Then, while still the industrious7 press-cutters had not yet come to the end of those appetising morsels8, the packets on her breakfast table swelled{261} in size again, and she was privileged to read over and over again that the honour of a baronetcy had been conferred on her husband. She did not mind how often she read this; all the London papers reproduced the gratifying intelligence, and though the wording in most of these was absolutely identical, repetition never caused the sweet savour to cloy9 on her palate. She was like a girl revelling10 in chocolate-drops; though they all tasted precisely11 alike, each tasted delicious, and she felt she could go on eating them for ever. Even better than those stately clippings from the great London luminaries12 were the more detailed13 coruscations of the local press. They gave biographies of her husband, magnanimously suppressing the fish-shop, and dwelling14 only on the enterprise which had made and the success which had crowned the Stores, and many (these were the sweetest of all) gave details about herself and her parentage and the number of her children. She was not habitually15 a great reader, only using books as a soporific till they tumbled from her drowsy16 grasp, but now she became a wakeful and enthusiastic student. The whole range of literature, since the days of primeval epics17, had never roused in her one tithe18 of the emotion that those clippings afforded.
Keeling himself had no such craving19 to see in print all that he was perfectly20 well aware of, and even looked undazzled at the cards which{262} his wife had ordered, on one set of which he appeared alone as ‘Sir Thomas Keeling, Bart.,’ to differentiate21 him from mere22 knights23, whilst on the other the Bart. appeared in conjunction with her. But the events themselves filled him with a good deal of solid satisfaction, due largely to their bearing on the approaching election at the County Club. Never from a business point of view had there been a more successful ‘timing’ of an enterprise: it was as if on the very day of his getting out his summer fashions, summer had come, with floods of hot sunshine that made irresistible24 to the ladies of Bracebridge the muslins and organdies and foulards that floated diaphanously in the freshly dressed windows. The summer of his munificence25 and his honours had just burst on the town, and, in spite of Lord Inverbroom’s warning, he felt, as he walked down to his office on the morning of the day on which the election took place, that every member of the Club would be, so to speak, a customer for his presence in future in those staid bow-windows. During these months of his Mayoralty, he had come into contact with, and had been at civic26 functions the host of a quantity of members of the County Club whose suffrages28 he sought to-day, and there was none among them who had not shown him courtesy and even deference29. That no doubt was largely due to his position as mayor, but this Thomas Keeling who was a candidate for the Club was{263} the mayor, he who had given the new wing to the hospital, thereby30 averting31 a very unpleasant financial mess, he, too, whom his King had delighted to honour. To the business mind nothing could have happened more opportunely32, and the business mind was his mind. He could not see how he could fail, after this bouquet of benefits and honours, to be ‘an attractive proposition’ to any club. As he walked down to his office that morning he swept the cobweb of Lord Inverbroom’s apprehensions33 away, and wondered at himself for having allowed them to infect him with a moment’s uneasiness, or to make him consider, even at the very back of his brain, what he should do if he were not elected. This morning he did not consider that at all: he was sure that the contingency34 for which he had provided would not arrive. The provision was filed away, and with it, shut up in the dusty volume, was the suggestion his agent had made that he might quite reasonably raise the rent that the Club paid for the premises35 which were now his property. That business was just concluded; he proposed to inform Lord Inverbroom at once of the fact that he was now the landlord of the County Club, and that the question of a rise in the rental36 might be considered as shelved. Lord Inverbroom would be in Bracebridge this morning, since he would be presiding at the election at the Club at twelve o’clock, and had promised to communicate the result at{264} once. Very likely Keeling would drop in at the club to have a bit of lunch there, and he could get a chat with Lord Inverbroom then.... But as he slid upwards37 in the droning lift that took him to the floor where his office was, the Club, the election, and all connected with it, vanished from his brain like the dispersing38 mists on a summer morning, for a few steps would take him along the corridor to the room where Norah was opening his letters.
That moment of his entry had become to him a matter of daily excitement and expectation. Sometimes the soft furrow39 would be ruled between her eyebrows40, and she would give him but the glance of a stranger and a chilly41 ‘Good-morning,’ and instantly turn her attention to her work again. Sometimes she would show such a face as she had shown him that Sunday morning on the downs when they had listened to the skylark together, a face of childhood and the possession of spring, sometimes (and it was this that gave the grizzled elderly man the tremulous excitement of a boy when his hand opened the door) she would give him that look which had shot across the town-hall like the launching of a silver spear and transfixed him. But if he did not get it then, sometime during the morning, in some pause in the work, or perhaps even in the middle of his dictation, he would receive it from her, just that one look which made him know, so long as it lasted, that there{265} was no bar or impediment between himself and her. ‘There was neither speech nor language,’ but her essential self spoke44, revealing, affirming to him its existence. Then without pause she would drop her eyes to her work again, and her busy pencil scooped45 and dabbed46 over the paper, and he heard in some secret place of his brain, while his lips pronounced sharp business-like sentences, the words, ‘And thou beside me singing in the wilderness47.’... In the afternoon, when he came to read over her typewritten transcription of the dictation, he always knew at what point in some peremptory48 letter out of all the sheaf that moment of the clear glance had come. He was always on the look-out for it, but he could never induce it: she gave it him, so it had begun to seem, not in answer to him, but just when she could withhold49 it no longer.
This morning the correspondence was both heavy and complicated. A whole series of widely scattered50 dates had to be turned up, in order to trace some question of the payment of carriage on a certain consignment51. It was a tiresome52 job, which Norah recommended him to leave for verification to the clerk downstairs whose business it was, and probably for that very reason Sir Thomas insisted on doing it himself. He was fractious, he was obstinately53 determined54 to have the matter settled here and now, and like a child, cross with hunger, he wanted the clear look she had not yet{266} given him. The furrow, that soft smudge, had long been marked on Norah’s forehead, as she turned up letter after letter that failed to deal with the point, and she spent what she considered a wasted half hour over it. She was still rather irritated when she found what she had been looking for, unclipped the communication from the spring that fastened it into its place and passed it him.
‘I think that’s what you are wanting, Sir Thomas,’ she said.
He took it from her, and noticing the rather incisive55 politeness of her tone, looked up at her. The furrow was still there, very impatiently ruled, but the clear glance was there also: radiantly it shone on him, quite undisturbed by the superficial agitation56. It concerned not the surface of her, but the depths.
He did not look at the paper she handed him, on which his unconscious fingers had closed. He was not going to miss one infinitesimal fraction of the moment that she had at last given him. She frowned still, but that was the property of her tiresome search: it was neither his nor hers, as he or she ‘mattered.’
‘You will find it on the third line from the end,’ she said. ‘Messrs Hampden are perfectly right about it.’
And then the moment was over, except that in the secret place of his brain the voice sang in the{267} wilderness, and he looked at the letter she had given him. The words danced and swam; presently they steadied themselves.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘Well then, Miss Propert, you must cross out what I have dictated57 to you about it. Please read the letter through.... Yes, cross out from the sentence beginning, “Re the payment for carriage of goods.” Dear me, it is nearly one: what a lot of time we have spent over that. The booking-clerk would have done it much more quickly.’
The frown cleared, but the clear look did not return. It was over: it seemed she had satisfied herself.
‘I think we should have saved time,’ she said.
‘Yes, you were quite right. You like being right, don’t you?’
He got a smile for that, the sort of smile that anybody might have had from her.
‘I suppose I do,’ she said. ‘Certainly I hate being wrong.’
‘But I was wrong this time,’ he said. ‘I gave you a lot of trouble in consequence.’
That again was no use: he but got another smile and a friendly look of the sort he no longer wanted.
‘Is that all, then?’ he asked.
‘No, Sir Thomas, there are half a dozen more letters yet.’
He had just taken the next, when there came a tap at the door, and a boy entered. He was not{268} one of the messenger-boys of the Stores, with peaked cap and brass59 buttons, but Keeling had an impression of having seen him before. Then he recollected60: he often lounged at the door of the County Club.
‘A note from Lord Inverbroom, sir,’ he said. ‘His lordship told me to give it you personally.’
‘Wait and see if there is an answer,’ said Keeling.
He tore open the envelope: it was already after one, and probably there would be no answer, since he would see Lord Inverbroom at the Club, where he proposed to have lunch. The note was quite short.
‘Dear Sir Thomas,—I promised to let you know the result of the election. The meeting is just over, and I am sorry to say you have not been elected. Please allow me to express my sincere regrets.
‘Yours truly,
‘Inverbroom.’
Keeling had one moment of sheer surprise: he had been perfectly sure of being elected. Then without any conscious feeling of rancour or disappointment, his mind passed direct to what he had already determined to do if this contingency, which since the opening of the hospital-wing he had thought impossible, actually occurred.
‘Wait a moment,’ he said to the messenger.{269} ‘There will be an answer for you to take back to Lord Inverbroom.’
He turned to Norah.
‘Please take this down direct on your typewriter,’ he said, ‘with a carbon copy to file.’
Norah put the two sheets on the roller, dated the paper, and waited.
Keeling thought for half a minute, drumming with his fingers on the table.
‘Are you ready?’ he said, and dictated.
‘Dear Lord Inverbroom,—Yours to hand re the election at the County Club to-day of which I note the contents.
‘I wish also to acquaint you as President with the fact that I have lately bought the freehold of your premises. I see that there is a break in your lease at Midsummer this year on both tenants61’ and landlord’s side, and therefore beg to give you this formal notice that I do not intend to renew the lease hitherto held by your Club, as I shall be using the premises for some other purpose.
‘Yours faithfully,
‘Read it over please Miss Propert,’ he said, ‘and I will sign it. File this note of Lord Inverbroom’s with your carbon copy, and docket them.’
Norah brought him over the typed letter.
‘What docket shall I put on them?’ she asked.{270}
‘Non-election to County Club. Notice of termination of Club’s lease.’
He signed the letter to Lord Inverbroom and sent the boy back with it.
‘Now we will go on with the rest of the shorthand,’ he said.
Norah came back to the table, took up her pencil and then laid it down again. The frown was heavily creased62 in her forehead.
‘May I just say something to you before we begin?’ she said. ‘You may think it a great impertinence, but it is not meant impertinently.’
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘I beg you to call the boy back, and not send that note,’ she said. ‘I hate to think of your doing that. It isn’t the act of——’
She stopped suddenly. He easily supplied the rest of her sentence.
‘It isn’t the act of a gentleman,’ he said. ‘But they’ve just told me that I’m not one, or they would have elected me. They will like to know how right they are.’
He paused a moment.
‘I am sure you did not mean an impertinence, Miss Propert,’ he added, ‘but I think you have committed one.’
‘I am very sorry then,’ said she.
‘Yes. We will get on with the shorthand, please.’
Keeling seldom wasted thought or energy on{271} irremediable mischances: if a business proposition turned out badly he cut his loss on it, and dismissed it from his mind. But it was equally characteristic of him to strike, and strike hard, if opportunity offered at any firm which had let him in for his loss, and, in this case, since the Club had hit at him, he felt it was but fair that he should return the blow with precise and instantaneous vigour63. That was right and proper, and his rejoinder to Norah that the Club who did not consider him sufficient of a gentleman to enter their doors should have the pleasure of knowing how right they were, had at least as much sober truth as irony64 about it. The opportunity to hit back was ready to hand; it would have been singular indeed, and in flat contradiction to his habits, if he had not taken it. But when once he had done that, he was satisfied; they did not want him as a member, and he did not want them as tenants, and there was the end of it. Yet, like some fermenting65 focus in his brain, minute as yet, but with the potentiality of leaven66 in it, was the fact that Norah had implored67 him not to send his answer to Lord Inverbroom. He still considered her interference an impertinence, but what stuck in his mind and began faintly to suggest other trains of thought was the equally undeniable fact that she had not meant it as an impertinence. In intention it had been a friendly speech inspired by the good-will of a friend. But he shrugged{272} his shoulders at it: she did not understand business, or, possibly, he did not understand clubs. So be it then: he did not want to understand them.
It was with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance68 that he saw Lord Inverbroom walking towards him along Alfred Road when he left the Stores that afternoon. The curiosity was due to the desire to see how Lord Inverbroom would behave, whether he would cross the street or cut him dead; the annoyance arose from the fact that he could not determine how to behave himself at this awkward encounter. But when he observed that there was to be no cutting or crossing the street at all, but perfect cordiality and an outstretched hand, it faintly and pleasantly occurred to him that, owing to his letter, there might be forthcoming another election at the Club, with a request that he would submit himself to a further suffrage27. That would certainly have pleased him, for he had sufficient revengefulness in his character to decline such a proposition with thanks.
No such proposition was submitted to him.
‘I was just going to leave this note at your office, Sir Thomas,’ said Lord Inverbroom. ‘May I give it you instead and save myself a further walk? It is just the acknowledgment of your letter about the termination of our lease. Perhaps you will glance at it, to see that it is in order.’
Keeling felt, in spite of his business-like habits,{273} that this was unnecessary. True, this was a matter of business, and he should have verified the correctness of Lord Inverbroom’s information. But instead he merely put it into his pocket.
‘That is all right,’ he said.
‘Are you going home?’ asked the other. ‘My wife, I know, is calling on Lady Keeling, and she will pick me up there. If she has not been so fortunate as to find Lady Keeling in, she will wait for me in the motor. May we not walk down there together?’
‘I shall be delighted,’ said Keeling. He still did not know how to behave, but was gradually becoming aware that no ‘behaviour’ was necessary. ‘Behaviour’ as such, did not seem to exist for his companion, and he could not help wondering what took its place.
‘My wife is furious with me,’ Lord Inverbroom went on. ‘I have succumbed69 to the Leonardo book, instead of having the dining-room ceiling whitewashed71. She has a materialistic72 mind, preferring whitewash70 to Leonardo. Besides, as I told her, she never looks at the ceiling, and I shall often look at my book. Have you come across anything lately which life is not worth living without? Perhaps you had better not tell me if you have, or I shall practise some further domestic economy.’
‘I shall be very pleased to show you anything I’ve got,’ said Keeling. ‘We will have a cup of{274} tea in my library unless Lady Inverbroom is waiting in your motor.’
‘Ah, that would be a great treat. Let us do that, in any case, Sir Thomas. Surely we can go in some back way so as to escape my wife’s notice if she is really waiting outside. It will do her good to wait: she is very impatient.’
Keeling was completely puzzled: if he had ventured to speak in this sense of Lady Keeling, he knew he would have made a sad mess of it. In his mouth, the same material would have merely expressed itself in a rude light. He tried rather mistakenly to copy the manner that was no manner at all.
‘Ah, I should get a good scolding if I treated Lady Keeling like that,’ he said.
It did not sound right as he said it; he had the perception of that. He perceived, too, that Lord Inverbroom did not pursue the style. Then, presently arriving, they found that the waiting motor contained no impatient Lady Inverbroom, and they stole into the library, at her husband’s desire, so that no news of his coming should reach her, until he had had a quarter of an hour there with his host. Then perhaps she might be told, if Sir Thomas would have the goodness....
Lord Inverbroom sauntered about in the grazing, ambulatory fashion of the book-lover and when his quarter of an hour was already more than spent, he put the volume he was examining back{275} into its place again with a certain air of decision.
‘I should like to express to you by actual word of mouth, Sir Thomas,’ he said, ‘my regret at what happened to-day. I am all the more sorry for it, because I notice that in our rules the landlord of the club is ex officio a member of it. If you only had told me that you had become our landlord, I could have informed you of that, and spared you this annoyance.’
There was no mistaking the sincerity73 of this, the good feeling of it. Keeling was moved to be equally sincere.
‘I knew that already,’ he said.
Lord Inverbroom looked completely puzzled.
‘Then will you pardon me for asking why you did not take advantage of it, and become a member of the club without any further bother?’
‘Because I wished to know that I was acceptable as a member of the club to the other members,’ said Keeling. ‘They have told me that I am not.’
There was a good deal of dignity in this reply: it sprang from a feeling that Lord Inverbroom was perfectly competent to appreciate.
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘And what you have said much increases my regret at the election going as it did.’ He paused a moment, evidently thinking, and Keeling, had an opportunity to wager74 been offered him, would have bet that his next words would convey, however delicately, the hope that Keeling would reconsider his letter{276} of the morning, announcing the termination of the Club’s lease. He was not prepared to do anything of the sort, and hoped, indeed, that the suggestion would not be made. But that he should have thought that the suggestion was going to be made showed very precisely how unintelligible75 to him was the whole nature of the class which Lord Inverbroom represented. No such suggestion was made, any more than half an hour ago any idea of a fresh election being held was mooted76.
‘I had the pleasure of speaking very warmly in your favour, Sir Thomas,’ said Lord Inverbroom, at length, ‘and, of course, of voting for you. I may tell you that I am now considering, in consequence of the election, whether I shall not resign the presidency77 of the Club. It is an unusual proceeding78 to reject the president’s candidate; I think your rejection79 reflects upon me.’
Keeling was being insensibly affected80 by his companion’s simplicity81. ‘Behaviour’ seemed a very easy matter to Lord Inverbroom: it was a mere matter of being simple....
‘I should be very sorry to have been the cause of that,’ he said, ‘and I don’t think it would be logical of you. You urged me to withdraw, which was the most you could do after you had promised to propose me.’
Lord Inverbroom’s sense of being puzzled increased. Here was a man who had written a{277} letter this morning turning the Club out of their premises merely because he had been blackballed, who yet showed, both by the fact of his seeking election in the ordinary way instead of claiming it ex officio, and by this delicate unbusiness-like appreciation82 of his own position, all those instincts which his letter of this morning so flatly contradicted.
‘Yes, I urged you not to stand,’ he said, ‘and that is the only reason why I hesitate about resigning. I should like you to know that if I remain in my post, that is the cause of my doing so. Otherwise I should resign.’
The other side of the question presented itself to Keeling. It would be a rare stroke to deprive the Club not only of its premises but of its president. Though he had just said that he hoped Lord Inverbroom would not resign, he felt it would be an extreme personal pleasure if he did. And then a further scheme came into his head, another nail in the coffin83 of the County Club, and with that all his inherent caddishness rose paramount84 over such indications of feelings as Lord Inverbroom understood and appreciated.
‘Perhaps if you left the County Club,’ he said, ‘you would do us the honour to join the Town Club. I am the president of that: I would think it, however, an honour to resign my post if you would consent to take it. I’ll warrant you there’ll be no mischance over that election.{278}’
Lord Inverbroom suddenly stiffened85.
‘You are very good to suggest that,’ he said. ‘But it would be utterly86 out of the question. Well, Sir Thomas, I envy you your library. And here, I see, is your new catalogue. Miss Propert told me she was working at it. May I look at it? Yes, indeed, that is admirably done. Author and title of the book and illustrator as well, all entered. Her father was a great friend of mine. She may have told you that very tragic87 story.’
‘She has never mentioned her father to me. Was he—well, the sort of man whom the County Club would not have blackballed?’
Perhaps that was the worst thing he had said yet, though, indeed, he meant but a grimly humourous observation, not perceiving nor being able to perceive in how odious88 a position he put his guest. But Lord Inverbroom’s impenetrable armour89 of effortless good breeding could turn even that aside. He laughed.
‘Well, after what the Club has done to-day,’ he said, ‘there is no telling whom they would blackball. But certainly I should have been, at one time, very happy to propose him.’
Keeling’s preoccupation with the Club suddenly ceased. He wanted so much more to know anything that concerned Norah.
‘Perhaps you would tell me something about him,’ he said.
‘Ah, that would not be quite right, would it?{279}’ said Lord Inverbroom, still unperturbed, ‘if Miss Propert has not cared to speak to you of him.’
Keeling found himself alternately envying and detesting90 this impenetrable armour. There was no joint92 in it, it was abominably93 complete. And even while he hated it, he appreciated and coveted94 it.
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘No telling tales out of school.’
‘Quite so. And now will you take me to find my wife? Let us be in a conspiracy95, and not mention that we have been in the house half an hour already. I should dearly like another half-hour, but all the time Lady Keeling is bearing the infliction96 of a prodigiously97 long call.’
‘Lady Keeling will be only too gratified,’ said her husband.
‘That is very kind of her. But, indeed, I think we had better go.’
Gratification was certainly not too strong a term to employ with regard to Lady Keeling’s feelings, nor, indeed, too strong to apply to Lady Inverbroom’s when her call was brought to an end. The sublimity98 of Princesses was not to be had every day, and the fortnight that had elapsed since that memorable99 visit, with the return of the routine of undistinguished Bracebridge, had caused so prolonged a visit from a peeress to mount into Lady Keeling’s head like an hour’s steady drinking of strong wine.{280}
‘Well, I’ve never enjoyed an hour’s chat more,’ she said, as Keeling returned after seeing their guests off, ‘and it seemed no more than five minutes. She was all affability, wasn’t she, Alice? and so full of admiration100 for all my—what did she call them? Some French word.’
‘Bibelots,’ suggested Alice.
‘Biblos; that was it. And she never seemed to think how time was flying, for she never once alluded101 to her husband’s being so late. To be sure she might have; she might perhaps have said she was afraid she was keeping me from my occupations, for I could have assured her very handsomely that I was more than pleased to sit and talk to her. And it is all quite true, Thomas, about the Princess’s visit next month. You may be sure I asked about that. She is coming down to spend three days with them, very quietly, Lady Inverbroom said; yes, she said that twice now I come to think of it, though I caught it perfectly the first time. But I shall be very much surprised if I don’t get a note asking us to dine and sleep, with Alice as well perhaps, for I said what a pleasure it would be to Alice to see her beautiful house and grounds some day. But I shall quite understand after what she said about the visit being very quiet, why there will be no party. After all, it was a very pleasant evening we spent there before when there were no guests at all. I said how much we enjoyed quiet visits with no ceremony.{281}’
‘Did you ask for any more invitations?’ said Keeling, as his wife paused for breath.
‘My dear Thomas, you quite misunderstand me. I asked for nothing, except that I might take Mamma some day for a drive through their park. I hope I know how to behave better than that. Another thing, too: Miss Propert has been there twice, once to tea and once to lunch. I hope she will not have her head turned, for it seems that she did not take her meals in the housekeeper’s room, but upstairs. But that is none of my business: I am sure Lady Inverbroom may give her lunch on the top of the church-steeple if she wishes, and I said very distinctly that I had always found her a very well-behaved young woman, and mentioned nothing about her bouncing in in the middle of my dinner-party, nor when she spent Sunday morning in your library. Bygones are bygones. That’s what I always say, and act on, too.’
This certainly appeared to have been the case: Lady Keeling’s miscroscopic mind seemed to have diverted its minute gaze altogether from Norah. To Keeling that was a miscroscopic relief, but no more, for it seemed to him to matter very little what his wife thought about Norah.
‘Lord Inverbroom was a great friend of Miss Propert’s father at one time,’ he said. ‘He told me so only to-day.’
‘Oh, indeed. Very likely in the sense that a{282} man may call his butler an old friend of the family. I should be quite pleased to speak of Parkinson like that. I am all for equality. We are all equal in the sight of Heaven, as Mr Silverdale says. Dear me, I wish I was his equal in energy: next month he holds a mission down at Easton Haven102 among all those ruffians at the docks, in addition to all his parish work.’
‘He is doing far too much,’ said Alice excitedly, ‘but he won’t listen. He is so naughty: he promises me he will be good, and not wear himself out, but he goes on just the same as ever, except that he gets worse and worse.’
Keeling listened to this with a mixture of pity and grim amusement. He felt sure that his poor Alice was in love with the man, and was sorry for Alice in that regard, but what grimly amused him was the utter impotence of Alice to keep her condition to herself. He was puzzled also, for all this spring Alice seemed to have remained as much in love with him as ever, but not to have got either worse or better. Silverdale filled her with some frantic103 and wholly maidenly104 excitement. It was like the love of some antique spinster for her lap-dog, intense and deplorable and sexless. He could even joke in a discreet105 manner with poor Alice about it, and gratify her by so doing.
‘Well, all you ladies who are so much in love with him ought to be able to manage him,’ he said.
Alice bent106 over her work (she had eventually{283} induced Mr Silverdale to sanction the creation of a pair of slippers108) with a pleased, lop-sided smile.
‘Father, you don’t know him,’ she said. ‘He’s quite, quite unmanageable. You never saw any one so naughty.’
‘Punish him by not giving him his slippers. Give them me instead, and I’ll wear them when he comes to dinner.’
Alice looked almost shocked at the notion of such unhallowed feet being thrust into these hardly less than sacred embroideries109: it was as if her mother had suggested making a skirt out of the parrots and pomegranates that adorned110 the ‘smart’ altar-cloth. But she divined that, in spite of her father’s inexplicable111 want of reverence112 for the Master (they had become Master and Helper, and sometimes she called him ‘sir,’ much as Norah had called her father, but for antipodal reasons), there lurked113 behind his rather unseemly jokes a kindly114 intention towards herself. He might laugh at her, but somehow below that she felt (and she knew not how) that a part of him understood, and did not laugh. It was as if he knew what it meant to be in love, to thirst and to be unslaked, to be hungry and not to be fed.
She gave him a quick glance out of her short-sighted eyes, a glance that deprecated and yet eagerly sought for the sympathy which she knew was somewhere about. And then Lady Keeling put in more of her wrecking115 and shattering remarks,{284} which so unerringly spoiled all the hints and lurking116 colours in human intercourse117.
‘Well, that would be a funny notion for Sir Thomas Keeling to wear slippers at dinner,’ she said. ‘What a going-back to old days! I might as well wear some high-necked merino gown. But what your father says is quite true, Alice. We might really take Mr Silverdale in hand, and tell him that’s the last he’ll see of us all, unless he takes more care of himself. I saw him coming out of the County Club to-day, looking so tired that I almost stopped my carriage and told him to go home to bed. And talking of the County Club, Thomas, doesn’t your election come on soon? You must be sure to take me to have lunch in the ladies’ room one of these days. Lady Inverbroom told me she was lunching there to-day, and had quite a clean good sort of meal. Nothing very choice, I expect, but I dare say she doesn’t care much what she eats. I shall never forget what a tough pheasant we had when we dined there. If I’d been told I was eating a bit of leather, I should have believed it. Perhaps some day when Lord and Lady Inverbroom are in Bracebridge again, we might all have lunch together there.’
For the last six months Keeling had been obliged to keep a hand on himself when he was with his wife, for either she had developed an amazing talent for putting him on edge, or he a susceptibility for being irritated by her. Both causes{285} probably contributed, for since her accession to greatness, her condescension118 had vastly increased, while he on his side had certainly grown more sensitive to her pretentiousness119. It was with the utmost difficulty that he restrained himself from snapping at her.
‘No, I’m afraid that can’t be, Emmeline,’ he said. ‘The election came off to-day, and the Club has settled it can do without me.’
‘Well, I never heard of such a thing! They haven’t elected you, do you mean, the Mayor of Bracebridge, and to say nothing of your being a baronet? Who are those purse-proud people, I should like to know? My dear Thomas, I have an idea. I should not wonder if Lord Inverbroom was in it. He has been quite cock of the walk, as you may say, up till now, and he doesn’t want any rival. What are you going to do? I hope you’ll serve them out well for it somehow.’
‘I have done so already. I bought the freehold of the Club not so long ago, and I have given them notice that I shall not renew their lease in the summer.’
Lady Keeling clapped her soft fat hands together.
‘That’s the right sort of way to treat them,’ she said, in great glee. ‘That will pay them out. I never heard of such a thing as not electing a baronet. Who do they think they are? What fun it will be to see all their great sofas being bundled{286} into the street. And they bought all their furniture at your Stores, did they not? That is the cream of it to my mind. I should not wonder if they want to sell it all back to you, second-hand120. That would be a fine joke.’
For the first time, now that his wife so lavishly121 applauded his action, Keeling began to be not so satisfied with it. The fact that it commended itself to her type of mind, was an argument against it: her praise disgusted him: it was at least as impertinent as Norah’s disapprobation.
Alice fixed43 her faint eyes on her father.
‘Oh, I wish you hadn’t done that!’ she said. ‘Does Lord Inverbroom know that?’
‘Mark my words,’ said his wife, ‘Lord Inverbroom’s at the bottom of it all.’
‘Nothing of the kind, Emmeline,’ he said sharply. ‘Lord Inverbroom proposed me.’
Then he turned to Alice.
‘Yes, he knows,’ he said. ‘I gave notice to him. And why do you wish I hadn’t done it? I declare I’m getting like Mr Silverdale. All the ladies are concerning themselves with me. There’s your mother saying I’ve done right, and you and Miss Propert saying I’ve done wrong. There’s no pleasing you all.’
‘And what has Miss Propert got to do with it,’ asked Lady Keeling, ‘that she disapproves123 of what you’ve done? She’ll be wanting to run your Stores for you next, and just because she’s been{287} to lunch with Lord Inverbroom. I never heard of such impertinence as Miss Propert giving her opinion. You’ll have trouble with your Miss Propert. You ought to give her one of your good snubs, or dismiss her altogether. That would be far the best.’
Keeling felt as some practitioner124 of sortes Virgilian? might do when he had opened at some strangely apposite text. To consult his wife about anything was like opening a book at random125, a wholly irrational126 proceeding, but he could not but be impressed by the sudden applicability of this. His wife did not know the situation, any more than did the musty volume, but he wondered if she had not answered with a strange wisdom, wholly foreign to her.
‘Now you have given your opinion, Emmeline,’ he said, ‘and you must allow somebody else to talk. I want to know why Alice disapproves.’
Alice stitched violently at the slipper107.
‘Mr Silverdale will be so sorry,’ she said. ‘He drops in there sometimes for a rubber of bridge, for he thinks that it is such a good thing to show that a clergyman can be a man of the world too.’
Keeling rose: this was altogether too much for him.
‘Well, we’ve wasted enough time talking about it all,’ he said, ‘if that’s all the reason I’m to hear.’
‘But it isn’t,’ said Alice. ‘I can’t express it, but I can feel it. I know I should agree with Miss{288} Propert and Lord Inverbroom about it. What did Miss Propert say?’
‘Well, talking of waste of time,’ observed Lady Keeling indignantly, ‘I can’t think of any worse waste than caring to know what Miss Propert said.’
Keeling turned to her.
‘Perhaps you can’t,’ he said, ‘and you’d better have your nap. That won’t be waste of time. You’re tired with talking, and I’m sure I am too.’
He left the room without more words, and Lady Keeling settled another cushion against what must be called the small of her back.
‘Your father’s served them out well,’ she said. ‘That’s the way to get on. To think of their not considering him good enough for their Club. He has shown his spirit very properly. But the idea of Miss Propert telling him what’s right and what isn’t, on twenty-five shillings a week.’
‘I can’t bear to think of Mr Silverdale not having his rubber of bridge now and then,’ said Alice. ‘It was such a refreshment127 to him.’
Keeling had intended to pass an hour among his books to wash off the scum, so to speak, of this atrocious conversation, but when he got to his library, and had taken down his new edition of Omar Khayyam, which Charles Propert had induced him to buy, he found it could give him very little emotion. He was aware of the exquisite128 type, of the strange sensuous129 wood-cuts that somehow{289} affected him like a subtle odour, of the beautiful binding130, and not least of the text itself, but all these perfections were no more than presented to him; they did not penetrate131. He could not rid himself of the scum; the odiousness132 of his wife’s approbation122 would not be washed off. And what made it cling was the fact that she had divined him correctly, had rejoiced at his ‘serving the Club out.’ It was just that which Norah deprecated, and he felt that Lord Inverbroom’s complete silence on the point, his forbearance to hint ever so faintly that perhaps Keeling would reconsider his action, expressed disapprobation as eloquently133 as Norah’s phrase, which he had finished for her, had done. It was a caddish act, that was what they both thought about it, and Alice, when she had finished her nonsense about Mr Silverdale’s rubber of bridge, had a similar protest in her mind. He did not rate poor Alice’s mind at any high figure; it was but the fact that she was allied134 to the other two, and opposed to her mother, that added a little weight to her opinion.
He wanted to be considered a gentleman, and when others declined to receive him as such, he had but justified135 their verdict by behaving like a cad.... He was a cad, here was the truth of it, as it struck him now, and that was why he had behaved like one.
He shut his meaningless book, now intensely disliking the step he had taken, which at the time{290} had seemed so smart a rejoinder. Probably if at this moment Lord Inverbroom had appeared, asking him to cancel it, he would have done so. But that was exactly what it was certain Lord Inverbroom would not do. There remained Norah; he wondered whether Norah would refer to it again. Probably not: he had made clear that he thought the offering of her opinion was a great impertinence. And now to his annoyance he remembered that his wife had also considered it as such. Again she agreed with him, and again the fact of her concurrence136 made him lose confidence in the justice of his own view. He had instantly acquitted137 Norah of deliberate impertinence; now he reconsidered whether it had been an impertinence at all.... What if it was the simple desire of a friend to save a friend from a blunder, an unworthiness?
He had grown to detest91 the time after dinner passed in the plushy, painted drawing-room. Hitherto, in all these years of increasing prosperity, during which the conscious effort of his brain had been directed to business and money-making, he had not objected after the work of the day to pass a quiescent138 hour or two before his early bedtime giving half an ear to his wife’s babble139, which, with her brain thickened with refreshment, always reached its flood-tide of voluble incoherence now, giving half an eye to Alice with her industrious{291} needle. All the time a vague simmer of mercantile meditation140 gently occupied him; his mind, like some kitchen fire with the damper pushed in, kept itself just alight, smouldered and burned low, and Alice’s needle was but like the bars of the grate, and his wife’s prattle141 the mild rumble142 of water in the boiler143. It was all domestic and normal, in accordance with the general destiny of prosperous men in middle age. Indeed, he was luckier in some respects than the average, for there had always been for him his secret garden, the hortus inclusus, into which neither his family nor his business interests ever entered. Now even that had been invaded, Norah’s catalogue had become to him the most precious of his books: she was like sunshine in his secret garden or like a bitter wind, something, anyhow, that got between him and his garden beds, while here in the drawing-room in the domestic hour after dinner the fact of her made itself even more insistently144 felt, for she turned Lady Keeling’s vapidities, to which hitherto he had been impervious145, into an active stinging irritation146, and even poor Alice’s industrious needle and the ever-growing pattern of Maltese crosses on Mr Silverdale’s slippers was like some monotonous147 recurring148 drip of water that set his nerves on edge. This was a pretty state of mind, he told himself, for a hardheaded business man of fifty, and yet even as with all the force of resolution that was in him he tried to find something{292} in his wife’s remarks that could awake a relevant reasonable reply, some rebellious149 consciousness in his brain would only concern itself with counting on the pink clock the hours that lay between the present moment and nine o’clock next morning. And then the pink clock melodiously150 announced on the Westminster chime that it was half past ten, and Alice put her needle into the middle of the last Maltese cross, and Lady Keeling waddled151 across the room and tapped the barometer152, which a marble Diana held in her chaste153 hand, to see if the weather promised well for the bazaar154 to-morrow. The evening was over, and there would not be another for the next twenty-four hours.
He was always punctual at his office; lately he had been before his time there, and had begun to open letters before Norah arrived. This happened next morning, and among others that he had laid on his desk was Lord Inverbroom’s acknowledgment of his notice to terminate the County Club’s lease. Norah, when she came, finished this business for him, and in due course handed him the completed pile. Then, as usual, she took her place opposite him for the dictation of answers. She wore at her breast a couple of daffodils, and he noticed that, as she breathed, the faint yellow reflection they cast on her chin stirred upwards and downwards155. No word had passed between them since she had{293} expressed regret for what he considered her impertinence the day before, and this morning she did not once meet his eye. Probably she considered herself in disgrace, and it maddened him to see her quiet acceptance of it, which struck him as contemptuous. She was like some noble slave, working, because she must work, for a master she despised. Well, if that was her attitude, so be it. She might despise, but he was master. At his request she read out a letter she had just taken down. In the middle he stopped her.
‘No, you have got that wrong,’ he said. ‘What I said was this,’—and he repeated it—‘please attend more closely.’
She made no reply, and two minutes afterwards he again found her at fault. And the brutality156, the desire to make the beloved suffer, which in very ugly fashion often lies in wait close to the open high road of love, became more active.
‘You are wasting your time and mine, Miss Propert,’ he said, ‘if you do not listen.’
Again he waited for some reply, some expression of regret which she undoubtedly157 owed him, but none came. Then, looking up, while her pencil was busy, he saw that she did not reply because she could not. The reflection of the daffodils trembled violently on her chin, and her lower teeth were fast clenched158 on her upper lip to stifle159 the surrender of her mouth. And when he saw that, all his brutality, all the impulse that bade{294} him hurt the thing he loved, drained out of him, and left him hateful to himself.
He paused, leaving unfinished the sentence he was dictating160, and sat there silent, not daring to look at her. He still felt she despised him, and now with additional reason; he resented the fact that any one should do that, his pride choked him, and yet he was ashamed. But oh, the contrast between this very uncomfortable moment, and the comfortable evenings with Emmeline!
But he could not bring himself to apologise, and presently he resumed his dictation. Norah, it appeared, had recovered control of herself, and when that letter was finished, she read it over to him quite steadily161. The next she handed him was Lord Inverbroom’s acknowledgment, which he had himself placed among the rest of the morning’s correspondence.
‘Is that just to be filed?’ she said, ‘or is there any answer?’
He took it up.
‘Yes, there’s an answer,’ he said, and dictated.
‘Dear Lord Inverbroom,—Re lease of premises of County Club. If you will allow me I should like to cancel the notice of termination of said lease which I sent you yesterday, if this would be any convenience to the Club. I should like also to express to you personally my regret for my action.’
{295}
He paused.
‘I think that’s all I need say, Miss Propert, isn’t it?’ he asked.
And then there came for him the direct glance, a little dim yet, with the ‘clear shining after rain’ beaming through it.
‘Oh, I am so glad,’ she said. ‘And if it’s not impertinent may I suggest something?’
Never had the clear glance lasted so long. He expanded and throve in it.
‘Well, go on; but take care,’ he said.
‘It’s only that you should write it yourself,’ she said. ‘It would be more—more complete.’
‘And that will satisfy you?’
‘Quite. You will have done yourself justice.’
He pushed back his chair.
‘I don’t see why you should care,’ he said. ‘I’ve treated you like a brute162 all morning.’
‘I know you have. I cared about that too.’
‘Would you like me to apologise?’ he asked.
She shook her head and pointed163 at the letter.
‘Not again,’ she said. ‘You’ve sent me a lovely apology already, addressed to Lord Inverbroom.’
‘Have I, indeed? You must have everything your own way. And how are the bluebells164 getting on?’
‘Quite well. They’ll all be out in a fortnight, I think. I went to look again yesterday. The buds, fat little buttons, do you remember, have got tall stalks now. And the lark42 is still singing.{296}’
‘May we go there then on Saturday week?’ he asked.
She looked down a moment.
‘Yes,’ she said softly, raising her eyes again. ‘And now shall we get on with the letters, Sir Thomas. There are still a good many not answered.’
‘I would sooner talk to you,’ he said.
‘You shall dictate58. That will be talking. And I will try to listen very attentively165.’
‘Now don’t be mean, Miss Propert,’ said he.
For the second time that morning she let the clear glance shine on him. It brightened like dawn, filling the space between them. And it smote166 on his heart, stupefyingly sweet.
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1
subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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panegyrics
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| n.赞美( panegyric的名词复数 )；称颂；颂词；颂扬的演讲或文章 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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8
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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cloy
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| v.（吃甜食）生腻，吃腻 | |
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10
revelling
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| v.作乐( revel的现在分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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11
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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12
luminaries
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| n.杰出人物，名人（luminary的复数形式） | |
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13
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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14
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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16
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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17
epics
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| n.叙事诗( epic的名词复数 )；壮举；惊人之举；史诗般的电影（或书籍） | |
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18
tithe
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| n.十分之一税；v.课什一税，缴什一税 | |
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19
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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21
differentiate
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| vi.(between)区分；vt.区别；使不同 | |
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22
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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munificence
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| n.宽宏大量，慷慨给与 | |
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civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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suffrage
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| n.投票，选举权，参政权 | |
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suffrages
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| （政治性选举的）选举权，投票权( suffrage的名词复数 ) | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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30
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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31
averting
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| 防止，避免( avert的现在分词 )； 转移 | |
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opportunely
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| adv.恰好地，适时地 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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rental
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| n.租赁，出租，出租业 | |
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37
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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dispersing
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| adj. 分散的 动词disperse的现在分词形式 | |
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furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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41
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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42
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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43
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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44
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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45
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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46
dabbed
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| （用某物）轻触( dab的过去式和过去分词 )； 轻而快地擦掉（或抹掉）； 快速擦拭； （用某物）轻而快地涂上（或点上）… | |
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47
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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48
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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49
withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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50
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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51
consignment
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| n.寄售；发货；委托；交运货物 | |
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52
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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53
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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54
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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55
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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56
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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57
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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58
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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59
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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60
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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61
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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62
creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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63
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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64
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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65
fermenting
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| v.（使）发酵( ferment的现在分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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66
leaven
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| v.使发酵；n.酵母；影响 | |
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67
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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69
succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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70
whitewash
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| v.粉刷，掩饰；n.石灰水，粉刷，掩饰 | |
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71
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
materialistic
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| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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73
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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74
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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75
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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76
mooted
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| adj.未决定的，有争议的，有疑问的v.提出…供讨论( moot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
presidency
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| n.总统(校长，总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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78
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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79
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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80
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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81
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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82
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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83
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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84
paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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85
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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86
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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87
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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88
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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89
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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90
detesting
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的现在分词 ) | |
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91
detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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92
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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93
abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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94
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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95
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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96
infliction
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| n.（强加于人身的）痛苦，刑罚 | |
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97
prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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98
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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99
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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100
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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101
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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103
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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104
maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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105
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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106
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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107
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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108
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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109
embroideries
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| 刺绣( embroidery的名词复数 )； 刺绣品； 刺绣法 | |
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110
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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111
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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112
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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113
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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114
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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115
wrecking
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| 破坏 | |
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116
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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117
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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118
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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119
pretentiousness
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| n.矫饰；炫耀；自负；狂妄 | |
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120
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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121
lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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122
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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123
disapproves
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的第三人称单数 ) | |
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124
practitioner
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| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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125
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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126
irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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127
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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128
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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129
sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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130
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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131
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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132
odiousness
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| n.可憎；讨厌；可恨 | |
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133
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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134
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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135
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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136
concurrence
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| n.同意；并发 | |
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137
acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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138
quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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139
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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140
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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141
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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142
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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143
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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144
insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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145
impervious
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| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
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146
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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147
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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148
recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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149
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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150
melodiously
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151
waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
barometer
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| n.气压表，睛雨表，反应指标 | |
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153
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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154
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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155
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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156
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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157
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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158
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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160
dictating
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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161
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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162
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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163
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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164
bluebells
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| n.圆叶风铃草( bluebell的名词复数 ) | |
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165
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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166
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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