‘After all,’ said Cynthia, ‘there’s a look of home about these rooms which is very pleasant. But I wish I could see you looking stronger, mamma; that’s the only unpleasant thing. Molly, why didn’t you send for me?’
‘I wanted to do,’ began Molly.
‘But I wouldn’t let her,’ said Mrs. Gibson. ‘You were much better in London than here, for you could have done me no good; and your letters were very agreeable to read; and now Helen is better, and I’m nearly well, and you’ve come home just at the right time, for everybody is full of the Charity Ball.’
‘But we are not going this year, mamma,’ said Cynthia decidedly. ‘It is on the 25th, isn’t it? and I’m sure you’ll never be well enough to take us.’
‘You really seem determined4 to make me out worse than I am, child,’ said Mrs. Gibson, rather querulously, she being one of those who, when their malady5 is only trifling6, exaggerate it, but when it is really of some consequence, are unwilling7 to sacrifice any pleasures by acknowledging it. It was well for her in this instance that her husband had wisdom and authority enough to forbid her going to this ball, on which she had set her heart; but the consequence of his prohibition8 was an increase of domestic plaintiveness9 and low spirits, which seemed to tell on Cynthia — the bright gay Cynthia herself — and it was often hard work for Molly to keep up the spirits of two other people as well as her own. Ill-health might account for Mrs. Gibson’s despondency, but why was Cynthia so silent, not to say so sighing? Molly was puzzled to account for it; and all the more perplexed10 because from time to time Cynthia kept calling upon her for praise for some unknown and mysterious virtue11 that she had practised; and Molly was young enough to believe that, after any exercise of virtue, the spirits rose, cheered up by an approving conscience. Such was not the case with Cynthia, however. She sometimes said such things as these, when she had been particularly inert12 and desponding —
‘Ah, Molly, you must let my goodness lie fallow for a while! It has borne such a wonderful crop this year. I have been so pretty-behaved — if you knew all!’ Or, ‘Really, Molly, my virtue must come down from the clouds! It was strained to the utmost in London — and I find it is like a kite — after soaring aloft for some time, it suddenly comes down, and gets tangled13 in all sorts of briars and brambles; which things are an allegory, unless you can bring yourself to believe in my extraordinary goodness while I was away — giving me a sort of right to fall foul14 of all mamma’s briars and brambles now.’
But Molly had had some experience of Cynthia’s whim15 of perpetually hinting at a mystery which she did not mean to reveal in the Mr Preston days, and, although she was occasionally piqued16 into curiosity, Cynthia’s allusions17 at something more in the background fell in general on rather deaf ears. One day the mystery burst its shell, and came out in the shape of an offer made to Cynthia by Mr Henderson — and refused. Under all the circumstances, Molly could not appreciate the heroic goodness so often alluded18 to. The revelation of the secret at last took place in this way. Mrs. Gibson breakfasted in bed: she had done so ever since she had had the influenza; and, consequently, her own private letters always went up on her breakfast-tray. One morning she came into the drawing-room earlier than usual, with an open letter in her hand.
‘I’ve had a letter from aunt Kirkpatrick, Cynthia. She sends me my dividends20 — your uncle is so busy. But what does she mean by this, Cynthia’ (holding out the letter to her, with a certain paragraph indicated by her finger). Cynthia put her netting on one side, and looked at the writing. Suddenly her face turned scarlet21, and then became of a deadly white. She looked at Molly, as if to gain courage from the strong serene22 countenance23.
‘It means — mamma, I may as well tell you at once — Mr. Henderson offered to me while I was in London, and I refused him.’
‘Refused him — and you never told me, but let me hear it by chance! Really, Cynthia, I think you’re very unkind. And pray what made you refuse Mr. Henderson? Such a fine young man — and such a gentleman! Your uncle told me he had a very good private fortune besides.’
‘Mamma, do you forget that I have promised to marry Roger Hamley?’ said Cynthia quietly.
‘No! of course I don’t — how can I, with Molly always dinning24 the word “engagement” into my ears? But really, when one considers all the uncertainties25 — and after all it was not a distinct promise — he seemed almost as if he might have looked forward to something of this sort.’
‘Of what sort, mamma?’ said Cynthia sharply.
‘Why, of a more eligible26 offer. He must have known you might change your mind, and meet with some one you liked better: so little as you had seen of the world.’ Cynthia made an impatient movement, as if to stop her mother.
‘I never said I liked him better — how can you talk so, mamma? I’m going to marry Roger, and there’s an end of it. I will not be spoken to about it again.’ She got up and left the room.
‘Going to marry Roger! That’s all very fine. But who is to guarantee his coming back alive! And if he does, what have they to marry upon, I should like to know? I don’t wish her to have accepted Mr Henderson, though I am sure she liked him; and true love ought to have its course, and not be thwarted28; but she need not have quite finally refused him until — well, until we had seen how matters turn out. Such an invalid29 as I am too! It has given me quite a palpitation at the heart. I do call it quite unfeeling of Cynthia.’
‘Certainly,’ began Molly; but then she remembered that her stepmother was far from strong, and unable to bear a protest in favour of the right course without irritation30. So she changed her speech into a suggestion of remedies for palpitation; and curbed31 her impatience32 to speak out her indignation at the contemplated33 falsehood to Roger. But when they were alone, and Cynthia began upon the subject, Molly was less merciful. Cynthia said —
‘Well, Molly, and now you know all! I’ve been longing34 to tell you — and yet somehow I could not.’
‘I suppose it was a repetition of Mr. Coxe,’ said Molly gravely. ‘You were agreeable — and he took it for something more.’
‘I don’t know,’ sighed Cynthia. ‘I mean I don’t know if I was agreeable or not. He was very kind — very pleasant — but I did not expect it all to end as it did. However, it is of no use thinking of it.’
‘No!’ said Molly, simply; for to her mind the pleasantest and kindest person in the world put in comparison with Roger was as nothing; he stood by himself. Cynthia’s next words — and they did not come very soon — were on quite a different subject, and spoken in rather a pettish35 tone. Nor did she allude19 again in jesting sadness to her late efforts at virtue.
In a little while Mrs. Gibson was able to accept the often-repeated invitation from the Towers to go and stay there for a day or two. Lady Harriet told her that it would be a kindness to Lady Cumnor to come and bear her company in the life of seclusion36 the latter was still compelled to lead; and Mrs. Gibson was flattered and gratified with a dim unconscious sense of being really wanted, not merely deluding38 herself into a pleasing fiction. Lady Cumnor was in that state of convalescence39 common to many invalids40. The spring of life had begun again to flow, and with the flow returned the old desires and projects and plans, which had all become mere37 matters of indifference41 during the worst part of her illness. But as yet her bodily strength was not sufficient to be an agent to her energetic mind, and the difficulty of driving the ill-matched pair of body and will — one weak and languid, the other strong and stern — made her ladyship often very irritable42. Mrs. Gibson herself was not quite strong enough for a ‘souffre-douleur; and the visit to the Towers was not, on the whole, quite so happy a one as she had anticipated. Lady Cuxhaven and Lady Harriet, each aware of their mother’s state of health and temper, but only alluding43 to it as slightly as was absolutely necessary in their conversations with each other, took care not to leave ‘Clare’ too long with Lady Cumnor; but several times when one or the other went to relieve guard they found Clare in tears, and Lady Cumnor holding forth44 on some point on which she had been meditating45 during the silent hours of her illness, and on which she seemed to consider herself born to set the world to rights. Mrs. Gibson was always apt to consider these remarks as addressed with a personal direction at some error of her own, and defended the fault in question with a sense of property in it, whatever it might happen to be. The second and the last day of her stay at the Towers, Lady Harriet came in, and found her mother haranguing46 in an excited tone of voice, and Clare looking submissive and miserable47 and oppressed.
‘What’s the matter, dear mamma? Are not you tiring yourself with talking?’
‘No, not at all! I was only speaking of the folly48 of people dressing49 above their station. I began by telling Clare of the fashions of my grandmother’s days, when every class had a sort of costume of its own — and servants did not ape tradespeople, nor tradespeople professional men, and so on — and what must the foolish woman do but begin to justify50 her own dress, as if I had been accusing her, or even thinking about her at all. Such nonsense! Really, Clare, your husband has spoilt you sadly, if you can’t listen to any one without thinking they are alluding to you! People may flatter themselves just as much by thinking that their faults are always present to other people’s minds, as if they believe that the world is always contemplating51 their individual charms and virtues52.’
‘I was told, Lady Cumnor, that this silk was reduced in price. I bought it at Waterloo House after the season was over,’ said Mrs Gibson, touching53 the very handsome gown she wore in deprecation of Lady Cumnor’s angry voice, and blundering on to the very source of irritation.
‘Again, Clare! How often must I tell you I had no thought of you or your gowns, or whether they cost much or little; your husband has to pay for them, and it is his concern if you spend more on your dress than you ought to do.’
‘It was only five guineas for the whole dress,’ pleaded Mrs. Gibson.
‘And very pretty it is,’ said Lady Harriet, stooping to examine it, and so hoping to soothe54 the poor aggrieved55 woman. But Lady Cumnor went on —
‘No! you ought to have known me better by this time. When I think a thing I say it out. I don’t beat about the bush. I use straightforward56 language. I will tell you where I think you have been in fault, Clare, if you like to know.’ Like it or not, the plain-speaking was coming now. ‘You have spoilt that girl of yours till she does not know her own mind. She has behaved abominably57 to Mr. Preston; and it is all in consequence of the faults in her education. You have much to answer for.’
‘Mamma, mamma!’ said Lady Harriet, ‘Mr. Preston did not wish it spoken about.’ And at the same moment Mrs. Gibson exclaimed, ‘Cynthia — Mr. Preston!’ in such a tone of surprise, that if Lady Cumnor had been in the habit of observing the revelations made by other people’s tones and voices, she would have found out that Mrs Gibson was ignorant of the affair to which she was alluding.
‘As for Mr. Preston’s wishes, I do not suppose I am bound to regard them when I feel it my duty to reprove error,’ said Lady Cumnor loftily to Lady Harriet. ‘And, Clare, do you mean to say that you are not aware that your daughter has been engaged to Mr. Preston for some time — years, I believe — and has at last chosen to break it off — and has used the Gibson girl — I forget her name — as a cat’s-paw, and made both her and herself the town’s talk — the butt58 for all the gossip of Hollingford? I remember when I was young there was a girl called Jilting Jessy. You’ll have to watch over your young lady, or she will get some such name. I speak to you like a friend, Clare, when I tell you it’s my opinion that girl of yours will get herself into some more mischief59 yet before she’s safely married. Not that I care one straw for Mr. Preston’s feelings. I don’t even know if he’s got feelings or not; but I know what is becoming in a young woman, and jilting is not. And now you may both go away, and send Bradley to me, for I’m tired, and want to have a little sleep.’
‘Indeed, Lady Cumnor — will you believe me? — I do not think Cynthia was ever engaged to Mr. Preston. There was an old flirtation61. I was afraid —’
‘Ring the bell for Bradley,’ said Lady Cumnor, wearily: her eyes closed. Lady Harriet had too much experience of her mother’s moods not to lead Mrs. Gibson away almost by main force, she protesting all the while that she did not think there was any truth in the statement, though it was dear Lady Cumnor that said it.
Once in her own room, Lady Harriet said, ‘Now, Clare, I’ll tell you all about it; and I think you’ll have to believe it, for it was Mr Preston himself who told me. I heard of a great commotion62 in Hollingford about Mr. Preston; and I met him riding out, and asked him what it was all about; he did not want to speak about it, evidently. No man does, I suppose, when he’s been jilted; and he made both papa and me promise not to tell; but papa did — and that’s what mamma has for a foundation; you see, a really good one.’
‘But Cynthia is engaged to another man — she really is. And another — a very good match indeed — has just been offering to her in London. Mr. Preston is always at the root of mischief.’
‘Nay! I do think in this case it must be that pretty Miss Cynthia of yours who has drawn63 on one man to be engaged to her — not to say two — and another to make her an offer. I can’t endure Mr. Preston, but I think it’s rather hard to accuse him of having called up the rivals, who are, I suppose, the occasion of his being jilted.’
‘I don’t know; I always feel as if he owed me a grudge64, and men have so many ways of being spiteful. You must acknowledge that if he had not met you I should not have had dear Lady Cumnor so angry with me.’
‘She only wanted to warn you about Cynthia. Mamma has always been very particular about her own daughters. She has been very severe on the least approach to flirting65, and Mary will be like her!’
‘But Cynthia will flirt60, and I can’t help it. She is not noisy, or giggling66; she is always a lady — that everybody must own. But she has a way of attracting men, she must have inherited from me, I think.’ And here she smiled faintly, and would not have rejected a confirmatory compliment, but none came. ‘However, I will speak to her; I will get to the bottom of the whole affair. Pray tell Lady Cumnor that it has so fluttered me the way she spoke27, about my dress and all. And it only cost five guineas after all, reduced from eight!’
‘Well, never mind now. You are looking very much flushed; quite feverish67! I left you too long in mamma’s hot room. But do you know she is so much pleased to have you here?’ And so Lady Cumnor really was, in spite of the continual lectures which she gave ‘Clare,’ and which poor Mrs. Gibson turned under as helplessly as the typical worm. Still it was something to have a countess to scold her; and that pleasure would endure when the worry was past. And then Lady Harriet petted her more than usual to make up for what she had to go through in the convalescent’s room; and Lady Cuxhaven talked sense to her, with dashes of science and deep thought intermixed, which was very flattering, although generally unintelligible68; and Lord Cumnor, good-natured, good-tempered, kind, and liberal, was full of gratitude69 to her for her kindness in coming to see Lady Cumnor, and his gratitude took the tangible70 shape of a haunch of venison, to say nothing of lesser71 game. When she looked back upon her visit as she drove home in the solitary72 grandeur73 of the Towers’ carriage, there had been but one great enduring rub — Lady Cumnor’s crossness — and she chose to consider Cynthia as the cause of that, instead of seeing the truth, which had been so often set before her by the members of her ladyship’s family, that it took its origin in her state of health. Mrs. Gibson did not exactly mean to visit this one discomfort74 upon Cynthia, nor did she quite mean to upbraid75 her daughter for conduct as yet unexplained, and which might have some justification76; but, finding her quietly sitting in the drawing-room, she sate77 down despondingly in her own little easy chair, and in reply to Cynthia’s quick, pleasant greeting of —
‘Well, mamma, how are you? We did not expect you so early! Let me take off your bonnet78 and shawl!’ she replied dolefully —
‘It has not been such a happy visit that I should wish to prolong it.’ Her eyes were fixed80 on the carpet, and her face was as irresponsive to the welcome offered as she could make it.
‘What has been the matter?’ asked Cynthia, in all good faith.
‘You! Cynthia — you! I little thought when you were born how I should have to bear to hear you spoken about.’
Cynthia threw back her head, and angry light came into her eyes.
‘What business have they with me? How came they to talk about me in any way?’
‘Everybody is talking about you; it is no wonder they are. Lord Cumnor is sure to hear about everything always. You should take more care about what you do, Cynthia, if you don’t like being talked about.’
‘It rather depends upon what people say,’ said Cynthia, affecting a lightness which she did not feel; for she had a provision of what was coming.
‘Well! I don’t like it, at any rate. It is not pleasant to me to hear first of my daughter’s misdoings from Lady Cumnor, and then to be lectured about her, and her flirting, and her jilting, as if I had had anything to do with it. I can assure you it has quite spoilt my visit. No! don’t touch my shawl. When I go to my room I can take it myself.’
Cynthia was brought to bay, and sate down; remaining with her mother, who kept sighing ostentatiously from time to time.
‘Would you mind telling me what they said? If there are accusations81 abroad against me, it is as well I should know what they are. Here’s Molly’ (as the girl entered the room, fresh from a morning’s walk). ‘Molly, mamma has come back from the Towers, and my lord and my lady have been doing me the honour to talk over my crimes and misdemeanors, and I am asking mamma what they have said. I don’t set up for more virtue than other people, but I can’t make out what an earl and a countess have to do with poor little me.’
‘It was not for your sake!’ said Mrs. Gibson. ‘It was for mine. They felt for me, for it is not pleasant to have one’s child’s name in everybody’s mouth.’
‘As I said before, that depends upon how it is in everybody’s mouth. If I were going to marry Lord Hollingford, I make no doubt every one would be talking about me, and neither you nor I should mind it in the least.’
‘But this is no marriage with Lord Hollingford, so it is nonsense to talk as if it was. They say you’ve gone and engaged yourself to Mr Preston, and now refuse to marry him; and they call that jilting.’
‘Do you wish me to marry him, mamma?’ asked Cynthia, her face in a flame, her eyes cast down. Molly stood by, very hot, not fully79 understanding it; and only kept where she was by the hope of coming in as sweetener or peacemaker, or helper of some kind.
‘No,’ said Mrs. Gibson, evidently discomfited82 by the question. ‘Of course I don’t; you have gone and entangled83 yourself with Roger Hamley, a very worthy84 young man; but nobody knows where he is, and if he’s dead or alive; and he has not a penny if he is alive.’
‘I beg your pardon. I know that he has some fortune from his mother; it may not be much, but he is not penniless; and he is sure to earn fame and great reputation, and with it money will come,’ said Cynthia.
‘You’ve entangled yourself with him, and you’ve done something of the sort with Mr. Preston, and got yourself into such an imbroglio’ (Mrs. Gibson could not have said ‘mess’ for the world, although the word was present to her mind), ‘that when a really eligible person comes forward — handsome, agreeable, and quite the gentleman — and a good private fortune into the bargain, you have to refuse him. You’ll end as an old maid, Cynthia, and it will break my heart.’
‘I daresay I shall,’ said Cynthia, quietly. ‘I sometimes think I am the kind of person of which old maids are made!’ She spoke seriously, and a little sadly.
Mrs. Gibson began again. ‘I don’t want to know your secrets as long as they are secrets; but when all the town is talking about you, I think I ought to be told.’
‘But, mamma, I did not know I was such a subject of conversation; and even now I can’t make out how it has come about.’
‘No more can I. I only know that they say you’ve been engaged to Mr Preston, and ought to have married him, and that I can’t help it, if you did not choose, any more than I could have helped your refusing Mr. Henderson; and yet I am constantly blamed for your misconduct. I think it’s very hard.’ Mrs. Gibson began to cry. Just then her husband came in.
‘You here, my dear! Welcome back,’ said he, coming up to her courteously85, and kissing her cheek. ‘Why, what’s the matter? Tears?’ and he heartily86 wished himself away again.
‘Yes!’ said she, raising herself up, and clutching after sympathy of any kind, at any price. ‘I’m come home again, and I’m telling Cynthia how Lady Cumnor has been so cross to me, and all through her. Did you know she had gone and engaged herself to Mr. Preston, and then broken it off? Everybody is talking about it, and they know it up at the Towers.’
For one moment his eyes met Molly’s, and he comprehended it all. He made his lips up into a whistle, but no sound came. Cynthia had quite lost her defiant87 manner since her mother had spoken to Mr Gibson. Molly sate down by her.
‘Cynthia,’ said he, very seriously.
‘Yes!’ she answered, softly.
‘Is this true? I had heard something of it before — not much; but there is scandal enough about to make it desirable that you should have some protector — some friend who knows the whole truth.’
No answer. At last she said, ‘Molly knows it all.’
Mrs. Gibson, too, had been awed88 into silence by her husband’s grave manner, and she did not like to give vent89 to the jealous thought in her mind that Molly had known the secret of which she was ignorant. Mr. Gibson replied to Cynthia with some sternness —
‘Yes! I know that Molly knows it all, and that she has had to bear slander90 and ill words for your sake, Cynthia. But she refused to tell me more.’
‘She told you that much, did she?’ said Cynthia, aggrieved.
‘I could not help it,’ said Molly.
‘She did not name your name,’ said Mr. Gibson. ‘At the time I believe she thought she had concealed91 it — but there was no mistaking who it was.’
‘Why did she speak about it at all?’ said Cynthia, with some bitterness. Her tone — her question stirred up Mr. Gibson’s passion.
‘It was necessary for her to justify herself to me — I heard my daughter’s reputation attacked for the private meetings she had given to Mr. Preston — I came to her for an explanation. There is no need to be ungenerous, Cynthia, because you have been a flirt and a jilt even to the degree of dragging Molly’s name down into the same mire92.’
Cynthia lifted her bowed-down head, and looked at him.
‘You say that of me, Mr. Gibson. Not knowing what the circumstances are, you say that!’
He had spoken too strongly: he knew it. But he could not bring himself to own it just at that moment. The thought of his sweet innocent Molly, who had borne so much patiently, prevented any retractation of his words at the time.
‘Yes!’ he said, ‘I do say it. You cannot tell what evil constructions are put upon actions ever so slightly beyond the bounds of maidenly93 propriety94. I do say that Molly has had a great deal to bear, in consequence of this clandestine95 engagement of yours, Cynthia — there may be extenuating96 circumstances, I acknowledge — but you will need to remember them all to excuse your conduct to Roger Hamley, when he comes home. I asked you to tell me the full truth, in order that until he comes, and has a legal right to protect you, I may do so.’ No answer. ‘It certainly requires explanation,’ continued he. ‘Here are you — engaged to two men at once to all appearances!’ Still no answer. ‘To be sure, the gossips of the town have not yet picked out the fact of Roger Hamley’s being your accepted lover; but scandal has been resting on Molly, and ought to have rested on you, Cynthia — for a concealed engagement to Mr. Preston — necessitating97 meetings in all sorts of places unknown to your friends.’
‘Papa,’ said Molly, ‘if you knew all you would not speak so to Cynthia. I wish she would tell you herself all that she has told me.’
‘I am ready to hear whatever she has to say,’ said he. But Cynthia said —
‘No! you have prejudged me; you have spoken to me as you had no right to speak. I refuse to give you my confidence, or accept your help. People are very cruel to me’— her voice trembled for a moment — ‘I did not think you would have been. But I can bear it.’
And then, in spite of Molly, who would have detained her by force, she tore herself away, and hastily left the room.
‘Oh, papa!’ said Molly, crying, and clinging to him, ‘do let me tell you all.’ And then she suddenly recollected98 the awkwardness of telling some of the details of the story before Mrs. Gibson, and stopped short.
‘I think, Mr. Gibson, you have been very very unkind to my poor fatherless child,’ said Mrs. Gibson, emerging from behind her pocket-handkerchief. ‘I only wish her poor father had been alive, and all this would never have happened.’
‘Very probably. Still I cannot see of what either she or you have to complain. Inasmuch as we could, I and mine have sheltered her; I have loved her; I do love her almost as if she were my own child — as well as Molly, I do not pretend to do.’
‘That’s it, Mr. Gibson! you do not treat her like your own child.’ But in the midst of this wrangle99 Molly stole out, and went in search of Cynthia. She thought she bore an olive-branch of healing in the sound of her father’s just spoken words: ‘I do love her almost as if she were my own child.’ But Cynthia was locked into her room, and refused to open the’ door.
‘Open to me, please,’ pleaded Molly. ‘I have something to say to you — I want to see you — do open!’
‘No!’ said Cynthia. ‘Not now. I am busy. Leave me alone. I don’t want to hear what you have got to say. I do not want to see you. By-and-by we shall meet, and then —’ Molly stood quite quietly, wondering what new words of more persuasion100 she could use. In a minute or two Cynthia called out, ‘Are you there still, Molly?’ and when Molly answered ‘Yes,’ and hoped for a relenting, the same hard metallic101 voice, telling of resolution and repression102, spoke out, ‘Go away. I cannot bear the feeling of your being there — waiting and listening. Go downstairs — out of the house — anywhere away. It is the most you can do for me, now.’
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influenza
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| n.流行性感冒，流感 | |
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repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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unwilling
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prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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plaintiveness
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perplexed
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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alluded
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allude
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dividends
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| 红利( dividend的名词复数 )； 股息； 被除数； （足球彩票的）彩金 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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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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dinning
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| vt.喧闹（din的现在分词形式） | |
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25
uncertainties
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| 无把握( uncertainty的名词复数 )； 不确定； 变化不定； 无把握、不确定的事物 | |
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eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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curbed
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| v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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35
pettish
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| adj.易怒的，使性子的 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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deluding
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的现在分词 ) | |
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39
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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42
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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haranguing
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| v.高谈阔论( harangue的现在分词 ) | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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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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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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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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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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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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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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75
upbraid
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| v.斥责，责骂，责备 | |
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76
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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77
sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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78
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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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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accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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discomfited
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| v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词)；使狼狈；使挫折；挫败 | |
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83
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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85
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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86
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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87
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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88
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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90
slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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92
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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93
maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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94
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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95
clandestine
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| adj.秘密的，暗中从事的 | |
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96
extenuating
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| adj.使减轻的，情有可原的v.（用偏袒的辩解或借口）减轻( extenuate的现在分词 )；低估，藐视 | |
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97
necessitating
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的现在分词 ) | |
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98
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
wrangle
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| vi.争吵 | |
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100
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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101
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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102
repression
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| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
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