The gown, devised especially for the early morning, was simplicity2 itself — rusticity4, even. It was a Dresden shepherdess gown, made of a soft flowered stuff, with roses and forget-me-nots on a creamy ground. There was a great deal of creamy lace, and innumerable yards of palest azure5 and palest rose ribbon in the confection, and there was a coquettish little hat, the regular Dresden hat, with a wreath of rosebuds6.
‘Dresden china incarnate7!’ exclaimed Smithson, as he welcomed Lady Lesbia on the threshold of his marble hall, under the glass marquise which sheltered arrivals at his door. ‘Why do you make yourself so lovely? I shall want to keep you in one of my Louis Seize cabinets, with the rest of my Dresden!’
Lady Kirkbank had considered the occasion suitable for one of her favourite cotton frocks and rustic3 hats — a Leghorn hat, with clusters Of dog-roses and honeysuckle, and a trail of the same hedge-flowers to fasten her muslin fichu.
Mr. Smithson’s house in Park Lane was simply perfect. It is wonderful what good use a parvenu8 can make of his money nowadays, and how rarely he disgraces himself by any marked offences against good taste. There are so many people at hand to teach the parvenu how to furnish his house, or how to choose his stud. If he go wrong it must be by sheer perversity9, an arrogant10 insistence11 upon being governed by his own ignorant inclinations12.
Mr. Smithson was too good a tactician13 to go wrong in this way. He had taken the trouble to study the market before he went out to buy his goods. He knew that taste and knowledge were to be bought just as easily as chairs and tables, and he went to the right shop. He employed a clever Scotchman, an artist in domestic furniture, to plan his house, and make drawings for the decoration and furniture of every room — and for six months he gave himself up to the task of furnishing.
Money was spent like water. Painters, decorators, cabinet-makers had a merry time of it. Royal Academicians were impressed into the service by large offers, and the final result of Mr. MacWalter’s taste and Mr. Smithson’s bullion14 was a palace in the style of the Italian Renaissance15, frescoed16 ceilings, painted panels, a staircase of sculptured marble, as beautiful as a dream, a conservatory17 as exquisite18 as a jewel casket by Benvenuto Cellini, a picture gallery which was the admiration19 of all London, and of the enlightened foreigner, and of the inquiring American. This was the house which Lesbia had been brought to see, and through which she walked with the calmly critical air of a person who had seen so many palaces that one more or less could make no difference.
In vain did Mr. Smithson peruse20 her countenance21 in the hope of seeing that she was impressed by the splendour of his surroundings, and by the power of the man who commanded such splendour. Lesbia was as cold as the Italian sculptor’s Reading Girl in an alcove22 of Mr. Smithson’s picture gallery; and the stockbroker23 felt very much as Aladdin might have done if the fair Badroulbadour had shown herself indifferent to the hall of the jewelled windows, in that magical palace which sprang into being in a single night.
Lesbia had been impressed by that story of poor Belle24 Trinder and by Lady Kirkbank’s broad assertion that half the young women in London were running after Mr. Smithson; and she had made up her mind to treat the man with supreme25 scorn. She did not want his houses or his yachts. Nothing could induce her to marry such a man, she told herself; but her vanity fed upon the idea of his subjugation26, and her pride was gratified by the sense of her power over him.
The guests were few and choice. There was Mr. Meander27, the poet, one of the leading lights in that new sect28 which prides itself upon the cultivation29 of abstract beauty, and occasionally touches the verge30 of concrete ugliness. There were a newspaper man — the editor of a fashionable journal — and a middle-aged31 man of letters, playwright32, critic, humourist, a man whose society was in demand everywhere, and who said sharp things with the most supreme good-nature. The only ladies whose society Mr. Smithson had deemed worthy33 the occasion were a fashionable actress, with her younger sister, the younger a pretty copy of the elder, both dressed picturesquely34 in flowing cashmere gowns of faint sea-green, with old lace fichus, leghorn hats, and a general limpness and simplicity of style which suited their cast of feature and delicate colouring. Lesbia wondered to see how good an effect could be produced by a costume which could have cost so little. Mr. Nightshade, the famous tragedian, had been also asked to grace the feast, but the early hour made the invitation a mockery. It was not to be supposed that a man who went to bed at daybreak would get up again before the sun was in the zenith, for the sake of Mr. Smithson’s society, or Mr. Smithson’s Strasbourg pie, for the manufacture whereof a particular breed of geese were supposed to be set apart, like sacred birds in Egypt, while a particular vineyard in the Gironde was supposed to be devoted36 wholly and solely37 to the production of Mr. Smithson’s claret. It was a cabinet wine, like those rare vintages of the Rhineland which are reserved exclusively for German princes.
Breakfast was served in Mr. Smithson’s smallest dining-room — there were three apartments given up to feasting, beginning with a spacious38 banqueting-room for great dinners, and dwindling39 down to this snuggery, which held about a dozen comfortably, with ample room and verge enough for the attendants. The walls were old gold silk, the curtains a tawny40 velvet41 of deeper tone, the cabinets and buffet42 of dark Italian walnut43, inlaid with lapis-lazuli and amber44. The fireplace was a masterpiece of cabinet work, with high narrow shelves, and curious recesses45 holding priceless jars of Oriental enamel46. The deep hearth47 was filled with arum lilies and azalias, like a font at Easter.
Lady Kirkbank, who pretended to adore genius, was affectionately effusive48 to Miss Fitzherbert, the popular actress, but she rather ignored the sister. Lesbia was less cordial, and was not enchanted49 at finding that Miss Fitzherbert shone and sparkled at the breakfast table by the gaiety of her spirits and the brightness of her conversation. There was something frank and joyous50, almost to childishness, in the actress’s manner, which was full of fascination51; and Lesbia felt herself at a disadvantage almost for the first time since she had been in London.
The editor, the wit, the poet, the actress, had a language of their own; and Lesbia felt herself out in the cold, unable to catch the ball as it glanced past her, not quick enough to follow the wit that evoked52 those ripples53 of silvery laughter from the two fair-haired, pale-faced girls in sea-green cashmere. She felt as an Englishman may feel who has made himself master of academical French, and who takes up one of Zola’s novels, or goes into artistic55 society, and finds that there is another French, a complete and copious56 language, of which he knows not a word.
Lesbia began to think that she had a great deal to learn. She began to wonder even whether, in the event of her having made rather too free use of Lady Maulevrier’s carte blanche, it might not be well to make a new departure in the art of dressing57, and to wear untrimmed cashmere gowns, and rags of limp lace.
After breakfast they all went to look at Mr. Smithson’s picture gallery. His pictures were, as he had told Lesbia, chiefly of the French school, and there may have been a remote period — say, in the time of good Queen Charlotte — when such pictures would hardly have been exhibited to young ladies. His pictures were Mr. Smithson’s own unaided choice. Here the individual taste of the man stood revealed.
There were two or three Geromes; and in the place of honour at the end of the gallery there was a grand Delaroche, Anne Boleyn’s last letter to the king, the hapless girl-queen sitting at a table in her gloomy cell in the Tower, a shaft58 of golden light from the narrow window streaming on the fair, disordered hair, the face bleached59 with unutterable woe60, a sublime61 image of despair and self-abandonment.
The larger pictures were historical, classic, grand: but the smaller pictures — the lively little bits of colour dotted in here and there — were of that new school which Mr. Smithson affected62. They were of that school which is called Impressionist, in which ballet dancers and jockeys, burlesque63 actresses, masked balls, and all the humours of the side scenes are represented with the sublime audacity64 of an art which disdains65 finish, and relies on chic66, fougue, chien, flou, v’lan, the inspiration of the moment. Lesbia blushed as she looked at the ballet girls, the maskers in their scanty67 raiment, the demi-mondaines lolling out of their opera boxes, and half out of their gowns, with false smiles and frizzled hair. And then there came the works of that other school which lavishes68 the finish of a Meissonier on the most meretricious69 compositions. A woman in a velvet gown warming her dainty little feet on a gilded70 fender, in a boudoir all aglow71 with colour and lamplight; a cavalier in satin raiment buckling72 his sword-belt before a Venetian mirror; a pair of lovers kissing in a sunlit corridor; a girl in a hansom cab; a milliner’s shop; and so on, and so on.
Then came the classical subjects of the last new school. Weak imitations of Alma Tadema. Nero admiring his mother’s corpse73; Claudius interrupting Messalina’s marriage with her lover Silus; Clodius disguised among the women of Caesar’s household; Pyrrha’s grotto74. Lady Kirkbank expatiated75 upon all the pictures, and generally made unlucky guesses at the subjects of them. Classical literature was not her strong point.
Mr. Meander, the poet, discovered that all the beautiful heads were like Miss Fitzherbert. ‘It is the same line,’ he exclaimed, ‘the line of lilies and flowing waters — the gracious ineffable76 upward returning ripple54 of the true retroussé nose, the divine flou, the loveliness which has lain dormant77 for centuries — nay78, was at one period of debased art scorned and trampled79 under foot by the porcine multitude, as akin80 to the pug and the turn-up, until discovered and enshrined on the altar of the Beautiful by the Boticelli Revivalists.’
Miss Fitzherbert simpered, and accepted these remarks as mere35 statements of obvious fact. She was accustomed to hear of Boticelli and the early Italian painters in connection with her own charms of face and figure.
Lesbia, whose faultless features were of the aquiline81 type, regarded the bard82’s rhapsody as insufferable twaddle, and began to think Mr. Smithson almost a wit when he made fun of the bard.
Smithson was enchanted when she laughed at his jokelets, even although she did not scruple83 to tell him that she thought his favourite pictures detestable, and looked with the eye of indifference85 on a collection of jade86 that was worth a small fortune.
Mr. Meander fell into another rhapsody over those classic cups and shallow little bowls of absinthe-coloured jade.
‘Here if you like, are colour and beauty,’ he murmured, caressing87 one of the little cups with the roseate tips of his supple88 fingers. ‘These, dearest Smithson, are worth all the rest of your collection; worth vanloads of your cloisonné enamels89, your dragon-jars in blood-colour and blue. This cloudy indefinable substance, not crudely transparent90 nor yet distinctly opaque91, a something which touches the boundary line of two worlds — the real and the ideal. And then the colour! Great heaven, can anything be lovelier than this shadowy tint92 which is neither yellow nor green; faint, faint as the dawn of newly-awakened day? After the siege of blood-bedabbled Delhi, Baron93 Rothschild sent a special agent to India to buy him a little jade tea-pot which had been the joy of Eastern Kings. Only a tea-pot. Yet Rothschild deemed it worth a voyage from England to India. That is what the love of the beautiful means, in Jew or Gentile,’ concluded the bard, smiling on the company, as they gathered round the Florentine table on which the jade specimens94 were set out, Lady Kirkbank looking at the little cups and basins as if she thought they were going to do something, after all this fuss had been made about them. It seemed hardly credible95 that any reasonable being could have given thirty guineas for one of those bits of greenish-yellow clouded glass, unless the thing had some peculiar96 property of expansion or contraction97.
After this breakfast in Park Lane Lady Lesbia and her admirer met daily. He went to all her parties; he sat out waltzes with her, in conservatories98, and on staircases; for Horace Smithson was much too shrewd a man too enter himself in the race for dancing men, handicapped by his forty years and his fourteen stone. He contrived99 to amuse Lesbia by his conversation, which was essentially100 mundane101, depreciating102 people whom all the rest of the world admired, or pretended to admire, telling her of the secret springs by which the society she saw around her was moved. He was judicious103 in his revelations of hidden evil, and careful to say nothing which should offend Lady Lesbia’s modesty104; yet he contrived in a very short time to teach her that the world in which she lived was an utterly105 corrupt106 world, whose high priest was Satan; that all lofty aspirations107 and noble sentiments were out of place in society; and that the worst among the people she met were the people who laid any claim to being better than their neighbours.
‘That’s why I adore Lady Kirkbank,’ he said, confidentially109. ‘The dear soul never pretends to be any better than the rest of us. She gambles, and we all know she gambles; she pegs110, and we all know she pegs; and she makes rather a boast of being up to her eyes in debt. No humbug111 about dear old Georgie.’
Lesbia had seen enough, of her chaperon by this time to know that Mr. Smithson’s description of the lady was correct, and, this being so, she supposed that the facts and traits of character which he told her about in other people were also true. She thus adopted the Smithsonian, or fashionable-pessimist view of society in general, and resigned herself to the idea that the world was a very wicked world, as well as a very pleasant world, that the wickedest people were generally the pleasantest, and that it did not much matter.
The fact that Mr. Smithson was at Lesbia Haselden’s feet was obvious to everybody.
Lesbia, who had at first treated him with supreme hauteur112, had grown more civil as she began to understand the place he held in the world, and how much social influence goes along with unlimited113 wealth. She was civil, but she had quite made up her mind that nothing could ever induce her to become Horace Smithson’s wife. That offer which had hung fire in the case of poor Belle Trinder, was not too long delayed on this occasion. Mr. Smithson called in Arlington Street about ten days after the breakfast in Park Lane, before luncheon114, and before Lady Kirkbank had left her room. He brought tickets for a matinée d’invitation in Belgrave Square, at which a new and wonderful Russian pianiste was to make a kind of semi-official début, before an audience of critics and distinguished115 amateurs, and the elect of the musical world. They wore tickets which money could not buy, and were thus a meet offering for Lady Lesbia, and a plausible excuse for an early call.
Mr. Smithson succeeded in seeing Lesbia alone, and then and there, with very little circumlocution116, asked her to be his wife.
Her social education had advanced considerably117 since that summer day in the pine-wood, when John Hammond had wooed her with passionate118 wooing. Mr. Smithson was a much less ardent119 suitor, and made his offer with the air of a man who expects to be accepted.
Lesbia’s beautiful head bent120 a little, like a lily on its stalk, and a faint blush deepened the pale rose tint of her complexion121. Her reply was courteous122 and conventional. She was flattered, she was grateful for Mr. Smithson’s high opinion of her; but she was deeply grieved if anything in her manner had given him reason to think that he was more to her than a friend, an old friend of dear Lady Kirkbank’s, whom she was naturally predisposed to like, as Lady Kirkbank’s friend.
Horace Smithson turned pale as death, but if he was angry, he gave no utterance123 to his angry feelings. He only asked if Lady Lesbia’s answer was final — and on being told that it was so, he dismissed the subject in the easiest manner, and with a gentlemanlike placidity124 which very much astonished the lady.
‘You say that you regard me as your friend,’ he said. ‘Do not withdraw that privilege from me because I have asked for a higher place in your esteem125. Forget all I have said this morning. Be assured I shall never offend you by repeating it.’
‘You are more than good,’ murmured Lesbia, who had expected a wild outbreak of despair or fury, rather than this friendly calm.
‘I hope that you and Lady Kirkbank will go and hear Madame Metzikoff this afternoon,’ pursued Mr. Smithson, returning to the subject of the matinée. ‘The duchess’s rooms are lovely; but no doubt you know them.’
Lesbia blushed, and confessed that the Duchess of Lostwithiel was one of those select few who were not on Lady Kirkbank’s visiting list.
‘There are people Lady Kirkbank cannot get on with,’ she said. ‘Perhaps she will hardly like to go to the duchess’s, as she does not visit her.’
‘Oh, but this affair counts for nothing. We go to hear Metzikoff, not to bow down to the duchess. All the people in town who care for music will be there, and you who play so divinely must enjoy fine professional playing.’
‘I worship a really great player,’ said Lesbia, ‘and if I can drag Lady Kirkbank to the house of the enemy, we will be there.’
On this Mr. Smithson discreetly126 murmured ‘au revoir,’ took up his hat and cane127, and departed, without, in Sir George’s parlance128, having turned a hair.
‘Refusal number one,’ he said to himself, as he went downstairs, with his leisurely129 catlike pace, that velvet step by which he had gradually crept into society. ‘We may have to go through refusal number two and number three; but she means to have me. She is a very clever girl for a countrybred one; and she knows that it is worth her while to be Lady Lesbia Smithson.’
This soliloquy may be taken to prove that Horace Smithson knew Lesbia Haselden better than she knew herself. She had refused him in all good faith; but even to-day, after he had left her, she fell into a day-dream in which Mr. Smithson’s houses and yachts, drags and hunters, formed the shifting pictures in a dissolving view of society; and Lesbia wondered if there were any other young woman in London who would refuse such an offer as that which she had quietly rejected half-an-hour ago.
Lady Kirkbank surprised her while she was still absorbed in this dreamy review of the position. It is just possible that the fair Georgie may have had notice of Mr. Smithson’s morning visit, and may have kept out of the way on purpose, for she was not a person of lazy habits, and was generally ready for her nine o’clock breakfast and her morning stroll in the park, however late she might have been out overnight.
‘Mr. Smithson has been here, I understand,’ said Lady Kirkbank, settling herself in an arm-chair by the open window, after she had kissed her protégée. ‘Rilboche passed him on the stairs.’
‘Rilboche is always passing people on the stairs,’ answered Lesbia rather pettishly130. ‘I think she must spend her life on the landing, listening for arrivals and departures.’
‘I had a kind of vague idea that Smithson would call to-day. He was so fussy131 about those tickets for the Metzikoff recital132. I hate pianoforte recitals133, and I detest84 that starched134 old duchess, but I suppose I shall have to take you there — or poor Smithson will be miserable,’ said Lady Kirkbank, watching Lesbia keenly over the top of the newspaper.
She expected Lesbia to confide108 in her, to announce herself blushingly as the betrothed135 of one of the richest commoners in England. But Lesbia sat gazing dreamily across the flowers in the balcony at the house over the way, and said never a word; so Lady Kirkbank’s curiosity burst into speech.
‘Well, my dear, has he proposed? There was something in his manner last night when he put on your wraps that made me think the crisis was near.’
‘The crisis is come and is past, and Mr. Smithson and I are just as good friends as ever.’
‘What!’ screamed Lady Kirkbank. ‘Do you mean to tell me that you have refused him?’
‘Certainly. You know I never meant to do anything else. Did you think I was like Miss Trinder, bent upon marrying town and country houses, stables and diamonds?’
‘I did not think you were a fool,’ cried Lady Kirkbank, almost beside herself with vexation, for it had been borne in upon her, as the Methodists sometimes say, that if Mr. Smithson should prosper136 in his wooing it would be better for her, Lady Kirkbank, who would have a claim upon his kindness ever after. ‘What can be your motive137 in refusing one of the very best matches of the season — or of ever so many seasons? You think, perhaps, you will marry a duke, if you wait long enough for his Grace to appear: but the number of marrying dukes is rather small, Lady Lesbia, and I don’t think any of those would care to marry Lord Maulevrier’s granddaughter.’
Lesbia started to her feet, pale as ashes.
‘Why do you fling my grandfather’s name in my face — and with that diabolical138 sneer139?’ she exclaimed. ‘When I have asked you about him you have always evaded140 my questions. Why should a man of the highest rank shrink from marrying Lord Maulevrier’s granddaughter? My grandfather was a distinguished man — Governor of Madras. Such posts are not given to nobodies. How can you dare to speak as if it were a disgrace to me to belong to him?’
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1
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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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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rusticity
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| n.乡村的特点、风格或气息 | |
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azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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rosebuds
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| 蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女，初入社交界的少女( rosebud的名词复数 ) | |
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incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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parvenu
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| n.暴发户，新贵 | |
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perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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tactician
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| n. 战术家, 策士 | |
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bullion
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| n.金条，银条 | |
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renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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frescoed
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| 壁画( fresco的名词复数 )； 温壁画技法，湿壁画 | |
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conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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peruse
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| v.细读，精读 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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stockbroker
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| n.股票（或证券），经纪人（或机构） | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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subjugation
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| n.镇压，平息，征服 | |
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meander
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| n.河流的曲折，漫步，迂回旅行；v.缓慢而弯曲地流动，漫谈 | |
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sect
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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middle-aged
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playwright
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| n.剧作家，编写剧本的人 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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picturesquely
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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46
enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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47
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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48
effusive
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| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
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49
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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50
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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51
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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52
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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53
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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54
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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55
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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56
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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57
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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58
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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59
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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60
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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61
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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62
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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63
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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64
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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65
disdains
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| 鄙视，轻蔑( disdain的名词复数 ) | |
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66
chic
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| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
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67
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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68
lavishes
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的第三人称单数 ) | |
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69
meretricious
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| adj.华而不实的，俗艳的 | |
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70
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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71
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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72
buckling
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| 扣住 | |
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73
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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74
grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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75
expatiated
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| v.详述，细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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77
dormant
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| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
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78
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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79
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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80
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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81
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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82
bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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83
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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84
detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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85
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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86
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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87
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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88
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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89
enamels
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| 搪瓷( enamel的名词复数 )； 珐琅； 釉药； 瓷漆 | |
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90
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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91
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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93
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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94
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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95
credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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96
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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97
contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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98
conservatories
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| n.（培植植物的）温室，暖房( conservatory的名词复数 ) | |
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99
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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100
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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101
mundane
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| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
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102
depreciating
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| v.贬值，跌价，减价( depreciate的现在分词 )；贬低，蔑视，轻视 | |
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103
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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104
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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105
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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106
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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107
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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108
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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109
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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110
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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111
humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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112
hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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113
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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114
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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115
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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116
circumlocution
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| n. 绕圈子的话，迂回累赘的陈述 | |
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117
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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118
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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119
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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120
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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121
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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122
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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123
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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124
placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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125
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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126
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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127
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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128
parlance
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| n.说法；语调 | |
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129
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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130
pettishly
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131
fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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132
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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133
recitals
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| n.独唱会( recital的名词复数 )；独奏会；小型音乐会、舞蹈表演会等；一系列事件等的详述 | |
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134
starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
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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136
prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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137
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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138
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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139
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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140
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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