Next morning was fine, a morning so bright and balmy that the month might have been mistaken for September. Isola ran down to the garden in her neat little morning frock and linen2 collar, and ran about among the shrubs4 and autumn flowers in a much gayer mood than that of yesterday. She loved her garden—small and modest as it was in comparison with the grounds and gardens of her county neighbours—and on a morning like this it was rapture5 to her to run from flower to flower, and from shrub3 to shrub, with her great garden scissors in her hand, and her garden basket hanging over her arm, clipping a withered7 leaf or a fading flower every here and there, or plucking up those little groundsel plants which seem the perpetual expression of the earth's fertility.
Alas8! those pale tea-roses, those sulphur and flame-[Pg 19]coloured dahlias, meant the last crumbs9 of summer's plenteous feast. Soon winter and barrenness would spread over the poor little garden; but even in the chill dark heart of mid-winter those graceful10 conifers and shining laurels11, the vermilion on the holly12 bushes, the crimson13 of the hawthorn14 berries would give beauty to the scene; and then would come the return of Persephone with her hands full of gold, the abundant gold of crocus and daffodil, jonquil and pale primrose15, the rain of yellow blossoms which heralds16 the spring.
Half a year did not seem such an appalling17 interval—nay, even the thought of a year of waiting did not scare her so much this morning in the sunlight and fresh clear air as yesterday in the grey dim rain. What an improvement Martin would find in the garden, should he return before the end of the summer! How tall those Irish yews18 had grown by the gate yonder, a pair of dark green obelisks19 keeping stately guard over the modest wooden gate; and the escalonia hedge that screened the kitchen garden was two feet higher since the spring! How the juniper at the corner of the grass plot had shot up and thickened! Arbutus, laurel, ribes, everything had been growing as shrubs only grow in the south and south-west of England. What a darling garden it was, and how full of pleasure her life would be by-and-by, when Martin was able to settle down and buy land, and give her a little herd20 of Jersey21 cows! She had always envied the farmers' wives in that fertile valley of the Rance, where her childhood had been passed. And how delightful22 to have her own cows and her own farmyard, and a pony-carriage to drive up and down the hilly Cornish lanes and into the narrow little street of Fowey, and to ride her own horse by her husband's side for long exploring rambles23 among those wild hills towards Mevagissey!
She had only to wait patiently for a year or less, and that bright life might be hers. She had no frivolous24 vanities, no craving25 for dissipations and fine clothes, no fatal thirst for "smartness." Her ideas were essentially26 modest. She had[Pg 20] never envied her sister, who had married a rich stockbroker27, and whose brand new red-brick house in Hans Place towered above surrounding Chelsea as much as her diamonds eclipsed the jewels of other middle-class matrons at the festal gatherings28 of South Kensington and Bayswater. Gwendolen had married for wealth. Isola had married for love. She had given her girlish affection to a man who was nearly thirty years her senior, her heart going out to him almost at the beginning of their acquaintance, first because he was a soldier, and in her mind a hero, and secondly29 because he was kinder to her than anybody else had ever been.
He was her first admirer. That delicate loveliness, as of some woodland flower, which distinguished30 Isola from the herd of women, had been still in embryo31 when Major Disney spent a summer holiday between Dinard and Dinan. She had scarcely ranked as a pretty girl two years ago. The slight figure was denounced as scraggy; the pale face was voted sickly; and the delicate features were spoken of as insignificant32. Gwendolen's big fair face, with its healthy roses and lilies, her bright hair, and well-developed figure, had completely overshadowed the younger sister. Martin Disney was the first man upon whom Isola's low-toned beauty had any power. He was drawn33 to her from the very beginning. She listened so prettily34, with such a bewitching modesty35 and almost tremulous pleasure, when he talked to her, as they sat side by side on the club ground at Dinard, watching Gwendolen playing tennis, superb in striped flannel36 of delicate pink and cream colour. He could hardly believe that those two were sisters. Isola was so slim and fragile, of such an ethereal prettiness, owing so little to colouring, and nothing to redundancy of form.
He was told that Miss Manwaring was engaged to one of the richest men in London. That, of course, was a gossip's fable37, but it was an established fact that Mr. Hazelrigg had made his fortune in South American railways, water-works, and other public improvements, and could afford to make a liberal settlement.
[Pg 21]
He showed no indisposition to be generous to his handsome sweetheart. He settled seven hundred a year upon her, and told her that she could spend as much of that income as she liked upon toilet and pocket-money, and that he would invest her surplus advantageously for her.
The two sisters were married on the same day to husbands who were their seniors by more than twenty years in one instance, by thirty years in the other. Daniel Hazelrigg had passed his jubilee38 birthday when he led Miss Manwaring to the altar; but he was a fine-looking man, straight and tall, like his bride, with a ruddy complexion39 and iron-grey moustache, and an air and bearing that savoured rather of the mess-room than the city. He had been on the Stock Exchange ever since he came of age; but he had made it the study of his life not to look city or to talk city. Nothing could tempt40 him to expatiate41 upon the money market outside his office. He would talk sport, travel, politics—even literature, of which he knew very little—but not stocks and shares, Nicaraguas, or Reading and Philadelphias, Mexican Street Railways, or Patagonian Building Society.
Isola read her sister's glowing descriptions of dinners and routs42, gowns by Worth or Cresser, suppers for two hundred people at a guinea a head, from Gunter, waggon-loads of cut roses from Cheshunt or Cheam, and felt no thrill of longing43, no pang44 of envy. Life in the Angler's Nest might be dull; but it was only dull because Martin was away. She would have felt more solitary45 in Hans Place, had she accepted Gwendolen's invitation to spend her Christmas there, than she would feel in the cottage by the river, even with no better company than Tabitha, Shah, and Tim. She was essentially shy and retiring. Her girlhood had been spent in a very narrow world, among people whom she seemed to have known all her life; for while Gwendolen, who was six years older, and had been "out" for four years before she married, joined in all the little gaieties of the place, and was always making new acquaintance, Isola, who was not "out," spent her days for the most part in a half-neglected garden[Pg 22] on the slope of the hill that looks across the Rance towards the unseen sea. The view from that garden was one of the finest in Western France; and it was Isola's delight to sit in a little berceau at the end of a terrace walk, with her books and work-basket and drawing-board, all through the long tranquil46 summer day, in a silence broken by the sound of wheels and horses' feet on the viaduct and bridge two or three hundred feet below, or by the muffled47 music of the organ in the convent chapel48.
Tim, the fox-terrier, and Shah, the Persian cat, were both on the lawn with their mistress this morning. They were not friendly towards each other, but preserved an armed neutrality. Tim chased every stray strange cat with a fury that threatened annihilation; and he always looked as if he would like to give chase to Shah, when that dignified49 piece of fluff moved slowly across the lawn before him with uplifted tail that seemed to wave defiance50; but he knew that any attack upon that valued personage would entail51 punishment and disgrace. Isola loved both these animals—the cat a wedding-present from an old Breton lady in Dinan, the terrier her husband's parting legacy52. "Take care of Tim," he had said, the day they parted on board the steamer at Venice.
The dog loved his mistress vehemently53 and obtrusively54, leaping into her lap at the slightest sign of indulgence in her eye. The cat suffered himself to be adored, receiving all attentions with a sleepy complacency.
It was only half-past eight, and the world was looking its freshest. There was an opening in the shrubbery that let in a view of the river, and just in front of this opening there was a rustic55 bench on which Major Disney liked to smoke his after-breakfast pipe or after-dinner cigar. The garden contained very little over two acres, but it was an old garden, and there were some fine old trees, which must have shaded hoops56 and powder, and pig-tails and knee-breeches. Major Disney had done a great deal in the way of planting[Pg 23] wherever there was room for improvement, and he had secured to himself an elderly gardener of exceptional industry, who worked in the garden as if he loved it. Tabitha, again, was one of those wonderful women who know all about everything except books; and she, too, loved the garden, and helped at weeding and watering, in seasons of pressure. Thus it had come to pass that these two acres of velvet57 lawn and flower-bed, shrubbery, and trim, old-fashioned garden had acquired a reputation in Trelasco, and people frequently complimented Mrs. Disney about her garden.
She was proud of their praises, remembering the straggling rose-bushes and lavender, and unkempt flower-beds, and overgrown cabbages, and loose shingly58 paths in that old garden at Dinan, which she had loved despite its neglected condition. Her house at Trelasco was just as superior to the house at Dinan, as garden was to garden. She often thought of her old home, the shabby square house, with walls and shutters59 of dazzling white, shining brown floors, and worn-out furniture of the Empire period, furniture which had been shabby and out of repair when Colonel Manwaring took the house furnished, intending to spend a month or two in retirement60 at Dinan with his wife and her firstborn, a chubby61 little girl of five. They had lost a promising62 boy of a year old, and the colonel, having no reason for living anywhere in particular, and very little to live upon, thought that residence in a foreign country would improve his wife's health and spirits. He had been told that Dinan was picturesque63 and cheap: and he had put himself and his family on board the St. Malo steamer and had gone out like an emigrant64 to push his fortunes in a strange land. He had even an idea that he might get "something to do" in Dinan—a secretaryship of a club, an agency, or managerial post of some kind, never having cultivated the art of self-examination so far as to discover that he must have proved utterly66 incapable67, had any such occasion presented itself.
Tho occasion never did present itself. The one English club existent at Dinan in those days was amply provided[Pg 24] with the secretarial element. There was nothing in Dinan for an Englishman to manage; no English agency required. Colonel Manwaring settled down into a kind of somnolent68 submission69 to obscure fortunes. He liked the old town, and he liked the climate. He liked the cooking, and he liked being out of the way of all the people he knew, and whose vicinity would have obliged him to live up to a certain conventional level. He liked to get his English newspapers upon French soil, and it irked him not that they were thirty-six hours old. He liked to bask6 in the sunshine on the terrace above the Rance, or in the open places of the town. He liked talking of the possibilities of an impending70 war, in very dubious71 French, with the French officers, whose acquaintance he made at club or café. He had sold his commission and sunk the proceeds of the sale upon an annuity72. He had a little income of his own, and his wife had a little money from a maiden73 aunt, and these resources just enabled him to live with a certain unpretending comfort. He had a good Breton cook, and an old Scotch74 valet and butler, who would have gone through fire and water for his master. Mrs. Manwaring was a thoroughly75 negative character, placid76 as summer seas, sympathetic and helpless. She let Macgregor and Antoinette manage the house for her, do all the catering77, pay all the bills, and work the whole machinery78 of her domestic life. She rejoiced in having a good-tempered husband and obedient daughters. She had no boys to put her in a fever of anxiety lest they should be making surreptitious ascents79 in balloons or staking their little all upon Zero at the "Etablissement" at Dinard. In summer she sat all day in one particular south window, knitting stockings for the colonel and reading the English papers. In winter she occupied herself in the same manner by the chimney corner. She devoted80 one day in the week to writing long letters to distant relatives. Once a day, weather permitting, she took a gentle constitutional walk upon the terrace above the Rance, with one of her daughters. Needless to say that in this life of harmless apathy81 she had grown[Pg 25] very stout82, and that she had forgotten almost every accomplishment83 of her girlhood.
From the placid monotony of life in Brittany to the placid monotony of life in Cornwall, was not a startling transition; yet when she married Martin Disney, and bade her commonplace father and her apathetic85 mother good-bye, Isola felt as if she had escaped from stagnation86 into a fresh and vigorous atmosphere. Disney's character made all the difference. He was every inch a soldier, a keen politician, a man who had seen many countries and read many books, clear-brained, strong-willed, energetic, self-reliant. She felt what it was to belong to somebody who was capable of taking care of her. She trusted him implicitly87; and she loved him with as deep a love as a girl of nineteen is capable of feeling for any lover. It may be that the capacity for deep feeling is but half developed at that age, and in that one fact may be found the key to many domestic mysteries; mysteries of unions which begin in the gladness and warmth of responsive affection, and which, a few years later, pass into a frozen region of indifference88 or are wrecked89 on sunken rocks of guilty passion. Certain it was that Isola Manwaring gave her hand to this grave, middle-aged90 soldier, in all the innocence91 of a first love; and the love with which he rewarded her confidence, the earnest watchful92 love of a man of mature years, was enough for her happiness. That honeymoon93 time, that summer of installation in the Cornish cottage, and then the leisurely94 journey to Venice in the waning95 brilliance96 of a southern October, seemed like one long happy dream, as she looked back upon it now, after a year of solitude97.
The doctor had decided98 that, in the delicate health in which she found herself at the end of that summer, it would be dangerous for her to accompany her husband to India, more especially as a campaign in Burmah meant roughing it, and she would in all probability have been separated from him in the East; so they bade each other a sad good-bye at Venice, and Isola travelled quickly homeward, all possible[Pg 26] comfort having been secured for her on the way, by her husband's forethought. It had been a long, sad, sleepy journey, through a rain-blurred landscape, and she was glad when the evening of the fourth day brought her to the snug99 little dining-room in the Angler's Nest, where Tabitha was waiting for her with a cheerful fire and the amber-shaded reading lamp, and the most delightful little composite meal of chicken and tongue, and tart84, and cream, and tea. It was pleasant to be among familiar things, after that long journey in stuffy100 ladies' carriages, with elderly invalids101, whose chief talk was of their ailments102. Pleasant to see the Shah's solemn sea-green eyes staring at her, and to have to repulse103 the demonstrative attentions of Tim, who leapt upon her lap and licked her face vehemently every time he caught her off her guard.
She was ill and broken down after her journey, and that sad parting, and she hid her tears upon Tabitha's comfortable arm.
"It will be at least a year before he comes back," she sobbed104. "How can I live without him all that dreary105 time?"
Tabitha thought it was very hard upon the girl-wife, but affected106 to make light of it. "Lor, bless you, ma'am," she said, "a year looks a long time, but it isn't much when you come to grapple with it. There'll be such a lot for you to do. There'll be the garden. We ought to make ever so many improvements next spring and summer, against the master comes home. And there's your piano. You want to improve yourself—I've heard you say so—and you can get up all sorts of new tunes65, and won't the major be pleased with you; and then—there'll be something else to occupy your mind before next summer comes."
That "something else" which was to have filled Isola's empty life with a new interest, ended in disappointment. She was very ill at the beginning of the new year, and Tabitha nursed her with motherly tenderness long after the doctor and the professional nurse had renounced107 their care[Pg 27] of her. She regained108 strength very slowly after that serious illness, and it was only in June that she was able to take the lonely rambles she loved, or row in her little boat upon the river.
Tabitha was a servant in a thousand, faithful and devoted, clever, active, and industrious109. She had been maid to Martin Disney's mother for nearly fifteen years, had nursed her mistress through a long and weary illness, and had closed her eyes in death. Martin parted with that faithful servant with reluctance110 after the breaking up of his mother's household, and he told her if he should marry and have a house of his own—a very remote contingency—she must be his housekeeper111. Love and marriage came upon him before the end of the year, as a delightful surprise. He bought the Angler's Nest, and he engaged Tabitha for the rest of her life, at wages which, beginning at a liberal figure, were to rise a pound every Christmas.
"As if I cared about wages, Mr. Martin," exclaimed Tabitha. "I'd just as soon come to you for nothing. I've got more clothes than will last my time, I'll be bound. You'd only have to find me in shoe-leather."
She had never got out of the way of calling her master by the name by which she had first known him, when his father and elder brother were both at home, in the old family house at Fowey. In all moments of forgetfulness he was still "Mr. Martin."
And now, in this bright November morning, Tabitha came out to say that breakfast was waiting for her young mistress, and mistress and maid went in together to the cosy112 dining-room, where the small round table near the window was arranged as only Tabitha could arrange a table—with autumn flowers, and spotless damask, and a new-laid egg, and a dish of honey, and some dainty little rolls of Tabitha's own making, nestling in a napkin, a breakfast for a Princess in a fairy tale.
There was only one other servant in the little household—[Pg 28]a bouncing, rosy-cheeked Cornish girl, who was very industrious under Tabitha's eye, and very idle when she was out of that faithful housekeeper's ken1. Tabitha cooked and took care of everything, and for the most part waited upon her mistress in this time of widowhood, although Susan was supposed to be parlour-maid.
Tabitha poured out the tea, and buttered a roll, while Isola leant back in the bamboo chair and played with the Shah.
"I never knew him do such a thing before," said Tabitha, in continuation of a theme which had been fully113 discussed last night.
"Oh, it was very kind and polite; but it was not such a tremendous thing, after all," answered Isola, still occupied with the Persian. "He could hardly stand by and see one drowned. You have no idea what the rain was like."
"But to send you home in his own carriage."
"There was nothing else for him to do—except send me home in the gardener's cart. He could not have turned out a dog in such weather."
"It's a thing that never happened before, and it just shows what a respect he must have for the Disneys. You don't know how stand-offish he is with all the people about here—how he keeps himself to himself. Not a bit like his father and mother. They used to entertain all the neighbourhood, and they went everywhere, as affable as you like. He has taken care to show people that he doesn't want their company. They say he has led a very queer kind of life at home and abroad; never settling down anywhere, here to-day and gone to-morrow; roving about with his yacht. I don't believe any good ever comes of a young gentleman like that having a yacht. It would be ever so much better for him to live at the Mount and keep a pack of harriers."
"Why should a yacht be bad?" asked Isola, lazily beginning her breakfast, Tabitha standing114 by the table all the time, ready for conversation.
"Oh, I don't know. It gives a young man too much[Pg 29] liberty," answered Tabitha, shaking her head with a meaning air, as if with a knowledge of dark things in connection with yachts. "He can keep just what company he likes on board—gentlemen or ladies. He can gamble—or drink—as much as he likes. There's nobody to check him. Sundays and weekdays, night and day, are all alike to him."
"Lord Lostwithiel is not particularly young," said Isola, musingly115, not paying much attention to this homily on yachts. "He must be thirty, I think."
"Thirty-two last birthday. He ought to marry and settle down. They say he's very clever, and that he's bound to make a figure in politics some of these odd days."
Isola looked at the clock on the chimney-piece—a gilt116 horse-shoe with onyx nails; one of her wedding presents. It was early yet—only half-past nine. Lord Lostwithiel had talked about calling to inquire after her health. She felt overpowered with shyness at the thought of seeing him again, alone—with no stately Mrs. Mayne to take the edge off a tête-à-tête. Anything to escape such an ordeal117! There was her boat—that boat of which she was perfect mistress, and in which she went for long, dawdling118 expeditions towards Fowey or Lostwithiel with only Tim for her companion—Tim, who was the best of company, in almost perpetual circulation between stem and stern, balancing himself in perilous119 places every now and then, to bark furiously at imaginary foes120 in slowly passing fishermen's boats.
"Have you any fancy about lunch, ma'am?" asked Tabitha, lingering with feather-brush in hand over a side-table, on which work-basket, books, writing-case, and flower-vases were arranged with tasteful neatness by those skilful121 hands.
"No, you dear old Tabbie; you know that anything will do for me. Bread and jam, if you like, and some of your clotted122 cream. Won't it be nice when we have our very own dairy, and our very own cows, who will know us and be fond of us, like Tim and the Shah?"
She put on her hat and jacket, and went out into the[Pg 30] garden again, singing "La Lettre de Perichole" as she went. It was a capital idea to take refuge in her boat. If his lordship should call—which was doubtful—since he might be one of that numerous race of people whose days are made up of unfulfilled intentions and promises never realized—if he should call, she would be far away when he came. He would make his inquiry123, leave his card, which would look nice in the old Indian bowl on the hall-table. Such cards have a power of flotation unknown to other pasteboard; they are always at the top.
Isola went to the little boat-house on the edge of the lawn, Tim following her. She pushed the light skiff down the slope into the water, and in a few minutes more her sculls were in the rowlocks and she was moving slowly up the river, between autumnal woods, in a silence broken only by the dip of the sculls and the little rippling124 sound as the water dropped away from them. A good deal of her life was spent like this, moving slowly up the river through that deep silence of the woodland shores. The river was as beautiful as the Dart125 almost, but lonelier and more silent. It was Martin Disney's river—the river whose ripples126 had soothed127 his mother's dying ears—the last of all earthly sounds that had been heard in the stillness of the death-chamber.
In that tranquil atmosphere Isola used to dream of her absent husband and of that mystical world of the East which seemed made up of dreams—the world of Brahma and Buddha128, of jewel-bedecked Rajahs and Palace-tombs—world of beauty and of terror; of tropical forests, tigers, orchids129, serpents, elephants, Thugs.
She dreamt her dream of that strange world in fear and trembling, conjuring130 up scenes of horror—tiger hunts; snakes hidden in the corner of a tent; battle; fever; fire; mutiny. Her morbid131 imagination pictured all possible and impossible danger for the man she loved. And then she thought of his home-coming—for good, for good—for all the span of their joint132 lives; and she longed for that return with the sickness of hope deferred133.
[Pg 31]
She would go back to the Angler's Nest sometimes after one of these dreamy days upon the river, and would pace about the house or the garden, planning things for her husband's return, as if he were due next day. She would wheel his own particular chair to the drawing-room fireplace, and look at it, and arrange the fall of the curtains before the old-fashioned bow-window, and change the position of the lamp, and alter the books on the shelves, and do this and that with an eye to effect, anxious to discover how the room might be made prettiest, cosiest134, most lovable and home-like—for him, for him, for him!
And now she had to resign herself to a year's delay, perhaps. Yes, he had said it might be a year. All that bright picture of union and content, which had seemed so vivid and so near, had now grown dim and pale. It had melted into a shadowy distance. To a girl who has but just passed her twentieth birthday a year of waiting and delay seems an eternity135.
"I won't think of him," she said to herself, plunging136 her sculls fiercely into the rippling water. The tide was running down, and it was strong enough to have carried her little boat out to sea like an autumn leaf swept along the current. "I must try to lull137 my mind to sleep, as if I were an enchanted138 Princess, and so bridge over twelve slow months of loneliness. I won't think of you, Martin, my good, brave, truest of the true! I'll occupy my poor, foolish little mind. I'll write a novel, perhaps, like old Miss Carver at Dinan. Anything in the world—just to keep my thoughts from always brooding on one subject."
She rowed on steadily139, hugging the shore under the wooded hillside, where the rich autumn colouring and the clear, cool lights were so full of beauty—a beauty which she could feel, with a vague, dim sense which just touched the realm of poetry. Perhaps she felt the same sense of loss which Keats or Alfred de Musset would have felt in the stillness of such a scene—the want of something to people the wood and the river—some race of beings loftier than fishermen and peasants; some of those mystic forms which[Pg 32] the poet sees amidst the shadows of old woods or in the creeks140 and sheltered inlets of a secluded141 river.
She thought, with a half-smile, of yesterday's adventure. What importance that foolish Tabitha gave to so simple an incident; the merest commonplace courtesy, necessitated142 by circumstances; and only because the person who had been commonly courteous143 was Richard Hulbert, thirteenth Baron144 Lostwithiel. Thirteenth Baron! There lay the distinction. These Cornish folks worshipped antique lineage. Tabitha would have thought very little of a mushroom peer's civility, although he had sent her mistress home in a chariot and four. She was no worshipper of wealth, and she turned up her blunt old nose at Mr. Crowther, of Glenaveril—the great new red-brick mansion145 which had sprung up like a fungus146 amidst the woods only yesterday—because he had made his money in trade, albeit147 his trade had been upon a large scale, and altogether genteel and worthy148 to be esteemed—a great cloth factory at Stroud, which was said to have clad half the army at one period of modern history.
Poor, foolish Tabitha! What would she have thought of the tea-drinking in that lovely old room, mysteriously beautiful in the light of a wood fire—the playful, uncertain light which glorifies149 everything? What would she have thought of those walls of books—richly bound books, books in sombre brown, big books and little books, from floor to ceiling? A room which made those poor little oak bookcases in the cottage parlour something to blush for. What would Tabitha have thought of his deferential150 kindness—that tone of deepest consideration with which such men treat all women, even the old and uncomely? She could hardly have helped admiring his good manners, whatever dark things she might have been told about his earlier years.
Why should he not have a yacht? It seemed the fittest life for a man without home ties; a man still young, and with no need to labour at a profession. What better life could there be than that free wandering from port to port over a romantic sea?—and to Isola all seas were alike mysterious and romantic.
[Pg 33]
She dawdled151 away the morning; she sculled against the stream for nearly three hours, and then let her boat drift down the river to the garden above the towpath. It was long past her usual time for luncheon152 when she moored153 her boat to the little wooden steps, leaving it for Thomas, the gardener, to pull up into the boat-house. She had made up her mind that if Lostwithiel troubled himself to make any inquiry about her health he would call in the morning.
She had guessed rightly. Tabitha was full of his visit, and his wondrous154 condescension155. He had called at eleven o'clock, on his way to the railway station at Fowey. He called in the most perfect of T carts, with a pair of bright bays. Tabitha had opened the door to him. He had asked quite anxiously about Mrs. Disney's health. He had walked round the garden with Tabitha and admired everything, and had told her that Major Disney had a better gardener than any he had at the Mount, after which he had left her charmed by his amiability156. And so this little episode in Isola's life came to a pleasant end, leaving no record but his lordship's card, lying like a jewel on the top of less distinguished names in the old Indian bowl.
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linen
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rapture
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bask
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withered
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graceful
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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13
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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14
hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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15
primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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16
heralds
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| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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17
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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18
yews
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| n.紫杉( yew的名词复数 ) | |
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19
obelisks
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| n.方尖石塔，短剑号，疑问记号( obelisk的名词复数 ) | |
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20
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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21
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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22
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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23
rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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24
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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25
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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26
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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27
stockbroker
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| n.股票（或证券），经纪人（或机构） | |
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28
gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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29
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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30
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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31
embryo
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| n.胚胎，萌芽的事物 | |
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32
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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33
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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34
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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35
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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36
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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37
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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38
jubilee
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| n.周年纪念；欢乐 | |
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39
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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40
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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41
expatiate
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| v.细说，详述 | |
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42
routs
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| n.打垮，赶跑( rout的名词复数 )；（体育）打败对方v.打垮，赶跑( rout的第三人称单数 )；（体育）打败对方 | |
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43
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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44
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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45
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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46
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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47
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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48
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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49
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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50
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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51
entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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52
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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53
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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54
obtrusively
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| adv.冒失地，莽撞地 | |
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55
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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56
hoops
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| n.箍( hoop的名词复数 )；（篮球）篮圈；（旧时儿童玩的）大环子；（两端埋在地里的）小铁弓 | |
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57
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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58
shingly
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| adj.小石子多的 | |
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59
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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60
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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61
chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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62
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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63
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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64
emigrant
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| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
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65
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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66
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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67
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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68
somnolent
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| adj.想睡的，催眠的；adv.瞌睡地；昏昏欲睡地；使人瞌睡地 | |
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69
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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70
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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71
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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72
annuity
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| n.年金；养老金 | |
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73
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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74
scotch
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|
| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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75
thoroughly
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|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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76
placid
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|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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77
catering
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| n. 给养 | |
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78
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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79
ascents
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| n.上升( ascent的名词复数 )；（身份、地位等的）提高；上坡路；攀登 | |
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80
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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81
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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83
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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84
tart
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|
| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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85
apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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86
stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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87
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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88
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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89
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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90
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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91
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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92
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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93
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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94
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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95
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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96
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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97
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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98
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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99
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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100
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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101
invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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102
ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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103
repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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104
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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105
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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106
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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107
renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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108
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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109
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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110
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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111
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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112
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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113
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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114
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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115
musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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116
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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117
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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118
dawdling
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| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
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119
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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120
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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121
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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122
clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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124
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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125
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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126
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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127
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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128
Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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129
orchids
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| n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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130
conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
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131
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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132
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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133
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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134
cosiest
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| adj.温暖舒适的( cosy的最高级 )；亲切友好的 | |
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135
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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136
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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137
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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138
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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139
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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140
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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141
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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142
necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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143
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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144
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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145
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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146
fungus
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| n.真菌，真菌类植物 | |
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147
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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148
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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149
glorifies
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| 赞美( glorify的第三人称单数 )； 颂扬； 美化； 使光荣 | |
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150
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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151
dawdled
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| v.混（时间）( dawdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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153
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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154
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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155
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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156
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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