“You will never guess who this is,” he said, “so I will not keep ye in suspense6, Katie. This is our new neighbour at Loch Houran, Lord Erradeen. Think of me meeting him just by chance on the pavey, as ye may say, of a London street, and us next door to each other, to use a vulgar expression, at home!”
“Which is the vulgar expression?” said Katie. She was very fond of her father, but yet liked people to see that she knew better. She held out her hand frankly7 to Walter, and though she was only a round-about, bread-and-butter little girl with nothing but money, she was far more at her ease than he was. “I am very glad to make your acquaintance, Lord Erradeen,” she said. “We were just wondering whether we should meet you anywhere. We have only been a week in town.”
“I don’t think we should have been likely to meet,” said Walter with that tone of resentment8 which had become natural to him, “if I had not been so fortunate as to encounter Mr. Williamson as he says, on the pavé.”
Katie was not pleased by this speech. She thought that Walter was rude, and implied that the society which he frequented was too fine for the Williamsons, and she also thought that he meant a laugh at her father’s phraseology, neither of which offences were at all in the young man’s intention.
“Oh,” Katie cried, resentful too, “papa and I go to a great many places—unless you mean Marlborough House and that sort of thing. Oh, Captain Underwood!” she added next moment in a tone of surprise. The appearance of Captain Underwood evidently suggested to her ideas not at all in accordance with that of Marlborough House.
“Yes,” he said, “Miss Williamson: you scarcely expected to see me. It is not often that a man is equally intimate with two distinct branches of a family, is it? But I always was a fortunate fellow, and here I am back in your circle again.”
Walter’s mind was considerably9 preoccupied10 by his own circumstances, and by the novelty of this new meeting; but yet he was quick-witted enough to remark with some amusement the recurrence11 of the old situation with which he was quite acquainted—the instinctive12 repugnance13 of the feminine side everywhere to this companion of his, and the tolerance14 and even friendliness15 of the men. Katie did all but turn her back upon Underwood before his little speech was ended. She said, “Will you ring for dinner, papa?” without making the slightest reply to it: and indeed, after another glance from one to the other, retired16 to the sofa from which she had risen, with a little air of having exhausted17 this new incident, and indifference18 to anything that could follow, which piqued19 Walter. Had she been a noble person either in fact or in appearance, of an imposing20 figure and proportions even, it might have seemed less insupportable; but that a little dumpy girl should thus lose all interest in him, classifying him in a moment with his companion, was beyond Lord Erradeen’s patience. He felt bitterly ashamed of Underwood, and eager even, in his anger at this presumptuous21 young woman’s hasty judgment22, to explain how it was that he was in Underwood’s company. But as he stood biting his lip in the half-lighted room, he could not but remember how very difficult it would be to explain it. Why was he in Underwood’s company? Because he could get admittance to none better. Marlborough House! He felt himself grow red all over, with a burning shame, and anger against fate. And when he found himself seated by Katie’s side at the lighted table, and subject to the questions with which it was natural to begin conversation, his embarrassment23 was still greater. She asked him had he been here and there. That great ball at the French Embassy that everybody was talking about—of course he had been one of the guests? And at the Duke’s—Katie did not consider it necessary to particularise what duke, confident that no Christian24, connected ever so distantly with Loch Houran, could have any doubt on the subject. Was the decoration of the new dining-room so magnificent as people said? Walter’s blank countenance25, his brief replies, the suppressed reluctance26 with which he said anything at all, had the strangest effect upon Katie. After a while she glanced at Captain Underwood, who was talking with much volubility to her father, and with a very small, almost imperceptible shrug27 of her little shoulders, turned away and addressed herself to her dinner. This from a little girl who was nobody, who was not even very pretty, who betrayed her plebeian28 origin in every line of her plump form and fresh little commonplace face, was more than Walter could bear.
“You must think me dreadfully ignorant of the events of society,” he said, “but the fact is I have not been going out at all. It is not very long, you are aware, since I came into the property, and—there have been a great many things to do.”
“I have always heard,” said Katie, daintily consuming a delicate entrée, with her eyes upon her plate as if that was her sole interest, “that the Erradeen estates were all in such order that there was never anything for the heir to do.”
“You speak,” said Walter, “as if they changed hands every year.”
“Oh, not that exactly; but I remember two; and I might have remembered others, for we have only been at Loch Houran since papa got so rich.”
“What a pleasant way of remembering dates!”
“Do you think so, Lord Erradeen? Now I should think that to have been rich always, and your father before you, and never to have known any difference, would be so much more pleasant.”
“There may perhaps be something to be said on both sides,” said Walter; “but I am no judge—for the news of my elevation29, such as it is, came to me very suddenly, too suddenly to be agreeable, without any warning.”
Katie reconsidered her decision in the matter of Lord Erradeen; perhaps though he knew nobody, he might not be quite unworthy cultivation30, and besides, she had finished her entrée. She said, “Didn’t you know?” turning to him again her once-averted eyes.
“I had not the faintest idea; it came upon me like a thunderbolt,” he said. “You perceive that you must treat me with a little indulgence in respect to dukes, &c.—even if I had any taste for society, which I haven’t,” he added, with a touch of bitterness in his tone.
“Oh,” said Katie, looking at him much more kindly31; then she bent32 towards him with quite unexpected familiarity, and said, lowering her voice, but in the most distinct whisper, “And where then did you pick up that odious33 man?”
Walter could not but laugh as he looked across the table at the unconscious object of this attack.
“I observe that ladies never like him,” he said; “at home it is the same.”
“Oh, I should think so,” cried Katie, “everybody thought it was such a pity that Lord Erradeen took him up—and then to see him with you! Oona Forrester would be very sorry,” Katie added after a pause.
“Miss Forrester!” Walter felt himself colour high with pleasure at the sound of this name, then feeling this a sort of self-betrayal, coloured yet more. “You know her?”
Katie turned round upon him with a mixture of amusement and disdain34. “Know her! is there any one on the loch, or near it, that doesn’t know her?” she said.
“I beg your pardon,” cried Walter. “I forgot for the moment.” Then he too retired within himself for so long a time that it was Katie’s turn to be affronted35. He devoted36 himself to his dinner too, but he did not eat. At last “Why should she be sorry?” he asked curtly37 as if there had been no pause.
“How can I tell you now while he sits there?” said Katie, lowering her voice; “some other time perhaps—most likely you will call in the day-time, in the morning, now that we have made your acquaintance.”
“If you will permit me,” Walter said.
“Oh yes, we will permit you. Papa has always wanted to know you, and so have I since—If you are allowed to come: but perhaps you will not be allowed to come, Lord Erradeen.”
“Will not be allowed? What does that mean? and since when, may I ask, have you been so kind as to want to know me? I wish I had been aware.”
“Since——well, of course, since you were Lord Erradeen,” said the girl, “we did not know of you before: and people like us who have nothing but money are always very fond of knowing a lord—everybody says so at least. And it is true, in a way. Papa likes it very much indeed. He likes to say my friend, the Earl of ——, or my friend, the Duke of ----. He knows a great many lords, though perhaps you would not think it. He is very popular with fine people. They say he is not at all vulgar considering, and never takes anything upon him. Oh, yes, I know it all very well. I am a new person in the other way—I believe it is far more what you call snobbish—but I can’t bear the fine people. Of course they are very nice to me; but I always remember that they think I am not vulgar considering, and that I never pretend to be better than I am.”
There was something in this address spoken with a little heat, which touched Walter’s sense of humour, a faculty38 which in his better moods made his own position, with all its incongruities39, ruefully amusing to him. “I wonder,” he said, “if I pretend to be better than I am? But then I should require in the first place to know what I am more distinctly than I do. Now you, on that important point, have, I presume, no doubt or difficulty?——”
“Not the least,” she said, interrupting him. “The daughter of a rich Glasgow man who is nobody—that is what I am—everybody knows; but you, my lord, you are a noble person of one of the oldest families, with the best blood in your veins40, with——” She had been eyeing him somewhat antagonistically41, but here she broke off, and fell a laughing. “I don’t believe you care a bit about it,” she said. “Are you going with us to the theatre to see the Falcon42, Lord Erradeen?”
“What is the Falcon?” he said.
“You have not seen it nor heard of it? It is Mr. Tennyson’s,” said Katie with a little awe43. “How is it possible you have not heard? Don’t you know that lovely story? It is a poor gentleman who has nothing but a falcon, and the lady he loves comes to see him. She is a widow (that takes away the interest a little, but it is beautiful all the same) with a sick child. When he sees her coming he has to prepare an entertainment for her, and there is nothing but his falcon, so he sacrifices it, though it breaks his heart. And oh, to see the terrible stage bird that is brought in, as if that could be his grand hawk44! You feel so angry, you are forced to laugh till you cry again. That kind of story should never be brought to the literal, do you think it should?”
“And what happens?” said Walter, young enough to be interested, though not sufficiently45 well-read to know.
“Oh, you might guess. She had come to ask him for his falcon to save her child. What could it be else? It is just the contrariety of things.”
“You cannot know very much, Miss Williamson, of the contrariety of things.”
“Oh, do you think so? Why shouldn’t I? I think I am precisely46 the person to do so. It seems to me in my experience,” she added, fixing a look upon him which seemed to Walter’s conscience to mean a great deal more than it was possible Katie could mean, “that almost everything goes wrong.”
“That is a most melancholy47 view to take.”
“But so is everything melancholy,” said the girl. Her little simple physiognomy, her rosy48 cheeks and blue eyes, the somewhat blunted profile (for Katie had no features, as she was aware) and altogether commonplace air of the little person who produced these wonderful sentiments amused Walter beyond measure. He laughed perhaps more than was strictly49 decorous, and drew the attention of Mr. Williamson, who, absorbed in his talk with Underwood, had almost forgotten his more important guest.
“What is the joke?” he said. “I am glad to see you are keeping his lordship amused, Katie, for the captain and me we have got upon other subjects concerning the poor gentleman, your predecessor50, Lord Erradeen. Poor fellow! that was a very sad business: not that I would say there was much to be regretted before the present bearer of the title,” the rich man added with a laugh; “but at your age you could well have waited a little, and the late lord was a very nice fellow till he fell into that melancholy way.”
“I told you everything was melancholy,” said Katie in an undertone.
“And I,” said the young man in the same suppressed voice, “shall I too fall into a melancholy way?” He laughed as he said so, but it was not a laugh of pleasure. Could he do nothing without having this family mystery—family absurdity—thrust into his face?
“If you want your cigar, papa—” said Katie getting up, “and you can’t live without that, any of you gentlemen—I had better go. Let laws and learning, wit and wisdom die, so long as you have your cigars. But the carriage is ordered at a quarter to ten, and Lord Erradeen is coming, he says. In any case you must come, papa, you know. I can’t go without you,” she said, with a little imperative51 air. It was enough to make any one laugh to see the grand air of superiority which this little person took upon her, and her father greeted her exit with a loud laugh of enjoyment52 and admiration53.
“She is mistress and more, as we say in Scotland,” he said, “and there must be no trifling54 where my Katie is concerned. We will have to keep to the minute. So you are coming with us, Lord Erradeen? What will you do, Underwood? I’m doubting if what they call the poetical55 dramaw will be much in your way.”
To which Underwood replied with some embarrassment that it certainly was not at all in his way. He liked Nelly Somebody in a burlesque56, and he was always fond of a good ballet, but as for Shakespeare and that sort of thing, he owned it was above him. Good Mr. Williamson disapproved57 of ballets, utterly58, and administered a rebuke59 on the spot.
“I hope you are not leading Lord Erradeen into the like of that. It is very bad for a young man to lose respect for women, and how you can keep any after those exhibitions is beyond me. Well, I will not say I take a great interest, like Katie, in poetry and all that. I like a good laugh. So long as it is funny I am like a bairn, I delight in a play: but I am not so sure that I can give my mind to it when it’s serious. Lord! we’ve enough of seriousness in real life. And as for your bare-faced love-making before thousands of people, I just can’t endure it. You will think me a prejudiced old fogey, Lord Erradeen. It makes me blush,” said the elderly critic, going off into a laugh; but blush he did, through all the honest red upon his natural cheeks, notwithstanding his laugh, and his claret, and his cigar. Was he a world behind his younger companion who glanced at him with a sensation of mingled60 shame, contempt, and respect, or was he a world above him? Walter was so confused in the new atmosphere he had suddenly begun to breathe, that he could not tell. But it was altogether new at all events, and novelty is something in the monotony of life.
“I’ll see you at the club after,” said Underwood, as they loitered waiting for Miss Williamson at the hotel door. But Walter made no reply.
Now Lord Erradeen, though he had been perverse61 all his life, and had chosen the evil and rejected the good in many incomprehensible ways, was not—or this history would never have been written—without that finer fibre in him which responds to everything that is true and noble. How strange this jumble62 is in that confusion of good and evil which we call the mind of man! How often may we see the record of a generous action bring tears to the eyes of one whose acts are all selfish, and whose heart is callous63 to sufferings of which he is the cause: and hear him with noble fervour applaud the self-sacrifice of the man, who in that language by which it is the pleasure of the nineteenth century to make heroism64 just half-ridiculous, and to save itself from the highflown, “never funked and never lied; I guess he didn’t know how:” and how he will be touched to the heart by the purity of a romantic love, he who for himself feeds on the garbage—and all this without any conscious insincerity, the best part of him more true and real all the time than the worst! Walter, to whom his own domestic surroundings had been so irksome, felt a certain wholesome65 novelty of pleasure when he set out between the father and daughter to see what Mr. Williamson called the “poetical dramaw,” a thing hitherto much out of the young man’s way. He had been of late in all kinds of unsavoury places, and had done his best to debase his imagination with the burlesques66; but yet he had not been able to obliterate1 his own capacity for better things. And when he stood looking over the head of Katie Williamson, and saw the lady of the poet’s tale come into the poor house of her chivalrous67 lover, the shock with which the better nature in him came uppermost, gave him a pang68 in the pleasure and the wonder of it. This was not the sort of heroine to whom he had accustomed himself: but the old Italian romancer, the noble English poet, and the fine passion and high perception of the actors, who could understand and interpret both, were not in vain for our prodigal69. When that lady paused in the humble70 doorway71 clothed in high reverence72 and poetry, not to speak of the modest splendour of her mature beauty and noble Venetian dress, he felt himself blush, like good Mr. Williamson, to remember all the less lovely images he had seen. He could not applaud; it would have been a profanation73. He was still pure enough in the midst of uncleanness, and high enough though familiar with baseness, to be transported for the moment out of himself.
The other two formed a somewhat comical counterbalance to Walter’s emotion; not that they were by any means unfeeling spectators. Mr. Williamson’s interest in the story was unfeigned. As Mrs. Kendal poured forth74 that heartrending plea of a mother for her child, the good man accompanied her words by strange muffled75 sounds which were quite beyond his control; and which called forth looks of alarm from Katie, who was his natural guardian76, and who herself maintained a dignified77 propriety78 as having witnessed this moving scene before. But the running commentary sotto voce, which he kept up throughout, might have furnished an amusing secondary comedy to any impartial79 bystander. “Bless us all!” said Mr. Williamson, “two useless servants doing nothing, and not a morsel80 in the house! How do ye make that out!” “Lordsake! has he killed the hawk? but that’s just manslaughter: and a tough morsel I would say, for the lady, when all’s done.” “What is it she’s wanting—just the falcon he’s killed for her. Tchick! Tchick! Now I call that an awful pity, Katie. Poor lady! and poor fellow! and he has to refuse her! Well, he should not have been so hasty. After all she did not eat a morsel of it; and what ailed81 that silly old woman there to toss up a bit omelette or something, to save the bird—and they’re so clever at omelettes abroad,” the good man said, with true regret. “Oh, papa, how material you are! Don’t you know it’s always like that in life?” cried Katie. “I know nothing of the kind,” said her father, indignantly. “What is the use of being a poet, as you call it, if ye cannot find some other way and not break their hearts? Poor lad! Now that’s a thing I can’t understand—a woman like that come pleading to you, and you have to refuse her!” Katie looked round upon her father with her little air of oracle82. “Don’t you see, papa, that’s the story! It’s to wring83 our hearts he wrote it.” Mr. Williamson paid no attention to this. He went on softly with his “Tchick! tchick!” and when all was over dried his eyes furtively84 and got up with haste, almost impatience85, drawing a long breath. “It’s just all nonsense,” he said. “I’ll not be brought here again to be made unhappy. So she’s to get him instead of the bird—but, bless me! what good will that do her? that will never save her bairn.”
“It will satisfy the public, more or less,” said a voice behind.
Walter had been aware that some one else had come into the box, who stood smiling, listening to the conversation, and now bent forward to applaud as if aware that his applause meant something. Katie turned half round, with a little nod and smile.
“Did you hear papa?” she said. “Oh, tell Mr. Tennyson! he is quite unhappy about it. Are you unhappy too, Lord Erradeen? for you don’t applaud, or say a word.”
“Applaud!” Walter said. “I feel that it would be taking a liberty. Applaud what? That beautiful lady who is so much above me, or the great poet who is above all? I should like to go away and draw breath, and let myself down——”
“Toots!” said Mr. Williamson, “it is just all nonsense. He should not have been so hasty. And now I would just like to know,” he added, with an air of defiance86, “what happened to that bairn: to want a falcon and get a stepfather! that was an ill way to cure him. Hoots87! it’s all nonsense. Put on your cloak, Katie, and let us get away.”
“But I like you, Lord Erradeen, for what you say,” cried Katie. “It was too beautiful to applaud. Oh, tell Mrs. Kendal! She looked like a picture. I should like to make her a curtsey, not clap my hands as you do.”
“You will bid me tell Boccaccio next?” said the new-comer. “These are fine sentiments; but the actors would find it somewhat chilly88 if they had no applause. They would think nobody cared.”
“Lord Innishouran,” said Katie, “papa has forgotten his manners. He ought to have introduced to you Lord Erradeen.”
Walter was as much startled as if he had been the veriest cockney whose bosom89 has ever been fluttered by introduction to a lord. He looked at the first man of his rank (barring those damaged ones at Underwoods club) whom he had met, with the strangest sensation. Lord Innishouran was the son of the Duke—the great potentate90 of those northern regions. He was a man who might make Walter’s career very easy to him, or, alas91! rather might have made it, had he known him on his first coming to London. The sense of all that might be involved in knowing him, made the young man giddy as he stood opposite to his new acquaintance. Lord Innishouran was not of Walter’s age. The duke was the patriarch of the Highlands, and lived like a man who never meant to die. This gentleman, who at forty-five was still only his father’s heir, had taken to the arts by way of making an independent position for himself. He was a dilettante92 in the best sense of the word, delighting in everything that was beautiful. Walter’s enthusiasm had been the best possible introduction for him; and what a change there seemed in the young man’s world and all his prospects93 as he walked home after taking leave of the Williamsons with Innishouran’s, not Underwood’s, arm within his own!
“I cannot understand how it is that we have not met before. It would have been my part to seek you out if I had known you were in town,” his new friend said. “I hope now you will let me introduce you to my wife. The duke has left town—he never stays a moment longer than he can help. And everything is coming to an end. Still I am most happy to have made your acquaintance. You knew the Williamsons, I suppose, before? They are excellent people—not the least vulgarity about them, because there’s no pretension94. And Katie is a clever girl, not without ambition. She is quite an heiress, I suppose you know——”
“I don’t know—any one, or anything,” Walter said.
“Come, that is going too far,” said the other, with a laugh. “I presume you don’t care for society. That is a young man’s notion; but society is not so bad a thing. It never answers to withdraw from it altogether. Yes, Katie is an heiress. She is to have all the Loch Houran property, I believe, besides a good deal of money.”
“I thought,” said Walter, “there were several sons.”
“One—one only; and he has the business, with the addition also of a good deal of money. Money is a wonderful quality—it stands instead of a great many other things to our friends there. I am fond of intellect myself, but it must be allowed that the most cultivated mind would not do for any man what his money does at once for that good neighbour of ours—who is a most excellent fellow all the same.”
“I have met him for the first time to-day,” said Walter, “in the most accidental way.”
“Ah! I thought you had known them; but it is true what I say. I look upon money with a certain awe. It is inscrutable. The most perfect of artists—you and I when we most look up to them, do also just a little look down upon them! No, perhaps that is too strong. At all events, they are there on sufferance. They are not of us, and they know it. Whether they care for us too much, or whether they don’t care at all, there is still that uneasy consciousness. But with this good-natured millionnaire, nothing of the sort. He has no such feeling.”
“Perhaps because his feelings are not so keen. Miss Williamson has just been telling me what you say—that her family are considered not vulgar because they never pretend to be better than they are.”
“Ah!” cried Lord Innishouran, startled, “did Katie divine that? She is cleverer than I thought—and a very fine fortune, and an ambitious little person. I hope her money will go to consolidate95 some property at home, and not fall into a stranger’s hands. I am all for the Highlands, you see, Erradeen.”
“And I know so little about them,” said Walter.
But nevertheless he knew very well what was meant, and there was a curious sensation in his mind which he could not describe to himself, as if some perturbation, whether outside or in he could not tell which, was calmed. He had a great deal of talk with his new friend as they threaded the noisy little circles of the streets, among the shouting link-boys and crowds of carriages, then reached the calm and darkness of the thoroughfares beyond. Lord Innishouran talked well, and his talk was of a kind so different from that of Underwood’s noisy coterie96, that the charm of the unusual, added to so many other novel sensations, made a great impression upon Walter’s mind, always sensitive and open to a new influence. He felt a hot flush of shame come over him when walking thus through the purity of the night, and in the society of a man who talked about great names and things, he remembered the noise of the club, the heated air full of smoke and inanities97, the jargon98 of the race-course and the stables. These things filled him with disgust, for the moment at least, just as the duets had given him a sense of disgust and impatience at Sloebury. His new friend only left him at the door of his rooms, which happened to lie in Lord Innishouran’s way, and bade him good night, promising99 to call on him in the morning. Walter had not been in his rooms so early for many a day. He hesitated whether or not to go out again, for he had not any pleasure in his own society; but pride came to the rescue, and he blushed at the thought of darting100 out like a truant101 schoolboy, as soon as the better influence was withdrawn102. Pride prevented him from thus running away from himself. He took a book out of the shelves, which he had not done for so long. But soon the book dropped aside, and he began to review the strange circumstances of the evening. In a moment, as it seemed, his horizon had changed. Hitherto, except in so far as money was concerned, he had derived103 no advantage from his new rank. Now everything seemed opening before him. He could not be unmoved in this moment of transition. Perhaps the life which was called fast had never contained any real temptation to Walter. It had come in and invaded the indolence of his mind and filled the vacant house of his soul, swept and garnished104 but unoccupied, according to the powerful simile105 of Scripture106; but there was no tug107 at his senses now urging him to go back to it. And then he thought, with a certain elation108, of Lord Innishouran, and pleasurably of the Williamsons. Katie, was that her name? He could not but laugh to himself at the sudden realisation of the visionary Miss Williamson after all that had been said. What would Julia Herbert say? But Julia Herbert had become dim to Lord Erradeen as if she had been a dozen years away.
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obliterate
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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softened
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middle-aged
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suspense
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frankly
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resentment
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considerably
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preoccupied
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recurrence
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instinctive
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repugnance
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tolerance
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friendliness
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retired
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exhausted
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indifference
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piqued
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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22
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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23
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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24
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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25
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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27
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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28
plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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29
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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30
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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31
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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32
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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33
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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34
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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35
affronted
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| adj.被侮辱的，被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 )；相遇 | |
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36
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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37
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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38
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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39
incongruities
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| n.不协调( incongruity的名词复数 )；不一致；不适合；不协调的东西 | |
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40
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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41
antagonistically
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| adv.敌对地，对抗性地 | |
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42
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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43
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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44
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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45
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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46
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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47
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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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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49
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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50
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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51
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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52
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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53
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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54
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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56
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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57
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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59
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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60
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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63
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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64
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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66
burlesques
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| n.滑稽模仿( burlesque的名词复数 )；（包括脱衣舞的）滑稽歌舞杂剧v.（嘲弄地）模仿，（通过模仿）取笑( burlesque的第三人称单数 ) | |
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67
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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68
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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70
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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71
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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72
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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73
profanation
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| n.亵渎 | |
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74
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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75
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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76
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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77
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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78
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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79
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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80
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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81
ailed
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| v.生病( ail的过去式和过去分词 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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82
oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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83
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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84
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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85
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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86
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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87
hoots
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| 咄，啐 | |
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88
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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89
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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90
potentate
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| n.统治者；君主 | |
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91
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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92
dilettante
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| n.半瓶醋，业余爱好者 | |
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93
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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94
pretension
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| n.要求；自命，自称；自负 | |
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95
consolidate
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| v.使加固，使加强；(把...)联为一体，合并 | |
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96
coterie
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| n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体，小圈子 | |
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97
inanities
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| n.空洞( inanity的名词复数 )；浅薄；愚蠢；空洞的言行 | |
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98
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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99
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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100
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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101
truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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102
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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103
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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104
garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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106
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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107
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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108
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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