An artist might have had some such poetic12 fancy, and would certainly have looked lovingly on the alluring13 colors and forms of decay. But Miss Greeby was no artist, and prided herself upon being an aggressively matter-of-fact young woman. With her big boots slapping the ground and her big hands thrust into the pockets of her mannish jacket, she bent14 her head in a meditative15 fashion and trudged16 briskly onward17. What romance her hard nature was capable of, was uppermost now, but it had to do strictly18 with her personal feelings and did not require the picturesque19 autumn landscape to improve or help it in any way. One man's name suggested romance to bluff20, breezy Clara Greeby, and that name was Noel Lambert. She murmured it over and over again to her heart, and her hard face flushed into something almost like beauty, as she remembered that she would soon behold22 its owner. "But he won't care," she said aloud, and threw back her head defiantly24: then after a pause, she breathed softly, "But I shall make him care."
If she hoped to do so, the task was one which required a great amount of skill and a greater amount of womanly courage, neither of which qualities Miss Greeby possessed26. She had no skill in managing a man, as her instincts were insufficiently27 feminine, and her courage was of a purely29 rough-and-tumble kind. She could have endured hunger and thirst and cold: she could have headed a forlorn hope: she could have held to a sinking ship: but she had no store of that peculiar30 feminine courage which men don't understand and which women can't explain, however much they may exhibit it. Miss Greeby was an excellent comrade, but could not be the beloved of any man, because of the very limitations of semi-masculinity upon which she prided herself. Noel Lambert wanted a womanly woman, and Lady Agnes was his ideal of what a wife should be. Miss Greeby had in every possible way offered herself for the post, but Lambert had never cared for her sufficiently28 to endure the thought of passing through life with her beside him. He said she was "a good sort"; and when a man says that of a woman, she may be to him a good friend, or even a platonic31 chum, but she can never be a desirable wife in his eyes. What Miss Greeby lacked was sex, and lacking that, lacked everything. It was strange that with her rough common sense she could not grasp this want. But the thought that Lambert required what she could never give—namely, the feminine tenderness which strong masculine natures love—never crossed her very clear and mathematical mind.
So she was bent upon a fool's errand, as she strode towards the Abbot's Wood, although she did not know it. Her aim was to capture Lambert as her husband; and her plan, to accomplish her wish by working on the heart-hunger he most probably felt, owing to the loss of Agnes Pine. If he loved that lady in a chivalrous32 fashion—and Miss Greeby believed that he did—she was absolutely lost to him as the wife of another man. Lambert would never degrade her into a divorce court appearance. And perhaps, after all, as Miss Greeby thought hopefully, his love for Sir Hubert's wife might have turned to scorn that she had preferred money to true love. But then, again, as Miss Greeby remembered, with a darkening face, Agnes had married the millionaire so as to save the family estates from being sold. Rank has its obligation, and Lambert might approve of the sacrifice, since he was the next heir to the Garvington title. "We shall see what his attitude is," decided34 Miss Greeby, as she entered the Abbot's Wood, and delayed arranging her future plans until she fully33 understood his feelings towards the woman he had lost. In the meantime, Lambert would want a comrade, and Miss Greeby was prepared to sink her romantic feelings, for the time being, in order to be one.
The forest—which belonged to Garvington, so long as he paid the interest on the mortgage—was not a very large one. In the old days it had been of greater size and well stocked with wild animals; so well stocked, indeed, that the abbots of a near monastery35 had used it for many hundred years as a hunting ground. But the monastery had vanished off the face of the earth, as not even its ruins were left, and the game had disappeared as the forest grew smaller and the district around became more populous36. A Lambert of the Georgian period—the family name of Lord Garvington was Lambert—had acquired what was left of the monastic wood by winning it at a game of cards from the nobleman who had then owned it. Now it was simply a large patch of green in the middle of a somewhat naked county, for Hengishire is not remarkable37 for woodlands. There were rabbits and birds, badgers38, stoats, and such-like wild things in it still, but the deer which the abbots had hunted were conspicuous39 by their absence. Garvington looked after it about as much as he did after the rest of his estates, which was not saying much. The fat, round little lord's heart was always in the kitchen, and he preferred eating to fulfilling his duties as a landlord. Consequently, the Abbot's Wood was more or less public property, save when Garvington turned crusty and every now and then cleared out all interlopers. But tramps came to sleep in the wood, and gypsies camped in its glades40, while summer time brought many artists to rave42 about its sylvan43 beauties, and paint pictures of ancient trees and silent pools, and rugged44 lawns besprinkled with rainbow wild flowers. People who went to the Academy and to the various art exhibitions in Bond Street knew the Abbot's Wood fairly well, as it was rarely that at least one picture dealing45 with it did not appear.
Miss Greeby had explored the wood before and knew exactly where to find the cottage mentioned by Lady Garvington. On the verge46 of the trees she saw the blue smoke of the gypsies' camp fires, and heard the vague murmur21 of Romany voices, but, avoiding the vagrants47, she took her way through the forest by a winding48 path. This ultimately led her to a spacious49 glade41, in the centre of which stood a dozen or more rough monoliths of mossy gray and weather-worn stones, disposed in a circle. Probably these were all that remained of some Druidical temple, and archaeologists came from far and near to view the weird50 relics51. And in the middle of the circle stood the cottage: a thatched dwelling52, which might have had to do with a fairy tale, with its whitewashed53 walls covered with ivy54, and its latticed windows, on the ledges55 of which stood pots of homely56 flowers. There was no fence round this rustic57 dwelling, as the monoliths stood as guardians58, and the space between the cottage walls and the gigantic stones was planted thickly with fragrant59 English flowers. Snapdragon, sweet-william, marigolds, and scented60 clove61 carnations62, were all to be found there: also there was thyme, mint, sage63, and other pot-herbs. And the whole perfumed space was girdled by trees old and young, which stood back from the emerald beauty of untrimmed lawns. A more ideal spot for a dreamer, or an artist, or a hermit64, or for the straying prince of a fairy tale, it would have been quite impossible to find. Miss Greeby's vigorous and coarse personality seemed to break in a noisy manner—although she did not utter a single word—the enchanted65 silence of the solitary66 place.
However, the intruder was too matter-of-fact to trouble about the sequestered67 liveliness of this unique dwelling. She strode across the lawns, and passing beyond the monoliths, marched like an invader68 up the narrow path between the radiant flower-beds. From the tiny green door she raised the burnished69 knocker and brought it down with an emphatic70 bang. Shortly the door opened with a pettish71 tug72, as though the person behind was rather annoyed by the noise, and a very tall, well-built, slim young man made his appearance on the threshold. He held a palette on the thumb of one hand, and clutched a sheaf of brushes, while another brush was in his mouth, and luckily impeded73 a rather rough welcome. The look in a pair of keen blue eyes certainly seemed to resent the intrusion, but at the sight of Miss Greeby this irritability74 changed to a glance of suspicion. Lambert, from old associations, liked his visitor very well on the whole, but that feminine intuition, which all creative natures possess, warned him that it was wise to keep her at arm's length. She had never plainly told her love; but she had assuredly hinted at it more or less by eye and manner and undue75 hauntings of his footsteps when in London. He could not truthfully tell himself that he was glad of her unexpected visit. For quite half a minute they stood staring at one another, and Miss Greeby's hard cheeks flamed to a poppy red at the sight of the man she loved.
"Well, Hermit." she observed, when he made no remark. "As the mountain would not come to Mahomet, the prophet has come to the mountain."
"The mountain is welcome," said Lambert diplomatically, and stood aside, so that she might enter. Then adopting the bluff and breezy, rough-and-ready-man-to-man attitude, which Miss Greeby liked to see in her friends, he added: "Come in, old girl! It's a pal2 come to see a pal, isn't it?"
"Rather," assented76 Miss Greeby, although, woman-like, she was not entirely77 pleased with this unromantic welcome. "We played as brats78 together, didn't we?
"Yes," she added meditatively79, when following Lambert into his studio, "I think we are as chummy as a man and woman well can be."
"True enough. You were always a good sort, Clara. How well you are looking—more of a man than ever."
"Oh, stop that!" said Miss Greeby roughly.
"Why?" Lambert raised his eyebrows80. "As a girl you always liked to be thought manly25, and said again and again that you wished you were a boy."
"I find that I am a woman, after all," sighed the visitor, dropping into a chair and looking round; "with a woman's feelings, too."
"And very nice those feelings are, since they have influenced you to pay me a visit in the wilds," remarked the artist imperturbably81.
"What are you doing in the wilds?"
"So I see. Still-life pictures?"
Miss Greeby did behold, but she certainly did not approve, because she was a woman and in love. It was only a pictured head she saw, but the head was that of a very beautiful girl, whose face smiled from the canvas in a subtle, defiant23 way, as if aware of its wild loveliness. The raven84 hair streamed straightly down to the shoulders—for the bust85 of the model was slightly indicated—and there, bunched out into curls. A red and yellow handkerchief was knotted round the brows, and dangling86 sequins added to its barbaric appearance. Nose and lips and eyes, and contours, were all perfect, and it really seemed as though the face were idealized, so absolutely did it respond to all canons of beauty. It was a gypsy countenance87, and there lurked88 in its loveliness that wild, untamed look which suggested unrestricted roamings and the spacious freedom of the road.
The sudden, jealous fear which surged into Miss Greeby's heart climbed to her throat and choked her speech. But she had wisdom enough to check unwise words, and glanced round the studio to recover her composure. The room was small and barely furnished; a couch, two deep arm-chairs, and a small table filled its limited area. The walls and roof were painted a pale green, and a carpet of the same delicate hue89 covered the floor. Of course, there were the usual painting materials, brushes and easel and palettes and tubes of color, together with a slightly raised platform near the one window where the model could sit or stand. The window itself had no curtains and was filled with plain glass, affording plenty of light.
"The other windows of the cottage are latticed," said Lambert, seeing his visitor's eyes wander in that direction. "I had that glass put in when I came here a month ago. No light can filter through lattices—in sufficient quantity that is—to see the true tones of the colors."
"Oh, bother the window!" muttered Miss Greeby restlessly, for she had not yet gained command of her emotions.
Lambert laughed and looked at his picture with his head on one side, and a very handsome head it was, as Miss Greeby thought. "It bothered me until I had it put right, I assure you. But you don't seem pleased with my crib."
"It's not good enough for you."
"Since when have I been a sybarite, Clara?"
"I mean you ought to think of your position."
"It's too unpleasant to think about," rejoined Lambert, throwing himself on the couch and producing his pipe. "May I smoke?"
"Yes, and if you have any decent cigarettes I'll join you. Thanks!" She deftly90 caught the silver case he threw her. "But your position?"
"Five hundred a year and no occupation, since I have been brought up to neither trade nor profession," said Lambert leisurely91. "Well?"
"You are the heir to a title and to a large property."
"Which is heavily mortgaged. As to the title"—Lambert shrugged93 his shoulders—"Garvington's wife may have children."
"I don't think so. They have been married ten years and more. You are certain to come in for everything."
"Everything consists of nothing," said the artist coolly.
"Well," drawled Miss Greeby, puffing94 luxuriously95 at her cigarette, which was Turkish and soothing96, "nothing may turn into something when these mortgages are cleared off."
"Who is going to clear them off?"
"Sir Hubert Pine."
Lambert's brows contracted, as she knew they would when this name was mentioned, and he carefully attended to filling his pipe so as to avoid meeting her hard, inquisitive97 eyes. "Pine is a man of business, and if he pays off the mortgages he will take over the property as security. I don't see that Garvington will be any the better off in that case."
"Lambert," said Miss Greeby very decidedly, and determined98 to know precisely99 what he felt like, "Garvington only allowed his sister to marry Sir Hubert because he was rich. I don't know for certain, of course, but I should think it probable that he made an arrangement with Pine to have things put straight because of the marriage."
"Possible and probable," said the artist shortly, and wincing100; "but old friend as you are, Clara, I don't see the necessity of talking about business which does not concern me. Speak to Garvington."
"Agnes concerns you."
"How objectionably direct you are," exclaimed Lambert in a vexed101 tone. "And how utterly102 wrong. Agnes does not concern me in the least. I loved her, but as she chose to marry Pine, why there's no more to be said."
"If there was nothing more to be said," observed Miss Greeby shrewdly, "you would not be burying yourself here."
"Why not? I am fond of nature and art, and my income is not enough to permit my living decently in London. I had to leave the army because I was so poor. Garvington has given me this cottage rent free, so I'm jolly enough with my painting and with Mrs. Tribb as housekeeper103 and cook. She's a perfect dream of a cook," ended Lambert thoughtfully.
Miss Greeby shook her red head. "You can't deceive me."
"Who wants to, anyhow?" demanded the man, unconsciously American.
"You do. You wish to make out that you prefer to camp here instead of admitting that you would like to be at The Manor104 because Agnes—"
Lambert jumped up crossly. "Oh, leave Agnes out of the question. She is Pine's wife, so that settles things. It's no use crying for the moon, and—"
"Then you still wish for the moon," interpolated the woman quickly.
"Not even you have the right to ask me such a question," replied Lambert in a quiet and decisive tone. "Let us change the subject."
Miss Greeby pointed to the beautiful face smiling on the easel. "I advise you to," she said significantly.
"You seem to have come here to give me good advice."
"Which you won't take," she retorted.
"Because it isn't needed."
"A man's a man and a woman's a woman."
"That's as true as taxes, as Mr. Barkis observed, if you are acquainted with the writings of the late Charles Dickens. Well?"
Again Miss Greeby pointed to the picture. "She's very pretty."
"I shouldn't have painted her otherwise."
"Oh, then the original of that portrait does exist?"
"Could you call it a portrait if an original didn't exist?" demanded the young man tartly105. "Since you want to know so much, you may as well come to the gypsy encampment on the verge of the wood and satisfy yourself." He threw on a Panama hat, with a cross look. "Since when have you come to the conclusion that I need a dry nurse?"
"Oh, don't talk bosh!" said Miss Greeby vigorously, and springing to her feet. "You take me at the foot of the letter and too seriously. I only came here to see how my old pal was getting on."
"I'm all right and as jolly as a sandboy. Now are you satisfied?"
"Quite. Only don't fall in love with the original of your portrait."
"It's rather late in the day to warn me," said Lambert dryly, "for I have known the girl for six months. I met her in a gypsy caravan106 when on a walking tour, and offered to paint her. She is down here with her people, and you can see her whenever you have a mind to."
"There's no time like the present," said Miss Greeby, accepting the offer with alacrity107. "Come along, old boy." Then, when they stepped out of the cottage garden on to the lawns, she asked pointedly108, "What is her name?"
"Chaldea."
"Nonsense. That is the name of the country."
"I never denied that, my dear girl. But Chaldea was born in the country whence she takes her name. Down Mesopotamia way, I believe. These gypsies wander far and wide, you know. She's very pretty, and has the temper of the foul109 fiend himself. Only Kara can keep her in order."
"Who is Kara?"
"A Servian gypsy who plays the fiddle110 like an angel. He's a crooked-backed, black-faced, hairy ape of a dwarf111, but highly popular on account of his music. Also, he's crazy about Chaldea, and loves her to distraction112."
"Does she love him?" Miss Greeby asked in her direct fashion.
"No," replied Lambert, coloring under his tan, and closed his lips firmly. He was a very presentable figure of a man, as he walked beside the unusually tall woman. His face was undeniably handsome in a fair Saxon fashion, and his eyes were as blue as those of Miss Greeby herself, while his complexion113 was much more delicate. In fact, she considered that it was much too good a complexion for one of the male sex, but admitted inwardly that its possessor was anything but effeminate, when he had such a heavy jaw114, such a firm chin, and such set lips. Lambert, indeed, at first sight did indeed look so amiable115, as to appear for the moment quite weak; but danger always stiffened116 him into a dangerous adversary117, and his face when aroused was most unpleasantly fierce. He walked with a military swing, his shoulders well set back and his head crested118 like that of a striking serpent. A rough and warlike life would have brought out his best points of endurance, capability119 to plan and strike quickly, and iron decision; but the want of opportunity and the enervating120 influences of civilized121 existence, made him a man of possibilities. When time, and place, and chance offered he could act the hero with the best; but lacking these things he remained innocuous like gunpowder122 which has no spark to fire it.
Thinking of these things, Miss Greeby abandoned the subject of Chaldea, and of her possible love for Lambert, and exclaimed impulsively123, "Why don't you chuck civilization and strike the out-trail?"
"Why should I?" he asked, unmoved, and rather surprised by the change of the subject. "I'm quite comfortable here."
"Too comfortable," she retorted with emphasis. "This loafing life of just-enough-to-live-on doesn't give you a chance to play the man. Go out and fight and colonize124 and prove your qualities."
Lambert's color rose again, and his eyes sparkled. "I would if the chance—"
"Ah, bah, Hercules and Omphale!" interrupted his companion.
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind," retorted Miss Greeby, who guessed that he knew what she meant very well. His quick flush showed her how he resented this classical allusion125 to Agnes Pine. "You'd carry her off if you were a man."
"If you like. Only don't try to carry her off at night. Garvington says he will shoot any burglar who comes along after dark."
"I never knew Garvington had anything to do with Chaldea."
"Neither did I. Oh, I think you know very well what I mean."
"Perhaps I do," said the young man with an angry shrug92, for really her interference with his affairs seemed to be quite unjustifiable. "But I am not going to bring a woman I respect into the Divorce Court."
"Respect? Love, you mean to say."
Lambert stopped, and faced her squarely. "I don't wish to quarrel with you, Clara, as we are very old friends. But I warn you that I do possess a temper, and if you wish to see it, you are going the best way to get what you evidently want. Now, hold your tongue and talk of something else. Here is Chaldea."
"Watching for you," muttered Miss Greeby, as the slight figure of the gypsy girl was seen advancing swiftly. "Ha!" and she snorted suspiciously.
"Rye!" cried Chaldea, dancing toward the artist. "Sarishan rye."
Miss Greeby didn't understand Romany, but the look in the girl's eyes was enough to reveal the truth. If Lambert did not love his beautiful model, it was perfectly127 plain that the beautiful model loved Lambert.
"O baro duvel atch' pa leste!" said Chaldea, and clapped her slim hands.
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1
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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6
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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7
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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disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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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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distressful
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| adj.苦难重重的，不幸的，使苦恼的 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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insufficiently
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| adv.不够地，不能胜任地 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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platonic
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| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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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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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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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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badgers
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| n.獾( badger的名词复数 )；獾皮；（大写）獾州人（美国威斯康星州人的别称）；毛鼻袋熊 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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47
vagrants
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| 流浪者( vagrant的名词复数 )； 无业游民； 乞丐； 无赖 | |
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48
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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49
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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50
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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51
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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52
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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53
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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55
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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56
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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57
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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59
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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60
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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61
clove
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| n.丁香味 | |
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62
carnations
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| n.麝香石竹，康乃馨( carnation的名词复数 ) | |
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63
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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64
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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65
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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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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67
sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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68
invader
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| n.侵略者，侵犯者，入侵者 | |
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69
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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70
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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71
pettish
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| adj.易怒的，使性子的 | |
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72
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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brats
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| n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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80
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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81
imperturbably
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| adv.泰然地，镇静地，平静地 | |
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82
laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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84
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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85
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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86
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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87
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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88
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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89
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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90
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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92
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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93
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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94
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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95
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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96
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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97
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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99
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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100
wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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101
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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102
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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103
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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104
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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105
tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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106
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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107
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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108
pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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109
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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110
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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111
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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112
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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113
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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114
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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115
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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116
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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117
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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118
crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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119
capability
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| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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120
enervating
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| v.使衰弱，使失去活力( enervate的现在分词 ) | |
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121
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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122
gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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123
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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124
colonize
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| v.建立殖民地，拓殖；定居，居于 | |
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125
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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126
wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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127
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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