The day had brightened very much, and still brightened as we wentwestward. We went our way through the sunshine and the fresh air,wondering more and more at the extent of the streets, thebrilliancy of the shops, the great traffic, and the crowds ofpeople whom the pleasanter weather seemed to have brought out likemany-coloured flowers. By and by we began to leave the wonderfulcity and to proceed through suburbs which, of themselves, wouldhave made a pretty large town in my eyes; and at last we got into areal country road again, with windmills, rick-yards, milestones,farmers' waggons2, scents3 of old hay, swinging signs, and horsetroughs: trees, fields, and hedge-rows. It was delightful4 to seethe5 green landscape before us and the immense metropolis6 behind;and when a waggon1 with a train of beautiful horses, furnished withred trappings and clear-sounding bells, came by us with its music,I believe we could all three have sung to the bells, so cheerfulwere the influences around.
"The whole road has been reminding me of my name-sake Whittington,"said Richard, "and that waggon is the finishing touch. Halloa!
What's the matter?"We had stopped, and the waggon had stopped too. Its music changedas the horses came to a stand, and subsided7 to a gentle tinkling,except when a horse tossed his head or shook himself and sprinkledoff a little shower of bell-ringing.
"Our postilion is looking after the waggoner," said Richard, "andthe waggoner is coming back after us. Good day, friend!" Thewaggoner was at our coach-door. "Why, here's an extraordinarything!" added Richard, looking closely at the man. "He has gotyour name, Ada, in his hat!"He had all our names in his hat. Tucked within the band were threesmall notes--one addressed to Ada, one to Richard, one to me.
These the waggoner delivered to each of us respectively, readingthe name aloud first. In answer to Richard's inquiry8 from whomthey came, he briefly9 answered, "Master, sir, if you please"; andputting on his hat again (which was like a soft bowl), cracked hiswhip, re-awakened his music, and went melodiously10 away.
"Is that Mr. Jarndyce's waggon?" said Richard, calling to our post-boy.
"Yes, sir," he replied. "Going to London."We opened the notes. Each was a counterpart of the other andcontained these words in a solid, plain hand.
"I look forward, my dear, to our meeting easily and withoutconstraint on either side. I therefore have to propose that wemeet as old friends and take the past for granted. It will be arelief to you possibly, and to me certainly, and so my love to you.
John Jarndyce"I had perhaps less reason to be surprised than either of mycompanions, having never yet enjoyed an opportunity of thanking onewho had been my benefactor11 and sole earthly dependence12 through somany years. I had not considered how I could thank him, mygratitude lying too deep in my heart for that; but I now began toconsider how I could meet him without thanking him, and felt itwould be very difficult indeed.
The notes revived in Richard and Ada a general impression that theyboth had, without quite knowing how they came by it, that theircousin Jarndyce could never bear acknowledgments for any kindnesshe performed and that sooner than receive any he would resort tothe most singular expedients14 and evasions15 or would even run away.
Ada dimly remembered to have heard her mother tell, when she was avery little child, that he had once done her an act of uncommongenerosity and that on her going to his house to thank him, hehappened to see her through a window coming to the door, andimmediately escaped by the back gate, and was not heard of forthree months. This discourse17 led to a great deal more on the sametheme, and indeed it lasted us all day, and we talked of scarcelyanything else. If we did by any chance diverge18 into anothersubject, we soon returned to this, and wondered what the housewould be like, and when we should get there, and whether we shouldsee Mr. Jarndyce as soon as we arrived or after a delay, and whathe would say to us, and what we should say to him. All of which wewondered about, over and over again.
The roads were very heavy for the horses, but the pathway wasgenerally good, so we alighted and walked up all the hills, andliked it so well that we prolonged our walk on the level groundwhen we got to the top. At Barnet there were other horses waitingfor us, but as they had only just been fed, we had to wait for themtoo, and got a long fresh walk over a common and an old battle-field before the carriage came up. These delays so protracted19 thejourney that the short day was spent and the long night had closedin before we came to St. Albans, near to which town Bleak20 Housewas, we knew.
By that time we were so anxious and nervous that even Richardconfessed, as we rattled21 over the stones of the old street, tofeeling an irrational22 desire to drive back again. As to Ada andme, whom he had wrapped up with great care, the night being sharpand frosty, we trembled from head to foot. When we turned out ofthe town, round a corner, and Richard told us that the post-boy,who had for a long time sympathized with our heightenedexpectation, was looking back and nodding, we both stood up in thecarriage (Richard holding Ada lest she should be jolted23 down) andgazed round upon the open country and the starlight night for ourdestination. There was a light sparkling on the top of a hillbefore us, and the driver, pointing to it with his whip and crying,"That's Bleak House!" put his horses into a canter and took usforward at such a rate, uphill though it was, that the wheels sentthe road drift flying about our heads like spray from a water-mill.
Presently we lost the light, presently saw it, presently lost it,presently saw it, and turned into an avenue of trees and canteredup towards where it was beaming brightly. It was in a window ofwhat seemed to be an old-fashioned house with three peaks in theroof in front and a circular sweep leading to the porch. A bellwas rung as we drew up, and amidst the sound of its deep voice inthe still air, and the distant barking of some dogs, and a gush24 oflight from the opened door, and the smoking and steaming of theheated horses, and the quickened beating of our own hearts, wealighted in no inconsiderable confusion.
"Ada, my love, Esther, my dear, you are welcome. I rejoice to seeyou! Rick, if I had a hand to spare at present, I would give ityou!"The gentleman who said these words in a clear, bright, hospitablevoice had one of his arms round Ada's waist and the other roundmine, and kissed us both in a fatherly way, and bore us across thehall into a ruddy little room, all in a glow with a blazing fire.
Here he kissed us again, and opening his arms, made us sit downside by side on a sofa ready drawn26 out near the hearth27. I feltthat if we had been at all demonstrative, he would have run away ina moment.
"Now, Rick!" said he. "I have a hand at liberty. A word inearnest is as good as a speech. I am heartily28 glad to see you.
You are at home. Warm yourself!"Richard shook him by both hands with an intuitive mixture ofrespect and frankness, and only saying (though with an earnestnessthat rather alarmed me, I was so afraid of Mr. Jarndyce's suddenlydisappearing), "You are very kind, sir! We are very much obligedto you!" laid aside his hat and coat and came up to the fire.
"And how did you like the ride? And how did you like Mrs. Jellyby,my dear?" said Mr. Jarndyce to Ada.
While Ada was speaking to him in reply, I glanced (I need not saywith how much interest) at his face. It was a handsome, lively,quick face, full of change and motion; and his hair was a silverediron-grey. I took him to be nearer sixty than fifty, but he wasupright, hearty29, and robust30. From the moment of his first speakingto us his voice had connected itself with an association in my mindthat I could not define; but now, all at once, a something suddenin his manner and a pleasant expression in his eyes recalled thegentleman in the stagecoach31 six years ago on the memorable32 day ofmy journey to Reading. I was certain it was he. I never was sofrightened in my life as when I made the discovery, for he caughtmy glance, and appearing to read my thoughts, gave such a look atthe door that I thought we had lost him.
However, I am happy to say he remained where he was, and asked mewhat I thought of Mrs. Jellyby.
"She exerts herself very much for Africa, sir," I said.
"Nobly!" returned Mr. Jarndyce. "But you answer like Ada." Whom Ihad not heard. "You all think something else, I see.""We rather thought," said I, glancing at Richard and Ada, whoentreated me with their eyes to speak, "that perhaps she was alittle unmindful of her home.""Floored!" cried Mr. Jarndyce.
I was rather alarmed again.
"Well! I want to know your real thoughts, my dear. I may havesent you there on purpose.""We thought that, perhaps," said I, hesitating, "it is right tobegin with the obligations of home, sir; and that, perhaps, whilethose are overlooked and neglected, no other duties can possibly besubstituted for them.""The little Jellybys," said Richard, coming to my relief, "arereally--I can't help expressing myself strongly, sir--in a devil ofa state.""She means well," said Mr. Jarndyce hastily. "The wind's in theeast.""It was in the north, sir, as we came down," observed Richard.
"My dear Rick," said Mr. Jarndyce, poking33 the fire, "I'll take anoath it's either in the east or going to be. I am always consciousof an uncomfortable sensation now and then when the wind is blowingin the east.""Rheumatism34, sir?" said Richard.
"I dare say it is, Rick. I believe it is. And so the little Jell--I had my doubts about 'em--are in a--oh, Lord, yes, it'seasterly!" said Mr. Jarndyce.
He had taken two or three undecided turns up and down whileuttering these broken sentences, retaining the poker35 in one handand rubbing his hair with the other, with a good-natured vexationat once so whimsical and so lovable that I am sure we were moredelighted with him than we could possibly have expressed in anywords. He gave an arm to Ada and an arm to me, and bidding Richardbring a candle, was leading the way out when he suddenly turned usall back again.
"Those little Jellybys. Couldn't you--didn't you--now, if it hadrained sugar-plums, or three-cornered raspberry tarts36, or anythingof that sort!" said Mr. Jarndyce.
"Oh, cousin--" Ada hastily began.
"Good, my pretty pet. I like cousin. Cousin John, perhaps, isbetter.""Then, cousin John--" Ada laughingly began again.
"Ha, ha! Very good indeed!" said Mr. Jarndyce with greatenjoyment. "Sounds uncommonly38 natural. Yes, my dear?""It did better than that. It rained Esther.""Aye?" said Mr. Jarndyce. "What did Esther do?""Why, cousin John," said Ada, clasping her hands upon his arm andshaking her head at me across him--for I wanted her to be quiet--"Esther was their friend directly. Esther nursed them, coaxed39 themto sleep, washed and dressed them, told them stories, kept themquiet, bought them keepsakes"--My dear girl! I had only gone outwith Peepy after he was found and given him a little, tiny horse!--"and, cousin John, she softened40 poor Caroline, the eldest41 one, somuch and was so thoughtful for me and so amiable42! No, no, I won'tbe contradicted, Esther dear! You know, you know, it's true!"The warm-hearted darling leaned across her cousin John and kissedme, and then looking up in his face, boldly said, "At all events,cousin John, I WILL thank you for the companion you have given me."I felt as if she challenged him to run away. But he didn't.
"Where did you say the wind was, Rick?" asked Mr. Jarndyce.
"In the north as we came down, sir.""You are right. There's no east in it. A mistake of mine. Come,girls, come and see your home!"It was one of those delightfully43 irregular houses where you go upand down steps out of one room into another, and where you comeupon more rooms when you think you have seen all there are, andwhere there is a bountiful provision of little halls and passages,and where you find still older cottage-rooms in unexpected placeswith lattice windows and green growth pressing through them. Mine,which we entered first, was of this kind, with an up-and-down roofthat had more corners in it than I ever counted afterwards and achimney (there was a wood fire on the hearth) paved all around withpure white tiles, in every one of which a bright miniature of thefire was blazing. Out of this room, you went down two steps into acharming little sitting-room45 looking down upon a flower-garden,which room was henceforth to belong to Ada and me. Out of this youwent up three steps into Ada's bedroom, which had a fine broadwindow commanding a beautiful view (we saw a great expanse ofdarkness lying underneath46 the stars), to which there was a hollowwindow-seat, in which, with a spring-lock, three dear Adas mighthave been lost at once. Out of this room you passed into a littlegallery, with which the other best rooms (only two) communicated,and so, by a little staircase of shallow steps with a number ofcorner stairs in it, considering its length, down into the hall.
But if instead of going out at Ada's door you came back into myroom, and went out at the door by which you had entered it, andturned up a few crooked47 steps that branched off in an unexpectedmanner from the stairs, you lost yourself in passages, with manglesin them, and three-cornered tables, and a native Hindu chair, whichwas also a sofa, a box, and a bedstead, and looked in every formsomething between a bamboo skeleton and a great bird-cage, and hadbeen brought from India nobody knew by whom or when. From theseyou came on Richard's room, which was part library, part sitting-room, part bedroom, and seemed indeed a comfortable compound ofmany rooms. Out of that you went straight, with a little intervalof passage, to the plain room where Mr. Jarndyce slept, all theyear round, with his window open, his bedstead without anyfurniture standing48 in the middle of the floor for more air, and hiscold bath gaping49 for him in a smaller room adjoining. Out of thatyou came into another passage, where there were back-stairs andwhere you could hear the horses being rubbed down outside thestable and being told to "Hold up" and "Get over," as they slippedabout very much on the uneven50 stones. Or you might, if you cameout at another door (every room had at least two doors), gostraight down to the hall again by half-a-dozen steps and a lowarchway, wondering how you got back there or had ever got out ofit.
The furniture, old-fashioned rather than old, like the house, wasas pleasantly irregular. Ada's sleeping-room was all flowers--inchintz and paper, in velvet51, in needlework, in the brocade of twostiff courtly chairs which stood, each attended by a little page ofa stool for greater state, on either side of the fire-place. Oursitting-room was green and had framed and glazed52 upon the wallsnumbers of surprising and surprised birds, staring out of picturesat a real trout53 in a case, as brown and shining as if it had beenserved with gravy54; at the death of Captain Cook; and at the wholeprocess of preparing tea in China, as depicted55 by Chinese artists.
In my room there were oval engravings of the months--ladieshaymaking in short waists and large hats tied under the chin, forJune; smooth-legged noblemen pointing with cocked-hats to villagesteeples, for October. Half-length portraits in crayons aboundedall through the house, but were so dispersed56 that I found thebrother of a youthful officer of mine in the china-closet and thegrey old age of my pretty young bride, with a flower in her bodice,in the breakfast-room. As substitutes, I had four angels, of QueenAnne's reign57, taking a complacent58 gentleman to heaven, in festoons,with some difficulty; and a composition in needlework representingfruit, a kettle, and an alphabet. All the movables, from thewardrobes to the chairs and tables, hangings, glasses, even to thepincushions and scent-bottles on the dressing-tables, displayed thesame quaint59 variety. They agreed in nothing but their perfectneatness, their display of the whitest linen60, and their storing-up,wheresoever the existence of a drawer, small or large, rendered itpossible, of quantities of rose-leaves and sweet lavender. Such,with its illuminated61 windows, softened here and there by shadows ofcurtains, shining out upon the starlight night; with its light, andwarmth, and comfort; with its hospitable25 jingle62, at a distance, ofpreparations for dinner; with the face of its generous masterbrightening everything we saw; and just wind enough without tosound a low accompaniment to everything we heard, were our firstimpressions of Bleak House.
"I am glad you like it," said Mr. Jarndyce when he had brought usround again to Ada's sitting-room. "It makes no pretensions63, butit is a comfortable little place, I hope, and will be more so withsuch bright young looks in it. You have barely half an hour beforedinner. There's no one here but the finest creature upon earth--achild.""More children, Esther!" said Ada.
"I don't mean literally64 a child," pursued Mr. Jarndyce; "not achild in years. He is grown up--he is at least as old as I am--butin simplicity65, and freshness, and enthusiasm, and a fine guilelessinaptitude for all worldly affairs, he is a perfect child."We felt that he must be very interesting.
"He knows Mrs. Jellyby," said Mr. Jarndyce. "He is a musical man,an amateur, but might have been a professional. He is an artisttoo, an amateur, but might have been a professional. He is a manof attainments66 and of captivating manners. He has been unfortunatein his affairs, and unfortunate in his pursuits, and unfortunate inhis family; but he don't care--he's a child!""Did you imply that he has children of his own, sir?" inquiredRichard.
"Yes, Rick! Half-a-dozen. More! Nearer a dozen, I should think.
But he has never looked after them. How could he? He wantedsomebody to look after HIM. He is a child, you know!" said Mr.
Jarndyce.
"And have the children looked after themselves at all, sir?"inquired Richard.
"Why, just as you may suppose," said Mr. Jarndyce, his countenancesuddenly falling. "It is said that the children of the very poorare not brought up, but dragged up. Harold Skimpole's childrenhave tumbled up somehow or other. The wind's getting round again,I am afraid. I feel it rather!"Richard observed that the situation was exposed on a sharp night.
"It IS exposed," said Mr. Jarndyce. "No doubt that's the cause.
Bleak House has an exposed sound. But you are coming my way. Comealong!"Our luggage having arrived and being all at hand, I was dressed ina few minutes and engaged in putting my worldly goods away when amaid (not the one in attendance upon Ada, but another, whom I hadnot seen) brought a basket into my room with two bunches of keys init, all labelled.
"For you, miss, if you please," said she.
"For me?" said I.
"The housekeeping keys, miss."I showed my surprise, for she added with some little surprise onher own part, "I was told to bring them as soon as you was alone,miss. Miss Summerson, if I don't deceive myself?""Yes," said I. "That is my name.""The large bunch is the housekeeping, and the little bunch is thecellars, miss. Any time you was pleased to appoint tomorrowmorning, I was to show you the presses and things they belong to."I said I would be ready at half-past six, and after she was gone,stood looking at the basket, quite lost in the magnitude of mytrust. Ada found me thus and had such a delightful confidence inme when I showed her the keys and told her about them that it wouldhave been insensibility and ingratitude67 not to feel encouraged. Iknew, to be sure, that it was the dear girl's kindness, but I likedto be so pleasantly cheated.
When we went downstairs, we were presented to Mr. Skimpole, who wasstanding before the fire telling Richard how fond he used to be, inhis school-time, of football. He was a little bright creature witha rather large head, but a delicate face and a sweet voice, andthere was a perfect charm in him. All he said was so free fromeffort and spontaneous and was said with such a captivating gaietythat it was fascinating to hear him talk. Being of a more slenderfigure than Mr. Jarndyce and having a richer complexion68, withbrowner hair, he looked younger. Indeed, he had more theappearance in all respects of a damaged young man than a well-preserved elderly one. There was an easy negligence69 in his mannerand even in his dress (his hair carelessly disposed, and hisneckkerchief loose and flowing, as I have seen artists paint theirown portraits) which I could not separate from the idea of aromantic youth who had undergone some unique process ofdepreciation. It struck me as being not at all like the manner orappearance of a man who had advanced in life by the usual road ofyears, cares, and experiences.
I gathered from the conversation that Mr. Skimpole had beeneducated for the medical profession and had once lived, in hisprofessional capacity, in the household of a German prince. Hetold us, however, that as he had always been a mere70 child in pointof weights and measures and had never known anything about them(except that they disgusted him), he had never been able toprescribe with the requisite71 accuracy of detail. In fact, he said,he had no head for detail. And he told us, with great humour, thatwhen he was wanted to bleed the prince or physic any of his people,he was generally found lying on his back in bed, reading thenewspapers or making fancy-sketches in pencil, and couldn't come.
The prince, at last, objecting to this, "in which," said Mr.
Skimpole, in the frankest manner, "he was perfectly73 right," theengagement terminated, and Mr. Skimpole having (as he added withdelightful gaiety) "nothing to live upon but love, fell in love,and married, and surrounded himself with rosy74 cheeks." His goodfriend Jarndyce and some other of his good friends then helped him,in quicker or slower succession, to several openings in life, butto no purpose, for he must confess to two of the oldest infirmitiesin the world: one was that he had no idea of time, the other thathe had no idea of money. In consequence of which he never kept anappointment, never could transact75 any business, and never knew thevalue of anything! Well! So he had got on in life, and here hewas! He was very fond of reading the papers, very fond of makingfancy-sketches with a pencil, very fond of nature, very fond ofart. All he asked of society was to let him live. THAT wasn'tmuch. His wants were few. Give him the papers, conversation,music, mutton, coffee, landscape, fruit in the season, a few sheetsof Bristol-board, and a little claret, and he asked no more. Hewas a mere child in the world, but he didn't cry for the moon. Hesaid to the world, "Go your several ways in peace! Wear red coats,blue coats, lawn sleeves; put pens behind your ears, wear aprons;go after glory, holiness, commerce, trade, any object you prefer;only--let Harold Skimpole live!"All this and a great deal more he told us, not only with the utmostbrilliancy and enjoyment37, but with a certain vivacious76 candour--speaking of himself as if he were not at all his own affair, as ifSkimpole were a third person, as if he knew that Skimpole had hissingularities but still had his claims too, which were the generalbusiness of the community and must not be slighted. He was quiteenchanting. If I felt at all confused at that early time inendeavouring to reconcile anything he said with anything I hadthought about the duties and accountabilities of life (which I amfar from sure of), I was confused by not exactly understanding whyhe was free of them. That he WAS free of them, I scarcely doubted;he was so very clear about it himself.
"I covet77 nothing," said Mr. Skimpole in the same light way.
"Possession is nothing to me. Here is my friend Jarndyce'sexcellent house. I feel obliged to him for possessing it. I cansketch it and alter it. I can set it to music. When I am here, Ihave sufficient possession of it and have neither trouble, cost,nor responsibility. My steward's name, in short, is Jarndyce, andhe can't cheat me. We have been mentioning Mrs. Jellyby. There isa bright-eyed woman, of a strong will and immense power of businessdetail, who throws herself into objects with surprising ardour! Idon't regret that I have not a strong will and an immense power ofbusiness detail to throw myself into objects with surprisingardour. I can admire her without envy. I can sympathize with theobjects. I can dream of them. I can lie down on the grass--infine weather--and float along an African river, embracing all thenatives I meet, as sensible of the deep silence and sketching78 thedense overhanging tropical growth as accurately79 as if I were there.
I don't know that it's of any direct use my doing so, but it's allI can do, and I do it thoroughly80. Then, for heaven's sake, havingHarold Skimpole, a confiding81 child, petitioning you, the world, anagglomeration of practical people of business habits, to let himlive and admire the human family, do it somehow or other, like goodsouls, and suffer him to ride his rocking-horse!"It was plain enough that Mr. Jarndyce had not been neglectful ofthe adjuration82. Mr. Skimpole's general position there would haverendered it so without the addition of what he presently said.
"It's only you, the generous creatures, whom I envy," said Mr.
Skimpole, addressing us, his new friends, in an impersonal83 manner.
"I envy you your power of doing what you do. It is what I shouldrevel in myself. I don't feel any vulgar gratitude13 to you. Ialmost feel as if YOU ought to be grateful to ME for giving you theopportunity of enjoying the luxury of generosity16. I know you likeit. For anything I can tell, I may have come into the worldexpressly for the purpose of increasing your stock of happiness. Imay have been born to be a benefactor to you by sometimes givingyou an opportunity of assisting me in my little perplexities. Whyshould I regret my incapacity for details and worldly affairs whenit leads to such pleasant consequences? I don't regret ittherefore."Of all his playful speeches (playful, yet always fully44 meaning whatthey expressed) none seemed to be more to the taste of Mr. Jarndycethan this. I had often new temptations, afterwards, to wonderwhether it was really singular, or only singular to me, that he,who was probably the most grateful of mankind upon the leastoccasion, should so desire to escape the gratitude of others.
We were all enchanted84. I felt it a merited tribute to the engagingqualities of Ada and Richard that Mr. Skimpole, seeing them for thefirst time, should he so unreserved and should lay himself out tobe so exquisitely85 agreeable. They (and especially Richard) werenaturally pleased; for similar reasons, and considered it no commonprivilege to be so freely confided86 in by such an attractive man.
The more we listened, the more gaily87 Mr. Skimpole talked. And whatwith his fine hilarious88 manner and his engaging candour and hisgenial way of lightly tossing his own weaknesses about, as if hehad said, "I am a child, you know! You are designing peoplecompared with me" (he really made me consider myself in that light)"but I am gay and innocent; forget your worldly arts and play withme!" the effect was absolutely dazzling.
He was so full of feeling too and had such a delicate sentiment forwhat was beautiful or tender that he could have won a heart by thatalone. In the evening, when I was preparing to make tea and Adawas touching90 the piano in the adjoining room and softly humming atune to her cousin Richard, which they had happened to mention, hecame and sat down on the sofa near me and so spoke91 of Ada that Ialmost loved him.
"She is like the morning," he said. "With that golden hair, thoseblue eyes, and that fresh bloom on her cheek, she is like thesummer morning. The birds here will mistake her for it. We willnot call such a lovely young creature as that, who is a joy to allmankind, an orphan92. She is the child of the universe."Mr. Jarndyce, I found, was standing near us with his hands behindhim and an attentive93 smile upon his face.
"The universe," he observed, "makes rather an indifferent parent, Iam afraid.""Oh! I don't know!" cried Mr. Skimpole buoyantly.
"I think I do know," said Mr. Jarndyce.
"Well!" cried Mr. Skimpole. "You know the world (which in yoursense is the universe), and I know nothing of it, so you shall haveyour way. But if I had mine," glancing at the cousins, "thereshould be no brambles of sordid94 realities in such a path as that.
It should be strewn with roses; it should lie through bowers95, wherethere was no spring, autumn, nor winter, but perpetual summer. Ageor change should never wither96 it. The base word money should neverbe breathed near it!"Mr. Jarndyce patted him on the head with a smile, as if he had beenreally a child, and passing a step or two on, and stopping amoment, glanced at the young cousins. His look was thoughtful, buthad a benignant expression in it which I often (how often!) sawagain, which has long been engraven on my heart. The room in whichthey were, communicating with that in which he stood, was onlylighted by the fire. Ada sat at the piano; Richard stood besideher, bending down. Upon the wall, their shadows blended together,surrounded by strange forms, not without a ghostly motion caughtfrom the unsteady fire, though reflecting from motionless objects.
Ada touched the notes so softly and sang so low that the wind,sighing away to the distant hills, was as audible as the music.
The mystery of the future and the little clue afforded to it by thevoice of the present seemed expressed in the whole picture.
But it is not to recall this fancy, well as I remember it, that Irecall the scene. First, I was not quite unconscious of thecontrast in respect of meaning and intention between the silentlook directed that way and the flow of words that had preceded it.
Secondly, though Mr. Jarndyce's glance as he withdrew it rested forbut a moment on me, I felt as if in that moment he confided to me--and knew that he confided to me and that I received the confidence--his hope that Ada and Richard might one day enter on a dearerrelationship.
Mr. Skimpole could play on the piano and the violoncello, and hewas a composer--had composed half an opera once, but got tired ofit--and played what he composed with taste. After tea we had quitea little concert, in which Richard--who was enthralled97 by Ada'ssinging and told me that she seemed to know all the songs that everwere written--and Mr. Jarndyce, and I were the audience. After alittle while I missed first Mr. Skimpole and afterwards Richard,and while I was thinking how could Richard stay away so long andlose so much, the maid who had given me the keys looked in at thedoor, saying, "If you please, miss, could you spare a minute?"When I was shut out with her in the hall, she said, holding up herhands, "Oh, if you please, miss, Mr. Carstone says would you comeupstairs to Mr. Skimpole's room. He has been took, miss!""Took?" said I.
"Took, miss. Sudden," said the maid.
I was apprehensive98 that his illness might be of a dangerous kind,but of course I begged her to be quiet and not disturb any one andcollected myself, as I followed her quickly upstairs, sufficientlyto consider what were the best remedies to be applied99 if it shouldprove to be a fit. She threw open a door and I went into achamber, where, to my unspeakable surprise, instead of finding Mr.
Skimpole stretched upon the bed or prostrate100 on the floor, I foundhim standing before the fire smiling at Richard, while Richard,with a face of great embarrassment101, looked at a person on the sofa,in a white great-coat, with smooth hair upon his head and not muchof it, which he was wiping smoother and making less of with apocket-handkerchief.
"Miss Summerson," said Richard hurriedly, "I am glad you are come.
You will be able to advise us. Our friend Mr. Skimpole--don't bealarmed!--is arrested for debt.""And really, my dear Miss Summerson," said Mr. Skimpole with hisagreeable candour, "I never was in a situation in which thatexcellent sense and quiet habit of method and usefulness, whichanybody must observe in you who has the happiness of being aquarter of an hour in your society, was more needed."The person on the sofa, who appeared to have a cold in his head,gave such a very loud snort that he startled me.
"Are you arrested for much, sir?" I inquired of Mr. Skimpole.
"My dear Miss Summerson," said he, shaking his head pleasantly, "Idon't know. Some pounds, odd shillings, and halfpence, I think,were mentioned.""It's twenty-four pound, sixteen, and sevenpence ha'penny,"observed the stranger. "That's wot it is.""And it sounds--somehow it sounds," said Mr. Skimpole, "like asmall sum?"The strange man said nothing but made another snort. It was such apowerful one that it seemed quite to lift him out of his seat.
"Mr. Skimpole," said Richard to me, "has a delicacy102 in applying tomy cousin Jarndyce because he has lately--I think, sir, Iunderstood you that you had lately--""Oh, yes!" returned Mr. Skimpole, smiling. "Though I forgot howmuch it was and when it was. Jarndyce would readily do it again,but I have the epicure-like feeling that I would prefer a noveltyin help, that I would rather," and he looked at Richard and me,"develop generosity in a new soil and in a new form of flower.""What do you think will be best, Miss Summerson?" said Richard,aside.
I ventured to inquire, generally, before replying, what wouldhappen if the money were not produced.
"Jail," said the strange man, coolly putting his handkerchief intohis hat, which was on the floor at his feet. "Or Coavinses.""May I ask, sir, what is--""Coavinses?" said the strange man. "A 'ouse."Richard and I looked at one another again. It was a most singularthing that the arrest was our embarrassment and not Mr. Skimpole's.
He observed us with a genial89 interest, but there seemed, if I mayventure on such a contradiction, nothing selfish in it. He hadentirely washed his hands of the difficulty, and it had becomeours.
"I thought," he suggested, as if good-naturedly to help us out,"that being parties in a Chancery suit concerning (as people say) alarge amount of property, Mr. Richard or his beautiful cousin, orboth, could sign something, or make over something, or give somesort of undertaking104, or pledge, or bond? I don't know what thebusiness name of it may be, but I suppose there is some instrumentwithin their power that would settle this?""Not a bit on it," said the strange man.
"Really?" returned Mr. Skimpole. "That seems odd, now, to one whois no judge of these things!""Odd or even," said the stranger gruffly, "I tell you, not a bit onit!""Keep your temper, my good fellow, keep your temper!" Mr. Skimpolegently reasoned with him as he made a little drawing of his head onthe fly-leaf of a book. "Don't be ruffled105 by your occupation. Wecan separate you from your office; we can separate the individualfrom the pursuit. We are not so prejudiced as to suppose that inprivate life you are otherwise than a very estimable man, with agreat deal of poetry in your nature, of which you may not beconscious.
The stranger only answered with another violent snort, whether inacceptance of the poetry-tribute or in disdainful rejection106 of it,he did not express to me.
"Now, my dear Miss Summerson, and my dear Mr. Richard," said Mr.
Skimpole gaily, innocently, and confidingly107 as he looked at hisdrawing with his head on one side, "here you see me utterlyincapable of helping108 myself, and entirely103 in your hands! I onlyask to be free. The butterflies are free. Mankind will surely notdeny to Harold Skimpole what it concedes to the butterflies!""My dear Miss Summerson," said Richard in a whisper, "I have tenpounds that I received from Mr. Kenge. I must try what that willdo."I possessed109 fifteen pounds, odd shillings, which I had saved frommy quarterly allowance during several years. I had always thoughtthat some accident might happen which would throw me suddenly,without any relation or any property, on the world and had alwaystried to keep some little money by me that I might not be quitepenniless. I told Richard of my having this little store andhaving no present need of it, and I asked him delicately to informMr. Skimpole, while I should be gone to fetch it, that we wouldhave the pleasure of paying his debt.
When I came back, Mr. Skimpole kissed my hand and seemed quitetouched. Not on his own account (I was again aware of thatperplexing and extraordinary contradiction), but on ours, as ifpersonal considerations were impossible with him and thecontemplation of our happiness alone affected110 him. Richard,begging me, for the greater grace of the transaction, as he said,to settle with Coavinses (as Mr. Skimpole now jocularly calledhim), I counted out the money and received the necessaryacknowledgment. This, too, delighted Mr. Skimpole.
His compliments were so delicately administered that I blushed lessthan I might have done and settled with the stranger in the whitecoat without making any mistakes. He put the money in his pocketand shortly said, "Well, then, I'll wish you a good evening, miss.
"My friend," said Mr. Skimpole, standing with his back to the fireafter giving up the sketch72 when it was half finished, "I shouldlike to ask you something, without offence."I think the reply was, "Cut away, then!""Did you know this morning, now, that you were coming out on thiserrand?" said Mr. Skimpole.
"Know'd it yes'day aft'noon at tea-time," said Coavinses.
"It didn't affect your appetite? Didn't make you at all uneasy?""Not a hit," said Coavinses. "I know'd if you wos missed to-day,you wouldn't be missed to-morrow. A day makes no such odds111.""But when you came down here," proceeded Mr. Skimpole, "it was afine day. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing, the lightsand shadows were passing across the fields, the birds weresinging.""Nobody said they warn't, in MY hearing," returned Coavinses.
"No," observed Mr. Skimpole. "But what did you think upon theroad?""Wot do you mean?" growled112 Coavinses with an appearance of strongresentment. "Think! I've got enough to do, and little enough toget for it without thinking. Thinking!" (with profound contempt).
"Then you didn't think, at all events," proceeded Mr. Skimpole, "tothis effect: 'Harold Skimpole loves to see the sun shine, loves tohear the wind blow, loves to watch the changing lights and shadows,loves to hear the birds, those choristers in Nature's greatcathedral. And does it seem to me that I am about to depriveHarold Skimpole of his share in such possessions, which are hisonly birthright!' You thought nothing to that effect?""I--certainly--did--NOT," said Coavinses, whose doggedness inutterly renouncing113 the idea was of that intense kind that he couldonly give adequate expression to it by putting a long intervalbetween each word, and accompanying the last with a jerk that mighthave dislocated his neck.
"Very odd and very curious, the mental process is, in you men ofbusiness!" said Mr. Skimpole thoughtfully. "Thank you, my friend.
Good night."As our absence had been long enough already to seem strangedownstairs, I returned at once and found Ada sitting at work by thefireside talking to her cousin John. Mr. Skimpole presentlyappeared, and Richard shortly after him. I was sufficientlyengaged during the remainder of the evening in taking my firstlesson in backgammon from Mr. Jarndyce, who was very fond of thegame and from whom I wished of course to learn it as quickly as Icould in order that I might be of the very small use of being ableto play when he had no better adversary114. But I thought,occasionally, when Mr. Skimpole played some fragments of his owncompositions or when, both at the piano and the violoncello, and atour table, he preserved with an absence of all effort hisdelightful spirits and his easy flow of conversation, that Richardand I seemed to retain the transferred impression of having beenarrested since dinner and that it was very curious altogether.
It was late before we separated, for when Ada was going at eleveno'clock, Mr. Skimpole went to the piano and rattled hilariouslythat the best of all ways to lengthen115 our days was to steal a fewhours from night, my dear! It was past twelve before he took hiscandle and his radiant face out of the room, and I think he mighthave kept us there, if he had seen fit, until daybreak. Ada andRichard were lingering for a few moments by the fire, wonderingwhether Mrs. Jellyby had yet finished her dictation for the day,when Mr. Jarndyce, who had been out of the room, returned.
"Oh, dear me, what's this, what's this!" he said, rubbing his headand walking about with his good-humoured vexation. "What's thisthey tell me? Rick, my boy, Esther, my dear, what have you beendoing? Why did you do it? How could you do it? How much apiecewas it? The wind's round again. I feel it all over me!"We neither of us quite knew what to answer.
"Come, Rick, come! I must settle this before I sleep. How muchare you out of pocket? You two made the money up, you know! Whydid you? How could you? Oh, Lord, yes, it's due east--must be!""Really, sir," said Richard, "I don't think it would be honourablein me to tell you. Mr. Skimpole relied upon us--""Lord bless you, my dear boy! He relies upon everybody!" said Mr.
Jarndyce, giving his head a great rub and stopping short.
"Indeed, sir?""Everybody! And he'll be in the same scrape again next week!" saidMr. Jarndyce, walking again at a great pace, with a candle in hishand that had gone out. "He's always in the same scrape. He wasborn in the same scrape. I verily believe that the announcement inthe newspapers when his mother was confined was 'On Tuesday last,at her residence in Botheration Buildings, Mrs. Skimpole of a sonin difficulties.'"Richard laughed heartily but added, "Still, sir, I don't want toshake his confidence or to break his confidence, and if I submit toyour better knowledge again, that I ought to keep his secret, Ihope you will consider before you press me any more. Of course, ifyou do press me, sir, I shall know I am wrong and will tell you.""Well!" cried Mr. Jarndyce, stopping again, and making severalabsent endeavours to put his candlestick in his pocket. "I--here!
Take it away, my dear. I don't know what I am about with it; it'sall the wind--invariably has that effect--I won't press you, Rick;you may be right. But really--to get hold of you and Esther--andto squeeze you like a couple of tender young Saint Michael'soranges! It'll blow a gale116 in the course of the night!"He was now alternately putting his hands into his pockets as if hewere going to keep them there a long time, and taking them outagain and vehemently117 rubbing them all over his head.
I ventured to take this opportunity of hinting that Mr. Skimpole,being in all such matters quite a child--"Eh, my dear?" said Mr. Jarndyce, catching118 at the word.
Being quite a child, sir," said I, "and so different from otherpeople--""You are right!" said Mr. Jarndyce, brightening. "Your woman's withits the mark. He is a child--an absolute child. I told you hewas a child, you know, when I first mentioned him."Certainly! Certainly! we said.
"And he IS a child. Now, isn't he?" asked Mr. Jarndyce,brightening more and more.
He was indeed, we said.
"When you come to think of it, it's the height of childishness inyou--I mean me--" said Mr. Jarodyce, "to regard him for a moment asa man. You can't make HIM responsible. The idea of HaroldSkimpole with designs or plans, or knowledge of consequences! Ha,ha, ha!"It was so delicious to see the clouds about his bright faceclearing, and to see him so heartily pleased, and to know, as itwas impossible not to know, that the source of his pleasure was thegoodness which was tortured by condemning119, or mistrusting, orsecretly accusing any one, that I saw the tears in Ada's eyes,while she echoed his laugh, and felt them in my own.
"Why, what a cod's head and shoulders I am," said Mr. Jarndyce, "torequire reminding of it! The whole business shows the child frombeginning to end. Nobody but a child would have thought ofsingling YOU two out for parties in the affair! Nobody but a childwould have thought of YOUR having the money! If it had been athousand pounds, it would have been just the same!" said Mr.
Jarndyce with his whole face in a glow.
We all confirmed it from our night's experience.
"To be sure, to be sure!" said Mr. Jarndyce. "However, Rick,Esther, and you too, Ada, for I don't know that even your littlepurse is safe from his inexperience--I must have a promise allround that nothing of this sort shall ever be done any more. Noadvances! Not even sixpences."We all promised faithfully, Richard with a merry glance at metouching his pocket as if to remind me that there was no danger ofOUR transgressing120.
"As to Skimpole," said Mr. Jarndyce, "a habitable doll's house withgood board and a few tin people to get into debt with and borrowmoney of would set the boy up in life. He is in a child's sleep bythis time, I suppose; it's time I should take my craftier121 head tomy more worldly pillow. Good night, my dears. God bless you!"He peeped in again, with a smiling face, before we had lighted ourcandles, and said, "Oh! I have been looking at the weather-cock. Ifind it was a false alarm about the wind. It's in the south!" Andwent away singing to himself.
Ada and I agreed, as we talked together for a little whileupstairs, that this caprice about the wind was a fiction and thathe used the pretence122 to account for any disappointment he could notconceal, rather than he would blame the real cause of it ordisparage or depreciate123 any one. We thought this verycharacteristic of his eccentric gentleness and of the differencebetween him and those petulant124 people who make the weather and thewinds (particularly that unlucky wind which he had chosen for sucha different purpose) the stalking-horses of their splenetic andgloomy humours.
Indeed, so much affection for him had been added in this oneevening to my gratitude that I hoped I already began to understandhim through that mingled125 feeling. Any seeming inconsistencies inMr. Skimpole or in Mrs. Jellyby I could not expect to be able toreconcile, having so little experience or practical knowledge.
Neither did I try, for my thoughts were busy when I was alone, withAda and Richard and with the confidence I had seemed to receiveconcerning them. My fancy, made a little wild by the wind perhaps,would not consent to be all unselfish, either, though I would havepersuaded it to be so if I could. It wandered back to mygodmother's house and came along the intervening track, raising upshadowy speculations126 which had sometimes trembled there in the darkas to what knowledge Mr. Jarndyce had of my earliest history--evenas to the possibility of his being my father, though that idledream was quite gone now.
It was all gone now, I remembered, getting up from the fire. It wasnot for me to muse127 over bygones, but to act with a cheerful spiritand a grateful heart. So I said to myself, "Esther, Esther, Esther!
Duty, my dear!" and gave my little basket of housekeeping keys sucha shake that they sounded like little bells and rang me hopefully tobed.
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waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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seethe
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| vi.拥挤，云集；发怒，激动，骚动 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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melodiously
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benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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expedients
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| n.应急有效的，权宜之计的( expedient的名词复数 ) | |
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evasions
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| 逃避( evasion的名词复数 )； 回避； 遁辞； 借口 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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diverge
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| v.分叉，分歧，离题，使...岔开，使转向 | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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stagecoach
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| n.公共马车 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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tarts
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| n.果馅饼( tart的名词复数 )；轻佻的女人；妓女；小妞 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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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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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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66
attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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67
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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68
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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69
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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71
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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72
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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73
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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covet
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| vt.垂涎；贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
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78
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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79
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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80
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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81
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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82
adjuration
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| n.祈求，命令 | |
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83
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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84
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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85
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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86
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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87
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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88
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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95
bowers
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| n.（女子的）卧室( bower的名词复数 )；船首锚；阴凉处；鞠躬的人 | |
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wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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enthralled
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| 迷住，吸引住( enthrall的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到非常愉快 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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100
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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103
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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104
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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105
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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106
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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107
confidingly
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| adv.信任地 | |
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108
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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109
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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110
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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111
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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112
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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113
renouncing
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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114
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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115
lengthen
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| vt.使伸长，延长 | |
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116
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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117
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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118
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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119
condemning
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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120
transgressing
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| v.超越( transgress的现在分词 )；越过；违反；违背 | |
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121
craftier
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| 狡猾的，狡诈的( crafty的比较级 ) | |
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122
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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123
depreciate
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| v.降价，贬值，折旧 | |
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124
petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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125
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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126
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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127
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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