"Indeed! Then Dr. Wilmot knew, in some strange way, that mine was not a particular case!" Henrietta answered, with an exhibition of pique82 as unusual in her as it was unflattering to Dr. Whittaker.
"My dear Mrs. Prendergast," expostulated the doctor mildly, "your note--I saw it in the regular way of business--said 'merely a cold;' and Wilmot and I both know you always say what you mean--no more and no less."
Henrietta smiled rather grimly as she replied, "I must say, you are adroit83 in turning a slight into a compliment. And now we will talk about my cold."
They did talk about her cold, and Dr. Whittaker duly prescribed for it, emphatically forbidding exposure to the weather. Just as he rose to take leave, Henrietta asked him what sort of spirits Wilmot appeared to be in.
"Very low indeed," said Dr. Whittaker; "but I think the change of air will do him good."
The change was likely to be sufficiently84 profitable to Dr. Whittaker to make it only natural that he should regard it with warm approbation85, without reflecting very severely86 upon his sincerity87 either; he was but human, and not particularly prosperous.
"What change?" asked Henrietta in a tone which had not all the indifference which she had desired to lend it. (Dr. Whittaker had seen and guessed enough to make it just that he should not look for much warmth from Mabel's friend in speaking of Mabel's husband; and Mrs. Prendergast never overlooked the relative positions in any situation.)
"What! don't you know, then? He is going abroad--going to Paris, and then to Berlin, partly to recruit, and partly to inquire into some new theory about fever they've got there. I don't generally think much of their theories myself, especially in Berlin."
But Dr. Whittaker's opinions had no interest for Henrietta. His news occupied her. She did not altogether like this move. She did not believe in either of the reasons assigned; she felt certain there was something behind them both, and that that something had been in Wilmot's mind when she last saw him. What was it? Was he flying from a memory or a presence? If the former, then something more than she was in possession of had come to his knowledge concerning Mabel; for much as he had been shocked, and intensely as he had felt all she had told him, Henrietta knew Wilmot too well to believe for a moment that the present resolution was to be traced to that source. If the latter, the presence must be that of Miss Kilsyth; and there must be dangers in her way, complications in this matter, she did not understand, some grave error in her calculation. True, he might be flying away in despair; but that could hardly be. In so short an interval88 of time it was impossible he could have dared or even tried his fate. It was the unexpectedness of this occurrence that gave it so much power to trouble Henrietta. She had made a careful calculation; but this was outside it, and it puzzled her. She took leave of Dr. Whittaker, while these and many more equally distracting thoughts passed through her mind, in a sufficiently absent manner, and listened to his expression of a sanguine89 hope of finding her much better on the morrow through a sedulous90 observance of his advice, with as much indifference as though he had been talking about somebody else's cold. When he had left her, she sat still for a while; then put on her warmest attire91, sent for a cab, and, utterly regardless of Dr. Whittaker's prohibition92, drove straight to Mrs. Charlton's house in South-street, Park-lane.
Mrs. Prendergast's cab drew up behind a carriage which had just stopped before Mrs. Charlton's door, at that moment opened in reply to the defiant93 summons of the footman, who was none other than one of the ambrosial94 Mercuries in attendance on Lady Muriel Kilsyth. An elderly lady, rather oddly dressed, descended95 from the equipage, bestowed96 a familiar nod upon its remaining occupant from the steps, and walked into the house. Mrs. Prendergast was then admitted; and as the carriage which made way for her was displaced, she recognised in the face of the lady who sat in it Lady Muriel Kilsyth.
"That is very odd," she thought; "I wonder who she has set down here, and why she has not come in herself."
Immediately afterwards she was exchanging the customary fadeurs with Mrs. Charlton, and had been presented by that lady to Mrs. M'Diarmid.
Wonderfully voluble was Mrs. M'Diarmid, to be sure, and communicative to a degree which, if her audience did not happen to be vehemently97 interested in the matter of her discourse98, must have been occasionally a little overpowering and wearisome. Mrs. M'Diarmid, being at present staying with the Kilsyths, could not talk of anything but the Kilsyths; a state of things rather distressing99 to Mrs. Charlton, who was an eminently100 well-bred person, and perfectly aware that Mrs. Prendergast was not acquainted with the people under discussion. But to arrest Mrs. M'Diarmid in the full tide of her discourse was a feat1 which a few adventurous101 spirits had indeed attempted, but in which no one had ever succeeded. Mrs. Charlton's was not an adventurous spirit; she merely suffered, and was not strong, but derived102 sensible consolation103 after a while from observing that Mrs. Prendergast either had the tact104 and the manners to assume an aspect of perfect contentment, or really did feel an interest in the affairs of strangers, which to her, Mrs. Charlton, was inexplicable105. She had much regard for Henrietta, and considerable respect for her intellect; so she preferred the former hypothesis, and adopted it.
"And she told me to tell you how sorry she was that she could not possibly come in to-day; but she had to fetch Kilsyth at his club, and then go home and dress for a ride with him, and send the carriage for me. I must run away the moment it comes, and get back to Maddy." This, after Mrs. M'Diarmid had run on uninterruptedly for about a quarter of an hour, with details of every kind concerning the house and the servants, the health, spirits, employments and engagements of the family.
"Miss Kilsyth is still delicate, I think you said?" Mrs. Chariton at length contrived to say.
"Yes, indeed, very delicate. My dear, the child mopes--she really mopes; and I can't bear to see young people moping, though it seems the fashion nowadays for all the young people to think themselves not only wiser but sadder than their elders. Just to see Ronald beside his father, my dear! The difference! And to think he'll be Kilsyth of Kilsyth some day; and what will the poor people do then? He'll make them go to school, and have 'em drilled, I'm sure he will; not that he is not a fine young man, my dear, and a good one--must all admit that; but he is not like his father, and never will be--never. And, for my part, I don't wonder Maddy's afraid of him, for I am sure I am."
"But I thought Miss Kilsyth and her brother were so particularly attached to each other," said Mrs. Charlton, yielding at length to the temptation to gossip.
"So they are, so they are.--I'm sure, Mrs. Prendergast," said Mrs. M'Diarmid, turning to Henrietta, "a better brother than Ronald Kilsyth never lived; but then he is dictatorial106, I must say that; and he never will believe or remember that Madeleine is not a child now, and that it is absurd and useless to treat a woman just as one would treat a child. He makes such a fuss about everyone Maddy sees, and everywhere she goes to, and is positively107 disagreeable about anyone she seems to fancy."
"Well," said Mrs. Charlton, "but I'm not sure that he is wrong to be particular about his sister's fancies. The fancies of a young lady of Miss Kilsyth's beauty and pretensions108 are not trifling109 matters. Has she any very strongly pronounced?"
"Bless your heart, no!" exclaimed Mrs. M'Diarmid, her vulgarity evoked by her earnestness. "The girl is fonder of himself and her father than of anyone in the world, and I really don't think she ever had a thought hid from them. But Ronald will interfere110 so; he bothered about the silliness of young ladies' correspondence until he worried her into giving up writing to Bessy Ravenshaw; and he lectured for ten minutes because she wrote to poor Dr. Wilmot on her own account."
"How very absurd!" said Mrs. Charlton; "he had better take care he does not worry her by excess of brotherly love and authority into finding her home so unbearable111, that she may make a wretched hurried marriage in order to get away from it. Such things have been;" and Mrs. Charlton sighed, as if she spoke73 from some close experience of "such things."
"Very true, very true--I am sure I often wish the poor dear child was well married. I must say for Lady Muriel, I think she is an admirable stepmother. It is such a difficult position, Mrs. Prendergast, so invidious; still, you know, it never can be exactly the same thing; and then, you know, there are the little girls to grow up, and there will be the natural jealousy--about Maddy's fortune, you know; and altogether I do think it would be very nice."
"I should think a good many others think it would be very nice also," said Mrs. Charlton.
"Well, I don't know--it is hard to say--young men are so different nowadays from what they were in my time; they seem to be afraid of marrying. I really don't think Maddy has ever had an offer."
"Depend on it that story will soon be changed. She is, to my knowledge, immensely admired. Her illness made quite a sensation, and the romantic story of the famous Dr. Wilmot's devotion to the patient."
"I think you should say to the case," struck in Henrietta. "I know Dr. Wilmot very well, and I can fancy any amount of devotion to the fever and its cure; but Wilmot devoted to a patient I cannot understand."
Something in her voice and manner conveyed an unpleasant impression to both her hearers. Mrs. Charlton looked calmly surprised; Mrs. M'Diarmid looked distressed and rather angry. She wished she had been more cautious in telling of the Kilsyths before this lady, who did not know them, but who did know Dr. Wilmot. She felt that Mrs. Prendergast had put a meaning into what Mrs. Charlton had said, in which there was something at least indirectly112 slighting and derogatory to Madeleine; and the feeling made her hot and angry. Mrs. Charlton's suavity113 extricated114 them from the difficulty, which all felt, and one intended.
"I. didn't quite understand the distinction," she said; "of course I understand it as you put it, but mine was merely a fa?on de parler. Dr. Wilmot's devotion to his profession has long been known, and he has succeeded as such devotion deserves."
"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Charlton," said Henrietta heartily115, and slipping with infinite ease into the peculiar116 manner which implies such intimacy with the person complimented as to make the praise almost a personal favour. "He has paid dearly indeed for his devotion, in the very instance you mention, Mrs. M'Diarmid."
"How so?" said Mrs. M'Diarmid, off her guard, and rather huffily.
"Ah, poor fellow! I can hardly bear to talk of it; but as I was his poor wife's closest friend, and with her when she died, I think it is only fair and just to him to tell the truth. Of course he had no notion of his wife's danger--no one could have had; but he never can or will forgive himself for his absence from her. You will not wonder that he should feel it dreadfully, and that his self-reproach is intolerable. 'I suppose,' he said, in one of his worst fits of grief, 'people will think I stayed at Kilsyth because Kilsyth is a great man; but you, Henrietta, you know me better. If she had been his dairymaid, instead of his daughter, it would have been all one to me.' And that was perfectly true; he knows no distinction in the pursuit of his duties. It was a terrible coincidence; but nothing can persuade him to regard it merely as a coincidence. It is fortunate your young friend is restored to health, Mrs. M'Diarmid."
"Fortunate for her, of course; but also fortunate for him. You will exctuse my telling you, of course; nothing in the whole matter reflects in the least on the Kilsyth family--and I cannot forbear from saying what must exalt117 him still more in your esteem118, but you cannot conceive how painful to him any reference to that fatal time is. He has wonderful self-control and firmness; but they were severely taxed, I assure you, when he had to make a call on Lady Muriel and Miss Kilsyth. I daresay he didn't show it."
"Not in the least," said Mrs. M'Diarmid.
"O no; he is essentially119 a strong man. But he suffered. You would know how much, if you had seen him when he had finally made up his mind to go abroad, and get out of the remembrance of it all, so far as he could. Poor Miss Kilsyth! one pities a young girl to have been even the perfectly innocent cause of such a calamity120 to any man, and especially to one who rendered her such a service. However, people who talk about it now will have forgotten it all long before he comes back."
At this juncture121 Miss Charlton entered the room and warmly greeted Henrietta. Mrs. Prendergast was an authority in the art of illuminating122, to which Miss Charlton devoted her harmless life.
Presently Lady Muriel's carriage came for Mrs. M'Diarmid, and that good woman went away, and might have been heard to say many times during the silent drive:
"My poor Maddy! my poor dear child!"
Chudleigh Wilmot had entertained, it has been seen, vague fears that Mrs. Prendergast might talk about him; but of all possible shapes they had never taken this one.
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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distressed
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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surmise
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manly
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reticence
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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unnatural
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lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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stationery
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enrol
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| v.（使）注册入学，（使）入学，（使）入会 | |
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possessed
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fathom
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subsisted
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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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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tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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teaspoon
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| n.茶匙 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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34
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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35
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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42
pertinacious
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| adj.顽固的 | |
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43
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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45
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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daydreams
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| n.白日梦( daydream的名词复数 )v.想入非非，空想( daydream的第三人称单数 ) | |
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rosiest
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| adj.玫瑰色的( rosy的最高级 )；愉快的；乐观的；一切都称心如意 | |
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48
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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49
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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50
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)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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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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53
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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64
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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68
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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71
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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72
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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73
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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74
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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75
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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76
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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78
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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79
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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80
intensify
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| vt.加强；变强；加剧 | |
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81
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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82
pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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83
adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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84
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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85
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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86
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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87
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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88
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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89
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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sedulous
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| adj.勤勉的，努力的 | |
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91
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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92
prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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93
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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94
ambrosial
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| adj.美味的 | |
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95
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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96
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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98
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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99
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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100
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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101
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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102
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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103
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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104
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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105
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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106
dictatorial
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| adj. 独裁的，专断的 | |
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107
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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108
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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109
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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110
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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111
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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112
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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113
suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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114
extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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116
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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117
exalt
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| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
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118
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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119
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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120
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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121
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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122
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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