The Steels had not as yet committed themselves to formal hospitality of the somewhat showy character that obtained in the neighborhood, but they kept open house for all who liked to come, and whom they themselves liked well enough to ask in the first instance. And here (as in some other matters) this curious pair discovered a reflex identity of taste, rare enough in the happiest of conventional couples, but a gratuitous9 irony10 in the makers11 of a merely nominal13 marriage. Their mutual14 feelings towards each other were a quantity unknown to either; but about a third person they were equally outspoken15 and unanimous. Thus they had fewer disagreements than many a loving couple, and perhaps more points of insignificant16 contact, while all the time there was not even the pretence17 of love between them. Their lives made a chasm18 bridged by threads.
This was not seen by more than two of their acquaintance. Morna Woodgate had both the observation and the opportunities to see a little how the land lay between them. Charles Langholm had the experience and the imagination to guess a good deal. But it was little enough that Morna saw, and Langholm's guesses were as wide of the mark as only the guesses of an imaginative man can be. As for all the rest—honest Hugh Woodgate, the Venables girls, and their friends the young men in the various works, who saw the old-fashioned courtesy with which Steel always treated his wife, and the grace and charm of her consideration for him—they were every one receiving a liberal object lesson in matrimony, as some of them even realized at the time.
"I wish I could learn to treat my wife as Steel does his," sighed the good vicar, once when he had been inattentive at the table, and Morna had rebuked19 him in fun. "That would be my ideal—if I wasn't too old to learn!"
"Then thank goodness you are," rejoined his wife. "Let me catch you dancing in front of me to open the doors, Hugh, and I shall keep my eye on you as I've never kept it yet!"
But Rachel herself did not dislike these little graces, partly because they were not put on to impress an audience, but were an incident of their private life as well; and partly because they stimulated20 a study to which she had only given herself since their return to England and their establishment at Normanthorpe House. This was her study of the man who was still calmly studying her; she was returning the compliment at last.
And of his character she formed by degrees some remote conception; he was Steel by name and steel by nature, as the least observant might discern, and the least witty21 remark; a grim inscrutability was his dominant22 note; he was darkly alert, mysteriously vigilant23, a measurer of words, a governor of glances; and yet, with all his self-mastery and mastery of others, there were human traits that showed themselves from time to time as the months wore on. Rachel did not recognize among these that studious consideration which she could still appreciate; it seemed rather part of a preconceived method of treating his wife, and the wary24 eye gleamed through it all. But it has been mentioned that Rachel at one time had a voice, of which high hopes had been formed by inexperienced judges. It was only at Normanthorpe that her second husband became aware of her possession, one afternoon when she fancied that she had the house to herself. So two could play at the game of consistent concealment25! He could not complain; it was in the bond, and he never said a word. But he stood outside the window till she was done, for Rachel saw him in a mirror, and for many an afternoon to come he would hover26 outside the same window at the same time.
Why had he married her? Did he care for her, or did he not? What could be the object of that extraordinary step? Rachel was as far from hitting upon a feasible solution of these mysteries as she was from penetrating27 the deeper one of his own past life. Sometimes she put the like questions to herself; but they were more easily answered. She had been in desperate straits, in reckless despair; even if her second marriage had turned out no better than her first, she could not have been worse off than she was on the night of her acquittal; but she had been very well off ever since. Then there had been the incentive28 of adventure, the fascination29 of that very mystery which was a mystery still. And then—yes!—there had been the compelling will of a nature infinitely30 stronger than her own or any other that she had ever known.
Did she regret this second marriage, this second leap in the dark? No, she could not honestly pretend that she did; yet it had its sufficiently31 sinister32 side, its occasional admixture of sheer horror. But this was only when the mysteries which encompassed33 her happened to prey34 upon nerves unstrung by some outwardly exciting cause; it was then she would have given back all that he had ever given her to pierce the veil of her husband's past. Here, however, the impulse was more subtle; it was not the mere12 consuming curiosity which one in Rachel's position was bound to feel; it was rather a longing35 to be convinced that that veil hid nothing which should make her shudder36 to live under the same roof with this man.
Of one thing she was quite confident; wherever her husband had spent or misspent his life (if any part of so successful a whole could really have been misspent), it was not in England. He was un-English in a hundred superficial ways—in none that cut deep. With all his essential cynicism, there was the breadth and tolerance37 of a travelled man. Cosmopolitan38 on the other hand, he could not be called; he had proved himself too poor a linguist39 in every country that they had visited. It was only now, in their home life, that Rachel received hints of the truth, and it filled her with vague alarms, for that seemed to her to be the last thing he need have kept to himself.
One day she saw him ride a fractious horse, not because he was fond of riding, but because nobody in the stables could cope with this animal. Steel tamed it in ten minutes. But a groom40 remarked upon the shortness of his stirrups, in Rachel's hearing, and on the word a flash of memory lit up her brain. All at once she remembered the incident of the gum-leaves, soon after their arrival; he had told Morna what they were, yet to his wife he had pretended not to know. If he also was an Australian, why on earth should that fact, of all facts, be concealed41 from her? Nor had it merely been concealed; it was a point upon which Rachel had been deliberately42 misled, and the only one she could recall.
She was still brooding over it when a fresh incident occurred, which served not only to confirm her suspicions in this regard, but to deepen and intensify43 the vague horror with which her husband's presence sometimes inspired her.
Mr. Steel was an exceptionally early riser. It was his boast that he never went to sleep a second time; and one of his nearest approaches to a confidence was the remark that he owed something to that habit. Now Rachel, who was a bad sleeper44, kept quite a different set of hours, and was seldom seen outside her own rooms before the forenoon. One magnificent morning, however, she was tempted45 to dress and make the best of the day which she had watched breaking shade by shade. The lawns were gray with dew; the birds were singing as they never sing twice in one summer's day. Rachel thought that for once she would like to be up and out before the sun was overpowering. And she proceeded to fulfil her wish.
All had been familiar from the window; all was unfamiliar46 on the landing and the stairs. No one had been down; the blinds were all drawn47; a clock ticked like a sledge-hammer in the hall. Rachel ran downstairs like a mouse, and almost into the arms of her husband, whom she met coming out of the dining-room with a loaded tray. Another would have dropped it; with Steel there was not so much as a rattle48 of the things, but his color changed, and Rachel had not yet had such a look as he gave her with his pursed mouth and his flashing eyes.
"What does this mean?" he demanded, in the tone of distant thunder, with little less than lightning in his glance.
"I think that's for me to ask," laughed Rachel, standing49 up to him with a nerve that surprised herself. "I didn't know that you began so early!"
A decanter and a glass were among the things upon the tray.
"And I didn't know it of you," he retorted. "Why are you up?"
Rachel told him the simple truth in simple fashion. His tone of voice did not hurt her; there was no opposite extreme of tenderness to call to mind for the contrast which inflicts50 the wound. On the other hand, there was a certain satisfaction in having for once ruffled51 that smooth mien52 and smoother tongue; it was one of her rare glimpses of the real man, but as usual it was a glimpse and nothing more.
"I must apologize," said Steel, with an artificiality which was seldom so transparent53; "my only excuse is that you startled me out of my temper and my manners. And I was upset to begin with. I have a poor fellow in rather a bad way in the boathouse."
"Not one of the gardeners, I hope?" queried54 Rachel; but her kind anxiety subsided55 in a moment, for his dark eyes were measuring her, his dark mind meditating56 a lie; and now she knew him well enough to read him thus far in his turn.
"No," replied Steel, deciding visibly against the lie; "no, not one of our men, or anybody else belonging to these parts; but some unlucky tramp, whom I imagine some of our neighbors would have given into custody57 forthwith. I found him asleep on the lawn; of course he had no business upon the premises58; but he's so far gone that I'm taking him something to pull him together before I turn him off."
"I should have said," remarked Rachel, thoughtfully, "that tea or coffee would have been better for him than spirits."
Steel smiled indulgently across the tray.
"Most ladies would say the same," he replied, "but very few men."
"And why didn't you bring him into the house," pursued Rachel, looking her husband very candidly59 in the face, "instead of taking him all that way to the lake, and giving yourself so much more trouble than was necessary?"
The smile broadened upon Steel's thin lips, perhaps because it had entirely60 vanished from his glittering eyes.
"That," said he, "is a question you would scarcely ask if you had seen the poor creature for yourself. I don't intend you to see him; he is a rather saddening spectacle, and one of a type for which one can do absolutely nothing permanent. And now, if you are quite satisfied, I shall proceed, with your permission, to get rid of him in my own way."
It was seldom indeed that Steel descended61 to a display of sarcasm62 at his wife's expense, though few people who came much in contact with him escaped an occasional flick63 from a tongue that could be as bitter as it was habitually64 smooth. His last words were therefore as remarkable65 as his first; both were exceptions to a rule; and though Rachel moved away without replying, feeling that there was indeed no more to be said, she could not but dwell upon the matter in her mind. Satisfied she certainly was not; and yet there was so much mystery between them, so many instinctive66 reservations upon either side, that very little circumstance of the kind could not carry an ulterior significance, but many must be due to mere force of habit.
Rachel hated the condition of mutual secretiveness upon which she had married this man; it was antagonistic67 to her whole nature; she longed to repudiate68 it, and to abolish all secrets between them. But there her pride stepped in and closed her lips; and the intolerable thought that she would value her husband's confidence more than he would value hers, that she felt drawn to him despite every sinister attribute, would bring humiliation69 and self-loathing in its train. It was the truth, however, or, at all events, part of the truth.
Yet a more unfair arrangement Rachel had been unable to conceive, ever since the fatally reckless moment in which she had acquiesced70 in this one. The worst that could be known about her was known to her husband before her marriage; she had nothing else to hide; all concealment of the past, as between themselves, was upon his side. But matters were coming to a crisis in this respect; and, when Rachel deemed it done with, this incident of the tramp was only just begun.
It seemed that the servants knew of it, and that it was not Steel who had originally discovered the sleeping intruder, but an under-gardener, who, seeing his master also up and about, had prudently71 inquired what was to be done with the man before meddling72 with him.
"And the master said, 'leave him to me,'" declared Rachel's maid, who was her informant on the point, as she combed out her mistress's beautiful brown hair, before the late breakfast which did away with luncheon73 when there were no visitors at Normanthorpe.
"And did he do so?" inquired Rachel, looking with interest into her own eyes in the glass. "Did he leave him to your master?"
"He did that!" replied her maid, a simple Yorkshire wench, whom Rachel herself had chosen in preference to the smart town type. "Catch any on 'em not doin what master tells them!"
"Then did John see what happened?"
"No, m'm—because master sent him to see if the chap'd come in at t' lodge74 gates, or where, and when he got back he was gone, blanket an' all, an' master with him."
"Blanket and all!" repeated Rachel. "Do you mean to say he had the impudence75 to bring a blanket with him?"
"And slept in it!" cried her excited little maid. "John says he found him tucked up in a corner of the lawn, out of the wind, behind some o' them shrubs76, sound asleep, and lapped round and round in his blue banket from head to heel."
Rachel saw her own face change in the glass; but she only asked one more question, and that with a smile.
"Did John say it was a blue blanket, Harris, or did your own imagination supply the color?"
"He said it, m'm; faded blue."
"And pray when did you see John to hear all this?" demanded Rachel, suddenly remembering her responsibility as mistress of this young daughter of the soil.
"Deary me, m'm," responded the ingenuous77 Harris, "I didn't see him, not more than any of the others; he just comed to t' window of t' servants' hall, as we were having our breakfasts, and he told us all at once. He was that full of it, was John!"
Rachel asked no more questions; but she was not altogether sorry that the matter had already become one of common gossip throughout the house. Meanwhile she made no allusion78 to it at breakfast, but her observation had been quickened by the events of the morning, and thus it was that she noticed and recognized the narrow blue book which was too long for her husband's breast-pocket, and would show itself as he stooped over his coffee. It was his check-book, and Rachel had not seen it since their travels.
That afternoon a not infrequent visitor arrived on his bicycle, to which was tied a bouquet79 of glorious roses instead of a lamp; this was Charles Langholm, the novelist, who had come to live in Delverton, over two hundred miles from his life-long haunts and the literary market-place, chiefly because upon a happy-go-lucky tour through the district he had chanced upon what he never tired of calling "the ideal rose-covered cottage of my dreams," though also for other reasons unknown in Yorkshire. His flat was abandoned before quarter-day, his effects transplanted at considerable cost, and ever since Langholm had been a bigoted80 countryman, who could not spend a couple of days in town without making himself offensive on the subject at his club, where he was nevertheless discreetly81 vague as to the exact locality of his rural paradise. Even at the club, however, it was admitted that his work had improved almost as much as his appearance; and he put it all down to the roses in which he lived embowered for so many months of the year. Such was their profusion82 that you could have filled a clothes-basket without missing one, and Langholm never visited rich or poor without a little offering out of his abundance.
"They may be coals to Newcastle," he would say to the Woodgates or the Steels, "but none of your Tyneside collieries are a patch on mine."
Like most victims of the artistic83 temperament84, the literary Langholm was a creature of moods; but the very fact of a voluntary visit from him was sufficient guarantee of the humor in which he came, and this afternoon he was at his best. He had indeed been writing all day, and for many days past, and was filled with the curious exhilaration which accompanies an output too rapid and too continuous to permit a running sense of the defects. He was a ship with a fair wind, which he valued the more for the belts of calms and the adverse85 weather through which he had passed and must inevitably86 pass again; for the moment he was a happy man, though one with no illusion as to the present product of his teeming87 pen.
"It is nonsense," he said to Rachel, in answer to a question from that new and sympathetic friend, "but it is not such nonsense as to seem nothing else when one's in the act of perpetrating it, and what more can one want? It had to be done by the tenth of August, and by Jove it will be! A few weeks ago I didn't think it possible; but the summer has thawed88 my ink."
"Are you sure it isn't Mrs. Steel?" asked one of the Venables girls, who had also ridden over on their bicycles. "I heard you had a tremendously literary conversation when you dined with us."
"We had, indeed!" said Langholm, with enthusiasm. "And Mrs. Steel gave me one of the best ideas I ever had in my life; that's another reason why I'm racing89 through this rubbish—to take it in hand."
It was Sybil to whom he was speaking, but at this point Rachel plunged90 into the conversation with the sister, Vera, which required an effort, since the elder Miss Venables was a young lady who had cultivated languor91 as a sign of breeding and sophistication. Rachel, however, made the effort with such a will that the talk became general in a moment.
"I don't know how anybody writes books," was the elder young lady's solitary92 contribution; her tone added that she did not want to know.
"Nor I," echoed Sybil, "especially in a place like this, where nothing ever happens. If I wanted to write a novel, I should go to Spain—or Siberia—or the Rocky Mountains—where things do happen, according to all accounts."
"Young lady," returned the novelist, a twinkle in his eye, "I had exactly the same notion when I first began, and I remember what a much older hand said to me when I told him I was going down to Cornwall for romantic background. 'Young man,' said he, 'have you placed a romance in your mother's backyard yet?' I had not, but I did so at once instead of going to Cornwall, and sounder advice I never had in my life. Material, like charity, begins at home; nor need you suppose that nothing ever happens down here. That is the universal idea of the native about his or her own heath, but I can assure you it isn't the case at all. Only just now, on my way here, I saw a scene and a character that might have been lifted bodily out of Bret Harte."
Sybil Venables clamored for particulars, while her sister resigned herself to further weariness of the flesh. Rachel put down her cup and leant forward with curiously93 expectant eyes. They were sitting in the cool, square hall, with doors shut or open upon every hand, and the gilded94 gallery overhead. Statuettes and ferns, all reflected in the highly polished marble floor, added a theatrical95 touch which was not out of keeping with a somewhat ornate interior.
"It was the character," continued Langholm, "who was making the scene; and a stranger creature I have never seen on English earth. He wore what I believe they call a Crimean shirt, and a hat like a stage cowboy; and he informed all passers that he was knocking down his check!"
"What?" cried Rachel and Sybil in one breath, but in curiously different tones.
"Knocking down his check," repeated Langholm. "It's what they do in the far west or the bush or somewhere—but I rather fancy it's the bush—when they get arrears96 of wages in a lump in one check."
"And where did you see all this?" inquired Rachel, whose voice was very quiet, but her hazel eyes alight with a deeper interest than the story warranted.
"At the Packhorse on the York Road. I came that way round for the sake of the surface and the exercise."
"And did you see the check?"
"No, I only stopped for a moment, to find out what the excitement was about; but the fellow I can see now. You never set eyes on such a pirate—gloriously drunk and bearded to the belt. I didn't stop, because he was lacing into everybody with a cushion, and the local loafers seemed to like it."
"What a joke!" cried Sybil Venables.
"And he was belaboring99 them with a cushion, did you say?" added Rachel, with the slightest emphasis upon the noun.
"Well, it looked like one to me," replied Langholm, "but, on second thoughts, it was more like a bolster100 in shape; and now I know what it was! It has just dawned on me. It looked like a bolster done up in a blanket; but it was the swag that the tramps carry in Australia, with all their earthly goods rolled up in their bedding; and the fellow was an Australian swagsman, that's what he was!"
"Swagman," corrected Rachel, instinctively101. "And pray what color was the blanket?" she made haste to add.
"Faded blue."
And, again from sheer force of instinct, Rachel gave a nod.
"Were you ever out there, Mrs. Steel?" inquired Langholm, carelessly. "I never was, but the sort of thing has been done to death in books, and I only wonder I didn't recognize it at once. Well, it was the last type one thought to meet with in broad daylight on an English country road!"
Had Langholm realized that he had put a question which he had no business to put? Had he convicted himself of a direct though unpremeditated attempt to probe the mystery of his hostess's antecedents, and were his subsequent observations designed to unsay that question in effect? If so, there was no such delicacy102 in the elder Miss Venables, who became quite animated103 at the sudden change in Rachel's face, and at her own perception of the cause.
"Have you been to Australia, Mrs. Steel?" repeated Vera, looking Rachel full in the eyes; and she added slyly, "I believe you have!"
There was a moment's pause, and then a crisp step rang upon the marble, as Mr. Steel emerged from his study.
"Australia, my dear Miss Venables," said he, "is the one country that neither my wife nor I have ever visited in our lives, and the last one that either of us has the least curiosity to see."
And he took his seat among them with a smile.
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1
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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encompassed
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| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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linguist
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| n.语言学家；精通数种外国语言者 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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intensify
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| vt.加强；变强；加剧 | |
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sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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45
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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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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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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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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inflicts
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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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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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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57
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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antagonistic
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| adj.敌对的 | |
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repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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bigoted
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| adj.固执己见的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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arrears
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| n.到期未付之债，拖欠的款项；待做的工作 | |
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accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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98
sapient
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| adj.有见识的，有智慧的 | |
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99
belaboring
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| v.毒打一顿( belabor的现在分词 )；责骂；就…作过度的说明；向…唠叨 | |
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100
bolster
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| n.枕垫；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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101
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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102
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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103
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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