And some to plenteous gold,
Some who are proud of being young,
Some proud of being old.
Some who are glad of happy love,
Enduring, deep and true,
And some who thoroughly1 enjoy
The little things they do.
Upon all this Grandma Pettigrew cast an observant eye, and meditated2 sagely3 thereupon. Coming to a decision, she first took a course of reading in some of Dr. Bellair's big books, and then developed a series of perplexing symptoms, not of a too poignant4 or perilous5 nature, that took her to Dr. Hale's office frequently.
"You haven't repudiated6 Dr. Bellair, have you?" he asked her.
"I have never consulted Jane Bellair as a physician," she replied, "though I esteem7 her much as a friend."
The old lady's company was always welcome to him; he liked her penetrating8 eye, her close-lipped, sharp remarks, and appreciated the real kindness of her heart.
If he had known how closely she was peering into the locked recesses9 of his own, and how much she saw there, he would perhaps have avoided her as he did Vivian, and if he had known further that this ingenious old lady, pursuing long genealogical discussions with him, had finally unearthed10 a mutual11 old-time friend, and had forthwith started a correspondence with that friend, based on this common acquaintance in Carston, he might have left that city.
The old-time friend, baited by Mrs. Pettigrew's innocent comment on Dr. Hale's persistence13 in single blessedness, poured forth12 what she knew of the cause with no more embellishment than time is sure to give.
"I know why he won't marry," wrote she. "He had reason good to begin with, but I never dreamed he'd be obstinate14 enough to keep it up sixteen years. When he was a boy in college here I knew him well—he was a splendid fellow, one of the very finest. But he fell desperately15 in love with that beautiful Mrs. James—don't you remember about her? She married a St. Cloud later, and he left her, I think. She was as lovely as a cameo—and as hard and flat. That woman was the saintliest thing that ever breathed. She wouldn't live with her husband because he had done something wrong; she wouldn't get a divorce, nor let him, because that was wicked—and she always had a string of boys round her, and talked about the moral influence she had on them.
"Young Hale worshipped her—simply worshipped her—and she let him. She let them all. She had that much that was god-like about her—she loved incense17. You need not ask for particulars. She was far too 'particular' for that. But one light-headed chap went and drowned himself—that was all hushed up, of course, but some of us felt pretty sure why. He was a half-brother to Dick Hale, and Dick was awfully18 fond of him. Then he turned hard and hateful all at once—used to talk horrid20 about women. He kept straight enough—that's easy for a mysogynist, and studying medicine didn't help him any—doctors and ministers know286 too much about women. So there you are. But I'm astonished to hear he's never gotten over it; he always was obstinate—it's his only fault. They say he swore never to marry—if he did, that accounts. Do give my regards if you see him again."
Mrs. Pettigrew considered long and deeply over this information, as she slowly produced a jersey21 striped with Roman vividness. It was noticeable in this new life in Carston that Mrs. Pettigrew's knitted jackets had grown steadily22 brighter in hue23 from month to month. Whereas, in Bainville, purple and brown were the high lights, and black, slate24 and navy blue the main colors; now her worsteds were as a painter's palette, and the result not only cheered, but bade fair to inebriate25.
"A pig-headed man," she said to herself, as her needle prodded26 steadily in and out; "a pig-headed man, with a pig-headedness of sixteen years' standing27. His hair must 'a turned gray from the strain of it. And there's Vivian, biddin' fair to be an old maid after all. What on earth!" She appeared to have forgotten that marriages are made287 in heaven, or to disregard that saying. "The Lord helps those that help themselves," was one of her favorite mottoes. "And much more those that help other people!" she used to add.
Flitting in and out of Dr. Hale's at all hours, she noted28 that he had a fondness for music, with a phenomenal incapacity to produce any. He encouraged his boys to play on any and every instrument the town afforded, and to sing, whether they could or not; and seemed never to weary of their attempts, though far from satisfied with the product.
"Huh!" said Mrs. Pettigrew.
Vivian could play, "Well enough to know better," she said, and seldom touched the piano. She had a deep, full, contralto voice, and a fair degree of training. But she would never make music unless she felt like it—and in this busy life, with so many people about her, she had always refused.
Grandma meditated.
She selected an evening when most of the boarders were out at some entertainment, and selfishly begged Vivian to stay at home288 with her—said she was feeling badly and wanted company. Grandma so seldom wanted anything that Vivian readily acquiesced29; in fact, she was quite worried about her, and asked Dr. Bellair if she thought anything was the matter.
"She has seemed more quiet lately," said that astute30 lady, "and I've noticed her going in to Dr. Hale's during office hours. But perhaps it's only to visit with him."
"Are you in any pain, Grandma?" asked the girl, affectionately. "You're not sick, are you?"
"O, no—I'm not sick," said the old lady, stoutly31. "I'm just—well, I felt sort of lonesome to-night—perhaps I'm homesick."
As she had never shown the faintest sign of any feeling for their deserted32 home, except caustic33 criticism and unfavorable comparison, Vivian rather questioned this theory, but she began to think there was something in it when her grandmother, sitting by the window in the spring twilight34, began to talk of how this time of year always made her think of her girlhood.
"Time for the March peepers at home.289 It's early here, and no peepers anywhere that I've heard. 'Bout16 this time we'd be going to evening meeting. Seems as if I could hear that little old organ—and the singing!"
"Hadn't I better shut that window," asked Vivian. "Won't you get cold?"
"No, indeed," said her grandmother, promptly35. "I'm plenty warm—I've got this little shawl around me. And it's so soft and pleasant out."
It was soft and pleasant, a delicious May-like night in March, full of spring scents36 and hints of coming flowers. On the dark piazza37 across the way she could make out a still figure sitting alone, and the thump38 of Balzac's heel as he struggled with his intimate enemies told her who it was.
"Come Ye Disconsolate," she began to hum, most erroneously. "How does that go, Vivian? I was always fond of it, even if I can't sing any more'n a peacock."
Vivian hummed it and gave the words in a low voice.
"That's good!" said the old lady. "I declare, I'm kinder hungry for some of those old hymns39. I wish you'd play me some of 'em, Vivian."
So Vivian, glad to please her, woke the yellow keys to softer music than they were accustomed to, and presently her rich, low voice, sure, easy, full of quiet feeling, flowed out on the soft night air.
Grandma was not long content with the hymns. "I want some of those old-fashioned songs—you used to know a lot of 'em. Can't you do that 'Kerry Dance' of Molloy's, and 'Twickenham Ferry'—and 'Lauriger Horatius?'"
Vivian gave her those, and many another, Scotch40 ballads41, English songs and German Lieder—glad to please her grandmother so easily, and quite unconscious of a dark figure which had crossed the street and come silently to sit on the farthest corner of their piazza.
Grandma, meanwhile, watched him, and Vivian as well, and then, with the most unsuspected suddenness, took to her bed. Sciatica, she said. An intermittent42 pain that came upon her so suddenly she couldn't stand up. She felt much better lying down.291 And Dr. Hale must attend her unceasingly.
This unlooked for overthrow43 of the phenomenally active old lady was a great blow to Mr. Skee; he showed real concern and begged to be allowed to see her.
She lay, high-pillowed, as stiff and well arranged as a Knight45 Templar on a tombstone, arrayed for the occasion in a most decorative46 little dressing47 sack and ribbony night-cap.
"Why, ma'am," said Mr. Skee, "it's highly becomin' to you to be sick. It leads me to hope it's nothin' serious."
She regarded him enigmatically. "Is Dr. Hale out there, or Vivian?" she inquired in a low voice.
"No, ma'am—they ain't," he replied, after a glance in the next room.
Then he bent48 a penetrating eye upon her. She met it unflinchingly, but as his smile appeared and grew, its limitless widening spread contagion49, and her calm front was broken.
"Elmer Skee," said she, with sudden fury, "you hold your tongue!"
"Ma'am!" he replied, "I have said nothin'—and I don't intend to. But if the throne of Europe was occupied by you, Mrs. Pettigrew, we would have a better managed world."
He proved a most agreeable and steady visitor during this period of confinement50, and gave her full accounts of all that went on outside, with occasional irrelevant51 bursts of merriment which no rebuke52 from Mrs. Pettigrew seemed wholly to check.
He regaled her with accounts of his continuous consultations53 with Mrs. St. Cloud, and the wisdom and good taste with which she invariably advised him.
"I do not!" said the old lady, sharply. "And what's more I don't believe you do."
"Well, ma'am," he answered, swaying backward and forward on the hind55 legs of his chair, "there are moments when I confess it looks improbable."
Mrs. Pettigrew cocked her head on one293 side and turned a gimlet eye upon him. "Look here, Elmer Skee," she said suddenly, "how much money have you really got?"
He brought down his chair on four legs and regarded her for a few moments, his smile widening slowly. "Well, ma'am, if I live through the necessary expenses involved on my present undertaking56, I shall have about two thousand a year—if rents are steady."
"Which I judge you do not wish to be known?"
"If there's one thing more than another I have always admired in you, ma'am, it is the excellence57 of your judgment58. In it I have absolute confidence."
Mrs. St. Cloud had some time since summoned Dr. Hale to her side for a severe headache, but he had merely sent word that his time was fully19 occupied, and recommended Dr. Bellair.
Now, observing Mrs. Pettigrew's tactics, the fair invalid60 resolved to take the bull by the horns and go herself to his office. She found him easily enough. He lifted his eyes as she entered, rose and stood with folded arms regarding her silently. The tall, heavy figure, the full beard, the glasses, confused even her excellent memory. After all it was many years since they had met, and he had been but one of a multitude.
She was all sweetness and gentle apology for forcing herself upon him, but really she had a little prejudice against women doctors—his reputation was so great—he was so temptingly near—she was in such pain—she had such perfect confidence in him—
He sat down quietly and listened, watching her from under his bent brows. Her eyes were dropped, her voice very weak and appealing; her words most perfectly62 chosen.
"I have told you," he said at length, "that I never treat women for their petty ailments63, if I can avoid it."
She shook her head in grieved acceptance, and lifted large eyes for one of those penetrating sympathetic glances so frequently successful.
"How you must have suffered!" she said.
"I have," he replied grimly. "I have suf295fered a long time from having my eyes opened too suddenly to the brainless cruelty of women, Mrs. James."
She looked at him again, searchingly, and gave a little cry. "Dick Hale!" she said.
"Yes, Dick Hale. Brother to poor little Joe Medway, whose foolish young heart you broke, among others; whose death you are responsible for."
She was looking at him with widening wet eyes. "Ah! If you only knew how I, too, have suffered over that!" she said. "I was scarce more than a girl myself, then. I was careless, not heartless. No one knew what pain I was bearing, then. I liked the admiration64 of those nice boys—I never realized any of them would take it seriously. That has been a heavy shadow on my life, Dr. Hale—the fear that I was the thoughtless cause of that terrible thing. And you have never forgiven me. I do not wonder."
He was looking at her in grim silence again, wishing he had not spoken.
"So that is why you have never been to The Cottonwoods since I came," she pursued. "And I am responsible for all your loneliness. O, how dreadful!"
Again he rose to his feet.
"No, madam, you mistake. You were responsible for my brother's death, and for a bitter awakening66 on my part, but you are in no way responsible for my attitude since. That is wholly due to myself. Allow me again to recommend Dr. Jane Bellair, an excellent physician and even more accessible."
He held the door for her, and she went out, not wholly dissatisfied with her visit. She would have been far more displeased67 could she have followed his thoughts afterward68.
"What a Consummate69 Ass61 I have been all my life!" he was meditating70. "Because I met this particular type of sex parasite71, to deliberately72 go sour—and forego all chance of happiness. Like a silly girl. A fool girl who says, 'I will never marry!' just because of some quarrel * * * But the girl never keeps her word. A man must."
The days were long to Vivian now, and dragged a little, for all her industry.
Mrs. St. Cloud tried to revive their former intimacy73, but the girl could not renew it on the same basis. She, too, had sympathized with Mr. Dykeman, and now sympathized somewhat with Mr. Skee. But since that worthy74 man still volubly discoursed75 on Platonism, and his fair friend openly agreed in this view, there seemed no real ground for distress76.
Mrs. Pettigrew remained ailing77 and rather captious78. She had a telephone put at her bedside, and ran her household affairs efficiently79, with Vivian as lieutenant80, and the ever-faithful Jeanne to uphold the honor of the cuisine81. Also she could consult her physician, and demanded his presence at all hours.
He openly ignored Mrs. St. Cloud now, who met his rude treatment with secret, uncomplaining patience.
Vivian spoke65 of this. "I do not see why he need be so rude, Grandma. He may hate women, but I don't see why he should treat her so shamefully82."
"Well, I do," replied the invalid, "and what's more I'm going to show you; I've always disliked that woman, and now I know why. I'd turn her out of the house if it wasn't for Elmer Skee. That man's as good as gold under all his foolishness, and if he can get any satisfaction out of that meringue he's welcome. Dr. Hale doesn't hate women, child, but a woman broke his heart once—and then he made an idiot of himself by vowing83 never to marry."
She showed her friend's letter, and Vivian read it with rising color. "O, Grandma! Why that's worse than I ever thought—even after what Dr. Bellair told us. And it was his brother! No wonder he's so fond of boys. He tries to warn them, I suppose."
"Yes, and the worst of it is that he's really got over his grouch84; and he's in love—but tied down by that foolish oath, poor man."
"Is he, Grandma? How do you know? With whom?"
"You dear, blind child!" said the old lady, "with you, of course. Has been ever since we came."
The girl sat silent, a strange feeling of joy rising in her heart, as she reviewed the events of the last two years. So that was299 why he would not stay that night. And that was why. "No wonder he wouldn't come here!" she said at length. "It's on account of that woman. But why did he change?"
"Because she went over there to see him. He wouldn't come to her. I heard her 'phone to him one evening." The old lady chuckled85. "So she marched herself over there—I saw her, and I guess she got her needin's. She didn't stay long. And his light burned till morning."
"Do you think he cares for her, still?"
"Cares for her!" The old lady fairly snorted her derision. "He can't bear the sight of her—treats her as if she wasn't there. No, indeed. If he did she'd have him fast enough, now. Well! I suppose he'll repent86 of that foolishness of his all the days of his life—and stick it out! Poor man."
Mrs. Pettigrew sighed, and Vivian echoed the sigh. She began to observe Dr. Hale with new eyes; to study little matters of tone and manner—and could not deny her grandmother's statement. Nor would she admit it—yet.
The old lady seemed weaker and more irritable87, but positively88 forbade any word of this being sent to her family.
"There's nothing on earth ails89 me," she said. "Dr. Hale says there's not a thing the matter that he can see—that if I'd only eat more I'd get stronger. I'll be all right soon, my dear. I'll get my appetite and get well, I have faith to believe."
She insisted on his coming over in the evening, when not too busy, and staying till she dropped asleep, and he seemed strangely willing to humor her; sitting for hours in the quiet parlor90, while Vivian played softly, and sang her low-toned hymns.
So sitting, one still evening, when for some time no fretful "not so loud" had come from the next room, he turned suddenly to Vivian and asked, almost roughly—"Do you hold a promise binding91?—an oath, a vow—to oneself?"
"Did you swear to keep your oath secret?" she asked.
"Why, no," he said, "I did not. I will tell you. I did not swear never to tell a woman I loved her. I never dreamed I should love again. Vivian, I was fool enough to love a shallow, cruel woman, once, and nearly broke my heart in consequence. That was long years ago. I have never cared for a woman since—till I met you. And now I must pay double for that boy folly93."
He came to her and took her hand.
"I love you," he said, his tense grip hurting her. "I shall love you as long as I live—day and night—forever! You shall know that at any rate!"
She could not raise her eyes. A rich bright color rose to the soft border of her hair. He caught her face in his hands and made her look at him; saw those dark, brilliant eyes softened94, tear-filled, asking, and turned sharply away with a muffled95 cry.
"I have taken a solemn oath," he said in a strained, hard voice, "never to ask a woman to marry me."
He heard a little gasping96 laugh, and turned upon her. She stood there smiling, her hands reached out to him.
"You don't have to," she said.
A long time later, upon their happy stillness broke a faint voice from the other room:
"Vivian, I think if you'd bring me some bread and butter—and a cup of tea—and some cold beef and a piece of pie—I could eat it."
Upon the rapid and complete recovery of her grandmother's health, and the announcement of Vivian's engagement, Mr. and Mrs. Lane decided97 to make a visit to their distant mother and daughter, hoping as well that Mr. Lane's cough might be better for a visit in that altitude. Mr. and Mrs. Dykeman also sent word of their immediate98 return.
Jeanne, using subtle powers of suggestion, caused Mrs. Pettigrew to decide upon giving a dinner, in honor of these events. There was the betrothed99 couple, there were the honored guests; there were Jimmie and Susie, with or without the baby; there were the Dykemans; there was Dr. Bellair, of course; there was Mr. Skee, an even number.
"I'm sorry to spoil that table, but I've got to take in Mrs. St. Cloud," said the old lady.
"O, Grandma! Why! It'll spoil it for Dick."
"Huh!" said her grandmother. "He's so happy you couldn't spoil it with a mummy. If I don't ask her it'll spoil it for Mr. Skee."
So Mrs. St. Cloud made an eleventh at the feast, and neither Mr. Dykeman nor Vivian could find it in their happy hearts to care.
Mr. Skee arose, looking unusually tall and shapely in immaculate every-day dress, his well-brushed hair curling vigorously around the little bald spots; his smile wide and benevolent100.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, both Domestic and Foreign, Friends and Fellowtownsmen and Women—Ladies, God Bless 'em; also Children, if any: I feel friendly enough to-night to include the beasts of the fields—but such would be inappropriate at this convivial101 board—among these convivial boarders.
"This is an occasion of great rejoicing. We have many things to rejoice over, both great and small. We have our healths; all of us, apparently102. We are experiencing the joys of reunion—in the matter of visiting parents that is, and long absent daughters.
"We have also the Return of the Native, in the shape of my old friend Andy—now become a Benedict—and seeming to enjoy it. About this same Andy I have a piece of news to give you which will cause you astonishment103 and gratification, but which involves me in a profuse104 apology—a most sincere and general apology.
"You know how a year or more ago it was put about in this town that Andrew Dykeman was a ruined man?" Mrs. St. Cloud darted105 a swift glance at Mr. Dykeman, but his eyes rested calmly on his wife; then at Mr. Skee—but he was pursuing his remorseful106 way.
"I do not wish to blame my friend Andy for his reticence107—but he certainly did exhibit reticence on this occasion—to beat the band! He never contradicted this rumor108—not once. He just went about looking kind o' down in the mouth for some reason or other, and when for the sake o' Auld109 Lang Syne110 I offered him a job in my office—the cuss took it! I won't call this deceitful, but it sure was reticent111 to a degree.
"Well, Ladies—and Gentlemen—the best of us are liable to mistakes, and I have to admit—I am glad to humble112 myself and make this public admission—I was entirely113 in error in this matter.
"It wasn't so. There was nothing in it. It was rumor, pure and simple. Andy Dykeman never lost no mine, it appears; or else he had another up his sleeve concealed114 from his best friends. Anyhow, the facts are these; not only that A. Dykeman as he sits before you is a prosperous and wealthy citizen, but that he has been, for these ten years back, and we were all misled by a mixture of rumor and reticence. If he has concealed these facts from the wife of his bosom115 I submit that that is carrying reticence too far!" Again Mrs. St. Cloud sent a swift glance at the reticent one, and again caught only his tender apologetic look toward his wife, and her utter amazement116.
Mr. Dykeman rose to his feet.
"I make no apologies for interrupting my friend," he said. "It is necessary at times. He at least can never be accused of reticence. Neither do I make apologies for letting rumor take its course—a course often interesting to observe. But I do apologize—in this heartfelt and public manner, to my wife, for marrying her under false pretenses117. But any of you gentlemen who have ever had any experience in the attitude of," he hesitated mercifully, and said, "the World, toward a man with money, may understand what it meant to me, after many years of bachelorhood, to find a heart that not only loved me for myself alone, but absolutely loved me better because I'd lost my money—or she thought I had. I have hated to break the charm. But now my unreticent friend here has stated the facts, and I make my confession118. Will you forgive me, Orella?"
"Speech! Speech!" cried Mr. Skee. But Mrs. Dykeman could not be persuaded to do anything but blush and smile and squeeze her husband's hand under the table, and Mr. Skee arose once more.
"This revelation being accomplished," he continued cheerfully; "and no one any the worse for it, as I see," he was not looking in the direction of Mrs. St. Cloud, whose slippered119 foot beat softly under the table, though her face wore its usual sweet expression, possibly a trifle strained; "I now proceed to a proclamation of that happy event to celebrate which we are here gathered together. I allude120 to the Betrothal121 of Our Esteemed122 Friend, Dr. Richard Hale, and the Fairest of the Fair! Regarding the Fair, we think he has chosen well. But regarding Dick Hale, his good fortune is so clear, so evidently undeserved, and his pride and enjoyment123 thereof so ostentatious, as to leave us some leeway to make remarks.
"Natural remarks, irresistible124 remarks, as you might say, and not intended to be acrimonious125. Namely, such as these: It's a long lane that has no turning; There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip; The worm will turn; The pitcher126 that goes too often to the well gets broken at last; Better Late than Never. And so on and so forth. Any other gentleman like to make remarks on this topic?"
Dr. Hale rose, towering to his feet.
"I think I'd better make them," he said. "No one else could so fully, so heartily127, with such perfect knowledge point out how many kinds of a fool I've been for all these years. And yet of them all there are only two that I regret—this last two in which if I had been wiser, perhaps I might have found my happiness sooner. As that cannot be proven, however, I will content myself with the general acknowledgment that Bachelors are Misguided Bats, I myself having long been the worst instance; women, in general, are to be loved and honored; and that I am proud and glad to accept your congratulations because the sweetest and noblest woman in the world has honored me with her love."
"I never dreamed you could put so many words together, Doc—and really make sense!" said Mr. Skee, genially128, as he rose once more. "You certainly show a proper spirit at last, and all is forgiven. But now, my friends; now if your attention is not exhausted129, I have yet another Event to confide59 to you."
Mr. and Mrs. Lane wore an aspect of polite interest. Susie and Jim looked at each309 other with a sad but resigned expression. So did Mrs. Dykeman and her husband. Vivian's hand was in her lover's and she could not look unhappy, but they, too, deprecated this last announcement, only too well anticipated. Only Mrs. St. Cloud, her fair face bowed in gentle confusion, showed anticipating pleasure.
"You must all of you have noticed the amount of Platonic Friendship which has been going on for some time between my undeserving self and this lovely lady here. Among so many lovely ladies perhaps I'd better specify131 that I refer to the one on my left.
"What she has been to me, in my lonely old age, none of you perhaps realize." He wore an expression as of one long exiled, knowing no one who could speak his language.
"She has been my guide, counsellor and friend; she has assisted me with advice most wise and judicious132; she has not interfered133 with my habits, but has allowed me to enjoy life in my own way, with the added attraction of her companionship.
"Now, I dare say, there may have been some of you who have questioned my assertion that this friendship was purely134 Platonic. Perhaps even the lady herself, knowing the heart of man, may have doubted if my feeling toward her was really friendship."
Mr. Skee turned his head a little to one side and regarded her with a tender inquiring smile.
To this she responded sweetly: "Why no, Mr. Skee, of course, I believed what you said."
"There, now," said he, admiringly. "What is so noble as the soul of woman? It is to this noble soul in particular, and to all my friends here in general, that I now confide the crowning glory of a long and checkered135 career, namely, and to wit, that I am engaged to be married to that Peerless Lady, Mrs. Servilla Pettigrew, of whose remarkable136 capacities and achievements I can never sufficiently137 express my admiration."
A silence fell upon the table. Mr. Skee sat down smiling, evidently in cheerful expectation of congratulations. Mrs. Pettigrew wore an alert expression, as of a skilled fencer preparing to turn any offered thrusts. Mrs. St. Cloud seemed to be struggling with some emotion, which shook her usual sweet serenity138. The others, too, were visibly affected139, and not quick to respond.
Then did Mr. Saunders arise with real good nature and ever-ready wit; and pour forth good-humored nonsense with congratulations all around, till a pleasant atmosphere was established, in which Mrs. St. Cloud could so far recover as to say many proper and pretty things; sadly adding that she regretted her imminent140 return to the East would end so many pleasant friendships.
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thoroughly
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meditated
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sagely
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poignant
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perilous
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repudiated
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esteem
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penetrating
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recesses
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unearthed
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mutual
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forth
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persistence
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14
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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15
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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16
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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17
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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18
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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19
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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20
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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21
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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22
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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23
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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24
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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25
inebriate
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| v.使醉 | |
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26
prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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27
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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28
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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29
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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31
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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32
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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33
caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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34
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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35
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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36
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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37
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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38
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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39
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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40
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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41
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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42
intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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43
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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44
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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45
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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46
decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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47
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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48
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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49
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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50
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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51
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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52
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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53
consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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54
platonic
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| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
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55
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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56
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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57
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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58
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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59
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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60
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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61
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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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
ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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64
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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65
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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66
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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67
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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68
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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69
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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70
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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71
parasite
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| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
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72
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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73
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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74
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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75
discoursed
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| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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76
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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77
ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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78
captious
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| adj.难讨好的，吹毛求疵的 | |
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79
efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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80
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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81
cuisine
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| n.烹调，烹饪法 | |
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82
shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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83
vowing
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的现在分词形式） | |
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84
grouch
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| n.牢骚，不满；v.抱怨 | |
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85
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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87
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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88
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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89
ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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90
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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91
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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92
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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93
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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94
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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95
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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96
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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97
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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98
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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99
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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100
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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101
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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102
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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103
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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104
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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105
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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106
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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107
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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108
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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109
auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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110
syne
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| adv.自彼时至此时，曾经 | |
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111
reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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112
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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113
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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114
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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115
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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116
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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117
pretenses
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| n.借口（pretense的复数形式） | |
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118
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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119
slippered
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| 穿拖鞋的 | |
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120
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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121
betrothal
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| n. 婚约, 订婚 | |
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122
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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123
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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124
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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125
acrimonious
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| adj.严厉的，辛辣的，刻毒的 | |
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126
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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127
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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128
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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129
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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130
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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131
specify
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| vt.指定，详细说明 | |
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132
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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133
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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134
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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135
checkered
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| adj.有方格图案的 | |
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136
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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137
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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138
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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139
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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140
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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