When Lady Helen went to the opera or the theatre, or to special balls or suppers, she invariably was late for breakfast the next morning, and on these occasions my father generally had his breakfast with her in her bedroom. Lady Helen would not put in an appearance until lunch time, and I therefore would have the morning all to myself. After that eventful day and after that almost sleepless1 night, I was quite certain that I should not find anyone waiting for me in the breakfast-room. To my astonishment2, however, both Lady Helen and my father were there. They looked at me when I came in, my father with anxiety and affection, Lady Helen with a world of meaning in her knowing, worldly old face.
On the night before I had torn the roses with feverish3 haste from my dress, stuck them into a great bowl of water, and desired Morris to take them away; I said that the perfume gave me a headache, and that I did not wish to see them again. She obeyed me in some astonishment, raising her brows a trifle.
When I entered the breakfast-room this sun-shiny spring morning, I interrupted a very animated4 tête-à-tête between my father and his wife. I sat down quietly. Neither spoke5 to me beyond saying the most conventional "Good morning," and I ate in feverish haste what breakfast I required. Immediately afterwards I rushed to my room, pinned some fresh violets into my pretty morning dress, put on a shady hat, and desired Morris to accompany me to Hyde Park. Morris was quite agreeable. As we walked along I saw that she was murmuring something under her breath.
"What are you saying, Morris?" I asked, speaking with slight impatience6, for my heart was beating so very fast I could scarcely control myself. "I dislike people muttering in the streets," I continued.
"I am sorry, miss," said Morris. "In future I'll keep my thoughts to myself; they are all about you. Oh, dear! I wish I had one of those Marguerite daisies; maybe I'd know the future if I could pull off the petals7."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"He loves me, he don't; he'll have me, he won't; he would if he could, but he can't, so he won't," said Morris, bringing out the gibberish in a rapid tone.
I laughed. "Oh, Morris," I said, "how your thoughts do run on love and lovers! Now let's think of something else."
"There's nothing else for a young maiden8 to think of in the spring time," said Morris, in oracular tones.
"There is in my case," I replied. "We will buy some fresh violets to-day, for one thing."
"Shall we get them, miss, when we are going into the Park, or when we are coming out?"
"I want to sit just where I sat yesterday," I answered; "and while I am there you can buy them, as you did yesterday."
"Oh, yes, miss; I quite understand," replied Morris. Then she added: "It must be nice, very nice, to be married, and to be very rich. But it must be lovely to be married when you care for the man with all your heart, and he is poor, very poor. I'm not meaning anything special, miss, but it's the spring time, and, as the poet says, it makes my fancy 'lightly turn to thoughts of love.'"
I made no reply. I had planned my visit to the Park so that it should take place almost precisely9 at eleven o'clock, and when I got to the neighbourhood of the seats where Morris and I had rested yesterday, I perceived that one of them was occupied by a tall young man in a morning suit of dark grey tweed. The moment he saw me he started to his feet, and I turned quickly to Morris.
"Go, Morris," I said, "and buy violets—three shillingsworth, please, and get as many white violets as ever you can."
"Yes," I answered; "go at once."
She turned on her heel, tripping away through the long vista11 of trees without once looking back. Captain Carbury came eagerly forward. He held out his strong hand, and took one of mine; he held my hand very tightly. I sat down—I felt my breath coming fast. I had thought of this hour ever since I had last parted with him, and now that it had come I found that I had not in my imagination, even for one moment, believed that it was half as good as it proved to be.
"Won't you look at me, Heather?" he said, and he bent12 down and tried to peep at my eyes from under my shady hat. I raised them just for a minute.
"Is it right to meet you like this?" I said.
"You need never meet me like this again," he said. "You have only to say 'Yes' to my request, and you and I together will go straight back to Hanbury Square, and I myself will ring the bell at Number 13, and we will ask for an interview with your father, and afterwards I shall be free to come to the house during the brief time we are engaged. For, oh, darling! we must be married very, very soon."
"But I never promised to marry you," I answered.
"Oh, Heather!" was his reply. He bent forward and looked into my eyes.
"I never, never did," I said, shaking my head, and trying to avoid his eyes.
"You certainly did not yesterday," was his answer then. "I don't know that I even wanted you to, but when you came to me to-day I saw 'Yes' written all over your face. You cannot deny it—you are mine, mine only; you would give up every other man in the wide world just for me."
I tried very hard to reply; I tried to tell him that he was impertinent and vain, but the words would not rise to my lips. On the contrary, I had the utmost possible difficulty in keeping myself from bursting into tears, for I knew well that I loved him, if not yesterday, most certainly to-day. There was something about him which appealed to my whole heart, to which my heart went out. Still, I sat silent, declining to speak—perfectly13 happy, perfectly contented14, afraid to break my bliss15 by the uttering of a single word.
As I sat so, with my shoulder within an inch or two of his, I began to consider the violets, just as though he had given them to me. I had bought those violets yesterday, and they were full of him; I had brought some back with me to the Park to-day, but they were already slightly faded. Not that our hopes were faded—far from that—only the violets. I considered the violets—his special flowers—just as though he had plucked them and given them to me; they seemed to be mixed up with him, and I believed that all my life long I should love with a tender sort of passion the smell of violets, and hate, beyond all words, the smell of roses, and in particular of white roses.
"What are you thinking about, Heather?" he asked.
"Of you," I answered.
He glanced around him to right and left.
"There is no one looking," he said, drawing his chair two or three inches nearer; "may I—may I hold your hand?"
"I cannot help it," I replied, and I spoke in a low, uncertain manner.
He smiled, took my hand, and held it very tightly between both his own.
"You have a very little hand, Heather," was his remark, and he held it yet tighter.
"You are squeezing it," I said; "you are quite hurting me."
"That is the last thing I would do," was his reply. He loosened the pressure of his hand over mine the merest fragment. After a minute of silence, he said:
"Of course, as you allow me to hold your hand, things must be all right."
"I—I am not sure," I answered.
"But I mean that you are willing that I should arrange this thing, take all the trouble off you, you understand. You are willing, quite willing, that we shall be married as soon as ever I can arrange it?"
"But this time yesterday," I replied, "I hardly thought about you. I certainly knew that I liked you, and that you were my friend. I little guessed, however, this time yesterday, that we could ever, by any possibility, be husband and wife."
"But now, Heather—now—you are willing that we should be married if I can arrange it?"
"I hardly thought of you this time yesterday," I said again.
"But since that time yesterday, Heather?"
"I have thought of no one else," I said. Then I coloured crimson, wrenched18 my hand away, and covered my face.
"Come," he said, rising at once; "that's all right; that's as right as anything in all the world could be. Little Heather, little darling, we were made for each other. I felt certain of it the very first day I saw you. You came into my life, and by the witchery of your fresh and beautiful character you turned the great Lady Dorothy out! Not that at any time I really cared for her, compared to you! We met, and immediately into my picture gallery you went, and into your picture gallery I went. Oh, of course, we were made for each other! Now, shall we go, or that servant of yours will be returning. We will go straight to Major Grayson and get his consent."
"But suppose he doesn't give it?" I said; and I trembled very much as this fear struck me.
"You must leave all that to me, Heather; I think I can manage. And, darling, we won't have a long engagement. We'll be married almost immediately."
"I thought people were usually engaged about two years," I said.
"But you and I will not conform to the usual standard," was his reply. "We'll be engaged, if you please, Heather, for six weeks at the longest. Oh, we've a lot to do with our beautiful lives, and we'll begin by enjoying ourselves—that, at least, is fair. We will just be married when the summer is at her glorious prime, and we'll go away and away, and be happy for evermore! That is what we'll do, dear little one. And now, let's be quick. I want to set this matter in train. I want to hurry the lagging hours; I want to claim my wife!"
Captain Carbury rose. He was a tall man, and I was, if anything, rather short for the modern girl.
"Why, Heather," he said, looking down at me, his eyes dancing with pleasure and happiness, "I didn't realise until this minute that you were only a little girl."
"Am I?" I said.
"You have a tall effect," he remarked; "but you are little—on the petite side."
"That is, compared to you," I answered.
"I am six foot one exactly," was his reply. "Heather, how dark your eyes are! and how delicate your complexion—and how very soft and beautiful is your hair! You resemble in some ways an Eastern princess, except that you have all the fire, and intelligence, and imagination of the West. You are my princess, Heather. Now, what are you going to say to me? You must flatter me, too, you know, although," he added, his voice becoming very serious, "there is no flattery in my present remarks. What are you going to say to me?" he inquired.
"You are my prince," I said, looking up at him, and then looking down at once.
"Your poor prince must have a name."
"You are my prince, Captain Carbury."
"Oh, come! What nonsense! You must say more."
"If you wish it," I answered. "You are my prince——"
"Well, go on."
"Vernon."
"There! I never knew I had so nice a name; simply because I have never heard it before from your sweet lips. Now, shall we get back to your house, otherwise her ladyship may be downstairs, and it happens to be Major Grayson whom I want to see."
We walked quickly across the Park, and met Morris with her fresh basket of violets. She walked behind, and as we crossed the streets we kept rather close to each other, for although, of course, we did not touch, even once, over and over I repeated to my own heart, "Heather, you are engaged to Vernon Carbury—Heather, some day Vernon Carbury will be your husband—Vernon Carbury, Vernon Carbury. And yet, a few days ago, you hardly knew that you cared for him; but you know it now—yes, you know it now!"
At last we reached Hanbury Square.
There is no more fashionable square in the best part of the West of London, there are no finer houses to be found anywhere.
I ran up the steps of the house, and Captain Carbury did likewise, and it was he who rang the bell.
A powdered footman opened the door, and Captain Carbury said:
"Is Major Grayson in?"
"Major Dalrymple is in, sir."
"Will you say that Captain Carbury has called to see him? Ask him if he will be good enough to give me a few moments of his time."
The man opened the door of one of the sitting-rooms, and Vernon and I went in.
"I dare not ask you to kiss me yet," he said; "but I will after—after I have seen your father."
"Please, Vernon," I said.
"What is it, my dearest darling?"
"May I come with you to father?"
"If you really wish it, of course you may; but I should prefer to be alone with him just now."
Before either of us had time to utter another word the door was opened, and Lady Helen Dalrymple and my father entered the room side by side.
Lady Helen gave a freezing bow to Captain Carbury, who was a very slight acquaintance of hers, and a more freezing stare at me; and then she said:
"Will you have the goodness to go upstairs, Heather?"
But Captain Carbury interfered19.
"If you will permit me, Lady Helen, I should like Miss Heather Grayson to remain where she is."
He then approached my father, stood stock still for a minute, and then held out his hand. My father looked at him stiffly; then he spoke:
"You know who I was, you know what happened to me, and you know exactly what I am now."
"I know everything," said Captain Carbury.
"Knowing everything, you wish to shake hands with me?"
"I hope you will accept my hand," replied Captain Carbury.
"Well, of all the extraordinary things to happen!" began Lady Helen. She sank into a low chair, arranged herself comfortably and becomingly, and looked from father to Captain Carbury. Then again she glanced at me, and when she caught my eye she looked in the direction of the door; but I would not take her hint—at that moment I was past caring about her.
"I have come, Major Grayson," said Vernon Carbury, "to speak to you under the name by which you were known, and honoured, and deeply respected in her late Majesty's army, and I wish to say at once that it is only as Major Grayson that I can treat with you in this matter. I am anxious that you should give me for all time the hand of your only child, Heather Grayson. I wish to make her my wife. I love her beyond words, and I believe she is not indifferent to me. I do not require any money with her; I am neither rich nor poor, but I have enough to support her, and I believe I can make her happy. I shall certainly endeavour to shelter her from the evils of this wicked world. It is true that I was for a short time engaged to another lady, but that engagement is broken off, with perfect satisfaction on both sides. I now beg of you to allow me to pay my addresses to your daughter, for I love her with all my heart and soul."
"You amaze me," said my father.
"And allow me to tell you, Captain Carbury," said Lady Helen, rising from her seat, and coming forward, "that my stepdaughter Heather is not for you, for she is now the affianced wife of Lord Hawtrey of Leigh."
"That is not the case," I answered.
Vernon Carbury had very bright eyes, and they flashed an angry fire; but when he turned and gave me a quick glance, and saw the fire of anger in my eyes, all indignation passed out of his. His eyes smiled.
"Child," said my father, coming up to me, "this is not the place for you. I must request you, Heather, to leave us for the present."
"Father! oh, father!" I said.
I spoke exactly as I used to do when I was a little child. I took his hand and drew him imperiously outside the door.
"Father," I whispered, "Lord Hawtrey did—oh, very, very kindly21, too—he did ask me last night to marry him, and oh! he was most good—but, darlingest Daddy, I could not marry him, for I do not love him one bit—I mean, not that way, Daddy. Why, Daddy, he is old enough to be my father, and I only want one father, and you are he; but I do—yes, I do care for Vernon Carbury. Please, please, father, think of our great unhappiness if we are parted, and of our wonderful joy if you allow us to be engaged to each other!"
"I will do my utmost, my poor little one—my utmost," he answered.
"Gordon, we are waiting for you," said Lady Helen's hard voice, and then he wrenched my hands away from his neck, and returned to the room where Lady Helen and my lover were to fight a battle for me. Oh, if only father would be strong and take my part!
I ran up to my room and flung myself on my bed. Morris knocked at the door, but I told her to go away; I did not want her then; I did not want the flowers I had bought that morning. Flowers, love, sunshine; the joys of God's earth would all be as ashes in my mouth if my hero were banished22. They were discussing me downstairs; they were tearing my love from me—oh, I could not bear it! My heart began to beat so fast that I could scarcely endure the thumping23 sensation which was going through my body. I longed to sleep, just because in sleep I might forget; I wanted the minutes to pass quickly.
Suddenly I sat up; I began listening intently. In my distant bedroom I could hear no sound of what went on in the downstairs rooms. I flew to the window and opened it. Oh, he would not go away—he would see me, whatever happened he would see me—it would be impossible for him to go away without seeing me! Yes, we were made for each other, for was I not in his secret gallery of heroes, and was not he in mine? And could any mere16 human creature divide us? I thought of Lady Helen, with her hard, cruel face, and of my father. Father loved me, and I told him quite distinctly what I wanted, and I believe that he understood. Had he not always loved his own little Heather? Oh, it must be all right!
Just then I heard, far away, like a distant sort of echo in the house, a door bang. Once again I rushed to the window—I did not mind who saw me—I opened it wide at the top, and put my head out. Captain Carbury was walking quickly down the street. Would he, by any possibility, look back? Would that invisible link between us cause him to raise his eyes until he saw my face? Would he look back, and look up? He did neither. At the first corner he abruptly24 turned, and was lost to view.
"She has done it!" I said to myself. "Oh, how deeply I hate her! But I will never marry Lord Hawtrey, and I will marry Vernon—I will—for I love him with all my heart and soul!"
The depth of my feelings, and the wildness of my anger, gave me courage. I rushed downstairs. I had the free run of every part of the house, except Lady Helen's boudoir; that door was shut. I was never expected to go in without knocking; I knocked now in frantic25 haste. A voice—a cold, surprised voice—said:
"Who is there?"
I repeated to myself the words "Who is there?" and the thought occurred to me that I should not be allowed to enter. They would shut me out, just as surely as they had torn me from the arms of the man I loved, so would they now—my father and Lady Helen—shut me from their consultations26. I opened the door, therefore, and went boldly in.
"You can see the person who was outside the door," I said, and then I walked straight up to my father, who was lying back in a deep chair, his legs crossed one over the other, his head resting against the back of the chair; his face was perturbed27, and very red, his blue eyes bright.
Lady Helen, on the contrary, was standing28. She had a fan in her hand, and with it she was fanning her hot face. Why were they both so hot and indignant? Why did they look for all the world as though each hated the other?
"I want to know," I said, "and I will know, what you have done with Vernon Carbury."
There was no response whatever to my question. It was received with deep and surprised silence by both my stepmother and my father. Then my father turned, looked at me, blinked his eyes a trifle, and, putting his hand out, drew me down to sit on the edge of his chair.
"If, Gordon," said my stepmother, "you mean to make a fool of yourself over that most troublesome, refractory29, and good-for-nothing girl, I will leave you with her. If you listen to her sentimental30 and silly remarks, I can at least go and rest in my room; but clearly understand what my view of this business is."
"I have not uttered a word, Helen," replied my father.
"Uttered!" said Lady Helen, a volume of scorn in her voice; "have not your eyes spoken, has not your hand spoken, has not your action spoken? That girl dares to come into my private room uninvited, and you encourage her."
"I have come to ask about Captain Carbury," I said. "He is mine, and I want to know everything about him. Where is he—what have you done with him—have you sent him away? Why did he go away without speaking to me? I tell you he is mine. I will see him."
Lady Helen suddenly changed her manner. She sank into a chair and burst out laughing.
"Gordon," she said, without taking the least notice of me, "may I venture to inquire the exact age of this little spitfire?"
"As if that mattered!" I said. "I am a hundred years old, as far as feelings go."
"But as far as the law goes," said Lady Helen, "I think, my dear, you will find that you are eighteen, and therefore a minor32, and therefore unable to marry without the consent of your father and your stepmother. You will find that such is the case, Heather; you had better understand this at once."
"Very well," I answered, "if that is really the law, and you won't give your consent—you, who are no relation to me at all—and if father won't give his consent, although he is a very near relation, then I shall do this: I shall wait until I am twenty-one; I know Vernon will wait, and then we will marry."
Lady Helen laughed again.
"You poor, silly, fickle33 child!" she said. "Don't you know perfectly well that you will fall in and out of love perhaps twenty times between now and the day that sees you of age? And don't you know, also, that Captain Carbury will do precisely the same? Has he not himself confessed as much? He was engaged to a girl who was fifty times a better match for him than you a few weeks ago; he is tired of her now; he and she have willingly broken off the engagement. For my part, I congratulate Lady Dorothy. I would not have anything to do with that fickle sort of man, not if he were to buy me a kingdom. And, mark my words, Heather, as surely as Vernon Carbury imagines that he cares for you at this moment, so surely will he forget you and turn his butterfly thoughts to someone else, when he meets a fairer face than yours. It is perfectly safe to give you leave to wait until you are twenty-one, for long before then, whatever you may choose to do—although I expect no strength about you, nor constancy, nor any of those so-called virtues—young Carbury himself will be married."
"No, no, you are not to say it!" I answered. "Father, may I speak to you by yourself? Father, darling, may I?"
"Your father is going out with me," said Lady Helen. "He is tired, and not very well, and I mean that we shall both motor into the country; we may be away even for to-night—there's no saying. We did not intend to tell you our position with regard to that exceedingly foolish and rash young man, until our return; but as you burst uninvited into my room, I may as well have it out, and then you will know how to act. Captain Carbury proposed for you, telling us the usual sort of nonsense that young men will speak on these occasions, and our answer to him was quite emphatic34. We denied him admission to the house; we refused to entertain for a single moment the idea of your marrying him. We told him plainly that we had other views for you, and that nothing that he could say would get us to change them."
"Did you tell him what those views were?" I asked.
"Yes," said Lady Helen, "we did. We told him that Lord Hawtrey of Leigh, one of the best matches in London at present, had honoured you with a proposal of marriage, and that you would be his wife before the year was out."
I looked at Lady Helen while she was speaking; then I put my arms round my father's neck, and hid my face on his shoulder. He began to pat me with his big hand softly on my arm. He said, in a very low tone, "Hush35, now, sweetheart; hush, now. Things will come right in the end."
But I could not listen. Lady Helen went on talking; I did not listen to her either. I was distressed36 beyond measure; I was distracted at what had happened. Lady Helen got up; she spoke very quietly:
"I will leave you two," she said. "Gordon, I shall expect you to be ready for our drive in half an hour's time; meanwhile, you may pet your daughter as much as you please—perhaps you can tell her one or two things which will change her opinion of me. Meanwhile, I shall go to my room and rest."
She swept out of the room; I heard the rustle37 of her silk petticoats. When the door closed behind her I raised my tear-dimmed face:
"Daddy, Daddy," I said, "she can't dispose of me like that—she can't take the man I love away, Daddy, and make me marry against my will a man I don't like! Oh, darling, it isn't possible, is it?"
"You shan't marry Hawtrey against your will—I promise you that," said my father.
"Then, Daddy, it's all right, because I refused him last night—I refused him absolutely. He will never ask me again."
"I think it likely that he will ask you many times, poor child."
"He mustn't—he shan't! I won't see him."
"Heather, listen to me. Sit up; don't give way. It cuts me to the heart to deny you anything, and I fully38 believe that Carbury is all right and as straight as possible. A gallant39 soldier, child—yes, a gallant soldier. Mark my words, there are no men in all the world like soldiers, Heather; they are the pick of the earth—so brave, so honourable40, so true. That's what Carbury is, and if he were rich and in the same position as Hawtrey, you should be his wife with all the pleasure in the world. But, Heather, my poor little girl, I can't fight against such long odds41. I could once, but, child, I am a broken man, a broken man, and I can't withstand her. She has got me into a sort of trap. She pretends she's done everything in the world for me; I was mad enough—oh! I won't speak of that—I am her husband now, and I suppose most people would think that I'd done well for myself—they'd revel42 in the contrast between my life of late and my life now, and say 'That beggar Grayson'—but there! I won't speak of it."
"Daddy—has—Lady Helen—got ... I don't like to say—has she got a ... I mean, Daddy, are you a little—tiny bit—you, a brave soldier—a little, tiny bit afraid of her?"
"Afraid!" said my father. "Poof! not a bit of it. It is she who has cause to be afraid of me. I could—and, as there is a heaven above us, I will, too—frighten her into giving me some of my own way; yes, and I will, if she doesn't act fair by you, little girl."
"Father, why don't you tell me things? You are hiding something."
"Yes," said my father; "I am hiding something, and you must never know—never, as long as you live."
"Daddy, my heart is broken."
"Poor little maid! But you will get over it. And now I have something else to say. Lady Helen is not at all bad, and you would be extremely happy as Hawtrey's wife; he's a bit old, but he's a thorough gentleman, and you'd be very rich, and Helen would deal handsomely by you—she's promised that. She's very rich, too; I wish she wasn't. There's nothing in the world more hateful than depending upon your wife's money, and that's my cursed position. But if you promised to marry Hawtrey, she'd make things a bit square for you; she's settled to do that. It's awfully43 kind of her; it's downright generous; it's more than most people would expect. She'd do it in her lifetime, too; she'd settle twenty thousand on you—think of that, little Heather—twenty thousand is not to be despised."
"Oh, father, if it's money, I don't care a bit about it!"
"There she is," said my father, rising suddenly; "she is calling me. Wipe away your tears and run upstairs. To-night you must show a cheerful face—whatever happens in the future, you must be cheerful to-night. Off with you now, out of my sight. Believe me, I'd cut off my right hand to help you. Bye-bye for a bit, little sweetheart."
My father left me. After a time I heard the "toot" of the motor-car as it puffed44 out of sight. Then I started to my feet, clasped my hands, and stood considering. There was something about me which could never stand inaction. If I were to be saved now from deadly peril45, I must act. I was terribly upset; I was awfully miserable46. All of a sudden I came to a resolve. I rang the bell; one of the footmen answered my summons.
"I want you to bring me the cards of the different people who have called here during the last fortnight," I said.
"Yes, miss," replied the man.
He returned in a few minutes with a number of visiting cards on a salver. I sorted them out carefully, and presently came to Lord Hawtrey's. It bore the address of his club, one of the most exclusive and distinguished47 clubs in London, also the address of his big country seat—Leigh Castle—and in addition his town address, 24c, Green Street.
"Lord Hawtrey is kind; he is the only one who can save me," I said to myself. I made up my mind then and there to go and visit him.
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sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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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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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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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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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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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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perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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refractory
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| adj.倔强的，难驾驭的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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