THE DOWAGER" had a very sensible theory that boarding-school girls should be kept little girls, until their school life was over, and they stepped out, fresh and eager and spontaneous, to greet the grown-up world. Saint Ursula's was a cloister1, in fact, as in name. The masculine half of the human species was not supposed to count.
Sometimes a new girl was inclined to turn up her nose at the youthful pastimes that contented2 her companions. But in the end she would be drawn3 irresistibly4 into the current. She would learn to jump rope and roll hoops5; to participate in paper chases 'cross country; to skate and coast and play hockey on winter[34] afternoons, to enjoy molasses-candy pulls and popcorn6 around the big open fire on Saturday nights, or impromptu7 masquerades, when the school raided the trunks in the attic8 for costumes. After a few weeks' time, the most spoiled little worldling lost her consciousness of calls outside of "bounds," and surrendered to the spirit of the youthful sisterhood.
But the girls in their teens answer readily to the call of romance. And occasionally, in the twilight9 hour between afternoon study and the dressing10 bell, as they gathered in the window-seat with faces to the western sky, the talk would turn to the future—particularly when Rosalie Patton was of the group. Pretty, dainty, inconsequential little Rosalie was preëminently fashioned for romance; it clung to her golden hair and looked from her eyes. She might be extremely hazy11 as to the difference between participles and supines, she might hesitate on her definition of a parallelopiped, but when the subject under discussion was one of sentiment, she spoke12 with conviction. For hers was no mere14 theoretical[35] knowledge; it was gained by personal experience. Rosalie had been proposed to!
She confided15 the details to her most intimate friends, and they confided them to their most intimate friends, until finally, the whole school knew the entire romantic history.
Rosalie's preëminence in the field of sentiment was held entirely16 fitting. Priscilla might excel in basket-ball, Conny Wilder in dramatics, Keren Hersey in geometry and Patty Wyatt in—well, in impudence17 and audacity—but Rosalie was the recognized authority in matters of the heart; and until Mae Mertelle Van Arsdale came, nobody thought of questioning her position.
Mae Mertelle spent an uncomfortable month shaking into place in the school life. The point in which she was accustomed to excel was clothes, but when she and her four trunks arrived, she found to her disgust that clothes were not useful at St. Ursula's. The school uniform reduced all to a dead level in the matter of fashion. There was another field, however, in which she might[36] hope for supremacy18. Her own sentimental19 history was vivid, compared to the colorless lives of most, and she proceeded to assert her claims.
One Saturday evening in October, half-a-dozen girls were gathered in Rosalie's room, on piled-up sofa cushions, with the gas turned low and the light of the hunter's moon streaming through the window. They had been singing softly in a minor20 key, but gradually the singing turned to talk. The talk, in accordance with the moonlight and flying clouds, was in a sentimental vein21; and it ended, naturally, with Rosalie's Great Experience. Between maidenly22 hesitations23 and many promptings she retold the story—the new girls had never heard it, and to the old girls it was always new.
The stage setting had been perfect—a moonlit beach, and lapping waves and rustling24 pine trees. When Rosalie chanced to omit any detail, her hearers, already familiar with the story, eagerly supplied it.
"And he held your hand all the time he was talking," Priscilla prompted.[37]
"Oh, Rosalie! Did he?" in a shocked chorus from the newcomers.
"Y—yes. He just sort of took hold of it and forgot to let go, and I didn't like to remind him."
"What did he say?"
"He said he couldn't live without me."
"And what did you say?"
"And then what happened?"
"Nothing happened," she was obliged to confess. "I s'pose something might have happened if I'd accepted him, but you see, I didn't."
"But you were very young at the time," suggested Evalina Smith. "Are you sure you knew your own mind?"
Rosalie nodded with an air of melancholy26 regret.
"Yes. I knew I couldn't ever love him, because, he—well, he had an awfully funny nose. It started to point in one direction, and then changed its mind and pointed27 in the other."[38]
Her hearers would have preferred that she had omitted this detail; but Rosalie was literal-minded and lacked the story-teller's instinct for suppression.
"He asked if there wasn't any hope that I would change," she added pensively28. "I told him that I could never love him enough to marry him, but that I would always respect him."
"And then what did he say?"
"He said he wouldn't commit suicide."
A profound hush29 followed, while Rosalie gazed at the moon and the others gazed at Rosalie. With her gleaming hair and violet eyes, she was entirely their ideal of a storybook heroine. They did not think of envying her; they merely wondered and admired. She was crowned by natural right, Queen of Romance.
Mae Van Arsdale, who had listened in silence to the recital30, was the first to break the spell. She rose, fluffed up her hair, straightened her blouse, and politely suppressed a yawn.[39]
"Nonsense, Rosalie! You're a silly little goose to make such a fuss over nothing.—Good-night, children. I'm going to bed now."
She sauntered toward the door, but paused on the threshold to drop the casual statement. "I've been proposed to three times."
A shocked gasp31 arose from the circle at this lèse-majesté. The disdainful condescension32 of a new girl was more than they could brook33.
"She's a horrid34 old thing, and I don't believe a word she says!" Priscilla declared stoutly35, as she kissed poor crushed little Rosalie goodnight.
This slight contretemps marked the beginning of strained relations. Mae Mertelle gathered her own adherents36, and Rosalie's special coterie37 of friends rallied to the standard of their queen. They intimated to Mae's followers38 that the quality of the romance was quite different in the two cases. Mae might be the heroine of any number of commonplace flirtations, but Rosalie was[40] the victim of a grande passion. She was marked with an indelible scar that she would carry to the grave. In the heat of their allegiance, they overlooked the crookedness40 of the hero's nose and the avowed41 fact that Rosalie's own affections had not been engaged.
But Mae's trump42 card had been withheld43. Whispers presently spread about under the seal of confidence. She was hopelessly in love. It was not a matter of the past vacation, but of the burning present. Her room-mate wakened in the night to hear her sobbing44 to herself. She had no appetite—her whole table could testify to that. In the middle of dessert, even on ice-cream nights, she would forget to eat, and with her spoon half-raised, would sit staring into space. When reminded that she was at the table, she would start guiltily and hastily bolt the rest of the meal. Her enemies unkindly commented upon the fact that she always came to before the end, so she got as much as anybody else.
The English classes at St. Ursula's were[41] weekly drilled in the old-fashioned art of letter writing. The girls wrote letters home, minutely descriptive of school life. They addressed imaginary girl friends, and grandmothers and college brothers and baby sisters. They were learning the great secret of literary forcefulness—to suit their style to their audience. Ultimately, they arrived at the point of thanking imaginary young men for imaginary flowers. Mae listened to the somewhat stilted45 phraseology of these polite and proper notes with a supercilious46 smile. The class, covertly47 regarding her, thrilled anew.
Gradually, the details of the romance spread abroad. The man was English—Mae had met him on the steamer—and some day when his elder brother died (the brother was suffering from an incurable48 malady49 that would carry him off in a few years) he would come into the title; though just what the title was, Mae had not specifically stated. But in any case, her father was a staunch American; he hated the English and he hated titles. No daughter of[42] his should ever marry a foreigner. If she did, she would never receive a dollar from him. However, neither Mae nor Cuthbert cared about the money. Cuthbert had plenty of his own. His name was Cuthbert St. John. (Pronounced Sinjun.) He had four names in all, but those were the two he used the most. He was in England now, having been summoned by cable, owing to the critical condition of his brother's health, but the crisis was past, and Cuthbert would soon be returning. Then—Mae closed her lips in a straight line and stared defiantly50 into space. Her father should see!
Then the plot began to thicken. Studying the lists of incoming steamers, Mae announced to her room-mate that he had landed. He had given his word to her father not to write; but she knew that in some way she should hear. And sure enough! The following morning brought a nameless bunch of violets. There had been doubters[43] before—but at this tangible52 proof of devotion, skepticism crumbled53.
Mae wore her violets to church on Sunday. The school mixed its responses in a shocking fashion—nobody pretended to follow the service; all eyes were fixed54 on Mae's upturned face and far-off smile. Patty Wyatt pointed out that Mae had taken special pains to seat herself in the light of a stained-glass window, and that occasionally the rapt eyes scanned the faces of her companions, to make sure that the effect was reaching across the footlights. But Patty's insinuation was indignantly repudiated55 by the school.
Mae was at last triumphantly56 secure in the rôle of leading lady. Poor insipid57 Rosalie no longer had a speaking part.
The affair ran on for several weeks, gathering58 momentum59 as it moved. In the European Travel Class that met on Monday nights, "English Country Seats" was the subject of one of the talks, illustrated60 by the stereopticon. As a stately, terraced mansion61, with deer cropping grass in the fore[44]ground, was thrown upon the screen, Mae Mertelle suddenly grew faint. She vouchsafed62 no reason to the housekeeper63 who came with hot-water bottles and cologne; but later, she whispered to her room-mate that that was the house where he was born.
Violets continued to arrive each Saturday, and Mae became more and more distrait64. The annual basket-ball game with Highland65 Hall, a near-by school for girls, was imminent66. St. Ursula's had been beaten the year before; it would mean everlasting67 disgrace if defeat met them a second time, for Highland Hall was a third their size. The captain harangued68 and scolded an apathetic69 team.
"It's Mae Mertelle and her beastly violets!" she disgustedly grumbled70 to Patty. "She's taken all the fight out of them."
The teachers, meanwhile, were uneasily aware that the atmosphere was overcharged. The girls stood about in groups, thrilling visibly when Mae Mertelle passed by. There was a moonlight atmosphere about the school that was not conducive71 to high[45] marks in Latin prose composition. The matter finally became the subject of an anxious faculty72 meeting. There was no actual data at hand; it was all surmise74, but the source of the trouble was evident. The school had been swept before by a wave of sentiment; it was as catching75 as the measles76. The Dowager was inclined to think that the simplest method of clearing the atmosphere would be to pack Mae Mertelle and her four trunks back to the paternal77 fireside, and let her foolish mother deal with the case. Miss Lord was characteristically bent78 upon fighting it out. She would stop the nonsense by force. Mademoiselle, who was inclined to sentiment, feared that the poor child was really suffering. She thought sympathy and tact—But Miss Sallie's bluff79 common-sense won the day. If the sanity80 of Saint Ursula's demanded it, Mae Mertelle must go; but she thought, by the use of a little diplomacy81, both St. Ursula's sanity and Mae Mertelle might be preserved. Leave the matter to her. She would use her own methods.[46]
Miss Sallie was the Dowager's daughter. She managed the practical end of the establishment—provided for the table, ruled the servants, and ran off, with the utmost ease, the two hundred acres of the school farm. Between the details of horseshoeing and haying and butter-making, she lent her abilities wherever they were needed. She never taught; but she disciplined. The school was noted82 for unusual punishments, and most of them originated in Miss Sallie's brain. Her title of "Dragonette" was bestowed83 in respectful admiration84 of her mental qualities.
The next day was Tuesday, Miss Sallie's regular time for inspecting the farm. As she came downstairs after luncheon85 drawing on her driving gloves, she just escaped stepping on Conny Wilder and Patty Wyatt who, flat on their stomachs, were trying to poke13 out a golf ball from under the hat-rack.
"Hello, girls!" was her cheerful greeting. "Wouldn't you like a little drive to the farm? Run and tell Miss Wadsworth that you are excused from afternoon study.[47] You may stay away from Current Events this evening, and make it up."
The two scrambled86 into hats and coats in excited delight. A visit to Round Hill Farm with Miss Sallie, was the greatest good that St. Ursula's had to offer. For Miss Sallie—out of bounds—was the funniest, most companionable person in the world. After an exhilarating five-mile drive through a brown and yellow October landscape, they spent a couple of hours romping87 over the farm, had milk and ginger88 cookies in Mrs. Spence's kitchen; and started back, wedged in between cabbages and eggs and butter. They chatted gaily89 on a dozen different themes—the Thanksgiving masquerade, a possible play, the coming game with Highland Hall, and the lamentable90 new rule that made them read the editorials in the daily papers. Finally, when conversation flagged for a moment, Miss Sallie dropped the casual inquiry91:
"By the way, girls, what has got into Mae Van Arsdale? She droops92 about in corners and looks as dismal93 as a molting94 chicken."[48]
Patty and Conny exchanged a glance.
"Of course," Miss Sallie continued cheerfully, "it's perfectly95 evident what the trouble is. I haven't been connected with a boarding-school for ten years for nothing. The little idiot is posing as the object of an unhappy affection. You know that I never favor talebearing, but, just as a matter of curiosity, is it the young man who passes the plate in church, or the one who sells ribbon in Marsh96 and Elkins's?"
"Neither." Patty grinned. "It's an English nobleman."
"What?" Miss Sallie stared.
"And Mae's father hates English noblemen," Conny explained, "and has forbidden him ever to see her again."
"Her heart is broken," said Patty sadly. "She's going into a decline."
"And the violets?" inquired Miss Sallie.
"He promised not to send her any letters, but violets weren't mentioned."
"H'm, I see!" said Miss Sallie; and, after a moment of thought, "Girls, I am[49] going to leave this matter in your hands. I want it stopped."
"In our hands?"
"The school can't be stirred up any longer; but the matter's too silly to warrant the teachers taking any notice of it. This is a thing that ought to be regulated by public opinion. Suppose you see what you can do—I will appoint you a committee to bring the school back to a solid basis of common sense. I know that I can trust you not to talk."
"You are usually not without resourcefulness," Miss Sallie returned with a flickering98 smile. "You may have a carte blanche to choose your own methods."
"And may we tell Priscilla?" Conny asked. "We must tell her because we three—"
"Hunt together?" Miss Sallie nodded. "Tell Priscilla, and let it stop at that."
The next afternoon, when Martin drove[50] into the village to accomplish the daily errands, he dropped Patty and Priscilla at the florists99, empowered by the school to purchase flowers for the rector's wife and new baby. They turned inside, their minds entirely occupied with the rival merits of red and white roses. They ordered their flowers, inscribed101 the card, and then waited aimlessly till Martin should return to pick them up. Passing down the counter, they came upon a bill-sticker, the topmost item being, "Violets every Saturday to Miss Mae Van Arsdale, St. Ursula's School."
"Do you happen to know the young lady who ordered them vi'lets?" he inquired. "She didn't leave any name, and I'd like to know if she wants me to keep on sending 'em. She only paid up to the first, and the price is going up."
"No, I don't know who it was," said Patty, with well-assumed indifference102. "What did she look like?"[51]
"She—she had on a blue coat," he suggested. As all sixty-four of the St. Ursula girls wore blue coats, his description was not helpful.
"Oh," Patty prompted, "was she quite tall with a lot of yellow hair and—"
"That's her!"
He recognized the type with some assurance.
"It's Mae herself!" Priscilla whispered excitedly.
Patty nodded and commanded silence.
"We'll tell her," she promised. "And by the way," she added to Priscilla, "I think it would be nice for us to send some flowers to Mae, from our—er—secret society. But I'm afraid the treasury103 is pretty low just now. They'll have to be cheaper than violets. What are your cheapest flowers?" she inquired of the man.
"There's a kind of small sunflower that some people likes for decoration. 'Cut-and-come-again' they're called. I can give you a good-sized bunch for fifty cents. They make quite a show."[52]
"Just the thing! Send a bunch of sunflowers to Miss Van Arsdale with this card." Patty drew a blank card toward her, and in an upright back hand traced the inscription104, "Your disconsolate105 C. St. J."
She sealed it in an envelope, then regarded the florist sternly.
"Are you a Mason?" she asked, her eye on the crescent in his buttonhole.
"Y—yes," he acknowledged.
"Then you understand the nature of an oath of secrecy106? You are not to divulge107 to anyone the sender of these flowers. The tall young lady with the yellow hair will come in here and try to make you tell who sent them. You are not to remember. It may even have been a man. You don't know anything about it. This secret society at Saint Ursula's is so very much more secret than the Masonic Society, that it is even a secret that it exists. Do you understand?"
"I—yes, ma'am," he grinned.
"If it becomes known," she added darkly, "I shall not be responsible for your life."[53]
She and Priscilla each contributed a quarter for the flowers.
"It's going to be expensive," Patty sighed. "I think we'll have to ask Miss Sallie for an extra allowance while this committee is in session."
Mae was in her room, surrounded by an assemblage of her special followers, when the flowers arrived. She received the box in some bewilderment.
"He's sending flowers on Wednesdays as well as Saturdays!" her room-mate cried. "He must be getting desperate."
Mae opened the box amid an excited hush.
"How perfectly lovely!" they cried in chorus, though with a slightly perfunctory undertone. They would have preferred crimson108 roses.
Mae regarded the offering for a moment of stupefied amazement109. She had been pretending so long, that by now she almost believed in Cuthbert herself. The circle was waiting, and she rallied her powers to meet this unexpected crisis.[54]
"I wonder what sunflowers mean?" she asked softly. "They must convey some message. Does anybody know the language of flowers?"
Nobody did know the language of flowers; but they were relieved at the suggestion.
Mae made a motion to examine it in private, but she had been so generous with her confidences heretofore, that she was not allowed to withdraw them at this interesting point. They leaned over her shoulder and read it aloud.
"'Your disconsolate C. St. J.'—Oh, Mae, think how he must be suffering!"
"Poor man!"
"He simply couldn't remain silent any longer."
"He's the soul of honor," said Mae. "He wouldn't write a real letter because he promised not to, but I suppose—a little message like this—"
Patty Wyatt passing the door, sauntered[55] in. The card was exhibited in spite of a feeble protest from Mae.
"That handwriting shows a lot of character," Patty commented.
This was considered a concession111; for Patty, from the first, had held aloof112 from the cult73 of Cuthbert St. John. She was Rosalie's friend.
The days that followed, were filled with bewildering experiences for Mae Mertelle. Having accepted the first installment113 of sunflowers, she could not well refuse the second. Once having committed herself, she was lost. Candy and books followed the flowers in horrifying114 profusion115. The candy was of an inexpensive variety—Patty had discovered the ten-cent store—but the boxes that contained it made up in decorativeness116 what the candy lacked; they were sprinkled with Cupids and roses in vivid profusion. A message in the same back hand accompanied each gift, signed sometimes with initials, and sometimes with a simple "Bertie." Parcels had never before been delivered with such unsuspicious promptitude. Miss Sallie was[56] the one through whose hands they went. She glanced at the outside, scrawled117 a "deliver," and the maid would choose the most embarrassing moments to comply—always when Mae Mertelle was surrounded by an audience.
Mae's Englishman, from an object of sentiment, in a few days' time became the joke of the school. His taste in literature was as impossible as his taste in candy. He ran to titles which are supposed to be the special prerogative118 of the kitchen. "Loved and Lost," "A Born Coquette," "Thorns among the Orange Blossoms." Poor Mae repudiated them, but to no avail; the school had accepted Cuthbert—and was bent upon eliciting119 all the entertainment possible from his British vagaries120. Mae's life became one long dread121 of seeing the maid appear with a parcel. The last straw was the arrival of a complete edition—in paper—of Marie Corelli.
"You mustn't mind, Mae, because they aren't just the sort that an American man would choose," Patty offered comfort. "You know that Englishmen have queer tastes, particularly in books. Everybody reads Marie Corelli over there."
The next Saturday, a party of girls was taken to the city for shopping and the matinée. Among other errands, the art class visited a photograph dealer's, to purchase some early Italian masters. Patty's interest in Giotto and his kind was not very keen, and she sauntered off on a tour of inspection123. She happened upon a pile of actors and actresses, and her eye brightened as she singled out a large photograph of an unfamiliar124 leading man, with curling mustache and dimpled chin and large appealing eyes. He was dressed in hunting costume and conspicuously125 displayed a crop. The picture was the last word in Twentieth Century Romance. And, most perfect touch of all, it bore a London mark!
Patty unobtrusively deflected126 the rest of[58] the committee from a consideration of Fra Angelico, and the three heads bent delightedly over the find.
"It's perfect!" Conny sighed. "But it costs a dollar and fifty cents."
"It is expensive," Patty agreed, "but—" as she restudied the liquid, appealing eyes—"I really think it's worth it."
They each contributed fifty cents, and the picture was theirs.
Patty wrote across the front, in the bold back hand that Mae had come to hate, a tender message in French, and signed the full name, "Cuthbert St. John." She had it wrapped in a plain envelope and requested the somewhat wondering clerk to mail it the following Wednesday morning, as it was an anniversary present and must not arrive before the day.
The picture came on the five-o'clock delivery, and was handed to Mae as the girls trooped out from afternoon study. She re[59]ceived it in sulky silence and retired128 to her room. Half a dozen of her dearest friends followed at her heels; Mae had worked hard to gain a following, and now it couldn't be shaken off.
"Open it, Mae quick!"
"What do you s'pose it is?"
"It can't be flowers or candy. He must be starting something new."
"I don't care what it is!" Mae viciously tossed the parcel into the wastebasket.
Irene McCullough fished it out and cut the string.
"Did you ever see such eyes!"
"Does he curl his mustache, or it is natural?"
"Why didn't you tell us he had a dimple in his chin?"
"Does he always wear those clothes?"
Mae was divided between curiosity and anger. She snatched the photograph away,[60] cast one glance at the languishing130 brown eyes, and tumbled it, face downward, into a bureau drawer.
"Don't ever mention his name to me again!" she commanded, as, with compressed lips, she commenced brushing her hair for dinner.
On the next Friday afternoon—shopping day in the village—Patty and Conny and Priscilla dropped in at the florist's to pay a bill.
"Two bunches of sunflowers, one dollar," the man had just announced in ringing tones from the rear of the store, when a step sounded behind them, and they faced about to find Mae Mertelle Van Arsdale, bent on a similar errand.
"Oh!" said Mae, fiercely, "I might have known it was you three."
She stared for a moment in silence, then she dropped into a rustic131 seat and buried her head on the counter. She had shed so many tears of late that they flowed automatically.
"I suppose," she sobbed, "you'll tell the[61] whole school, and everybody will laugh and—and—"
"You said that Rosalie was a silly little goose to make such a fuss over nothing," Priscilla reminded her.
"Do you still think she was a silly goose?" Conny inquired.
"N—no!"
"Don't you think you've been a great deal more silly?"
"Y—yes."
"And will you apologize to Rosalie?"
"No!"
"I think you're perfectly horrid!"
"Will you apologize to Rosalie?" Priscilla asked again.
"Yes—if you'll promise not to tell."[62]
"We'll promise on one condition—you're to break your engagement to Cuthbert St. John, and never refer to it again."
Cuthbert sailed for England on the Oceanic the following Thursday; St. Ursula's plunged134 into a fever of basket-ball, and the atmosphere became bracingly free of Romance.
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cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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hoops
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| n.箍( hoop的名词复数 )；（篮球）篮圈；（旧时儿童玩的）大环子；（两端埋在地里的）小铁弓 | |
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popcorn
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impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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attic
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twilight
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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hazy
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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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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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mere
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confided
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entirely
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impudence
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supremacy
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sentimental
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minor
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vein
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maidenly
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hesitations
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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25
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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26
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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28
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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29
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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30
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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31
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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32
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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33
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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34
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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35
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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36
adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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37
coterie
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| n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体，小圈子 | |
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38
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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39
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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40
crookedness
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| [医]弯曲 | |
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41
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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42
trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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43
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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44
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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45
stilted
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| adj.虚饰的；夸张的 | |
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46
supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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47
covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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48
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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49
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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50
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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51
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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52
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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53
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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54
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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55
repudiated
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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56
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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57
insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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58
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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59
momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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60
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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61
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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62
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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63
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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64
distrait
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| adj.心不在焉的 | |
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65
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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66
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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67
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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68
harangued
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| v.高谈阔论( harangue的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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70
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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71
conducive
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| adj.有益的，有助的 | |
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72
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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73
cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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74
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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75
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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76
measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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77
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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78
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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79
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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80
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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81
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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82
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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83
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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85
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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86
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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87
romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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88
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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89
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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90
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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91
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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92
droops
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的名词复数 ) | |
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93
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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94
molting
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| n.蜕皮v.换羽，脱毛( molt的现在分词 ) | |
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95
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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96
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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97
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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98
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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99
florists
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| n.花商，花农，花卉研究者( florist的名词复数 ) | |
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100
florist
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| n.花商；种花者 | |
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101
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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102
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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103
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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104
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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105
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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106
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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107
divulge
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| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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108
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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109
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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110
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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111
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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112
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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113
installment
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| n.(instalment)分期付款；(连载的)一期 | |
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114
horrifying
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| a.令人震惊的，使人毛骨悚然的 | |
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115
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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116
decorativeness
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117
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
prerogative
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| n.特权 | |
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119
eliciting
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| n. 诱发, 引出 动词elicit的现在分词形式 | |
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120
vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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121
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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122
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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123
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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124
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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125
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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126
deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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127
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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128
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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129
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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130
languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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131
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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132
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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133
ruminated
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| v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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134
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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