In consequence when the Guru salaamed15 very humbly16, and said that with gracious permission of beloved lady and kind master he would go and meditate17 in his room, and had shambled away in his red slippers18, the discussion which Robert had felt himself obliged to open with his wife, on the subject of having an unknown Indian staying with them for an indefinite period, was opened in a much more amicable19 key than it would have been on a slice of codfish.
“Well, now, about this Golliwog — haha — I should say Guru, my dear,” he began, “what’s going to happen?”
Daisy Quantock drew in her breath sharply and winced20 at this irreverence21, but quickly remembered that she must always be sending out messages of love, north, east, south, and west. So she sent a rather spiky22 one in the direction of her husband who was sitting due east, so that it probably got to him at once, and smiled the particular hard firm smile which was an heirloom inherited from her last rule of life.
“No one knows,” she said brightly. “Even the Guides can’t tell where and when a Guru may he called.”
“Then do you propose he should stop here till he’s called somewhere else?”
She continued smiling.
“I don’t propose anything,” she said. “It’s not in my hands.”
Under the calming influence of the fish curry, Robert remained still placid23.
“He’s a first-rate cook anyhow,” he said. “Can’t you engage him as that? Call to the kitchen, you know.”
“Darling!” said Mrs Quantock, sending out more love. But she had a quick temper, and indeed the two were outpoured together, like hot and cold taps turned on in a bath. The pellucid24 stream of love served to keep her temper moderately cool.
“Well, ask him,” suggested Mr Quantock, “as you say, you never can tell where a Guru may be called. Give him forty pounds a year and beer money.”
“Beer!” began Mrs Quantock, when she suddenly remembered Georgie’s story about Rush and the Guru and the brandy-bottle, and stopped.
“Yes, dear, I said ‘beer,’” remarked Robert a little irritably25, “and in any case I insist that you dismiss your present cook. You only took her because she was a Christian26 Scientist, and you’ve left that little sheep-fold now. You used to talk about false claims I remember. Well her claim to be a cook is the falsest I ever heard of. I’d sooner take my chance with an itinerant27 organ grinder. But that fish-curry tonight and that other thing last night, that’s what I mean by good eating.”
The thought even of good food always calmed Robert’s savage28 breast; it blew upon him as the wind on an AEolian harp13 hung in the trees, evoking29 faint sweet sounds.
“I’m sure, my dear,” he said, “that I shall be willing to fall in with any pleasant arrangement about your Guru, but it really isn’t unreasonable30 in me to ask what sort of arrangement you propose. I haven’t a word to say against him, especially when he goes to the kitchen; I only want to know if he is going to stop here a night or two or a year or two. Talk to him about it tomorrow with my love. I wonder if he can make bisque soup.”
Daisy Quantock carried quite a quantity of material for reflection upstairs with her, then she went to bed, pausing a moment opposite the Guru’s door, from inside of which came sounds of breathing so deep that it sounded almost like snoring. But she seemed to detect a timbre31 of spirituality about it which convinced her that he was holding high communion with the Guides. It was round him that her thoughts centred, he was the tree through the branches of which they scampered32 chattering33.
Her first and main interest in him was sheer Guruism, for she was one of those intensely happy people who pass through life in ecstatic pursuit of some idea which those who do not share it call a fad34. Well might poor Robert remember the devastation35 of his home when Daisy, after the perusal36 of a little pamphlet which she picked up on a book-stall called “The Uric Acid Monthly,” came to the shattering conclusion that her buxom37 frame consisted almost entirely of waste-products which must be eliminated. For a greedy man the situation was frankly38 intolerable, for when he continued his ordinary diet (this was before the cursed advent39 of the Christian Science cook) she kept pointing to his well-furnished plate, and told him that every atom of that beef or mutton and potatoes, turned from the moment he swallowed it into chromogens and toxins41, and that his apparent appetite was merely the result of fermentation. For herself her platter was an abominable43 mess of cheese and protein-powder and apples and salad-oil, while round her, like saucers of specimen44 seeds were ranged little piles of nuts and pine-branches, which supplied body-building material, and which she weighed out with scrupulous45 accuracy, in accordance with the directions of the “Uric Acid Monthly.” Tea and coffee were taboo46, since they flooded the blood with purins, and the kitchen boiler47 rumbled48 day and night to supply the rivers of boiling water with which (taken in sips) she inundated49 her system. Strange gaunt females used to come down from London, with small parcels full of tough food that tasted of travelling-bags and contained so much nutrition that a port-manteau full of it would furnish the daily rations50 of any army. Luckily even her iron constitution could not stand the strain of such ideal living for long, and her growing anaemia threatened to undermine a constitution seriously impaired51 by the precepts52 of perfect health. A course of beef-steaks and other substantial viands53 loaded with uric acid restored her to her former vigour54.
Thus reinforced, she plunged55 with the same energy as she had devoted56 to repelling57 uric acid into the embrace of Christian Science. The inhumanity of that sect58 towards both herself and others took complete possession of her, and when her husband complained on a bitter January morning that his smoking-room was like an icehouse, because the housemaid had forgotten to light the fire, she had no touch of pity for him, since she knew that there was no such thing as cold or heat or pain, and therefore you could not feel cold. But now, since, according to the new creed59, such things as uric acid, chromogens and purins had no existence, she could safely indulge in decent viands again. But her unhappy husband was not a real gainer in this respect, for while he ate, she tirelessly discoursed60 to him on the new creed, and asked him to recite with her the True Statement of Being. And on the top of that she dismissed the admirable cook, and engaged the miscreant61 from whom he suffered still, though Christian Science, which had allowed her cold to make so long a false claim on her, had followed the uric-acid fad into the limbo62 of her discarded beliefs.
But now once more she had temporarily discovered the secret of life in the teachings of the Guru, and it was, as has been mentioned, sheer Guruism that constituted the main attraction of the new creed. That then being taken for granted, she turned her mind to certain side-issues, which to a true Riseholmite were of entrancing interest. She felt a strong suspicion that Lucia contemplated63 annexing64 her Guru altogether, for otherwise she would not have returned so enthusiastic a response to her note, nor have sent Georgie to deliver it, nor have professed65 so violent an interest in the Guru. What then was the correctly diabolical66 policy to pursue? Should Daisy Quantock refuse to take him to Mrs Lucas altogether, with a message of regret that he did not feel himself sent? Even if she did this, did she feel herself strong enough to throw down the gauntlet (in the shape of the Guru) and, using him as the attraction, challenge darling Lucia to mutual67 combat, in order to decide who should be the leader of all that was advanced and cultured in Riseholme society? Still following that ramification68 of this policy, should she bribe69 Georgie over to her own revolutionary camp, by promising70 him instruction from the Guru? Or following a less dashing line, should she take darling Lucia and Georgie into the charmed circle, and while retaining her own right of treasure trove71, yet share it with them in some inner ring, dispensing72 the Guru to them, if they were good, in small doses?
Mrs Quantock’s mind resembled in its workings the manoeuvres of a moth73 distracted by the glory of several bright lights. It dashed at one, got slightly singed74, and forgetting all about that turned its attention to the second, and the third, taking headers into each in turn, without deciding which, on the whole, was the most enchanting75 of those luminaries76. So, in order to curb77 the exuberance78 of these frenzied79 excursions she got a half sheet of paper, and noted80 down the alternatives that she must choose from.
“(I) Shall I keep him entirely to myself?
“(II) Shall I run him for all he is worth, and leave out L?
“(III) Shall I get G on my side?
“(IV) Shall I give L and G bits?”
She paused a moment: then remembering that he had voluntarily helped her very pretty housemaid to make the beds that morning, saying that his business (like the Prince of Wales’s) was to serve, she added:
“(V) Shall I ask him to be my cook?”
For a few seconds the brightness of her eager interest was dimmed as the unworthy suspicion occurred to her that perhaps the prettiness of her housemaid had something to do with his usefulness in the bedrooms, but she instantly dismissed it. There was the bottle of brandy, too, which he had ordered from Rush’s. When she had begged him to order anything he wanted and cause it to be put down to her account, she had not actually contemplated brandy. Then remembering that one of the most necessary conditions for progress in Yoga, was that the disciple81 should have complete confidence in the Guru, she chased that also out of her mind. But still, even when the lines of all possible policies were written down, she could come to no decision, and putting her paper by her bed, decided82 to sleep over it. The rhythmical83 sounds of hallowed breathing came steadily84 from next door, and she murmured “Om, Om,” in time with them.
The hours of the morning between breakfast and lunch were the time which the inhabitants of Riseholme chiefly devoted to spying on each other. They went about from shop to shop on household businesses, occasionally making purchases which they carried away with them in little paper parcels with convenient loops of string, but the real object of these excursions was to see what everybody else was doing, and learn what fresh interests had sprung up like mushrooms during the night. Georgie would be matching silks at the draper’s, and very naturally he would carry them from the obscurity of the interior to the door in order to be certain about the shades, and keep his eye on the comings and goings in the street, and very naturally Mr Lucas on his way to the market gardener’s to enquire85 whether he had yet received the bulbs from Holland, would tell him that Lucia had received the piano-arrangement of the Mozart trio. Georgie for his part would mention that Hermy and Ursy were expected that evening, and Peppino enriched by this item would “toddle on,” as his phrase went, to meet and exchange confidences with the next spy. He had noticed incidentally that Georgie carried a small oblong box with hard corners, which, perfectly86 correctly, he conjectured87 to be cigarettes for Hermy and Ursy, since Georgie never smoked.
“Well, I must be toddling89 on,” he said, after identifying Georgie’s box of cigarettes, and being rather puzzled by a bulge90 in Georgie’s pocket. “You’ll be looking in some time this morning, perhaps.”
Georgie had not been quite sure that he would (for he was very busy owing to the arrival of his sisters, and the necessity of going to Mr Holroyd’s, in order that that artist might accurately91 match the shade of his hair with a view to the expensive toupet), but the mention of the arrival of the Mozart now decided him. He intended anyhow before he went home for lunch to stroll past The Hurst, and see if he did not hear — to adopt a mixed metaphor92 — the sound of the diligent93 practice of that classical morsel going on inside. Probably the soft pedal would be down, but he had marvellously acute hearing, and he would be very much surprised if he did not hear the recognisable chords, and even more surprised if, when they came to practise the piece together, Lucia did not give him to understand that she was reading it for the first time. He had already got a copy, and had practised his part last night, but then he was in the superior position of not having a husband who would inadvertently tell on him! Meantime it was of the first importance to get that particular shade of purple silk that had none of that “tarsome” magenta-tint in it. Meantime also, it was of even greater importance to observe the movements of Riseholme.
Just opposite was the village green, and as nobody was quite close to him Georgie put on his spectacles, which he could whisk off in a moment. It was these which formed that bulge in his pocket which Peppino had noticed, but the fact of his using spectacles at all was a secret that would have to be profoundly kept for several years yet. But as there was no one at all near him, he stealthily adjusted them on his small straight nose. The morning train from town had evidently come in, for there was a bustle94 of cabs about the door of the Ambermere Arms, and a thing that thrilled him to the marrow95 was the fact that Lady Ambermere’s motor was undoubtedly96 among them. That must surely mean that Lady Ambermere herself was here, for when poor thin Miss Lyall, her companion, came in to Riseholme to do shopping, or transact97 such business as the majestic98 life at The Hall required, she always came on foot, or in very inclement99 weather in a small two-wheeled cart like a hip-bath. At this moment, steeped in conjecture88, who should appear, walking stiffly, with her nose in the air, as if suspecting, and not choosing to verify, some faint unpleasant odour, but Lady Ambermere herself, coming from the direction of The Hurst. . . . Clearly she must have got there after Peppino had left, or he would surely have mentioned the fact that Lady Ambermere had been at The Hurst, if she had been at The Hurst. It is true that she was only coming from the direction of The Hurst, but Georgie put into practice, in his mental processes Darwin’s principle, that in order to observe usefully, you must have a theory. Georgie’s theory was that Lady Ambermere had been at The Hurst just for a minute or two, and hastily put his spectacles in his pocket. With the precision of a trained mind he also formed the theory that some business had brought Lady Ambermere into Riseholme, and that taking advantage of her presence there, she had probably returned a verbal answer to Lucia’s invitation to her garden-party, which she would have received by the first post this morning. He was quite ready to put his theory to the test when Lady Ambermere had arrived at the suitable distance for his conveniently observing her, and for taking off his hat. She always treated him like a boy, which he liked. The usual salutation passed.
“I don’t know where my people are,” said Lady Ambermere majestically100. “Have you seen my motor?”
“Yes, dear lady, it’s in at your own arms,” said Georgie brightly. “Happy motor!”
If Lady Ambermere unbent to anybody, she unbent to Georgie. He was of quite good family, because his mother had been a Bartlett and a second cousin of her deceased husband. Sometimes when she talked to Georgie she said “we,” implying thereby101 his connection with the aristocracy, and this gratified Georgie nearly as much as did her treatment of him as being quite a boy still. It was to him, as a boy still, that she answered.
“Well, the happy motor, you little rascal102, must come to my arms instead of being at them,” she said with the quick wit for which Riseholme pronounced her famous. “Fancy being able to see my motor at that distance. Young eyes!”
It was really young spectacles, but Georgie did not mind that. In fact, he would not have corrected the mistake for the world.
“Shall I run across and fetch it for you?” he asked.
“In a minute. Or whistle on your fingers like a vulgar street boy,” said Lady Ambermere. “I’m sure you know how to.”
Georgie had not the slightest idea, but with the courage of youth, presuming, with the prudence103 of middle-age, that he would not really be called upon to perform so unimaginable a feat104, he put two fingers up to his mouth.
“Here goes then!” he said, greatly daring. (He knew perfectly well that the dignity of Lady Ambermere would not permit rude vulgar whistling, of which he was hopelessly incapable105, to summon her motor. She made a feint of stopping her ears with her hands.)
“Don’t do anything of the kind,” she said. “In a minute you shall walk with me across to the Arms, but tell me this first. I have just been to say to our good Mrs Lucas that very likely I will look in at her garden-party on Friday, if I have nothing else to do. But who is this wonderful creature she is expecting? Is it an Indian conjurer? If so, I should like to see him, because when Ambermere was in Madras I remember one coming to the Residency who had cobras and that sort of thing. I told her I didn’t like snakes, and she said there shouldn’t be any. In fact, it was all rather mysterious, and she didn’t at present know if he was coming or not. I only said, ‘No snakes: I insist on no snakes.’”
Georgie relieved her mind about the chance of there being snakes, and gave a short precis of the ascertained106 habits of the Guru, laying special stress on his high-caste.
“Yes, some of these Brahmins are of very decent family,” admitted Lady Ambermere. “I was always against lumping all dark-skinned people together and calling them niggers. When we were at Madras I was famed for my discrimination.”
They were walking across the green as Lady Ambermere gave vent40 to these liberal sentiments, and Georgie even without the need of his spectacles could see Peppino, who had spied Lady Ambermere from the door of the market-gardener’s, hurrying down the street, in order to get a word with her before “her people” drove her back to The Hall.
“I came into Riseholme today to get rooms at the Arms for Olga Bracely,” she observed.
“The prima-donna?” asked Georgie breathless with excitement.
“Yes; she is coming to stay at the Arms for two nights with Mr Shuttleworth.”
“Surely —” began Georgie.
“No, it is all right, he is her husband, they were married last week,” said Lady Ambermere. “I should have thought that Shuttleworth was a good enough name, as the Shuttleworths are cousins of the late lord, but she prefers to call herself Miss Bracely. I don’t dispute her right to call herself what she pleases: far from it, though who the Bracelys were, I have never been able to discover. But when George Shuttleworth wrote to me saying that he and his wife were intending to stay here for a couple of days, and proposing to come over to The Hall to see me, I thought I would just look in at the Arms myself, and see that they were promised proper accommodation. They will dine with me tomorrow. I have a few people staying, and no doubt Miss Bracely will sing afterwards. My Broadwood was always considered a remarkably107 fine instrument. It was very proper of George Shuttleworth to say that he would be in the neighbourhood, and I daresay she is a very decent sort of woman.”
They had come to the motor by this time — the rich, the noble motor, as Mr Pepys would have described it — and there was poor Miss Lyall hung with parcels, and wearing a faint sycophantic108 smile. This miserable109 spinster, of age so obvious as to be called not the least uncertain, was Lady Ambermere’s companion, and shared with her the glories of The Hall, which had been left to Lady Ambermere for life. She was provided with food and lodging110 and the use of the cart like a hip-bath when Lady Ambermere had errands for her to do in Riseholme, so what could a woman want more? In return for these bounties111, her only duty was to devote herself body and mind to her patroness, to read the paper aloud, to set Lady Ambermere’s patterns for needlework, to carry the little Chinese dog under her arm, and wash him once a week, to accompany Lady Ambermere to church, and never to have a fire in her bedroom. She had a melancholy112 wistful little face: her head was inclined with a backward slope on her neck, and her mouth was invariably a little open shewing long front teeth, so that she looked rather like a roast hare sent up to table with its head on. Georgie always had a joke ready for Miss Lyall, of the sort that made her say, “Oh, Mr Pillson!” and caused her to blush. She thought him remarkably pleasant.
Georgie had his joke ready on this occasion.
“Why, here’s Miss Lyall!” he said. “And what has Miss Lyall been doing while her ladyship and I have been talking? Better not ask, perhaps.”
“Oh, Mr Pillson!” said Miss Lyall, as punctually as a cuckoo clock when the hands point to the hour.
Lady Ambermere put half her weight onto the step of the motor, causing it to creak and sway.
“Call on the Shuttleworths, Georgie,” she said. “Say I told you to. Home!”
Miss Lyall effaced113 herself on the front seat of the motor, like a mouse hiding in a corner, after Lady Ambermere had got in, and the footman mounted onto the box. At that moment Peppino with his bag of bulbs, a little out of breath, squeezed his way between two cabs by the side of the motor. He was just too late, and the motor moved off. It was very improbable that Lady Ambermere saw him at all.
Georgie felt very much like a dog with a bone in his mouth, who only wants to get away from all the other dogs and discuss it quietly. It is safe to say that never in twenty-four hours had so many exciting things happened to him. He had ordered a toupet, he had been looked on with favour by a Guru, all Riseholme knew that he had had quite a long conversation with Lady Ambermere and nobody in Riseholme, except himself, knew that Olga Bracely was going to spend two nights here. Well he remembered her marvellous appearance last year at Covent Garden in the part of Brunnhilde. He had gone to town for a rejuvenating114 visit to his dentist, and the tarsomeness of being betwixt and between had been quite forgotten by him when he saw her awake to Siegfried’s line on the mountain-top. “Das ist keine mann,” Siegfried had said, and, to be sure, that was very clever of him, for she looked like some slim beardless boy, and not in the least like those great fat Fraus at Baireuth, whom nobody could have mistaken for a man as they bulged115 and heaved even before the strings116 of the breastplate were uncut by his sword. And then she sat up and hailed the sun, and Georgie felt for a moment that he had quite taken the wrong turn in life, when he settled to spend his years in this boyish, maidenly117 manner with his embroidery118 and his china-dusting at Riseholme. He ought to have been Siegfried. . . . He had brought a photograph of her in her cuirass and helmet, and often looked at it when he was not too busy with something else. He had even championed his goddess against Lucia, when she pronounced that Wagner was totally lacking in knowledge of dramatic effects. To be sure she had never seen any Wagner opera, but she had heard the overture119 to Tristram performed at the Queen’s Hall, and if that was Wagner, well ——
Already, though Lady Ambermere’s motor had not yet completely vanished up the street, Riseholme was gently closing in round him, in order to discover by discreet120 questions (as in the game of Clumps) what he and she had been talking about. There was Colonel Boucher with his two snorting bull-dogs closing in from one side, and Mrs Weston in her bath-chair being wheeled relentlessly121 towards him from another, and the two Miss Antrobuses sitting playfully in the stocks, on the third, and Peppino at close range on the fourth. Everyone knew, too, that he did not lunch till half past one, and there was really no reason why he should not stop and chat as usual. But with the eye of the true general, he saw that he could most easily break the surrounding cordon122 by going off in the direction of Colonel Boucher, because Colonel Boucher always said “Haw, hum, by Jove,” before he descended123 into coherent speech, and thus Georgie could forestall124 him with “Good morning, Colonel,” and pass on before he got to business. He did not like passing close to those slobbering bull-dogs, but something had to be done . . . Next moment he was clear and saw that the other spies by their original impetus125 were still converging126 on each other and walked briskly down towards Lucia’s house, to listen for any familiar noises out of the Mozart trio. The noises were there, and the soft pedal was down just as he expected, so, that business being off his mind, he continued his walk for a few hundred yards more, meaning to make a short circuit through fields, cross the bridge, over the happy stream that flowed into the Avon, and regain127 his house by the door at the bottom of the garden. Then he would sit and think . . . the Guru, Olga Bracely . . . What if he asked Olga Bracely and her husband to dine, and persuaded Mrs Quantock to let the Guru come? That would be three men and one woman, and Hermy and Ursy would make all square. Six for dinner was the utmost that Foljambe permitted.
He had come to the stile that led into the fields, and sat there for a moment. Lucia’s tentative melodies were still faintly audible, but soon they stopped, and he guessed that she was looking out of the window. She was too great to take part in the morning spying that went on round about the Green, but she often saw a good deal from her window. He wondered what Mrs Quantock was meaning to do. Apparently128 she had not promised the Guru for the garden-party, or else Lady Ambermere would not have said that Lucia did not know whether he was coming or not. Perhaps Mrs Quantock was going to run him herself, and grant him neither to Lucia nor Georgie. In that case he would certainly ask Olga Bracely and her husband to dine, and should he or should he not ask Lucia?
The red star had risen in Riseholme: Bolshevism was treading in its peaceful air, and if Mrs Quantock was going to secrete129 her Guru, and set up her own standard on the strength of him, Georgie felt much inclined to ask Olga Bracely to dinner, without saying anything whatever to Lucia about it, and just see what would happen next. Georgie was a Bartlett on his mother’s side, and he played the piano better than Lucia, and he had twenty-four hours’ leisure every day, which he could devote to being king of Riseholme. . . . His nature flared130 up, burning with a red revolutionary flame, that was fed by his secret knowledge about Olga Bracely. Why should Lucia rule everyone with her rod of iron? Why, and again why?
Suddenly he heard his name called in the familiar alto, and there was Lucia in her Shakespeare’s garden.
“Georgino! Georgino mio!” she cried. “Gino!”
Out of mere42 habit Georgie got down from his stile, and tripped up the road towards her. The manly131 seething132 of his soul’s insurrection rebuked133 him, but unfortunately his legs and his voice surrendered. Habit was strong. . . .
“Amica!” he answered. “Buon Giorno.” (“And why do I say it in Italian?” he vainly asked himself.)
“Geordie, come and have ickle talk,” she said. “Me want ‘oo wise man to advise ickle Lucia.”
“What ‘oo want?” asked Georgie, now quite quelled134 for the moment.
“Lots-things. Here’s pwetty flower for button-holie. Now tell me about black man. Him no snakes have? Why Mrs Quantock say she thinks he no come to poo’ Lucia’s party-garden?”
“Oh, did she?” asked Georgie relapsing into the vernacular135.
“Yes, oh, and by the way there’s a parcel come which I think must be the Mozart trio. Will you come over tomorrow morning and read it with me? Yes? About half-past eleven, then. But never mind that.”
She fixed136 him with her ready, birdy eye.
“Daisy asked me to ask him,” she said, “and so to oblige poor Daisy I did. And now she says she doesn’t know if he’ll come. What does that mean? Is it possible that she wants to keep him to herself? She has done that sort of thing before, you know.”
This probably represented Lucia’s statement of the said case about the Welsh attorney, and Georgie taking it as such felt rather embarrassed. Also that bird-like eye seemed to gimlet its way into his very soul, and divine the secret disloyalty that he had been contemplating137. If she had continued to look into him, he might not only have confessed to the gloomiest suspicions about Mrs Quantock, but have let go of his secret about Olga Bracely also, and suggested the possibility of her and her husband being brought to the garden-party. But the eye at this moment unscrewed itself from him again and travelled up the road.
“There’s the Guru,” she said. “Now we will see!”
Georgie, faint with emotion, peered out between the form of the peacock and the pine-apple on the yew-hedge, and saw what followed. Lucia went straight up to the Guru, bowed and smiled and clearly introduced herself. In another moment he was showing his white teeth and salaaming138, and together they walked back to The Hurst, where Georgie palpitated behind the yew-hedge. Together they entered and Lucia’s eye wore its most benignant aspect.
“I want to introduce to you, Guru,” she said without a stumble, “a great friend of mine. This is Mr Pillson, Guru; Guru, Mr Pillson. The Guru is coming to tiffin with me, Georgie. Cannot I persuade you to stop?”
“Delighted!” said Georgie. “We met before in a sort of way, didn’t we?”
“Yes, indeed. So pleased,” said the Guru.
“Let us go in,” said Lucia, “It is close on lunch-time.”
Georgie followed, after a great many bowings and politenesses from the Guru. He was not sure if he had the makings of a Bolshevist. Lucia was so marvellously efficient.
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prone
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slab
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tepid
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curry
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tact
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gathering
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sipped
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effete
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concoction
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intercept
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entirely
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harp
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morsel
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salaamed
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| 行额手礼( salaam的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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18
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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19
amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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irreverence
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| n.不尊敬 | |
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spiky
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| adj.长而尖的，大钉似的 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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pellucid
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| adj.透明的，简单的 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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29
evoking
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| 产生，引起，唤起( evoke的现在分词 ) | |
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30
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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31
timbre
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| n.音色，音质 | |
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32
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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34
fad
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| n.时尚；一时流行的狂热；一时的爱好 | |
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35
devastation
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| n.毁坏；荒废；极度震惊或悲伤 | |
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36
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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37
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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38
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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39
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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40
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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41
toxins
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| n.毒素( toxin的名词复数 ) | |
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42
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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43
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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44
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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45
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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46
taboo
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| n.禁忌，禁止接近，禁止使用；adj.禁忌的；v.禁忌，禁制，禁止 | |
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47
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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48
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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49
inundated
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| v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 )；（洪水般地）涌来；充满；给予或交予（太多事物）使难以应付 | |
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50
rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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51
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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53
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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54
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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55
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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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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57
repelling
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| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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58
sect
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| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
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59
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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60
discoursed
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| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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61
miscreant
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| n.恶棍 | |
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62
limbo
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| n.地狱的边缘；监狱 | |
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63
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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64
annexing
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| 并吞( annex的现在分词 )； 兼并； 强占； 并吞（国家、地区等） | |
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65
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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66
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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67
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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68
ramification
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| n.分枝，分派，衍生物 | |
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69
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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70
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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71
trove
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| n.被发现的东西，收藏的东西 | |
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72
dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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73
moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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74
singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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75
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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76
luminaries
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| n.杰出人物，名人（luminary的复数形式） | |
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77
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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78
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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79
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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80
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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81
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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82
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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83
rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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84
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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85
enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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86
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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87
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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89
toddling
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的现在分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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90
bulge
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| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
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91
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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92
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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93
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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94
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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95
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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96
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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97
transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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98
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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99
inclement
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| adj.严酷的，严厉的，恶劣的 | |
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100
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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101
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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102
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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103
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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104
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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105
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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106
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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108
sycophantic
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| adj.阿谀奉承的 | |
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109
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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110
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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111
bounties
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| （由政府提供的）奖金( bounty的名词复数 )； 赏金； 慷慨； 大方 | |
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112
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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113
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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114
rejuvenating
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| 使变得年轻，使恢复活力( rejuvenate的现在分词 ) | |
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115
bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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116
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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117
maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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118
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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119
overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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120
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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121
relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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122
cordon
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| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
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123
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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124
forestall
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| vt.抢在…之前采取行动；预先阻止 | |
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125
impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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126
converging
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| adj.收敛[缩]的，会聚的，趋同的v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的现在分词 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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127
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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128
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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129
secrete
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| vt.分泌；隐匿，使隐秘 | |
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130
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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131
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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132
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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133
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
quelled
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| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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136
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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137
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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138
salaaming
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| 行额手礼( salaam的现在分词 ) | |
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