All these thoughts rushed through Miss Nancy's mind, in their habitual15 succession, in the moments between her first sight of Mr. Godfrey Cass standing16 at the door and her own arrival there. Happily, the Squire came out too and gave a loud greeting to her father, so that, somehow, under cover of this noise she seemed to find concealment17 for her confusion and neglect of any suitably formal behaviour, while she was being lifted from the pillion by strong arms which seemed to find her ridiculously small and light. And there was the best reason for hastening into the house at once, since the snow was beginning to fall again, threatening an unpleasant journey for such guests as were still on the road. These were a small minority; for already the afternoon was beginning to decline, and there would not be too much time for the ladies who came from a distance to attire1 themselves in readiness for the early tea which was to inspirit them for the dance.
There was a buzz of voices through the house, as Miss Nancy entered, mingled18 with the scrape of a fiddle19 preluding in the kitchen; but the Lammeters were guests whose arrival had evidently been thought of so much that it had been watched for from the windows, for Mrs. Kimble, who did the honours at the Red House on these great occasions, came forward to meet Miss Nancy in the hall, and conduct her up-stairs. Mrs. Kimble was the Squire's sister, as well as the doctor's wife—a double dignity, with which her diameter was in direct proportion; so that, a journey up-stairs being rather fatiguing20 to her, she did not oppose Miss Nancy's request to be allowed to find her way alone to the Blue Room, where the Miss Lammeters' bandboxes had been deposited on their arrival in the morning.
There was hardly a bedroom in the house where feminine compliments were not passing and feminine toilettes going forward, in various stages, in space made scanty21 by extra beds spread upon the floor; and Miss Nancy, as she entered the Blue Room, had to make her little formal curtsy to a group of six. On the one hand, there were ladies no less important than the two Miss Gunns, the wine merchant's daughters from Lytherly, dressed in the height of fashion, with the tightest skirts and the shortest waists, and gazed at by Miss Ladbrook (of the Old Pastures) with a shyness not unsustained by inward criticism. Partly, Miss Ladbrook felt that her own skirt must be regarded as unduly22 lax by the Miss Gunns, and partly, that it was a pity the Miss Gunns did not show that judgment23 which she herself would show if she were in their place, by stopping a little on this side of the fashion. On the other hand, Mrs. Ladbrook was standing in skull-cap and front, with her turban in her hand, curtsying and smiling blandly24 and saying, "After you, ma'am," to another lady in similar circumstances, who had politely offered the precedence at the looking-glass.
But Miss Nancy had no sooner made her curtsy than an elderly lady came forward, whose full white muslin kerchief, and mob-cap round her curls of smooth grey hair, were in daring contrast with the puffed25 yellow satins and top-knotted caps of her neighbours. She approached Miss Nancy with much primness27, and said, with a slow, treble suavity—
"Niece, I hope I see you well in health." Miss Nancy kissed her aunt's cheek dutifully, and answered, with the same sort of amiable28 primness, "Quite well, I thank you, aunt; and I hope I see you the same."
"Thank you, niece; I keep my health for the present. And how is my brother-in-law?"
These dutiful questions and answers were continued until it was ascertained29 in detail that the Lammeters were all as well as usual, and the Osgoods likewise, also that niece Priscilla must certainly arrive shortly, and that travelling on pillions in snowy weather was unpleasant, though a joseph was a great protection. Then Nancy was formally introduced to her aunt's visitors, the Miss Gunns, as being the daughters of a mother known to their mother, though now for the first time induced to make a journey into these parts; and these ladies were so taken by surprise at finding such a lovely face and figure in an out-of-the-way country place, that they began to feel some curiosity about the dress she would put on when she took off her joseph. Miss Nancy, whose thoughts were always conducted with the propriety31 and moderation conspicuous32 in her manners, remarked to herself that the Miss Gunns were rather hard-featured than otherwise, and that such very low dresses as they wore might have been attributed to vanity if their shoulders had been pretty, but that, being as they were, it was not reasonable to suppose that they showed their necks from a love of display, but rather from some obligation not inconsistent with sense and modesty33. She felt convinced, as she opened her box, that this must be her aunt Osgood's opinion, for Miss Nancy's mind resembled her aunt's to a degree that everybody said was surprising, considering the kinship was on Mr. Osgood's side; and though you might not have supposed it from the formality of their greeting, there was a devoted34 attachment35 and mutual36 admiration37 between aunt and niece. Even Miss Nancy's refusal of her cousin Gilbert Osgood (on the ground solely38 that he was her cousin), though it had grieved her aunt greatly, had not in the least cooled the preference which had determined her to leave Nancy several of her hereditary39 ornaments40, let Gilbert's future wife be whom she might.
Three of the ladies quickly retired41, but the Miss Gunns were quite content that Mrs. Osgood's inclination42 to remain with her niece gave them also a reason for staying to see the rustic43 beauty's toilette. And it was really a pleasure—from the first opening of the bandbox, where everything smelt44 of lavender and rose-leaves, to the clasping of the small coral necklace that fitted closely round her little white neck. Everything belonging to Miss Nancy was of delicate purity and nattiness45: not a crease46 was where it had no business to be, not a bit of her linen47 professed48 whiteness without fulfilling its profession; the very pins on her pincushion were stuck in after a pattern from which she was careful to allow no aberration49; and as for her own person, it gave the same idea of perfect unvarying neatness as the body of a little bird. It is true that her light-brown hair was cropped behind like a boy's, and was dressed in front in a number of flat rings, that lay quite away from her face; but there was no sort of coiffure that could make Miss Nancy's cheek and neck look otherwise than pretty; and when at last she stood complete in her silvery twilled silk, her lace tucker, her coral necklace, and coral ear-drops, the Miss Gunns could see nothing to criticise50 except her hands, which bore the traces of butter-making, cheese-crushing, and even still coarser work. But Miss Nancy was not ashamed of that, for even while she was dressing51 she narrated52 to her aunt how she and Priscilla had packed their boxes yesterday, because this morning was baking morning, and since they were leaving home, it was desirable to make a good supply of meat-pies for the kitchen; and as she concluded this judicious53 remark, she turned to the Miss Gunns that she might not commit the rudeness of not including them in the conversation. The Miss Gunns smiled stiffly, and thought what a pity it was that these rich country people, who could afford to buy such good clothes (really Miss Nancy's lace and silk were very costly), should be brought up in utter ignorance and vulgarity. She actually said "mate" for "meat", "'appen" for "perhaps", and "oss" for "horse", which, to young ladies living in good Lytherly society, who habitually54 said 'orse, even in domestic privacy, and only said 'appen on the right occasions, was necessarily shocking. Miss Nancy, indeed, had never been to any school higher than Dame55 Tedman's: her acquaintance with profane57 literature hardly went beyond the rhymes she had worked in her large sampler under the lamb and the shepherdess; and in order to balance an account, she was obliged to effect her subtraction58 by removing visible metallic59 shillings and sixpences from a visible metallic total. There is hardly a servant-maid in these days who is not better informed than Miss Nancy; yet she had the essential attributes of a lady—high veracity60, delicate honour in her dealings, deference61 to others, and refined personal habits,—and lest these should not suffice to convince grammatical fair ones that her feelings can at all resemble theirs, I will add that she was slightly proud and exacting62, and as constant in her affection towards a baseless opinion as towards an erring63 lover.
The anxiety about sister Priscilla, which had grown rather active by the time the coral necklace was clasped, was happily ended by the entrance of that cheerful-looking lady herself, with a face made blowsy by cold and damp. After the first questions and greetings, she turned to Nancy, and surveyed her from head to foot—then wheeled her round, to ascertain30 that the back view was equally faultless.
"What do you think o' these gowns, aunt Osgood?" said Priscilla, while Nancy helped her to unrobe.
"Very handsome indeed, niece," said Mrs. Osgood, with a slight increase of formality. She always thought niece Priscilla too rough.
"I'm obliged to have the same as Nancy, you know, for all I'm five years older, and it makes me look yallow; for she never will have anything without I have mine just like it, because she wants us to look like sisters. And I tell her, folks 'ull think it's my weakness makes me fancy as I shall look pretty in what she looks pretty in. For I am ugly—there's no denying that: I feature my father's family. But, law! I don't mind, do you?" Priscilla here turned to the Miss Gunns, rattling64 on in too much preoccupation with the delight of talking, to notice that her candour was not appreciated. "The pretty uns do for fly-catchers—they keep the men off us. I've no opinion o' the men, Miss Gunn—I don't know what you have. And as for fretting65 and stewing66 about what they'll think of you from morning till night, and making your life uneasy about what they're doing when they're out o' your sight—as I tell Nancy, it's a folly67 no woman need be guilty of, if she's got a good father and a good home: let her leave it to them as have got no fortin, and can't help themselves. As I say, Mr. Have-your-own-way is the best husband, and the only one I'd ever promise to obey. I know it isn't pleasant, when you've been used to living in a big way, and managing hogsheads and all that, to go and put your nose in by somebody else's fireside, or to sit down by yourself to a scrag or a knuckle68; but, thank God! my father's a sober man and likely to live; and if you've got a man by the chimney-corner, it doesn't matter if he's childish—the business needn't be broke up."
The delicate process of getting her narrow gown over her head without injury to her smooth curls, obliged Miss Priscilla to pause in this rapid survey of life, and Mrs. Osgood seized the opportunity of rising and saying—
"Well, niece, you'll follow us. The Miss Gunns will like to go down."
"Sister," said Nancy, when they were alone, "you've offended the Miss Gunns, I'm sure."
"What have I done, child?" said Priscilla, in some alarm.
"Why, you asked them if they minded about being ugly—you're so very blunt."
"Law, did I? Well, it popped out: it's a mercy I said no more, for I'm a bad un to live with folks when they don't like the truth. But as for being ugly, look at me, child, in this silver-coloured silk—I told you how it 'ud be—I look as yallow as a daffadil. Anybody 'ud say you wanted to make a mawkin of me."
"No, Priscy, don't say so. I begged and prayed of you not to let us have this silk if you'd like another better. I was willing to have your choice, you know I was," said Nancy, in anxious self-vindication.
"Nonsense, child! you know you'd set your heart on this; and reason good, for you're the colour o' cream. It 'ud be fine doings for you to dress yourself to suit my skin. What I find fault with, is that notion o' yours as I must dress myself just like you. But you do as you like with me—you always did, from when first you begun to walk. If you wanted to go the field's length, the field's length you'd go; and there was no whipping you, for you looked as prim26 and innicent as a daisy all the while."
"Priscy," said Nancy, gently, as she fastened a coral necklace, exactly like her own, round Priscilla's neck, which was very far from being like her own, "I'm sure I'm willing to give way as far as is right, but who shouldn't dress alike if it isn't sisters? Would you have us go about looking as if we were no kin13 to one another—us that have got no mother and not another sister in the world? I'd do what was right, if I dressed in a gown dyed with cheese-colouring; and I'd rather you'd choose, and let me wear what pleases you."
"There you go again! You'd come round to the same thing if one talked to you from Saturday night till Saturday morning. It'll be fine fun to see how you'll master your husband and never raise your voice above the singing o' the kettle all the while. I like to see the men mastered!"
"Don't talk so, Priscy," said Nancy, blushing. "You know I don't mean ever to be married."
"Oh, you never mean a fiddlestick's end!" said Priscilla, as she arranged her discarded dress, and closed her bandbox. "Who shall I have to work for when father's gone, if you are to go and take notions in your head and be an old maid, because some folks are no better than they should be? I haven't a bit o' patience with you—sitting on an addled69 egg for ever, as if there was never a fresh un in the world. One old maid's enough out o' two sisters; and I shall do credit to a single life, for God A'mighty meant me for it. Come, we can go down now. I'm as ready as a mawkin can be—there's nothing awanting to frighten the crows, now I've got my ear-droppers in."
As the two Miss Lammeters walked into the large parlour together, any one who did not know the character of both might certainly have supposed that the reason why the square-shouldered, clumsy, high-featured Priscilla wore a dress the facsimile of her pretty sister's, was either the mistaken vanity of the one, or the malicious70 contrivance of the other in order to set off her own rare beauty. But the good-natured self-forgetful cheeriness and common-sense of Priscilla would soon have dissipated the one suspicion; and the modest calm of Nancy's speech and manners told clearly of a mind free from all disavowed devices.
Places of honour had been kept for the Miss Lammeters near the head of the principal tea-table in the wainscoted parlour, now looking fresh and pleasant with handsome branches of holly71, yew72, and laurel, from the abundant growths of the old garden; and Nancy felt an inward flutter, that no firmness of purpose could prevent, when she saw Mr. Godfrey Cass advancing to lead her to a seat between himself and Mr. Crackenthorp, while Priscilla was called to the opposite side between her father and the Squire. It certainly did make some difference to Nancy that the lover she had given up was the young man of quite the highest consequence in the parish—at home in a venerable and unique parlour, which was the extremity73 of grandeur74 in her experience, a parlour where she might one day have been mistress, with the consciousness that she was spoken of as "Madam Cass", the Squire's wife. These circumstances exalted76 her inward drama in her own eyes, and deepened the emphasis with which she declared to herself that not the most dazzling rank should induce her to marry a man whose conduct showed him careless of his character, but that, "love once, love always", was the motto of a true and pure woman, and no man should ever have any right over her which would be a call on her to destroy the dried flowers that she treasured, and always would treasure, for Godfrey Cass's sake. And Nancy was capable of keeping her word to herself under very trying conditions. Nothing but a becoming blush betrayed the moving thoughts that urged themselves upon her as she accepted the seat next to Mr. Crackenthorp; for she was so instinctively77 neat and adroit79 in all her actions, and her pretty lips met each other with such quiet firmness, that it would have been difficult for her to appear agitated80.
It was not the rector's practice to let a charming blush pass without an appropriate compliment. He was not in the least lofty or aristocratic, but simply a merry-eyed, small-featured, grey-haired man, with his chin propped81 by an ample, many-creased white neckcloth which seemed to predominate over every other point in his person, and somehow to impress its peculiar82 character on his remarks; so that to have considered his amenities83 apart from his cravat84 would have been a severe, and perhaps a dangerous, effort of abstraction.
"Ha, Miss Nancy," he said, turning his head within his cravat and smiling down pleasantly upon her, "when anybody pretends this has been a severe winter, I shall tell them I saw the roses blooming on New Year's Eve—eh, Godfrey, what do you say?"
Godfrey made no reply, and avoided looking at Nancy very markedly; for though these complimentary85 personalities86 were held to be in excellent taste in old-fashioned Raveloe society, reverent87 love has a politeness of its own which it teaches to men otherwise of small schooling88. But the Squire was rather impatient at Godfrey's showing himself a dull spark in this way. By this advanced hour of the day, the Squire was always in higher spirits than we have seen him in at the breakfast-table, and felt it quite pleasant to fulfil the hereditary duty of being noisily jovial89 and patronizing: the large silver snuff-box was in active service and was offered without fail to all neighbours from time to time, however often they might have declined the favour. At present, the Squire had only given an express welcome to the heads of families as they appeared; but always as the evening deepened, his hospitality rayed out more widely, till he had tapped the youngest guests on the back and shown a peculiar fondness for their presence, in the full belief that they must feel their lives made happy by their belonging to a parish where there was such a hearty90 man as Squire Cass to invite them and wish them well. Even in this early stage of the jovial mood, it was natural that he should wish to supply his son's deficiencies by looking and speaking for him.
"Aye, aye," he began, offering his snuff-box to Mr. Lammeter, who for the second time bowed his head and waved his hand in stiff rejection91 of the offer, "us old fellows may wish ourselves young to-night, when we see the mistletoe-bough in the White Parlour. It's true, most things are gone back'ard in these last thirty years—the country's going down since the old king fell ill. But when I look at Miss Nancy here, I begin to think the lasses keep up their quality;—ding me if I remember a sample to match her, not when I was a fine young fellow, and thought a deal about my pigtail. No offence to you, madam," he added, bending to Mrs. Crackenthorp, who sat by him, "I didn't know you when you were as young as Miss Nancy here."
Mrs. Crackenthorp—a small blinking woman, who fidgeted incessantly92 with her lace, ribbons, and gold chain, turning her head about and making subdued93 noises, very much like a guinea-pig that twitches94 its nose and soliloquizes in all company indiscriminately—now blinked and fidgeted towards the Squire, and said, "Oh, no—no offence."
This emphatic95 compliment of the Squire's to Nancy was felt by others besides Godfrey to have a diplomatic significance; and her father gave a slight additional erectness96 to his back, as he looked across the table at her with complacent97 gravity. That grave and orderly senior was not going to bate98 a jot99 of his dignity by seeming elated at the notion of a match between his family and the Squire's: he was gratified by any honour paid to his daughter; but he must see an alteration100 in several ways before his consent would be vouchsafed101. His spare but healthy person, and high-featured firm face, that looked as if it had never been flushed by excess, was in strong contrast, not only with the Squire's, but with the appearance of the Raveloe farmers generally—in accordance with a favourite saying of his own, that "breed was stronger than pasture".
"Miss Nancy's wonderful like what her mother was, though; isn't she, Kimble?" said the stout102 lady of that name, looking round for her husband.
But Doctor Kimble (country apothecaries103 in old days enjoyed that title without authority of diploma), being a thin and agile104 man, was flitting about the room with his hands in his pockets, making himself agreeable to his feminine patients, with medical impartiality105, and being welcomed everywhere as a doctor by hereditary right—not one of those miserable106 apothecaries who canvass107 for practice in strange neighbourhoods, and spend all their income in starving their one horse, but a man of substance, able to keep an extravagant108 table like the best of his patients. Time out of mind the Raveloe doctor had been a Kimble; Kimble was inherently a doctor's name; and it was difficult to contemplate109 firmly the melancholy110 fact that the actual Kimble had no son, so that his practice might one day be handed over to a successor with the incongruous name of Taylor or Johnson. But in that case the wiser people in Raveloe would employ Dr. Blick of Flitton—as less unnatural111.
"Did you speak to me, my dear?" said the authentic112 doctor, coming quickly to his wife's side; but, as if foreseeing that she would be too much out of breath to repeat her remark, he went on immediately—"Ha, Miss Priscilla, the sight of you revives the taste of that super-excellent pork-pie. I hope the batch113 isn't near an end."
"Yes, indeed, it is, doctor," said Priscilla; "but I'll answer for it the next shall be as good. My pork-pies don't turn out well by chance."
"Not as your doctoring does, eh, Kimble?—because folks forget to take your physic, eh?" said the Squire, who regarded physic and doctors as many loyal churchmen regard the church and the clergy—tasting a joke against them when he was in health, but impatiently eager for their aid when anything was the matter with him. He tapped his box, and looked round with a triumphant114 laugh.
"Ah, she has a quick wit, my friend Priscilla has," said the doctor, choosing to attribute the epigram to a lady rather than allow a brother-in-law that advantage over him. "She saves a little pepper to sprinkle over her talk—that's the reason why she never puts too much into her pies. There's my wife now, she never has an answer at her tongue's end; but if I offend her, she's sure to scarify my throat with black pepper the next day, or else give me the colic with watery115 greens. That's an awful tit-for-tat." Here the vivacious116 doctor made a pathetic grimace117.
"Did you ever hear the like?" said Mrs. Kimble, laughing above her double chin with much good-humour, aside to Mrs. Crackenthorp, who blinked and nodded, and seemed to intend a smile, which, by the correlation118 of forces, went off in small twitchings and noises.
"I suppose that's the sort of tit-for-tat adopted in your profession, Kimble, if you've a grudge119 against a patient," said the rector.
"Never do have a grudge against our patients," said Mr. Kimble, "except when they leave us: and then, you see, we haven't the chance of prescribing for 'em. Ha, Miss Nancy," he continued, suddenly skipping to Nancy's side, "you won't forget your promise? You're to save a dance for me, you know."
"Come, come, Kimble, don't you be too for'ard," said the Squire. "Give the young uns fair-play. There's my son Godfrey'll be wanting to have a round with you if you run off with Miss Nancy. He's bespoke120 her for the first dance, I'll be bound. Eh, sir! what do you say?" he continued, throwing himself backward, and looking at Godfrey. "Haven't you asked Miss Nancy to open the dance with you?"
Godfrey, sorely uncomfortable under this significant insistence121 about Nancy, and afraid to think where it would end by the time his father had set his usual hospitable122 example of drinking before and after supper, saw no course open but to turn to Nancy and say, with as little awkwardness as possible—
"No; I've not asked her yet, but I hope she'll consent—if somebody else hasn't been before me."
"No, I've not engaged myself," said Nancy, quietly, though blushingly. (If Mr. Godfrey founded any hopes on her consenting to dance with him, he would soon be undeceived; but there was no need for her to be uncivil.)
"Then I hope you've no objections to dancing with me," said Godfrey, beginning to lose the sense that there was anything uncomfortable in this arrangement.
"No, no objections," said Nancy, in a cold tone.
"Ah, well, you're a lucky fellow, Godfrey," said uncle Kimble; "but you're my godson, so I won't stand in your way. Else I'm not so very old, eh, my dear?" he went on, skipping to his wife's side again. "You wouldn't mind my having a second after you were gone—not if I cried a good deal first?"
"Come, come, take a cup o' tea and stop your tongue, do," said good-humoured Mrs. Kimble, feeling some pride in a husband who must be regarded as so clever and amusing by the company generally. If he had only not been irritable123 at cards!
While safe, well-tested personalities were enlivening the tea in this way, the sound of the fiddle approaching within a distance at which it could be heard distinctly, made the young people look at each other with sympathetic impatience124 for the end of the meal.
"Why, there's Solomon in the hall," said the Squire, "and playing my fav'rite tune125, I believe—"The flaxen-headed ploughboy"—he's for giving us a hint as we aren't enough in a hurry to hear him play. Bob," he called out to his third long-legged son, who was at the other end of the room, "open the door, and tell Solomon to come in. He shall give us a tune here."
Bob obeyed, and Solomon walked in, fiddling126 as he walked, for he would on no account break off in the middle of a tune.
"Here, Solomon," said the Squire, with loud patronage127. "Round here, my man. Ah, I knew it was "The flaxen-headed ploughboy": there's no finer tune."
Solomon Macey, a small hale old man with an abundant crop of long white hair reaching nearly to his shoulders, advanced to the indicated spot, bowing reverently128 while he fiddled129, as much as to say that he respected the company, though he respected the key-note more. As soon as he had repeated the tune and lowered his fiddle, he bowed again to the Squire and the rector, and said, "I hope I see your honour and your reverence130 well, and wishing you health and long life and a happy New Year. And wishing the same to you, Mr. Lammeter, sir; and to the other gentlemen, and the madams, and the young lasses."
As Solomon uttered the last words, he bowed in all directions solicitously131, lest he should be wanting in due respect. But thereupon he immediately began to prelude132, and fell into the tune which he knew would be taken as a special compliment by Mr. Lammeter.
"Thank ye, Solomon, thank ye," said Mr. Lammeter when the fiddle paused again. "That's "Over the hills and far away", that is. My father used to say to me, whenever we heard that tune, "Ah, lad, I come from over the hills and far away." There's a many tunes133 I don't make head or tail of; but that speaks to me like the blackbird's whistle. I suppose it's the name: there's a deal in the name of a tune."
But Solomon was already impatient to prelude again, and presently broke with much spirit into "Sir Roger de Coverley", at which there was a sound of chairs pushed back, and laughing voices.
"Aye, aye, Solomon, we know what that means," said the Squire, rising. "It's time to begin the dance, eh? Lead the way, then, and we'll all follow you."
So Solomon, holding his white head on one side, and playing vigorously, marched forward at the head of the gay procession into the White Parlour, where the mistletoe-bough was hung, and multitudinous tallow candles made rather a brilliant effect, gleaming from among the berried holly-boughs, and reflected in the old-fashioned oval mirrors fastened in the panels of the white wainscot. A quaint56 procession! Old Solomon, in his seedy clothes and long white locks, seemed to be luring134 that decent company by the magic scream of his fiddle—luring discreet135 matrons in turban-shaped caps, nay136, Mrs. Crackenthorp herself, the summit of whose perpendicular137 feather was on a level with the Squire's shoulder—luring fair lasses complacently138 conscious of very short waists and skirts blameless of front-folds—luring burly fathers in large variegated139 waistcoats, and ruddy sons, for the most part shy and sheepish, in short nether140 garments and very long coat-tails.
Already Mr. Macey and a few other privileged villagers, who were allowed to be spectators on these great occasions, were seated on benches placed for them near the door; and great was the admiration and satisfaction in that quarter when the couples had formed themselves for the dance, and the Squire led off with Mrs. Crackenthorp, joining hands with the rector and Mrs. Osgood. That was as it should be—that was what everybody had been used to—and the charter of Raveloe seemed to be renewed by the ceremony. It was not thought of as an unbecoming levity141 for the old and middle-aged142 people to dance a little before sitting down to cards, but rather as part of their social duties. For what were these if not to be merry at appropriate times, interchanging visits and poultry143 with due frequency, paying each other old-established compliments in sound traditional phrases, passing well-tried personal jokes, urging your guests to eat and drink too much out of hospitality, and eating and drinking too much in your neighbour's house to show that you liked your cheer? And the parson naturally set an example in these social duties. For it would not have been possible for the Raveloe mind, without a peculiar revelation, to know that a clergyman should be a pale-faced memento144 of solemnities, instead of a reasonably faulty man whose exclusive authority to read prayers and preach, to christen, marry, and bury you, necessarily coexisted with the right to sell you the ground to be buried in and to take tithe145 in kind; on which last point, of course, there was a little grumbling146, but not to the extent of irreligion—not of deeper significance than the grumbling at the rain, which was by no means accompanied with a spirit of impious defiance147, but with a desire that the prayer for fine weather might be read forthwith.
There was no reason, then, why the rector's dancing should not be received as part of the fitness of things quite as much as the Squire's, or why, on the other hand, Mr. Macey's official respect should restrain him from subjecting the parson's performance to that criticism with which minds of extraordinary acuteness must necessarily contemplate the doings of their fallible fellow-men.
"The Squire's pretty springe, considering his weight," said Mr. Macey, "and he stamps uncommon148 well. But Mr. Lammeter beats 'em all for shapes: you see he holds his head like a sodger, and he isn't so cushiony as most o' the oldish gentlefolks—they run fat in general; and he's got a fine leg. The parson's nimble enough, but he hasn't got much of a leg: it's a bit too thick down'ard, and his knees might be a bit nearer wi'out damage; but he might do worse, he might do worse. Though he hasn't that grand way o' waving his hand as the Squire has."
"Talk o' nimbleness, look at Mrs. Osgood," said Ben Winthrop, who was holding his son Aaron between his knees. "She trips along with her little steps, so as nobody can see how she goes—it's like as if she had little wheels to her feet. She doesn't look a day older nor last year: she's the finest-made woman as is, let the next be where she will."
"I don't heed149 how the women are made," said Mr. Macey, with some contempt. "They wear nayther coat nor breeches: you can't make much out o' their shapes."
"Fayder," said Aaron, whose feet were busy beating out the tune, "how does that big cock's-feather stick in Mrs. Crackenthorp's yead? Is there a little hole for it, like in my shuttle-cock?"
"Hush150, lad, hush; that's the way the ladies dress theirselves, that is," said the father, adding, however, in an undertone to Mr. Macey, "It does make her look funny, though—partly like a short-necked bottle wi' a long quill151 in it. Hey, by jingo, there's the young Squire leading off now, wi' Miss Nancy for partners! There's a lass for you!—like a pink-and-white posy—there's nobody 'ud think as anybody could be so pritty. I shouldn't wonder if she's Madam Cass some day, arter all—and nobody more rightfuller, for they'd make a fine match. You can find nothing against Master Godfrey's shapes, Macey, I'll bet a penny."
Mr. Macey screwed up his mouth, leaned his head further on one side, and twirled his thumbs with a presto152 movement as his eyes followed Godfrey up the dance. At last he summed up his opinion.
"Pretty well down'ard, but a bit too round i' the shoulder-blades. And as for them coats as he gets from the Flitton tailor, they're a poor cut to pay double money for."
"Ah, Mr. Macey, you and me are two folks," said Ben, slightly indignant at this carping. "When I've got a pot o' good ale, I like to swaller it, and do my inside good, i'stead o' smelling and staring at it to see if I can't find faut wi' the brewing153. I should like you to pick me out a finer-limbed young fellow nor Master Godfrey—one as 'ud knock you down easier, or 's more pleasanter-looksed when he's piert and merry."
"Tchuh!" said Mr. Macey, provoked to increased severity, "he isn't come to his right colour yet: he's partly like a slack-baked pie. And I doubt he's got a soft place in his head, else why should he be turned round the finger by that offal Dunsey as nobody's seen o' late, and let him kill that fine hunting hoss as was the talk o' the country? And one while he was allays154 after Miss Nancy, and then it all went off again, like a smell o' hot porridge, as I may say. That wasn't my way when I went a-coorting."
"Ah, but mayhap Miss Nancy hung off, like, and your lass didn't," said Ben.
"I should say she didn't," said Mr. Macey, significantly. "Before I said "sniff155", I took care to know as she'd say "snaff", and pretty quick too. I wasn't a-going to open my mouth, like a dog at a fly, and snap it to again, wi' nothing to swaller."
"Well, I think Miss Nancy's a-coming round again," said Ben, "for Master Godfrey doesn't look so down-hearted to-night. And I see he's for taking her away to sit down, now they're at the end o' the dance: that looks like sweethearting, that does."
The reason why Godfrey and Nancy had left the dance was not so tender as Ben imagined. In the close press of couples a slight accident had happened to Nancy's dress, which, while it was short enough to show her neat ankle in front, was long enough behind to be caught under the stately stamp of the Squire's foot, so as to rend156 certain stitches at the waist, and cause much sisterly agitation157 in Priscilla's mind, as well as serious concern in Nancy's. One's thoughts may be much occupied with love-struggles, but hardly so as to be insensible to a disorder158 in the general framework of things. Nancy had no sooner completed her duty in the figure they were dancing than she said to Godfrey, with a deep blush, that she must go and sit down till Priscilla could come to her; for the sisters had already exchanged a short whisper and an open-eyed glance full of meaning. No reason less urgent than this could have prevailed on Nancy to give Godfrey this opportunity of sitting apart with her. As for Godfrey, he was feeling so happy and oblivious159 under the long charm of the country-dance with Nancy, that he got rather bold on the strength of her confusion, and was capable of leading her straight away, without leave asked, into the adjoining small parlour, where the card-tables were set.
"Oh no, thank you," said Nancy, coldly, as soon as she perceived where he was going, "not in there. I'll wait here till Priscilla's ready to come to me. I'm sorry to bring you out of the dance and make myself troublesome."
"Why, you'll be more comfortable here by yourself," said the artful Godfrey: "I'll leave you here till your sister can come." He spoke75 in an indifferent tone.
That was an agreeable proposition, and just what Nancy desired; why, then, was she a little hurt that Mr. Godfrey should make it? They entered, and she seated herself on a chair against one of the card-tables, as the stiffest and most unapproachable position she could choose.
"Thank you, sir," she said immediately. "I needn't give you any more trouble. I'm sorry you've had such an unlucky partner."
"That's very ill-natured of you," said Godfrey, standing by her without any sign of intended departure, "to be sorry you've danced with me."
"Oh, no, sir, I don't mean to say what's ill-natured at all," said Nancy, looking distractingly prim and pretty. "When gentlemen have so many pleasures, one dance can matter but very little."
"You know that isn't true. You know one dance with you matters more to me than all the other pleasures in the world."
It was a long, long while since Godfrey had said anything so direct as that, and Nancy was startled. But her instinctive78 dignity and repugnance160 to any show of emotion made her sit perfectly161 still, and only throw a little more decision into her voice, as she said—
"No, indeed, Mr. Godfrey, that's not known to me, and I have very good reasons for thinking different. But if it's true, I don't wish to hear it."
"Would you never forgive me, then, Nancy—never think well of me, let what would happen—would you never think the present made amends162 for the past? Not if I turned a good fellow, and gave up everything you didn't like?"
Godfrey was half conscious that this sudden opportunity of speaking to Nancy alone had driven him beside himself; but blind feeling had got the mastery of his tongue. Nancy really felt much agitated by the possibility Godfrey's words suggested, but this very pressure of emotion that she was in danger of finding too strong for her roused all her power of self-command.
"I should be glad to see a good change in anybody, Mr. Godfrey," she answered, with the slightest discernible difference of tone, "but it 'ud be better if no change was wanted."
"You're very hard-hearted, Nancy," said Godfrey, pettishly163. "You might encourage me to be a better fellow. I'm very miserable—but you've no feeling."
"I think those have the least feeling that act wrong to begin with," said Nancy, sending out a flash in spite of herself. Godfrey was delighted with that little flash, and would have liked to go on and make her quarrel with him; Nancy was so exasperatingly164 quiet and firm. But she was not indifferent to him yet, though—
The entrance of Priscilla, bustling165 forward and saying, "Dear heart alive, child, let us look at this gown," cut off Godfrey's hopes of a quarrel.
"I suppose I must go now," he said to Priscilla.
"It's no matter to me whether you go or stay," said that frank lady, searching for something in her pocket, with a preoccupied166 brow.
"Do you want me to go?" said Godfrey, looking at Nancy, who was now standing up by Priscilla's order.
"As you like," said Nancy, trying to recover all her former coldness, and looking down carefully at the hem12 of her gown.
"Then I like to stay," said Godfrey, with a reckless determination to get as much of this joy as he could to-night, and think nothing of the morrow.
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1
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exiguity
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| n.些须，微小，稀少 | |
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capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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13
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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18
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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19
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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20
fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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21
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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unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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26
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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primness
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| n.循规蹈矩，整洁 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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32
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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34
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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40
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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41
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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42
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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43
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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44
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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45
nattiness
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| n.整洁，帅 | |
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46
crease
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| n.折缝，褶痕，皱褶；v.(使)起皱 | |
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47
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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48
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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49
aberration
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| n.离开正路，脱离常规，色差 | |
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50
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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51
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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52
narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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54
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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55
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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56
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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57
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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58
subtraction
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| n.减法，减去 | |
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59
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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60
veracity
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| n.诚实 | |
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61
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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62
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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63
erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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64
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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65
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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66
stewing
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| 炖 | |
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67
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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68
knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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69
addled
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| adj.（头脑）糊涂的，愚蠢的；（指蛋类）变坏v.使糊涂( addle的过去式和过去分词 )；使混乱；使腐臭；使变质 | |
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70
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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71
holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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72
yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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73
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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74
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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75
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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76
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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77
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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78
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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79
adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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80
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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81
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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83
amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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84
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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85
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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86
personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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87
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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88
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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89
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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90
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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91
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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92
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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93
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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94
twitches
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| n.（使）抽动， （使）颤动， （使）抽搐( twitch的名词复数 ) | |
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95
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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96
erectness
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| n.直立 | |
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complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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98
bate
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| v.压制；减弱；n.（制革用的）软化剂 | |
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99
jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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100
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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101
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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103
apothecaries
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| n.药剂师，药店( apothecary的名词复数 ) | |
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104
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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105
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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106
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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107
canvass
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| v.招徕顾客，兜售；游说；详细检查，讨论 | |
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108
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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109
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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110
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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111
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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112
authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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113
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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114
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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115
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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116
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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117
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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118
correlation
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| n.相互关系，相关，关连 | |
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119
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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120
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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121
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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122
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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123
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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124
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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125
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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126
fiddling
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| 微小的 | |
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127
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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128
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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129
fiddled
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| v.伪造( fiddle的过去式和过去分词 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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130
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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131
solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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132
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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133
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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134
luring
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的现在分词形式） | |
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135
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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136
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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137
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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138
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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139
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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140
nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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141
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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142
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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143
poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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144
memento
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| n.纪念品，令人回忆的东西 | |
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145
tithe
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| n.十分之一税；v.课什一税，缴什一税 | |
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146
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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147
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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148
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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149
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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150
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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151
quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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152
presto
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| adv.急速地；n.急板乐段；adj.急板的 | |
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153
brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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154
allays
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的第三人称单数 ) | |
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155
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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156
rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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157
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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158
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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159
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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160
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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161
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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162
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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163
pettishly
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164
exasperatingly
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165
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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166
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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