Nothing, for instance, could persuade Mrs. M'Diarmid that Madeleine was not very much to be pitied in every act and circumstance of her life. The fact of having a stepmother was in itself a burden sufficient to break the spirit of any ordinarily-constituted young woman, according to Mrs. Mac's idea. Not but that Mrs. Mac and Lady Muriel "got on very well together," according to the former lady's phraseology; not but that Lady M. (whom she was usually accustomed to speak of, when extra emphasis was required, as Lady Hem) did her duty by Madeleine perfectly7 and thoroughly8; but still, as Mrs. Mac would confess, "she was not one of them; she was of a different family; and what could you expect out of your own blood and bone?" "One of them" meant of the Kilsyth family, of which Mrs. M'Diarmid to a certain portion of her acquaintance, described herself as a component9 part. In the late summer and the early autumn, when the Kilsyths and all their friends had left town, dear old Mrs. M'Diarmid would revel10 in the light with which, though her suns of fashion had set, her horizon was still illumined. When the grandees11 of Belgravia and Tyburnia have sped northward12 in the long pre?ngaged seat of the limited mail; when they are coasting round the ever-verdant Island, or lounging in all the glory of pseudo-naval get-up on the pier13 at Ryde, there is yet corn in Egypt, balm in Gilead, and fine weather in the suburbs of London. Many of Mrs. M'Diarmid's acquaintance, formed in the earlier and ante-married portion of her life, were found in London during those months. Some had been away to Ramsgate and Margate with their children in June; others, unable to "get away from business," had compromised the matter with their wives by taking a cottage at Richmond or Staines, and running backwards14 and forwards from town for a month, and staying at home on the Saturday. To these worthy15 people Mrs. M'Diarmid was the connecting link between them and that fashionable world, of whose doings they read so religiously every Saturday in the fashionable journal. For her news, her talk, her appearance, they loved this old lady, and paid her the greatest court. From some of them she received brevet rank, and was spoken of as the Honourable17 Mrs. M'Diarmid; from all she received kindness and--what she never gave herself--toadyism. Pleasant dinners at the furnished cottages at Richmond and Staines, Star-an-Garter reflections, picnics on the river, what was even more delicious, a croquet-party on the lawn, tea, and an early supper, with some singing afterwards--all these delights were provided by her acquaintances for Mrs. M'Diarmid, who had nothing to do but to sit still, and be taken about; to recall a few of the scenes of her past season's gaiety; to drop occasionally the names of a few of her grand acquaintance, and to have it thoroughly understood that she was "one of them."
Use is second nature; and by dint18 of perpetually repeating that she was "one of them," Mrs. M'Diarmid had almost begun to forget the lodging-house and its associations, and to believe that she was a blood-relation of the old house of Kilsyth. It did the old lady no harm, this innocent self-deception; it did not render her insolent19, arrogant20, or stuck-up; it did not for an instant tend to render her forgetful of her position in the household, and it did perhaps increase the fond maternal21 affection which she entertained for Madeleine. How could Lady Muriel feel for that girl like one of her own blood? Besides, had she not now children of her own, about whose future she was naturally anxious, and whose future might clash with that of her stepdaughter? Whose future? Ay, it was about Madeleine's future that she was so anxious; and just about this stage in our history Mrs. M'Diarmid, revolving22 all these things in her mind, set herself seriously to consider what Madeleine's future should be.
To a woman of Mrs. M'Diarmid's stamp the future of a young girl, it is almost needless to say, meant her marriage. Notwithstanding all the shams24 which, to use Mr. Carlyle's phrases, have been exploded, all the Babeldoms which have been talked out, all the mockeries, delusions25, and snares26 which have been exposed, it yet remains27 that marriage is the be-all and end-all of the British maiden's existence. That accomplished28, life shuts up; or is of no account, with the orange-flowers and the tinkling29 bells, the ring, the oath, and the blessing30; all that childhood has played at, and maidenhood31 has dreamed of, is at an end. The husband is secured, and so long as he is in the requisite32 position and possesses the requisite means--vogue la galère in its most respectable translation, be it understood--all that is requisite on friends' part has been done. We laugh when we hear that a charwoman offers to produce her "marriage-lines" in proof of her respectability; but we slur33 over the fact that in our own social status we are content to aim at the dignity achieved by the charwoman's certificate, and not to look beyond into the future thereby34 opened.
Madeleine's marriage? Yes; Mrs. M'Diarmid had turned that subject over in her mind a hundred thousand times; had chewed the cud of it until all taste therein had been exhausted35; had had all sorts of preposterous36 visions connected therewith, none of which had the smallest waking foundation. Madeleine's marriage? It was by her own marriage that Mrs. M'Diarmid had made her one grand coup37 in life, and consequently she attached the greatest value to it. She was always picturing to herself Madeleine married to each or one of the different visitors in Brook-street; seeing her walking up the aisle38 with one, standing23 at the altar-rails with another, muttering "I will" to a third, and shyly looking up after signing the register with a fourth. The old lady had the good sense to keep these mental pictures in her own mental portfolio39, but still she was perpetually drawing them forth40 for her own mental delectation. None of the young men who were in the habit of dropping in in Brook-street for a cup of afternoon tea and a social chat had any notion of the wondrous41 scenes passing through the brain of the quiet elderly lady, whom they all liked and all laughed at. None of them knew that in Mrs. Mac's mind's eye, as they sat there placidly42 sipping43 their tea and talking their nonsense, they were transfigured; that their ordinary raiment was changed into the blue coat and yellow waistcoat dear to this valentine artist; that from their coat-collar grew the attenuated44 spire45 of a village church, and that sounds of chiming bells drowned their voices. Madeleine as a countess presented at a drawing-room "on her marriage;" Madeleine receiving a brilliant circle as the wife of a brilliant member of the House of Commons; Madeleine doing the honours of the British embassy at the best and most distinguished46 legation which happened at the time to be vacant. All these pictures had presented themselves to Mrs. M'Diarmid, and been filled up by her mentally in outline and detail. Other supplementary47 pictures were there in the same gallery. Madeleine presenting new colours to the gallant48 140th as the wife of their colonel; Madeleine landing from the Amphitrite, amidst the cheers of her crew, as the wife of their admiral; Madeleine graciously receiving the million pounds' worth of pearls and diamonds which the native Indian princes offered to the wife of their governor-general. All these different shiftings of the glasses of the magic lantern appeared to Mrs. M'Diarmid as she noticed the attention paid to Madeleine by the different visitors in Brook-street.
But these, after all, were mere49 daydreams51, and it was time Mrs. M'Diarmid thought that some real and satisfactory match should be arranged for her dear child. Since the return of the family from Scotland, after Madeleine's illness, Mrs. M'Diarmid either had noticed, or fancied she had noticed, that Lady Muriel was less interested in her stepdaughter than ever, more inclined to let her have her own way, less particular as to who sought her society. Under these circumstances, not merely did Mrs. M'Diarmid's dragon watchfulness52 increase tenfold, but the necessity of speedily taking her darling into a different atmosphere, and surrounding her with other cares and hopes in life, made itself doubly apparent. For hours and hours the old lady sat in her own little room, cosy53 little room,--neat, tidy, clean, and wholesome-looking as the old lady herself,--revolving different matrimonial schemes in her mind, guessing at incomes, weighing dispositions54, thinking over the traits and characteristics, the health and position of every marriageable man of her acquaintance. And all to no purpose; for the old lady, though a tolerably shrewd and worldly-wise old lady, was a good woman: in the early days of the lodging-house she had had a spirit of religion properly instilled55 into her; and this, aided by her genuine and unselfish love for Madeleine, would have prevented her from wishing to see the girl married to any one, no matter what were his wealth, position, and general eligibility57, unless there was the prospect58 of her darling's life being a happy one with him. "I don't see my way clear, my dear," she would say to Mrs. Tonkley, the most intimate of her early life acquaintances, and the only one whom the old lady admitted into her confidence (Mrs. Tonkley had been Sarah Simmons, daughter of Simmons's private hotel, and had married Tonkley, London representative of Blades and Buckhorn of Sheffield),--"I don't see my way clear in this business, my dear, and that's the truth. Powers forbid my Madeleine should marry an old man, though among our people it's considered to be about the best thing that could happen to a girl, provided he's old enough, and rich into the bargain. Why, there are old fellows, tottering60 old wretches61, that crawl about with mineral teeth in their mouths and other people's hair on their heads, and they'd only have to say, 'Will you?' to some of the prettiest and the best-born girls in England, and they'd get the answer 'Yes' directly minute! No, no; I've seen too much of that. Not to name names, there's one old fellow, a lord and a general, all stars and garters and crosses and ribbons, and two seasons ago he carried off a lovely girl. I won't put a name to her, my dear, but you've seen her photographic likeness63 in the portrait-shops; and what is it now? Divorced? Lord, no, my dear; that sort of thing's never done amongst US, nor even separation, so far as the world knows. O no; they live very happily together, to all outward show, and she has her opera-box, and jewels as much as she can wear; but, Lor' bless you, I hear what the young fellows say who come to our house about the way she goes on, and the men who are always about her, and who was meant by the stars and blanks in last week's Dustman. No, no; no old wretch62 for Madeleine; nor any of your fast boys either, with their drags and their yachts, and their hunters and their Market Harboroughs, and their Queen's Benches, I tell'em; for that's what it'll come to. You can't build a house of paper, specially64 of stamped paper, to last very long; and though you touch it up every three months or so, at about the end of a year down it goes with a run, and you and your wife and the lot of you go with it! That would be a pleasant ending for my child, to have to live at Bolong on what her husband got by winning at cards from the foreigners; and that's not likely to be much, I should think. No; that would never do. I declare to you, my dear Sarah, when I think about that dear girl's future, I am that driven as to be at my wits' end."
There was another reason for the old lady's feeling "driven" when thinking over her dear girl's future which she never imparted to her dear Sarah, nor indeed to anyone else, but which she crooned over constantly, and relished65 less and less after each spell of consideration, and that was the evident intention of Lady Muriel with regard to Ramsay Caird. Mrs. M'Diarmid, though a woman of strong feelings, rarely, if ever, took antipathies66; but certainly her strong aversion to Ramsay Caird could be called by no other name. She hated him cordially, and took very little pains to conceal67 her dislike, though, if she had been called upon, she would have found it difficult to define the reasons for her prejudice. It was probably the obvious purpose for which he had been introduced into the family which the old lady immediately divined and as immediately execrated68, that made her his enemy; but she could not put forward this reason, and she had no other to offer. She used to say to herself that he was a "down-looking fellow," which was metaphorical69, inasmuch as Ramsay Caird had rather a frank and free expression, though, to one more versed70 in physiognomy than Mrs. M'Diarmid, there certainly was a shifty expression in his eyes. She hated to see him paying attention to Madeleine, bending over her, hovering71 near her--in her self-communion the old lady declared that it gave her "the creeps"--and it was with great difficulty that she refrained when present from actually shuddering72. It was lucky that she did so refrain; for Lady Muriel, who brooked73 no interference with her plans, would have ruthlessly given Mrs. Mac her congé, and closed the doors of Brook-street against her for ever.
To find someone so eligible74 that Kilsyth would take a fancy to him--a fancy which Lady Muriel could not, in common honesty, combat--and thus to get rid of Ramsay Caird and his pretensions75 to Madeleine's hand,--this was Mrs. M'Diarmid's great object in life. But she had pottered hopelessly about it; and it is probable that she would never have succeeded in getting the smallest clue to what, if properly carried through, might really have led to the accomplishment76 of her hopes, had it not been for her own kindness of heart, which led her to spend many of her leisure half-hours in the nursery with Lady Muriel's little girls. Sitting one day with these little ladies, but in truth not attending much to their prattle77, being occupied in her favourite daydream50, Mrs. M'Diarmid was startled by hearing an observation which at once interested her, and caused her to attend to the little ladies' conversation.
"When you grow up, Maud, will you be like Maddy?" asked little Ethel.
"I don't know," replied her sister. "I think I shall be quite as pretty as Maddy; and I'm sure I sha'n't be half so dull."
"You don't know that! People are only dull because they can't help it. They're not dull on purpose; only because they can't help it."
"Well, then, I shall help it," said Maud in an imperious way. "Besides, it's not always that Maddy's dull; she's only dull since we've been back in London; she wasn't dull at Kilsyth."
"Ah, no one was dull at Kilsyth," said little Ethel with a sigh.
"O, we all know what you mean by that, Ethel," said Maud. "You silly sentimental78 child, you were happy at Kilsyth because you had someone with you."
"Well, it's no use talking to you, Maud; because you're a dreadful flirt79, and care for no one in particular, and like to have a heap of men always round you. But wasn't Madeleine happy at Kilsyth because she had someone with her?"
"Why, you don't mean that Lord Roderick?"
"Lord Roderick, indeed! I should think not," said little Ethel, flushing scarlet80. "Madeleine's 'someone' was much older and graver and wiser and sterner, and nothing like so good-looking."
"Ethel dear, you talk like a child!" said Maud, who, by virtue81 of her twelvemonth's seniority, gave herself quite maternal airs towards her sister. "Of course I see you're alluding82 to Dr. Wilmot; but you can't imagine that Maddy cared for him in any way but that of a--a friend who was grateful to him--for--"
"O yes! 'Your grateful patient,' we know! Maddy did not know how to end her note to him the other morning, and I kept suggesting all kinds of things: 'yours lovingly,' and 'yours eternally,' and 'your own devoted83;' and made Madge blush awfully84; and at last she put that. 'Grateful patient'! grateful rubbish! You hadn't half such opportunities as I had of seeing them together at Kilsyth, Maud."
"I'm not half so romantic and sentimental, Ethel; and I can see a doctor talking to a girl about her illness without fancying he's madly in love with her. And now I am going to my music." And Maud pranced85 out of the room.
And then Mrs. M'Diarmid who had greedily swallowed every word of this conversation between the children, laid down the book over which she had been nodding; and going up to little Ethel, gave herself over to the task of learning from the child her impressions of the state of Madeleine's feelings towards Dr. Wilmot, and of gleaning87 as much as she could of all that passed between them at Kilsyth; the result being that little Ethel, who was, as her sister had said, sentimentally88 and romantically inclined, led her old friend to believe, first, that Madeleine was deeply attached to the doctor, and, secondly89, that the doctor was inclined to respond promptly90 to the young lady's sentiments.
That night Mrs. M'Diarmid remained at home, for the purpose of "putting on her considering cap," as she phrased it, and steadily91 looking at the question of Madeleine's future in the new light now surrounding it. Like all other old ladies, she had a tendresse for the medical profession; and though she had never met Dr. Wilmot, she had often heard of him, and had taken great interest in his rise and progress. And this was the man who was to fulfil her expectations, and to prevent Madeleine's being sacrificed to a sordid92 or disagreeable match? It really seemed like it. Dr. Wilmot was in the prime of life, was highly thought of and esteemed93 by all who knew him, was essentially94 a man of mark in the world, and must be in the enjoyment95 of a very lucrative96 practice. Practice? ay, that was rather awkward! Kilsyth would not care much about having a son-in-law who was in practice, and at the beck and call of every hypochondriacal old woman; and Lady Muriel would, Mrs. Mac was certain, refuse to entertain such a notion. And yet Dr. Wilmot was in every other respect so eligible; it was a thousand pities! Dr. Wilmot! Yes, there it was; that "Doctor" would stick to him through life; and he, from all she had heard of him, was just the man to be proud of the title, and refuse to be addressed by any other. Unless, indeed, they could get him knighted; that would be something indeed. Sir--Sir--whatever his name was--Wilmot would sound very well; and nobody need ever know that he had felt pulses and written prescriptions98. That is, of course, if he retired99 from his professsion, as he would do on his marriage into "our" family; because if the unpleasantness with Lady Muriel and--but then how were they to live? Dr. Wilmot could not possibly have saved enough money to retire upon; and though Madeleine had her own little fortune, neither Kilsyth nor Lady Muriel would feel inclined to accept for a son-in-law a penniless man, unless he had some old alliance with the family. The old lady was very much puzzled by all these thoughts. She sat for hour after hour revolving plans and projects in her head, without arriving at any definite result. The want of adequate fortune without continuing in practice--that was what worried Mrs. M'Diarmid. She had already perfectly settled in her own mind that Madeleine and Wilmot adored each other. She had pictured them both at the altar, and settled upon the new dress to which she should treat herself on the occasion of their marriage--a nice brown moire; none of your cheap rubbish--a splendid silk, stiff as a board, that would stand upright by itself, as one might say; and she knew just the pew which she would be shown into. All the arrangements were completed in Mrs. Mac's mind--all, with the exception of the income for the happy pair.
How could that be managed? What could be done? Were there not appointments, government things, where people were very well paid, and which were always to be had, if asked for by people of influence? Straightway the indefatigable100 old lady began questioning everybody able to give her information about consulships, secretaryships, and commissionerships; and received an amount of news that quite bewildered her. Two or three men in the Whitehall offices, who were in the habit of coming to Brook-street, from whom she had endeavoured to glean86 information, amused themselves by telling her the wildest nonsense of the necessary qualifications for such appointments; so that the old lady was in despair, and almost at her wits' end, when she suddenly bethought her of Mr. Foljambe. The very man! Wealthy and childless, with the highest opinion of Wilmot, and with a great regard for Madeleine. Mrs. Mac remembered hearing it said in Brook-street, long before Madeleine's illness, that Mr. Foljambe would in all probability leave his fortune to Dr. Wilmot. And his fortune was a very large one--quite enough to keep up the dignity of a knight97 upon; though indeed, as there would be no lack of money, Mrs. Mac did not see why a baronetcy should not be substituted. Lady Wilmot, and green-and-gold liveries, and hair-powder, of course; that would be the very thing, if that dear old man would only settle it, and not care to live too long after he had settled it--his attacks of gout were dreadful now, she had heard Lady Muriel say--all would be well. Would it be possible to ascertain101 whether there was any real foundation for the gossip whether Mr. Foljambe had really made Wilmot his heir? Would it not be possible to give him such hints respecting his power of benefiting the future of two persons in whom he had the greatest interest as to settle him finally in his amiable102 determination? Mrs. M'Diarmid was a woman of impulse, and believed much in the expediency103 of "clinching104 the nail," and "striking the iron while it was hot," as she expressed it. "In such matters as these," she was accustomed to say, "nothing is ever done by third parties, or by writing; if you want a thing done, go and see about it at once, and go and see about it yourself, Lord love you!" Acting105 on which wise maxims106, Mrs. M'Diarmid determined107 to call in person upon Mr. Foljambe, and then and there "have it out with him."
At ten o'clock on the following morning, Mr. Foljambe, seated at breakfast, was disturbed by a sharp rap at his street-door. Mrs. M'Diarmid was right in saying that the old gentleman's gout had been extra troublesome lately, and his temper had deteriorated108 in proportion to the sharpness and the frequency of the attacks. He had had some very sharp twinges the previous evening, and was in anything but a good temper; and as the clanging knock resounded109 through the hall, and penetrated110 to the snug111 little room where the old gentleman, in a long shawl dressing-gown, such as were fashionable five-and-twenty years ago, but are now seldom seen out of farces112, was dallying113 with his toast and glancing at the Times, he broke out into a very naughty exclamation114. A thorough type of the 'old English gentleman of his class, Mr. Foljambe, as witness his well-bred hands and feet,--the former surrounded by long and beautifully white wristbands, one of the latter incased in the nattiest115 of morocco-leather slippers116, though the other was in a large list shoe,--his high cross-barred muslin cravat117, his carefully trimmed gray whiskers, and his polished head.
"Visitors' bell!" muttered the old gentleman to himself, after giving vent56 to the naughty exclamation. "What the deuce brings people calling here at this hour? Just ten!" with a glance at the clock. "'Pon my word, it's too bad; as though one were a doctor, or a dentist, and on view from now till five. Who can it be? Collector of some local charity, probably, or someone to ask if somebody else doesn't live here, and to be quite astonished and rather indignant when he finds he's come to the wrong house."
"Lady, sir, to speak with you," said Sergeant, grim and inflexible119. He objected to women anywhere in general, but at that house in particular. Like his master, he passed for a misogynist120; but unlike his master, he was one.
"A lady! God bless my soul, what an extraordinary thing for a lady to come here to see me, and at this hour, Sargeant!"
The tone of Mr. Foljambe's voice invited response; but from Sargeant no response came. His master had uttered his sentiments, and there was nothing more to say.
"Why don't you answer, man?" said the old gentleman peevishly121. "What sort of a lady is she? Young or old, tall or short? What do you think she has come about, Sargeant?"
"About middle 'ithe; but 'ave her veil down. Wouldn't give a message; but wanted to speak to you partickler, sir."
"Confounded fellow! no getting anything out of him!" mattered the old gentleman beneath his breath. Then aloud, "Where is she?"
"I put the lady in the droring-room, sir; but no fire, as the chimlies was swept this morning."
"I know that; I heard 'em, the scoundrels! No fire! the woman will be perished! Here, bring me down a coat, and take this dressing-gown, and just put these things aside, and poke16 the fire, and brighten up the place, will you?"
As soon as the old gentleman had put on his coat, and cast a hasty glance at himself in the glass, he hobbled to the drawing-room, and there found a lady seated, who, when she raised her veil, partly to his relief, partly to his disappointment, revealed the well-known features of Mrs. M'Diarmid.
"God bless my soul, my dear Mrs. Mac, who ever would have thought of seeing you here! I mean to say this is what one might call an unexpected pleasure. Come out of this confoundedly cold room, my dear madam. Now I know who is my visitor, I will, with your permission, waive122 all formality and receive you in my sanctum. This way, my dear madam. You must excuse my hobbling slowly; but my old enemy the gout has been trying me rather severely123 during the last few days."
Chattering124 on in this fashion, the old gentleman gallantly125 offered Mrs. M'Diarmid his arm, and led her from the cold and formally-arranged drawing-room, where everything was set and stiff, to his own cheerful little room, the perfection of bachelor comfort and elegance126.
"Wheel a chair round for the lady, Sargeant, there, with its back to the light, and push that footstool nearer.--There, my dear madam, that's more comfortable. You have breakfasted? Sorry for it. I've some orange pekoe that is unrivalled in London, and there's a little ham that is perfectly de-licious. You won't? Then all I can say is, that yours is the loss. And now, my dear madam, you have not told me what has procured127 me the honour of this visit."
Had the old lady been viciously disposed, she might easily have pleaded that her host had not given her the chance; but as it was her policy to be most amiable, she merely smiled sweetly upon him, and said that her visit was actuated by important business.
Outside the bank-parlour, Mr. Foljambe detested128 business visits of all kinds; and even there he only tolerated them. Female visitors were his special aversion; and the leaden-buttoned porter in Lombard-street had special directions as to their admission. The junior partner, a buck59 of forty-five, who dressed according to the fashion of ten years since, and who was supposed still to cause a flutter in the virgin129 breasts of Balham, where his residence, "The Pineries," was situate, was generally told off to reply to the questions of such ladies as required consultation130 with Burkinyoung, Foljambe, and Co.
So that when Mrs. M'Diarmid mentioned business as the cause of her visit, the old gentleman was scarcely reassured131, and begged for a farther explanation.
"Well, when I say business, Mr. Foljambe," said the old lady, again resuming her smile, "I scarcely know whether I'm doing justice to what lies in my own--my own bosom132. Business, Mr. Foljambe, is a hard word, as I know well enough, connected with my early life--of which you know, no doubt, from our friends in Brook-street--connected with boot-cleaning, and errand-sending, and generally poor George's carryings-on in--no matter. And indeed there is but little business connected with what rules the court, the camp, the grove133, and is like the red red rose, which is newly sprung in June, sir. You will perceive, Mr. Foljambe, that I am alluding to Love."
"To Love, madam!" exclaimed the old gentleman with a jerk, thinking at the same time, "Good God! can it be possible that I have ever said anything to this old vulgarian that can have induced her to imagine that I'm in love with her?"
"To Love, Mr. Foljambe; though to you and me, at our time of life, such ideas are generally non compos. Yet there are hearts that feel for another; and yours is one, I am certain sure."
"You must be a little clearer, madam, if you want me to follow you," said the old gentleman gruffly.
"Well, then, to have no perspicuity134 or odontification, and to do our duty in that state into which heaven has called us," pursued Mrs. Mac, with a lingering recollection of the Church Catechism, "am I not right in thinking that you take an interest in our Maddy?"
"In Miss Kilsyth?" said Foljambe. "The very greatest interest that a man at--at my time of life could possibly take in a girl of her age. But surely you don't think, Mrs. M'Diarmid, that--that I'm in love with her?"
"Powers above!" exclaimed Mrs. Mac, "do you think that I've lost my reason; or that if you were, it would be any good? Do you think that I for one would stand by and see my child sacrificed? No, of course I don't mean that! But what I do mean is, that you're fond of our Maddy, ain't you?"
"Yes," said the old gentleman with a burst; "yes, I am; there, will that content you? I think Madeleine Kilsyth a very charming girl!"
"And worthy of a very charming husband, Mr. Foljambe?"
"And worthy of a very charming husband. But where is he? I have been tolerably intimate with the family for years--not, of course, as intimate as you, my dear Mrs. M'Diarmid, but still I may say an intimate and trusted friend--and I have never seen anyone whom I could think in the least likely to be a prétendu--not in the least."
"N-no; not before they left for Scotland, certainly."
"No; and then in Scotland, you know, of course there would have been a chance--country house full of company, thrown together and all that kind of thing--best adjuncts for love-making, importunity135 and opportunity, as I daresay you know well enough, my dear madam; but then Maddy was taken ill, and that spoilt the whole chance."
"Spoilt the whole chance! Maddy's illness spoilt the whole chance, did it? Are you quite sure of that, Mr. Foljambe? Are you quite sure that that illness did not decide Maddy's future?"
"That illness!"
"That illness. 'Importunity and opportunity,' to quote your own words, Mr. Foljambe, the last if hot the worst--have it how you will."
"My dear Mrs. M'Diarmid, you are speaking in riddles136; you are a perfect Sphinx, and I am, alas137, no OEdipus. Will you tell me shortly what you mean?"
"Yes, Mr. Foljambe, I will tell you; I came to tell you, and to ask you, as an old friend of the family, what you thought. More than that, I came to ask you, as an old friend of one whom I think most interested, what you thought. You know well and intimately Dr. Wilmot?"
"Know Wilmot? Thoroughly and most intimately, and--why, good God, my dear madam, you don't think that Wilmot is in love with Miss Kilsyth?"
"I confess that I have thought--"
"Rubbish, my dear madam! Simple nonsense! You have been confounding the attention which a man wrapped up in his own profession, in the study of science, pays to a case, with attentions paid to an individual. Why, my dear madam, if--not to be offensive--if you had had Miss Kilsyth's illness, and Wilmot had attended you, he would have bestowed138 on you exactly the same interest."
"Perhaps while the case lasted, Mr. Foljambe, while his professional duty obliged him to do so; but not afterwards."
"Not afterwards? Does Dr. Wilmot still pay attention to Miss Kilsyth?"
"The last time I was in Brook-street I saw him there," said the old lady, bridling139, "paying Miss Kilsyth great 'attention.'"
"Then it was a farewell visit, Mrs. M'Diarmid," replied Mr. Foljambe. "Dr. Wilmot quits town--and England--at once, for a lengthened140 sojourn141 on the Continent."
"Leaves town--and England?" said Mrs. Mac blankly.
"For several months. Devoted to his profession, as he always has been, without the smallest variation in his devotion, he goes to Berlin to study in the hospitals there. Does that look like the act of an ardent142 soupirant, Mrs. M'Diarmid?"
"Not unless he has reasons for feeling that it is better that he should so absent himself," said the old lady.
"Of that you will probably be the best judge," said Mr. Foljambe. "My knowledge of Chudleigh Wilmot is not such as to lead me to believe that he would 'set his fortunes on a die' without calculating the result."
In the "off season," when her fashionable friends were away from town, Mrs. M'Diarmid was in the habit of receiving some few acquaintances who constituted a whist-club, and met from week to week at each other's houses. Amongst this worthy sisterhood Mrs. Mac passed for a very shrewd and clever woman; a "deep" woman, who never "showed her hand." But on turning into Portland-place after her interview with Mr. Foljambe, the old lady felt that she had forfeited143 that title to admiration144, and that too without the slightest adequate result.
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1
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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4
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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parasitical
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| adj. 寄生的(符加的) | |
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parasitically
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| adv.寄生地，由寄生虫引起地 | |
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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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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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9
component
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| n.组成部分，成分，元件；adj.组成的，合成的 | |
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10
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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11
grandees
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| n.贵族，大公，显贵者( grandee的名词复数 ) | |
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12
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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13
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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14
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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15
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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16
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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17
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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18
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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19
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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20
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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21
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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22
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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23
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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24
shams
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| 假象( sham的名词复数 )； 假货； 虚假的行为（或感情、言语等）； 假装…的人 | |
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25
delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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26
snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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27
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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28
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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29
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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30
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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31
maidenhood
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| n. 处女性, 处女时代 | |
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32
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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33
slur
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| v.含糊地说；诋毁；连唱；n.诋毁；含糊的发音 | |
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34
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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35
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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36
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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37
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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38
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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39
portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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40
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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41
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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42
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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43
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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44
attenuated
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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45
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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46
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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47
supplementary
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| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
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48
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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49
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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50
daydream
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| v.做白日梦，幻想 | |
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51
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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52
watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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53
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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54
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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55
instilled
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| v.逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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57
eligibility
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| n.合格，资格 | |
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58
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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59
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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60
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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61
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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62
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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63
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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64
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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65
relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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66
antipathies
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| 反感( antipathy的名词复数 )； 引起反感的事物； 憎恶的对象； （在本性、倾向等方面的）不相容 | |
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67
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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68
execrated
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| v.憎恶( execrate的过去式和过去分词 )；厌恶；诅咒；咒骂 | |
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69
metaphorical
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| a.隐喻的，比喻的 | |
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70
versed
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| adj. 精通，熟练 | |
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71
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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72
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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73
brooked
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| 容忍，忍受（brook的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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75
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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76
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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77
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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78
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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79
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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80
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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81
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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82
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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83
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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84
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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85
pranced
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
glean
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| v.收集(消息、资料、情报等) | |
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87
gleaning
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| n.拾落穗，拾遗，落穗v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的现在分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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88
sentimentally
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| adv.富情感地 | |
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89
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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92
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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93
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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94
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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95
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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96
lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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98
prescriptions
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| 药( prescription的名词复数 )； 处方； 开处方； 计划 | |
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99
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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100
indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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101
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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102
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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103
expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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104
clinching
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的现在分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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105
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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106
maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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107
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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108
deteriorated
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| 恶化，变坏( deteriorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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110
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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111
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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112
farces
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| n.笑剧( farce的名词复数 )；闹剧；笑剧剧目；作假的可笑场面 | |
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113
dallying
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的现在分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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114
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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115
nattiest
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| adj.整洁漂亮的( natty的最高级 )；潇洒的，灵巧的 | |
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116
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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117
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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118
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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119
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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120
misogynist
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| n.厌恶女人的人 | |
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121
peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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122
waive
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| vt.放弃，不坚持(规定、要求、权力等) | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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124
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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125
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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126
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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127
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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128
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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129
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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130
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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131
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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132
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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133
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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134
perspicuity
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| n.（文体的）明晰 | |
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135
importunity
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| n.硬要，强求 | |
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136
riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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137
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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138
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
bridling
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的现在分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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140
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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141
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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142
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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143
forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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