“Go on.”
[137]“You’re goin’ to see Gurdy pretty dam’ quick. I had a nap before Ferguson came in. Dreamed about the kid.”
“He’d have cabled if he’d sailed,” Mark said, “No, he’s still stuck in the mud at Saint Nazaire. By God, it’s enough to make a man vomit14, reading about those damned embarkation15 camps! And he ain’t an officer. They say the enlisted16 men don’t even get enough to eat!” He suddenly fumed17.
“Well, don’t cry about it, you big calf18,” said Carlson, “Honest to God, I never saw a feller that can cry like you do! You cried like a hose-pipe when the kid got shot—and from all I hear it wasn’t nothin’ but a scratch on his belly19. And I used to spend hours trying to teach you to shed one tear when you was actin’! You was the punkest matiny idol20 ever drew breath of life!”
Mark chuckled21, “I suppose I was,” then a hand slid down over his shoulder and an olive cuff23 followed it. Mark’s heart jumped. He dropped his head back against Gurdy’s side and began to weep idiotically as he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t. Old Carlson surveyed the end of the trick delightedly. He privately24 cursed Gurdy for standing25 still and pale when it was clearly the right thing to make a fuss. The cub26 was too cool.
“Son, son,” said Mark.
[138]Gurdy hoped that the man would not repeat that illogical word in his husky, drumming voice. The repetition brought the illusion of joy too close. He chewed his lip and wriggled27, gave in and stooped over Mark. He got out, “Here, I’ve not had any lunch, Mark,” and that turned Mark into mad action, sent him racing28 downstairs to find the butler.
“I’m twenty—”
“You’re a hog30,” the old man meditated31. His eyes twinkled. He sneered32, “Well, wipe your eyes. Here’s a handkerchief if you ain’t got one.” He relished33 the boy’s blush, watched him blink and went on, “Now, don’t tell Mark about all the women you ruined, neither. He prob’ly thinks you been a saint. And don’t go spillin’ any of this talk about goin’ to work on your own like some of these whelps do. Mark’s got a three thousand dollar car comin’ for you and he’s goin’ to pay you a hundred a week to set in the office and look wise. And don’t tell him you didn’t win the war, too. He knows you did. Christ, it was bad enough when I’d got to listen to how Margot was runnin’ the Red Cross in London! After you went off I come pretty near callin’ up the express company and havin’ myself shipped to Stockholm! The big calf! Chewin’ the paint[139] off the walls every time he heard there’d been fightin’! Sentymental lunatic! Your papa and mamma’ve got three times more sense about you. Get out of here. I got to make up sleep.” He shut his eyes. Two tears ran and were lost in the sharp wrinkles of his face. Gurdy gulped34 and walked downstairs, abashed35 by the sheer weight of idolatry.
Mark was twisting the cork36 out of a champagne37 bottle in the dining room. At once he said, “They’ll have some eggs up right away, sonny.”
“My God but you’re thin, Mark!”
“No exercise. Haven’t had time to play golf. Now, we’d better get the car and run down to Fayettes—”
“I talked to mother from Camp Merritt. Be in Camp Dix tomorrow. I’ll see them there. They can motor over. Only twelve miles. Heard from Margot lately?”
His uncle beamed saying, “Says she wants to come home, son. I’ve got to talk to you about that. What d’you think?”
Gurdy said quickly, “Let her come, Mark. The fact is, I think she’s bored. You haven’t seen her since last year? She’s got a gang of men trailing after her and she isn’t a flirt38. Chelsea’s full of bright young painters and things. They all come and camp on the doormat. Lady Ilden’s[140] a sort of fairy godmother, of course.” He lapsed39 into a sudden state of mind about Margot, fondling his glass of champagne. Untrimmed discourse40 on women had amused his first days in the army. But the week’s return in the jammed transport had sickened him with the stuffy41 talk of prospective42 and retrospective desire. It had been musky, stifling43. He wondered how women, if they guessed, would value that broad commentary. And how men lied about women! The precisian was annoyed to a snort and Mark filled his glass again, smiling.
Of course, having seen her, the boy wanted Margot home. Mark said, “She wrote me you’d turned out better looking than she thought. Knew she’d think so. And Olive was pleased to death with you, of course. How’s your side feel?—My God, what are those fools doing to the eggs!”
He rushed into the pantry. Rank pleasure swelled44 in Gurdy. There was no use doing anything with the incurable45, proud man who drove him back to Camp Merritt at dusk with two bottles of champagne hidden in his motor coat, invited confessions46 and beamed constantly.
“Only don’t act like you’d ever kissed a woman in front of your mother, son. Country folks. Shock her to death. You any taller? I’ll call up Sanford about some clothes for you. Good[141] night, sonny. You go straight to the farm when you’re discharged. I’ll be down Sunday.”
An illusion of happiness beset48 Gurdy. He stood in the green street of the half empty camp staring after the motor, the wine bottles wrapped in paper under his arm. It was astonishing how foolish Mark was, to be sure. But wine or emotion warmed the chill air about Gurdy like the pour of a hot shower. If Mark wanted to be an ass6 over him, it couldn’t be helped. He kept thinking of his foolish worshipper in the transfer to the sandy discomfort49 of Camp Dix. There the Bernamers appeared in a large motor with grandfather Walling furred and mittened50 in the back seat. The illusion of happiness deepened into a sensuous51 bath, although his mother had contracted more fat and his sisters were too brawny52 for real charm. Gurdy struggled for righteous detachment while his brothers candidly53 goggled54 their admiration55 and his father examined the purple scar that passed dramatically up Gurdy’s milky56 skin. He found himself blinking and got drunk on the second bottle of champagne when his family left. But it seemed wiser to surrender to the flood of affectionate nonsense for a time. It was even convenient that Mark should send a tailor down to Fayettesville with clothes rapidly confected. On Sunday Mark arrived with a small car lettered G.B. in blue on its panel.
[142]“Just the blue Gurdy’s eyes are,” Mrs. Bernamer drawled.
Gurdy understood that maternal57 feeling was a rather shocking symbol on the charts of analysts58 and that Mark probably doted on him for some trivial resemblance unconsciously held and engrossed59. But it was pleasant, being a symbol. He drove Mark down into Trenton and talked of Margot while they drank bad American Benedictine in a seedy hotel.
“I don’t know whether she’s very clever or simply sensible,” he said, achieving detachment by way of Benedictine. “Anyhow, most cleverness is just common sense—perception.” His eyes darkened. Mark thought in lush comfort that Gurdy would marry the girl. Gurdy had friends among the right sort of people. Poor Carlson would die pretty soon. Gurdy and Margot would live at the house, which were best adorned60 freshly. The Benedictine gave out. They drove into the twisted lanes behind Trenton and Gurdy talked levelly of France. “Damned humiliating to get laid out by a hunk of zinc61 off a bathtub. Margot joshed me about it.... Paris was perfectly62 astonishing! American privates giving parties for British admirals and stealing their women.—I ran into a Y. M. C. A. girl who wanted to have[143] Fontainebleau made into a reform school. Margot says she found one that wanted to have George turn Windsor Castle into a hospital for the A. E. F.... You mustn’t mind Margot swearing. All the flappers seem to.—Oh, I met Cora Boyle.”
“How’s she looking?”
“Handsome.” Gurdy thought for a second and then inquired. “What did you—”
Mark comprehended the stop. He said, “She was the first woman ever took any notice of me.—Why, I suppose she was a kind of ideal. I mean, I liked that kind of looks. Lord knows what she married me for. Wonder, is that Rand kid still married to her? Is? I guess she’s settled down in London for keeps. Well, I want you to look at the plans of the Walling, son. They’ve made me a model. Tell me if you see anything wrong.”
He simmered with joy when Gurdy approved the whole plan except the shape of the boxes. The boy ran back and forth63 between Fayettesville and the city in his car, asked seemly young men to dine in Fifty Fifth Street, read plays and wandered with Mark to costumers. People stared at him in the restaurants where Mark took him to lunch. His tranquil64 height and his ease drew glances. His intolerant comments on the motley of opening nights made Mark choke. Sometimes, though, Mark found the boy’s eyes turned on him with surprise.
[144]“You seem to hang out in Greenwich village a lot, Mark.”
“I kind of like it. Don’t understand some of the talk. The show business is changing, sonny. It’s changed a lot since nineteen fourteen. If you’d told me five years back that a piece like Redemption could have a run I’d have laughed my head off. Or that you could mount a play like Jones has fixed65 up this thing at the Plymouth—all low lights and—what d’you call it?—impressionist scenery.... The game’s changed.—Oh, the big money makers’ll always be hogwash, Gurdy! Don’t bet any other way. I ain’t such a fool as to think that Heaven’s opened because you can put on a piece with a sad ending and some—well, philosophy to it and have it make a little cash. No such luck. Only it’s got so now that when some big, fat wench in a lot of duds starts throwin’ his pearls back at the man that’s keepin’ her in the third act—why, there’s a lot of folks out front that say, Oh, hell, and go home. Of course, there’s a lot more that think it’s slick.—Lord, I’d like to put on ‘Measure for Measure’ when we open the Walling!—You could make that look like something.—I’ve got to find something good to open with. This kid Steve O’Mara’s sending me up a play about a thug that gets wrecked66 down in Cuba and steals a plantation67. Ten scenes to it, he says. One of ’em’s a[145] lot of niggers havin’ a Voodoo party. Sounds fine. I picked him up down in Greenwich village.”
“I should think all those half married ladies and near anarchists68 would shock you to death.”
“Bosh, brother. I don’t like ’em enough to get shocked at ’em. What’s there to get shocked at? They think so and so and I think the other way. If you took to preaching dynamite69 I’d be pretty worried—like I would if your mamma bobbed her hair and ran off with a tenor70. I’m not an old maid just because I’m in the show business.” He lit a cigarette and added. “Fifty per cent of theatrical71 managers are old maids.”
“Just what do you mean?”
“Why, they are. This way. They get used to a run of plots and they can’t see outside that. For instance, here’s a dramatist—forgotten his name—was trying to sell a piece last year. I couldn’t use it but I thought it was pretty good so I sent him over to Loeffler with a note. Next day, Loeffler called me up and said I ought to be hung for the sake of public morals. This play knocked round the offices and every one thought it was awful. Why? The hero’s a chauffeur72 that’s tired of working, so he marries a rich old woman. It’s something that happens every other day in the papers. There ain’t a week that some fifty year old actress doesn’t marry a kid step dancer but they all carried on as if this[146] fellow’d written a play where every one came on the stage stark73 naked and danced the hoochy coochee. It wasn’t a nice idea but where’s it worse than nine tenths these bedroom things or as bad?”
“Why wouldn’t you use it, Mark?”
“Oh, hell, there wasn’t but one scene and that was an interior!”
Gurdy asked, “Mark, wouldn’t you like it if the playwrights74 would go back to the Elizabethan idea—I mean thirty or forty scenes to a play?”
“Certainly,” said Mark, “and those bucks75 were right.” He sat for a little silent, scrawling77 his desk blotter with a pencil, then shyly laughed, “Supposing some one made a play out of my married life? What you’d call the important episodes happened all over God’s earth. Cora got me on a farm in Fayettesville, N. J., married in Hoboken. Started quarreling in Martin’s café. Caught her kissing a fellow at Longbranch. Never saw him before or since. Owned up she’d lived with three or four men in our flat—twentieth Street, New York. Big scene. God, how sick that made me! I was at tea at Mrs. LeMoyne’s when Frank Worthing got me off in a corner and told me about her and Jarvis Hope. I was sittin’ in the bath tub when she chucked her curling irons at me and said she was through. That’s the way things go. Shakespeare was right. Crazy? No.—Come in.” His secretary brought[147] Mark a thick manuscript lettered “Captain Salvador: Stephen O’Mara.” and withdrew. Mark went on, “But my married life wouldn’t make much of a show—green kid from the country and a—a Cora Boyle. Pretty ordinary.” He reflected, “But I don’t know. It’s always going to be pretty tragic78 for a kid to find out he’s married a girl thinkin’ she was pure—as pure as folks are, anyhow—and finds she hadn’t been. Wasn’t her fault, of course. Started acting79 when she was fourteen. Awful jolt80, though. She lied about it, too. She was the damnedest liar81! I hate liars82. Well run along and play squash or something, sonny. I want to see what O’Mara’s handed me.”
He bought the rights to “Captain Salvador” two hours later. Gurdy was willing to rejoice with him after he read the Cuban tragedy. Carlson yapped, “The women’ll hate it, Mark. Where’s your clothes?”
“Bosh,” said Mark, “there weren’t any women’s clothes in Ervine’s ‘John Ferguson’ and the women ate it alive!”
“But that fellow Ervine’s an Englishman, you big calf! You ain’t going to open the Walling with a sad piece by an American where there ain’t any duds for the women to gawp at! You’re off your head. Ain’t I told you a million times that the New York woman won’t swallow a home[148] grown show that’s tragic unless it’s all dressed up? Stop him, Gurdy!”
“It’s a damned good play, sir,” said Gurdy.
He thought it high fortune that Mark should find anything so adroit83 and moving for the Walling’s first play. Some of the critics believed in O’Mara’s talent. Several artists in scenery were asked to submit designs. The pressmen began a scattering84 campaign of notes on O’Mara and hints about the play. A procession of comely85 young women declined the best female part as “unsympathetic.”
“But they’re fools,” Gurdy insisted, “It’s a good acting part.”
“My God,” the old man screamed, “don’t you know that no woman wants a part where she can’t show her shape off and wear pearls! And these hens that got looks don’t have to act any more. They go to California and get in the movies. You talk like actresses were human beings! Women don’t act unless they ain’t good lookin’ or’ve got brains. You’ll have to go a long ways if you want a good lookin’ wench for that part. God, you keep talkin’ like actin’ was some kind of an art! It ain’t. It’s a game for grown up kids that they get paid for. An actor that’s got any brains never gets to be more’n some one smart in comedy. A tragedian’s nothin’ but a hunk of[149] mush inside his head. Catch a girl that’ll act tragical87 when she can sit on a sofa in a Paris gown and have some goop make eyes at her!—And Mark’ll have a fine time at rehearsals88 makin’ any leadin’ man wear a stubble beard and eat with his knife, like in this play. Art!” and the old man fell asleep snorting. Yet his bedroom behind the panelled library was dotted with photographs of dead actors and actresses. Sometimes his dry voice trailed into a sort of tenderness when he spoke89 of James Lewis or Augustin Daly.
“Softhearted as an egg,” said Mark, hesitated and resumed, “He’s got fifty thousand apiece for you and Margot in his will, sonny. Rest of it goes to his sister’s children in Sweden.—What’s this you were saying about running out to Chicago?”
“I’d rather like to. Lacy Martin—remember him? I roomed with him freshman91 year at college—Lacy lost his leg in France. He’s rather blue. His mother wrote me that she’d like me to come out. I thought I would.”
“Well.—I thought I’d surprise you with it. Got a cable from Olive Ilden Thursday. Margot sailed Friday. Ought to land day after tomorrow.” He saw the orange level of Gurdy’s cocktail92 flicker93. Then the boy set it down and brooded. Mark made his face stolid94 to watch this. The butler served fish and retired95 without[150] noise to his pantry. The tapestry96 of Chinese flowers behind Gurdy’s chair stirred in the May wind. The boy was immobile, fair and trim in his chair. He seemed strangely handsome—a long, easy lounging gentleman who hated sharp emotions.
“Really think I’d better go out to Lake Forest, Mark. I more or less promised I would. I shan’t be gone more than a—couple of weeks.”
Triumph dragged a chuckle22 from Mark. He covered it with, “Oh, sure! If Lacy’s got the blues97, run ahead out and cheer him up.” The boy was in full flight from love, of course, and didn’t want to admit it. Mark doted on him, drawled, “Got all the money you’ll need?” and was pleased by Gurdy’s confession47 that he needed a good deal. He gave the boy errands about Chicago to aid the retreat. “There’s a girl named Marryatt playing at the La Salle. Some of them think she’s got distinction. And poke90 around and see if you can rake up a scenery man. Take the directions for Captain Salvador along. If you find any one that ain’t just copying Bobby Jones or Gordon Craig make him send me sketches98. And there’s this poet on a newspaper—he’s named something like Sandwich—no, Sanbridge. See if he’s got a play up his sleeve. O’Mara was talking about him.”
He saw Gurdy off for Chicago, the next noon,[151] then set about making lists of successive luncheons100 for Margot. This return must be an ample revenge for her waygoing. She wasn’t, now, the small girl whose presence in Miss Thorne’s school had frightened matrons. She was some one protected by his celebrity101 and trained by Olive Ilden. He must contrive102 her content until she married Gurdy. She was democratic—Olive had seen to that. Mark had watched her chaff103 a knot of convalescent soldiers in Hyde Park. She wouldn’t care that one of his best friends had risen toward management from the rank of a burlesque104 dancer, that another had been an undertaker in Ohio. She wouldn’t mind things like that. He marshalled the cleverest of the critics and the young women who dealt in publicity105. Gurdy would bring proper men to call, when he came back from his flight. The expanse of her future opened like an unfurling robe of exquisite106 colours. She strolled in Mark’s mind most visibly. He hummed, inspecting his house.
“Yes,” Carlson sneered, “she’s been footloose amongst a pack of dukes and things and you think she’s going to like bein’ mixed up with a lot of—”
“She won’t mind,” said Mark.
She seemed to mind nothing. She landed on the twentieth of that cool May, kissed Mark on the nose and told him she had three cases of champagne in the hold. The customs inspectors[152] were dazzled stumbling among her trunks. A file of other voyagers came to shake hands. A great hostess kissed the girl, smiled at Mark and said gently that she hoped Mr. Walling would bring Margot to luncheon99 next fall.
“She’s quite nice,” Margot assured him in the motor, “She probably kept your photograph with a bunch of violets in a jar in front of it when you were a matinée—Oh, how you hate that word! How nice your nose is! Where on earth’s Gurdy?—Lake Forest? Oh, that’s where all the Chicago pig kings live, isn’t it? They have chateaux and moats and exclude—But it’s rather rotten he isn’t here. I’ve a couple of awful French novels for him. He speaks such rather remarkable107 French. I can’t make the right J sounds. He’s such a stately animal. I was awfully108 frightened of him in London. Such a ghastly crossing!”
“Why, honey?”
She stared at him with wide black eyes and said more slowly, “How nicely you say things like that.—You’re really awfully glad I’m back, aren’t you?”
Mark choked, “Here’s Times Square.”
She shrugged109 and leaned back on the blue cushions. “Horrible! But the theatre district in London’s worse, really. The Walling’ll be on a side street, won’t it? I’d loathe110 seeing Walling[153] in electric bulbs along here. Be rather as though you were running about naked. Did I write you about Ronny Dufford’s new play? Been a most tremendous success. You should bring it over. That’s the Astor, isn’t it? What colour’s the Walling to be inside? Blue? Rather dark blue? And swear to me that you won’t have Russian decorations!”
“I swear, daughter.”
“You old saint,” said Margot, “and you’re still the best looking man in the known world!”
Her lips had a curious, untinted brilliance111 as though the blood might burst from them. Dizzy Mark told himself that she wasn’t the most beautiful of women. Her brown face was like his face and her father’s face, too flat. Her hands weren’t small, either, but she wore no rings. Her gown was dark and her tam o’shanter of black velvet112 was inseparable from her hair in the mist of his eyes. Silver buckles113 swayed and twinkled when her gleaming feet moved about his house and she smiled in a veil of cigarette smoke.
“You’ve simply natural good taste, dad. Born, not made. Don’t think I’m keen on that Venice glass in the dining room. Too heavy. Where does Gurdy sleep?—I snore, you know?”
“I don’t believe it. He sleeps on the top floor where the old playroom was.”
She threw her head back to laugh and said,[154] “Where he used to make such sickening noises on the piano when he thought you were petting me too much? He’s a dear. It wouldn’t be eugenics for me to marry him, would it?”
“See that, Mark?” Carlson squealed114, “She ain’t been ten minutes in the country and she’s huntin’ a husband? That’s gratitude115!”
“Oh, you,” said Margot, spinning on a heel, “If you were ninety seven years younger I’d marry you myself.”
She teased the old man relentlessly116. She teased Mark before his guests at the first luncheon. Her variations appalled117 the man. She seemed to know all the printable gossip of New York. She spoke to older women with a charming patience, played absurd English songs to amuse Mark’s pet critic and got the smallest of the managers in a loud good temper by agreeing with his debatable views on stage lighting118. Most of these, his friends, had forgotten that she was Mark’s niece. Their compliments were made as on a daughter. He felt the swift spread of a ripple119; editors of fashion monthlies telephoned to ask for photographs; the chief of a Sunday supplement wanted her views on the American Red Cross; a portrait painter came calling.
“Silly ass,” said Margot, “I met him in Devonshire. I hate being painted. You’ve never had a portrait done? Dreary120. One has to sit and[155] smirk121.” She went fluttering a yellow frock up the library to find an ash tray, came back smoking a cigarette, neared Mark’s chair then veered122 off to pat Carlson’s jaw123.
“You used to set like a kitchen stove in one spot for an hour at a time,” Carlson said, “Now you’re all over the place.”
“One has to move about in England to keep warm. Dad, I wrote Ronny Dufford to send you a copy of his play. Ronny’s land poor, you know? It’s made mountains of money but I don’t think he’s half out of debt, yet. Such a nice idiot. He liked Gurdy such a lot. What the deuce an’ all is Gurdy doing in Chicago? Bargin’ about with the pigstickers?”
She shed her mixture of slangs when his broker’s wife came to luncheon. Mark didn’t think it affected124 that she mainly talked of titled folk to the smart, reticent125 woman. Mrs. Villay invited her to Southampton before leaving. Margot shook her hair free of two silver combs and shrugged as the front door shut. “I suspect her of being a ferocious126 snob127. Sweet enough, though. Fancy she doesn’t read anything but Benson and the late Mrs. Ward9.—Oh, no, Mrs. Ward isn’t late, is she? Simply lamented128.”
Mark laughed, “Let’s go talk to Mr. Carlson.”
“You always call him Mister. Just why, darling?”
[156]“Well, he’s forty years older than me, sister. And he made me. He—”
“Tosh! You made yourself! Let’s walk over and see how the Walling’s getting on.”
He wallowed in this warm enchantment129 for ten days. Margot dismissed herself to Fayettesville on the first breath of heat. He went down to see her established in the gaping adoration130 of the family. He thought it hard on the Bernamer girls. He had hinted boarding school for these virgins131 but the Bernamers, trained by moving pictures, were wary132. Yet Margot was clearly born to captivate women. He wrote to Gurdy at Lake Forest: “It was nice to see her tone herself down for your grandfather and your mother. I told her she had better not smoke except with your dad in the cowbarn. You kept telling me I must not be shocked. What is there to get shocked at? Young girls are not as prissy as they were when I was a pup.—Hell of a row coming on with the actors. We are trying to keep things quiet but it looks like a strike. But some of the men still think an actor is a cross between a mule133 and a hog. Letter from Olive Ilden says she is going to Japan pretty soon and will come this way. I see in the London news that Cora Boyle has signed up with the Celebrities134 and is coming over to be filmed as Camille or The Queen of Sheba. You are wrong about ‘Heartbreak[157] House.’ It is a conversation, not a play. I wish Shaw would do something like C?sar and Cleopatra again. They start work on the sets for Captain Salvador next week at the studio. Shall have two sets made for the Voodoo scene and try both on the road before we open the Walling.”
Gurdy reflected that it was time to come home. Then he put it off. Lake Forest was pleasant. He was fond of his host. It was prudent135 to test the pull of this feeling for Margot. The thing augmented136 now that he couldn’t talk of her. A strict detachment from passion was silly, after all. But he was annoyed with himself as the passage of any tall and blackhaired woman across a lawn would interrupt the motion of his blood. He set his brain tasks, meditated the girl at Fayettesville, hoped that she wouldn’t singe137 the acute American skin of his young brothers by comments on the national arms. His sisters had probably made their own experiments with cigarettes. They were sensible lasses, anyhow, if given to endless gush138 about moving pictures. His young host’s sisters, amiable139, blond girls were much the same thing, rarified by trips to Europe, suave140 frocks and some weak topics in the cerebral141 change. They held Dunsany a fascinating dramatist and thought there was something to be said for communism. Chicago puzzled him with its summer negligence142 and the candour of its wealth,[158] with the air of stressed vice143 in the Loop restaurants and the sudden change from metropolis144 to a country town within the city limits. It seemed absurd that the listless, polished wife of a hundred million dollars should return from Long Island to give a dance in honor of a travelling English poet held lowly in Chelsea, described by Olive Ilden as a derivative145 angleworm. At this dance he heard of Margot from an unknown woman with whom he waltzed.
“I saw you in London, last winter.”
“I was there. Funny I don’t remember—”
“You were in uniform with Margot Walling and Lady Ilden. At a play. Margot was wearing one of her yellow frocks. I was the other side of the gangway. I wondered about you, rather. Margot always snubs me. I’m a countess of sorts and it always interests me when Americans snub me.—Let’s get something to drink. I don’t dance well and you must be in torments—What’s your name?”
She was a lank146, tired creature in a rowdy gown sewn with false pearls that hissed147 theatrically148 as she slumped149 into a chair on the lit terrace.
“Cousin, eh?—Well, Margot amuses me. She’s the genuine aristocrat150, you know? Take what you want and to hell with the rest. Pity so few Americans catch the idea. Imagine any continental151 woman coming a thousand miles to give a[159] dance for a cheapjack penny poet like this sweep. Afraid he won’t mention her in his travel book, I dare say. Run and get me a drink. Something mild.” A youth at the buffet152 told him this was the Countess of Flint. She sipped153 wine cup, refused a cigarette and asked, “Where did you go to school? Saint Andrew’s? My brothers did Groton. Beautiful training wasted on the desert air. That’s the trouble with the American game. Did you ever think how much good it would have done the beastly country to have had about four generations of a hard and fast aristocracy—plenty of money, no morals, quantities of manner? It’s simply a waste of time and money to train lads and then turn them loose in a herd154 of rich women all afraid of their dressmakers. What a zero the average American woman is!”
“Hush,” he said, “That’s treason! You’ll be shot at sunrise!”
“Unsalted porridge. Utter vacuum. Not a vacuum either because she’s a bully155, usually. And a prude.—Is Margot going to marry Ronny Dufford?”
Gurdy jumped, inescapably startled. He said, “Colonel Dufford? The General Staff man who writes plays? I’m sure I don’t know.”
“It wouldn’t be a bad thing. Ronny’s all right—the gentleman Bohemian touch and I dare say she has money.” The lank woman coughed,[160] went on, “She’ll take on an Englishman in any case, though.”
“She’s in New York.”
“Oh, she’ll get fed with that directly and trot156 home.” The woman locked her gaunt arms behind her careless hair and yawned at the amber157 moon above the clipped pines. “New York’s frightful158! Stuffed middle westerners squatting159 in hotels trying to look smart. Place is absolutely run by women. Getting more respectable every time I go through. Haven’t had any patience with New York since the Stanford White murder. Imagine all the bloods running to cover and swearing they’d never even met White because he’d been shot in a mess about a woman! Imagine it! I always bought Harding Davis’s books after that because he had the sand to get up and say he liked White, in print. But that’s Egyptian history.” She began to cough fearfully. The pearls clattered160 on her gown.
“You’ve taken cold.”
“No. Cigarettes. Are you married?”
“Good lord, no. Only been twenty-one a couple of weeks.”
“How odd that must be! Twenty-one a couple of weeks ago. And you went to France and got shot. Singular child!”
“Why singular?”
“Oh, I’ve been amusing myself at Saranac—at[161] a house party, with a social register and an army list. A war where eighty per cent. of the educated men—I mean the smart universities—the bloods under thirty all went and hid themselves. It’s not pretty.”
“Aren’t you exag—”
“Not in the least. I had fifty American officers convalescing161 at my husband’s place in Kent and half of them were freight clerks from Iowa. What can you expect when the American woman brings her son up to be a coward and his father makes him a thief? And naturally the women despise the men. Who on earth wants an American husband?”
“They seem to find wives, somehow.”
She coughed, rising, “Oh, travel’s expensive.” Then she gestured to the orange oblongs of the ballroom162 windows. “D’you think any one of those women would hesitate a minute between being the next lady of the White House or the mistress of the Prince of Wales? Of course not! Give Margot my love. Good-bye. Too chilly163 out here.” She rattled164 away.
Gurdy dropped into the chair and stared after her. He should tabulate165 this woman at once with her romantic illusions of aristocracy and patriotism166. Margot supervened and seemed to move across the moony stones of the terrace. He thought frantically167 of Colonel Dufford. He[162] thought solidly of marriage for ten minutes. Beyond doubt he was in love with Margot. He stirred in the chair, repeating maxims168. Passion wasn’t durable169. He might tire of her. He argued against emotion and blinked at the gold lamps on the bastard170 French face of this house. He was too young to select sensibly, didn’t want to be sensible, suddenly. His pulse rose. He marvelled171 at love. In the morning he announced his present departure. At noon he had a special delivery letter from his youngest brother, Edward Bernamer, Junior, a placid172 boy of thirteen interested in stamp collecting. The scrawl76 was the worse for that complacency.
“Dear Gurd, For the love of Mike come on home and help take care of Margot E. Walling. She has got mamma and the girls all up in the air. Grandfather is getting ready to shoot her. I heard him talking to dad about writing Uncle Mark to take her away. I sort of like her. Eggs and Jim think she is hell.”
Gurdy came whirling east to New York and found Mark at the 45th Street Theatre, humming over the model for a scene of “Captain Salvador.” But plainly Mark knew nothing of any fissure173 in the sacred group at Fayettesville. He was busy rehearsing a comedy, had been to the farm only once. In any event Mark mustn’t be hurt. Gurdy took breath and delicately put[163] forth, “I want you to do something damned extravagant174, Mark.”
“Easy, sonny. Just got the estimate for the mirrors at the Walling. Not more than ten thousand, please!”
“Not as bad as that. Get a cottage on Long Island for July and August. The farm’s all right for Margot for a while. But grandfather goes to bed at nine. The kids play rags on the phonograph all afternoon. It gets tiresome175 after a while. I—”
“Oh, son,” said Mark, “I’m not so thickheaded I can’t see that sister’ll get bored down there.” He beamed, thinking Gurdy superb in grey tweeds, his white skin overlayed with pale tan. “No, I expect I’d get bored with the cows and chickens if I was there enough.—And we ought to have some kind of a country place of our own.—There’s some friend of Arthur Hopkins has a place on Long Island he wants to let.—Olive Ilden’ll be here in July and we ought to have a cottage somewhere. I don’t think your dad and Olive’d have much to talk over.” Mark grinned. Gurdy laughed, curling on a corner of the desk, approving the man’s common shrewdness. Mark patted his palms together. “Look, you pike on down to the farm. Margot’s got your car there. You fetch her up in the morning and you two go look at this cottage. I’ll ’phone Hopkins and[164] find where it is. Oh, here’s this piece Margot’s friend Dufford’s sent over. I hear it’s doing a fair business in London but nothing to brag176 of. Read it and see what you think. Get going, son. You can catch the three o’clock for Trenton.”
Gurdy strove with this fragility in neat prose all the way to Trenton. It had to do with a climber domiciled by mistake in the house of a stodgy177 young Earl. It was wordy and tedious. The name, “Todgers Intrudes,” made him grunt178. He laughed occasionally at the tinkling179 echoes of Wilde and Maugham. It might be passable in London where the lethal180 jokes on “Dora” and “Brass Hats” would be understood. He diligently181 tried to be just to Colonel Dufford’s art which served to keep his pulse down and his mind remote from the approaching discomfort. Margot wasn’t perfect. She had upset the family. It was best to get her quickly away from Fayettesville. He hired a battered182 car at Trenton. The Fayettesville Military Academy was closing for the summer, by all signs. Lads bustled183 toward the station towing parents and gaudy184 sisters in the beginning of sunset. He overtook his three brothers idling home toward the farm and gave them a lift. No one spoke of Margot directly. Edward, his correspondent, smiled sideways at Gurdy and drawled, “Must have been having a damn good time in Chicago, Gurd,” but nothing[165] else was said. The car panted into the stone walled dooryard. His grandfather waved a linen185 clad arm at Gurdy from the padded chair on the veranda186. His sisters accepted the usual candy and hid a motion picture magazine from him, giggling187. Mrs. Bernamer was at a funeral in Trenton. Gurdy found Bernamer in the dairy yard studying a calf. It was always easy to be frank with the saturnine188, long farmer. His father didn’t suffer from illusions. They sat on the frame of the water tower and lit cigarettes, before speech.
“How’s Margot been behaving, dad?”
“You sweet on her, son?”
“I like her. How’s she been acting?”
Bernamer pulled his belt tight and lifted his hard face toward the sky. Gurdy felt the mute courtesy of his pause. The man had a natural scorn of tumult189. He lived silently and, perhaps, thought much. He said, “This is just as much Mark’s place as it is ours. He’s the best feller livin’. We all know that. And she’s Joe’s daughter.” Something boiled up in his blue eyes. He cried, “What in hell! You’re as good as she is, ain’t you? You can come home and act like we wasn’t mud underfoot! Who the hell’s she?” His wrath190 slid into laughter. He pulled his belt tighter and winked191 at Gurdy. “It’s kind of funny hearin’ her cuss, though.”
[166]“She over does that, a little. Just what’s the trouble, dad?”
“I can’t tell you, son. She’s sand in the cream. It ain’t her smokin’. I miss my guess if the girls ain’t tried that.—She kind of puts me in mind of that Boyle wench Mark married. She’s got the old man all worried. Your mamma’s scared to death of her. So’s the girls.—She ain’t so damned polite it hurts her any.... Say, I wouldn’t hurt Mark’s feelings for the world—And I notice she don’t carry on so high and mighty192 when Mark’s here, neither.—Ain’t there some place else she could go?”
Gurdy had a second of futile193 rage that divided itself between Margot and his family. This wasn’t within remedy. She had absorbed the attitudes, the impatience194 of worlds exterior195 to the flat peace of the farm. He grinned at his father.
“Yes. I’m going to take her off. Mark’s got more sense than you think, dad.”
“Sure. Mark’s got plenty of sense when he ain’t dead cracked over a thing. Don’t tell him I’ve been squalling. Mebbe that Englishwoman spoiled her, lettin’ her gallivant too much. Mebbe it’s her father comin’ out in her. Between us, Joe was tougher’n most boys. You’ll likely find her down in the orchard196 smokin’ her head off. It’s all kind of funny ... and then it ain’t.”
[167]She wasn’t smoking. She sat with a novel spread on her yellow lap and the bole of an apple tree behind her head. There was a shattered plate of ruddy glow about her. The pose had the prettiness of a drowsy197 child. She was, her lover thought, a bragging198 child, lonesome for cleverness, annoyed by stolidity199. In the vast green of the orchard she seemed small. He whistled. She rose, her hair for a moment floating, then laughed and threw the book away.
“Thank God, that’s you! I thought it was one of—O, any one!”
“Tell me something about civilization—quick! You don’t want to talk about the fil-lums do you? Or whether Jane Rupp’s going to marry that Coe feller or—”
“Bored?”
“Oh—to death! How do you stand it? How do you stand it?... I knew they’d be common but I didn’t think they’d be such bloody—”
“Look out,” said Gurdy.
But the girl’s red lips had retracted201. She was shivering. She had lost her charm of posture202. She cried, “Oh, yes! They’re our people and all the rest of that tosh! I’m not a hypocrite. It’s a stable! A stable!” Her breath choked her.[168] She gasped203, “Get me out of here! I’m used to what you call real people!”
She loosed his sleeve and patted her hair. But some inner spring shook her. Scarlet204 streaks205 appeared in her face. She babbled206, “He must be mad! Of course he’s sentimental207 about them—about the place—the old place—It’s the way he is about Carlson! My God, why should he think I can stand it!”
Something hummed in Gurdy’s head. His hands heated. He stood shuffling208 a foot in the grass and looked from her at the green intricate branches. He must keep cool. He whispered, “Can’t you find anything—well, funny in it?”
“It’s all funny rather the way an old dress is!—Why should he think I could stay here? Three weeks! Of course, he hasn’t any breed—”
“Shut up,” said Gurdy, “That’ll be all! We were born here. Mark took us and had us dressed and looked after—trained. I’m not going to laugh at them. I can’t.—I’ll be damned if I’ll hear you laugh at Mark. Yes, he’s sentimental! If he wasn’t, d’you think he’d have bothered about taking care of you—of us? The family’s sacred to him. He loves them. He’s that kind.—Stop laughing!”
He hated her. There was no beauty left. Her face had shrivelled in this fire. She was swiftly and horribly like an angry trull. She said,[169] “Sentimentalist! You’re a damned milk and sugar sentimentalist like—”
“Ah,” said Gurdy, “that’s out of some book!... All right. Mark’s going to take a place on Long Island. We’ll go up in the morning.”
He tramped off. The orchard became a whirl of green flame that seared then left him cold. He was tired. His body felt like stone, heavy and dead. The illusion of desire was gone out of Gurdy.
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收听单词发音
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1
mid
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| adj.中央的，中间的 | |
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wrecking
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| 破坏 | |
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3
notary
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| n.公证人，公证员 | |
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irritations
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| n.激怒( irritation的名词复数 )；恼怒；生气；令人恼火的事 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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8
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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10
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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comedian
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| n.喜剧演员；滑稽演员 | |
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13
hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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15
embarkation
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| n. 乘船, 搭机, 开船 | |
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16
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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17
fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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18
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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21
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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24
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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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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cub
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| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
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27
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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31
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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32
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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35
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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37
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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41
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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42
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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43
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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44
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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45
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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46
confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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47
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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48
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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49
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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50
mittened
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| v.（使）变得潮湿，变得湿润( moisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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52
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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53
candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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54
goggled
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| adj.戴护目镜的v.睁大眼睛瞪视， （惊讶的）转动眼珠( goggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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56
milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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57
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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analysts
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| 分析家，化验员( analyst的名词复数 ) | |
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59
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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61
zinc
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| n.锌；vt.在...上镀锌 | |
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62
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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63
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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64
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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66
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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67
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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68
anarchists
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| 无政府主义者( anarchist的名词复数 ) | |
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69
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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70
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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71
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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72
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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73
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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74
playwrights
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| n.剧作家( playwright的名词复数 ) | |
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75
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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76
scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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77
scrawling
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的现在分词 ) | |
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78
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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79
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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80
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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81
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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82
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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83
adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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84
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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85
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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86
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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87
tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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88
rehearsals
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| n.练习( rehearsal的名词复数 )；排练；复述；重复 | |
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89
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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90
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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91
freshman
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| n.大学一年级学生(可兼指男女) | |
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92
cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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93
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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94
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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95
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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96
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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97
blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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98
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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99
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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100
luncheons
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| n.午餐，午宴( luncheon的名词复数 ) | |
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101
celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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102
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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103
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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104
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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105
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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106
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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107
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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108
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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109
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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110
loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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111
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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112
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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113
buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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114
squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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116
relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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117
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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118
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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119
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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120
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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121
smirk
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| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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122
veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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123
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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124
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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125
reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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126
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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127
snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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128
lamented
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|
| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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130
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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131
virgins
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| 处女，童男( virgin的名词复数 )； 童贞玛利亚（耶稣之母） | |
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132
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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133
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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134
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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135
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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136
Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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137
singe
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| v.(轻微地)烧焦；烫焦；烤焦 | |
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138
gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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139
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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140
suave
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|
| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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141
cerebral
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| adj.脑的，大脑的；有智力的，理智型的 | |
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142
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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143
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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144
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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145
derivative
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| n.派(衍)生物；adj.非独创性的，模仿他人的 | |
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146
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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147
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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148
theatrically
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| adv.戏剧化地 | |
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149
slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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150
aristocrat
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|
| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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151
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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152
buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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153
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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155
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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156
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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157
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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158
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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159
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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160
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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161
convalescing
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| v.康复( convalesce的现在分词 ) | |
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162
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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163
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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164
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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165
tabulate
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| v.列表，排成表格式 | |
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166
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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167
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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168
maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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169
durable
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| adj.持久的，耐久的 | |
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170
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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171
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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172
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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173
fissure
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| n.裂缝；裂伤 | |
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174
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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175
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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176
brag
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| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
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177
stodgy
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| adj.易饱的；笨重的；滞涩的；古板的 | |
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178
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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179
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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180
lethal
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| adj.致死的；毁灭性的 | |
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181
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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182
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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183
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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184
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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185
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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186
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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187
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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188
saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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189
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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190
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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191
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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192
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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193
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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194
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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195
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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196
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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197
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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198
bragging
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的现在分词 )；大话 | |
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199
stolidity
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| n.迟钝，感觉麻木 | |
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200
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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201
retracted
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| v.撤回或撤消( retract的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝执行或遵守；缩回；拉回 | |
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202
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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203
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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204
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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205
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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206
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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207
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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208
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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