After the usual period of sorrow, I began to pick up a bit and to go out under the care of my duenna, a faded flower of the aristocracy whose declining years my guardian7 had soothed8 by quartering her on me. She was a gentle old spinster, the seventh daughter of a penniless peer, and although she has seen hard times and has almost been reduced to marriage, yet she has scant10 respect for my ten thousand a year. She has never lost the sense of condescension11 in living with me, and would be horrified12 to hear she is in receipt of a salary. It is to this sense of superiority on her part that I owe a good deal of the liberty I enjoy under her régime. She does not expect in me that rigid13 obedience14 to venerable forms and conventions which she. prescribes for herself; she regards it as a privilege of the higher gentlewoman to be bound hand and foot by fashionable etiquette15, and so long as my liberty does not degenerate16 into license17 I am welcome to as much as I please of it. She has continued to call me "Princess," finding doubtless some faint reverberation19 of pleasure in the magnificent syllables20. I should add that her name is the Honorable Miss Primpole and that she is not afraid of the butler.
Our town-house was situated21 in Portman Square and my parents tenanted it during the season. There is nothing very poetic22 about the Square, perhaps, not even in the summer, when the garden is in bloom, yet it was here that I first learnt to love. This dull parallelogram was the birthplace of a passion as spiritual and intangible as ever thrilled maiden23's heart. I fell in love with a Voice.
It was a rich, baritone Voice, with a compass of two and a half octaves, rising from full bass24 organ-notes to sweet, flute-like tenor25 tones. It was a glorious Voice, now resonant26 with martial27 ecstasy28, now faint with mystic rapture29. Its vibrations30 were charged with inexpressible emotion, and it sang of love and death and high heroic themes. I heard it first a few months after my father's funeral. It was night. I had been indoors all day, torpid31 and miserable32, but roused myself at last and took a few turns in the square. The air was warm and scented33, a cloudless moon flooded the roadway with mellow34 light and sketched35 in the silhouettes36 of the trees in the background. I had reached the opposite side of the square for the second time when the Voice broke out. My heart stood still and I with it.
On the soft summer air the Voice rose and fell; it was accompanied on the piano, but it seemed in subtler harmony with the moonlight and the perfumed repose37 of the night. It came through an open window behind which the singer sat in the gloaming. With the first tremors38 of that Voice my soul forgot its weariness in a strange sweet trance that trembled on pain. The song seemed to draw out all the hidden longing39 of my maiden soul, as secret writing is made legible by fire. When the Voice ceased, a great blackness fell upon all things, the air grew bleak40. I waited and waited but the Square remained silent. The footsteps of stray pedestrians41, the occasional roll of a carriage alone fell on my anxious ear. I returned to my house, shivering as with cold. I had never loved before. I had read and reflected a great deal about love, and was absolutely ignorant of the subject. I did not know that I loved now—for that discover only came later when I found myself wandering nightly to the other side of the parallelogram, listening for the Voice. Rarely, very rarely, was my pilgrimage rewarded, but twice or thrice a week the Square became an enchanted42 garden, full of roses whose petals43 were music. Round that baritone Voice I had built up an ideal man—tall and straight-limbed and stalwart, fair-haired and blue-eyed and noble-featured, like the hero of a Northern Saga45. His soul was vast as the sea, shaken with the storms of passion, dimpled with smiles of tenderness. His spirit was at once mighty46 and delicate, throbbing47 with elemental forces yet keen and swift to comprehend all subtleties48 of thought and feeling. I could not understand myself, yet I felt that he would understand me. He had the heart of a lion and of a little child; he was as merciful as he was strong, as pure as he was wise. To be with him were happiness, to feel his kiss ecstasy, to be gathered to his breast, delirium49, But alas50! he never knew that I was waiting under his window.
[pg 53] I made several abortive51 attempts to discover who he was or to see him. According to the Directory the house was occupied by Lady Westerton. I concluded that he was her elder son. That he might be her husband—or some other lady's—never even occurred to me. I do not know why I should have attached the Voice to a bachelor, any more than I can explain why he should be the eldest53 son, rather than the youngest. But romance has a logic54 of its own. From the topmost window of my house I could see Lady Westerton's house across the trees, but I never saw him leave or enter it. Once, a week went by without my hearing him sing. I did not know whether to think of him as a sick bird or as one flown to warmer climes. I tried to construct his life from his periods of song, I watched the lights in his window, my whole life circled round him. It was only when I grew pale and feverish55 and was forced by the doctors and my guardian to go yachting that my fancies gradually detached themselves from my blue-eyed hero. The sea-salt freshened my thoughts, I became a healthy-minded girl again, carolling joyously56 in my cabin and taking pleasure in listening to my own voice. I threw my novels overboard (metaphorically, that is) and set the Hon. Miss Primpole chatting instead, when the seascape palled57 upon me. She had a great fund of strictly58 respectable memories. Most people's recollections are of no use to anybody but the owner, but hers afforded entertainment for both of us. By the time I was back in London the Voice was no longer part even of my dreams, though it seemed to belong to them. But for accident it might have remained forever "a voice and nothing more." The accident happened at a musical-afternoon in Kensington. I was introduced to a tall, fair, handsome blue-eyed guardsman, Captain Athelstan by name. His conversation was charming and I took a lot of it, while Miss Primpole was busy flirting59 with a seductive Spaniard. You could not tell Miss Primpole was flirting except by looking at the man. In the course of the afternoon the hostess asked the captain to sing. As he went to the piano my heart began to flutter with a strange foreboding. He had no music with him, but plunged60 at once into the promontory61 chords. My agitation62 increased tenfold. He was playing the prelude63 to one of the Voice's songs—a strange, haunting song with a Schubert atmosphere, a song which I had looked for in vain among the classics. At once he was transfigured to my eyes, all my sleeping romantic fancies woke to delicious life, and in the instant in which I waited, with bated breath, for the outbreak of the Voice at the well-known turn of the melody, it was borne in upon me that this was the only man I had ever loved or would ever love. My Saga hero! my Berserker, my Norse giant!
When the Voice started it was not my Voice. It was a thin, throaty tenor. Compared with the Voice of Portman Square, it was as a tinkling64 rivulet65 to a rushing full-volumed river. I sank back on the lounge, hiding my emotions behind my fan.
When the song was finished, he made his way through the "Bravas" to my side.
"Sweetly pretty!" I murmured.
"The song or the singing?" he asked with a smile.
"No, but the singing is!"
His good-humor was so delightful67 that I forgave his not having my Voice.
"What is its name?"
"It is anonymous—like the composer."
"Who is he?"
"I must not tell."
"Can you give me a copy of the song?"
He became embarrassed.
"I would with pleasure, if it were mine. But the fact is—I—I—had no right to sing it at all, and the composer would be awfully68 vexed69 if he knew."
"Original composer?"
"He is, indeed. He cannot bear to think of his songs being sung in public."
"Dear me! What a terrible mystery you are making of it," I laughed.
"O r-really there is no abracadabra70 about it. You misunderstand me. But I deserve it all for breaking faith and exploiting his lovely song so as to drown my beastly singing."
"You need not reproach yourself," I said. "I have heard it before."
"Thank you," I said freezingly.
"But how?"
"A little bird sang it me."
"It is you who are making the mystery now."
"Tit for tat. But I will discover yours."
"Not unless you are a witch!"
"A what?"
"A witch."
"I am," I said enigmatically. "So you see it's of no use hiding anything from me. Come, tell me all, or I will belabor72 you with my broomstick."
"If you know, why should I tell you?"
"I want to see if you can tell the truth."
"No, I can't." We both laughed. "See what a cruel dilemma73 you place me in!" he said beseechingly74.
"Tell me, at least, why he won't publish his songs. Is he too modest, too timid?"
"Neither. He loves art for art's sake—that is all."
"I don't understand."
"He writes to please himself. To create music is his highest pleasure. He can't see what it has got to do with anybody else."
"But surely he wants the world to enjoy his work?"
"Why? That would be art for the world's sake, art for fame's sake, art for money's sake!"
"What an extraordinary view!"
"Why so? The true artist—the man to whom creation is rapture—surely he is his own world. Unless he is in need of money, why should he concern himself with the outside universe? My friend cannot understand why Schopenhauer should have troubled himself to chisel75 epigrams or Leopardi lyrics76 to tell people that life was not worth living. Had either been a true artist, he would have gone on living his own worthless life, unruffled by the applause of the mob. My friend can understand a poet translating into inspired song the sacred secrets of his soul, but he cannot understand his scattering77 them broad-cast through the country, still less taking a royalty78 on them. He says it is selling your soul in the market-place, and almost as degrading as going on the stage."
"And do you agree with him?"
"Not entirely79, otherwise I should never have yielded to the temptation to sing his song to-night. Fortunately he will never hear of it. He never goes into society, and I am his only friend."
"Dear me!" I said sarcastically80. "Is he as careful to conceal his body as his soul?"
His face grew grave. "He has an affliction," he said in low tones.
"Oh, forgive me!" I said remorsefully81. Tears came into my eyes as the vision of the Norse giant gave away to that of an English hunchback. My adoring worship was transformed to an adoring matronly tenderness. Divinely-gifted sufferer, if I cannot lean on thy strength, thou shalt lean on mine! So ran my thought till the mist cleared from my eyes and I saw again the glorious Saga-hero at my side, and grew strangely confused and distraught.
"There is nothing to forgive," answered Captain Athelstan. "You did not know him."
"You forget I am a witch. But I do not know him—it is true. I do not even know his name. Yet within a week I undertake to become a friend of his."
He shook his head. "You do not know him."
"I admitted that," I answered pertly. "Give me a week, and he shall not only know me, he shall abjure82 those sublime83 principles of his at my request."
He smiled sceptically.
"Of course if you know somebody who will introduce you," he began.
"Nobody shall introduce me," I interrupted.
"Well, he'll never speak to you first."
"You mean it would be unmaidenly for me to speak to him first. Well, I will bind85 myself to do nothing of which Mrs. Grundy would disapprove86. And yet the result shall be as I say."
"Then I shall admit you are indeed a witch."
"If you achieve your impossibility, you will deserve anything."
"Will you back your incredulity with a pair of gloves?"
"With a hundred."
"Thank you. I am not a Briareus. Let us say one pair then."
"So be it."
"But no countermining. Promise me not to communicate with your mysterious friend in the interval88."
"I promise."
"But how shall I know the result?"
I pondered. "I will write—no, that would be hardly proper. Meet me in the Royal Academy, Room Six, at the 'Portrait of a Gentleman,' about noon to-morrow week."
"A week is a long time!" he sighed.
Next day I called at the house of the Voice. A gorgeous creature in plush opened the door.
"I want to see—to see—gracious! I've forgotten his name," I said in patent chagrin90. I clucked my tongue, puckered91 my lips, tapped the step with my parasol, then smiled pitifully at the creature in plush. He turned out to be only human, for a responsive sympathetic smile flickered92 across his pompous94 face. "You know—the singer," I said, as if with a sudden inspiration.
"Oh. Lord Arthur!" he said.
"Yes, of course," I cried, with a little trill of laughter. "How stupid of me! Please tell him I want to see him on an important matter."
"He—he's very busy, I'm afraid, miss."
"Oh, but he'll see me," I said confidently.
"Yes, miss; who shall I say, miss?"
"The Princess."
He made a startled obeisance95, and ushered96 me into a little room on the right of the hall. In a few moments he returned and said—"His lordship will be down in a second, your highness."
Sixty minutes seemed to go to that second, so racked was I with curiosity. At last I heard a step outside and a hand on the door, and at that moment a horrible thought flashed into my mind. What certainty was there my singer was a hunchback? Suppose his affliction were something more loathly. What if he had a monstrous97 wen! For the instant after his entry I was afraid to look up. When I did, I saw a short, dark-haired young man, with proper limbs and refined features. But his face wore a blank expression, and I wondered why I had not divined before that my musician was blind!
He bowed and advanced towards me. He came straight in my direction so that I saw he could see. The blank expression gave place to one of inquiry98.
"I have ventured to call upon your lordship in reference to a Charity Concert," I said sweetly; "I am one of your neighbors, living just across the square, and as the good work is to be done in this district, I dared to hope that I could persuade you to take part in it."
I happened to catch sight of my face in the glass of a chiffonier as I spoke99, and it was as pure and candid100 and beautiful as the face of one of Guido's angels. When I ceased, I looked up at Lord Arthur's. It was spasmodically agitated101, the mouth was working wildly. A nervous dread102 seized me.
After what seemed an endless interval, he uttered an explosive "Put!" following it up by "f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-or two g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g——"
"It is very kind of you," I interrupted mercifully. "But I did not propose to ask you for a subscription103. I wanted to enlist104 your services as a performer. But I fear I have made a mistake. I understood you sang." Inwardly I was furious with the stupid creature in plush for having misled me into such an unpleasant situation.
"I d-d-d-o s-s-s-s-s——" he answered.
As he stood there hissing105, the truth flashed upon me at last. I had heard that the most dreadful stammerers enunciate106 as easily as anybody else when they sing, because the measured swing of the time keeps them steady. My heart sank as I thought of the Voice so mutilated! Poor young peer! Was this to be the end of all my beautiful visions?
As cheerfully as I could I cut short his sibilations. "Oh, that's all right, then," I said. "Then I may put you down for a couple of items."
He shook his head, and held up his hands deprecatingly.
"Anything but that!" he stammered107; "Make me a patron, a committee-man, anything! I do not sing in public."
While he was saying this I thought long and deeply. The affliction was after all less terrible than I had a right to expect, and I knew from the advertisement columns that it was easily curable. Demosthenes, I remembered, had stoned it to death. I felt my love reviving, as I looked into his troubled face, instinct with the double aristocracy of rank and genius. At the worst the singing Voice was unaffected by the disability, and as for the conversational108, well there was consolation109 in the prospect110 of having the last word while one's husband was still having the first. En attendant, I could have wished him to sing his replies instead of speaking them, for not only should I thus enjoy his Voice but the interchange of ideas would proceed less tardily111. However that would have made him into an operatic personage, and I did not want him to look so ridiculous as all that.
It would be tedious to recount our interview at the length it extended to. Suffice it to say that I gained my point. Without letting out that I knew of his theories of art for art's sake, I yet artfully pleaded that whatever one's views, charity alters cases, inverts112 everything, justifies113 anything. "For instance," I said with charming naïveté, "I would not have dared to call on you but in its sacred name." He agreed to sing two songs—nay114, two of his own songs. I was to write to him particulars of time and place. He saw me to the door. I held out my hand and he took it, and we looked at each other, smiling brightly.
[pg 62] "B-but I d-d-d-don't know your n-n-name," he said suddenly. "P-p-p-rincess what?"
"Princess," I answered, my eyes gleaming merrily. "That is all. The Honorable Miss Primpole will give me a character, if you require one." He laughed—his laugh was like the Voice—and followed me with his eyes as I glided116 away.
I had won my gloves—and in a day. I thought remorsefully of the poor Saga hero destined117 to wait a week in suspense118 as to the result. But it was too late to remedy this, and the organization of the Charity Concert needed all my thoughts. I was in for it now, and I resolved to carry it through. But it was not so easy as I had lightly assumed. Getting the artists, of course, was nothing—there are always so many professionals out of work or anxious to be brought out, and so many amateurs in search of amusement. I could have filled the Albert Hall with entertainers. Nor did I anticipate any difficulty in disposing of the tickets. If you are at all popular in society you can get a good deal of unpopularity by forcing them on your friends. No, the real difficulty about this Charity Concert was the discovery of an object in aid of which to give it. In my innocence119 I had imagined that the world was simply bustling120 with unexploited opportunities for well-doing. Alas! I soon found that philanthropy was an over-crowded profession. There was not a single nook or corner of the universe but had been ransacked121 by these restless free-lances; not a gap, not a cranny but had been filled up. In vain I explored the map, in the hopes of lighting122 on some undiscovered hunting-ground in far Cathay or where the khamsin sweeps the Afric deserts. I found that the wants of the most benighted123 savages124 were carefully attended to, and that, even when they had none, they were thoughtfully supplied with them. Anxiously I scanned the newspapers in search of a calamity125, the sufferers by which I might relieve, but only one happened during that week, and that was snatched from between my very fingers by a lady who had just been through the Divorce Court. In my despair I bethought myself of the preacher I sat under. He was a very handsome man, and published his sermons by request.
I went to him and I said: "How is the church?"
"It is all right, thank you," he said.
"Doesn't it want anything done to it?"
"No, it is in perfect repair. My congregation is so very good."
"The last of the gargoyles127 was put up last week. Mediæval architecture is always so picturesque128. I have had the entire structure made mediæval, you know."
"But isn't the outside in need of renovation129?"
"What! When I have just had it made mediæval!"
"Not to my knowledge."
"But think! think!" I cried desperately131. "The aisles—transept—nave—lectern—pews—chancel—pulpit—apse—porch—altar-cloths—organ—spires—is there nothing in need of anything?"
He shook his head.
"Wouldn't you like a colored window to somebody?"
"All the windows are taken up. My congregation is so very good."
My heart gave a great leap of joy. "Then why do you neglect him?" I asked indignantly. "If we do not perpetuate135 the memory of virtue——"
"He's alive," he interrupted.
I bit my lips in vexation.
"I think you need a few more choristers," I murmured.
"Oh no, we are sending some away."
"The Sunday School Fund—how is that?"
"I am looking about for a good investment for the surplus. Do you know of any? A good mortgage, perhaps?"
"Heaven forbid!"
I cudgelled my brains frantically136.
"What do you think of a lightning-rod!"
I made one last wild search.
"How about a reredos?"
He looked at me in awful, pained silence.
I saw I had stumbled. "I—I mean a new wing," I stammered.
"I am afraid you are not well this morning," said the preacher, patting my hand soothingly138. "Won't you come and talk it over, whatever it is, another time?"
"What is the matter with the bells?" he asked anxiously. "There isn't a single one cracked."
I saw his dubiety, and profited by it. I learnt afterwards it was due to his having no ear of his own.
"Cracked! Perhaps not," I replied in contemptuous accents. "But they deserve to be. No wonder the newspapers keep correspondences going on the subject."
"Yes, but what correspondents object to is the bells ringing at all."
"I don't wonder," I said. "I don't say your bells are worse than the majority, or that I haven't got a specially140 sensitive ear for music, but I know that when I hear their harsh clanging, I—well I don't feel inclined to go to church and that's the truth. I am quite sure if you had a really musical set of chimes, it would increase the spirituality of the neighborhood."
"How so?" he asked sceptically.
"It would keep down swearing on Sunday."
"Oh!" He pondered a moment, then said: "But that would be a great expense."
"Indeed? I thought bells were cheap."
"Certainly. Area bells, hand-bells, sleigh-bells. But Church-bells are very costly141. There are only a few foundries in the kingdom. But why are you so concerned about my church?"
"Because I am giving a Charity Concert, and I should like to devote the proceeds to something."
"A very exemplary desire. But I fear one bell is the most you could get out of a Charity Concert."
I looked disappointed. "What a pity! It would have been such a nice precedent142 to improve the tone of the Church. The 'constant readers' would have had to cease their letters."
"No, no, impossible. A 'constant reader' seems to be so called because he is a constant writer."
"But there might have been leaders about it."
"Hardly sensational143 enough for that! Stay I have an idea. In the beautiful Ages of Faith, when a Church-bell was being cast, the pious144 used to bring silver vessels145 to be fused with the bell-metal in the furnace, so as to give the bell a finer tone. A mediæval practice is always so poetical146. Perhaps I could revive it. My congregation is so very good."
"Good!" I echoed, clapping my hands. "But a Concert will not suffice—we shall need a Bazaar147," said the preacher.
"Oh, but I must have a Concert!"
That was how the Great Church Bazaar originated and how the Rev18. Melitos Smith came to resurrect the beautiful mediæval custom which brought him so much kudos149 and extracted such touching150 sentiments from hardened journalists. The Bazaar lasted a week, and raised a number of ladies in the social scale, and married off three of my girl-friends, and cut me off the visiting list of the Duchess of Dash. She was pining for a chance of coming out in a comic opera chanson, but this being a Church Bazaar I couldn't allow her to kick up her heels. Everything could be bought at that Bazaar, from photographs of the Rev. Melitos Smith to impracticable mouse-traps, from bread-and-cheese to kisses. There were endless side-shows, and six gipsy girls scattered151 about the rooms, so that you could have your fortune told in six different ways. I should not like to say how much that Bazaar cost me when the bill for the Bells came in, but then Lord Arthur sang daily in the Concert Hall, and I could also deduct152 the price of the pair of gloves Captain Athelstan gave me. For the Captain honorably stood the loss of his wager, nay, more, cheerfully accepted his defeat, and there on the spot—before the "Portrait of another Gentleman"—offered to enlist in the Bazaar. And very useful he proved, too. We had to be together, organizing it, nearly all day and I don't know what I should have done without him. I don't know what his Regiment153 did without him, but then I have never been able to find out when our gallant154 officers do their work. They seem always to be saving it up for a rainy day.
I was never more surprised in my life than when, on the last night of the Bazaar-boom, amid the buzz of a brisk wind-up, Lord Arthur and Captain Athelstan came into the little presidential sanctum, which had been run up for me, and requested a special interview.
"I can give you five minutes," I said, for I felt my finger was on the pulse of the Bazaar, and my time correspondingly important.
They looked grateful, then embarrassed. Captain Athelstan opened his mouth and closed it.
"N-n-no, y-y-y-y——"
"Princess, we both love you," began the Captain, blushing like a hobbledehoy, and rushing in medias res. I allowed them to call me Princess, because it was not my Christian157 name.
"Is this the time—when I am busy feeling the pulse of the Bazaar?"
"You gave us five minutes," pleaded the Captain, determined158 to do or die, now he was in the thick of it.
"Go on," I said, "I will forgive you everything—even your love of me—if you are only brief."
"We both love you. We are great friends. We have no secrets. We told each other. We are doubtful if you love either—or which. We have come together."
He fired off the short, sharp sentences as from a six-barrelled revolver.
"Captain Athelstan—Lord Arthur," I said. "I am deeply touched by the honor you have done your friendship and me. I will be equally frank—and brief—with you. I cannot choose either of you, because I love you both. Like every girl, I formed an ideal of a lover. I have been fortunate in finding my ideal in the flesh. I have been unfortunate in finding it in two pieces. Fate has bisected it, and given the form to one and the voice to the other. My ideal looks like you, Captain Athelstan, and sings like you, Lord Arthur. It is a stupid position, I know, and I feel like the donkey between two bundles of hay. But under the circumstances I have no choice."
They looked at each other half-rapturously, half-despairingly.
"Then what's to be done?" cried the Captain.
"D-do you m-m-ean," asked Lord Arthur, "'how happy could I be with either, were t'other dear charmer away?'"
I was glad he sang it, because it precipitated160 matters.
"That is the precise position," I admitted.
"Oh, then, Arthur, my boy, I congratulate you," said the Captain, huskily.
"N-n-no, I'll g-g-go away," said the singer.
"Gentlemen," I interposed, "if either of you had consented to accept the other's sacrifice, the problem would have been solved; only I should have taken the other. But two self-sacrifices are as bad as none."
"Then let us toss up for you, Princess," said the Captain, impulsively162.
"Oh, no!" I cried, with a shudder163. "Submit my life to the chances of head or tail! It would make me feel like a murderess, with you for gentlemen of the jury."
A painful silence fell upon the sanctum. Unwitting of the tragedy playing within, all the fun of the fair went on without.
"Listen," I said, at last. "I will be the wife of him who wins me. Chance shall not decide, but prowess. Like the princesses of old, I will set you a task. Whoever accomplishes it shall win my hand."
"Agreed," they said eagerly, though not simultaneously164.
"Ay, but what shall it be?" I murmured.
"Why not a competition?" suggested the Captain.
"Very well, a competition—provided you promise to fight fair, and not play into each other's hands."
They promised, and together we excogitated and rejected all sorts of competitions. The difficulty was to find something in which each would have a fair chance. At length we arranged that they should play a game of chess, the winner to be mated. They agreed it would be a real "match game." The five minutes had by this time lasted half an hour, so I dismissed them, and hastened to feel the pulse of the Bazaar, which was getting more and more feverish as the break-up drew nigh.
They played the game in Lord Arthur's study. Lord Arthur was white and the Captain black. Everything was fair and above board. But they played rather slowly. Every evening I sent the butler over to make inquiries165.
"The Princess's compliments," he was told to say, "and how is it to-day?"
"It is getting on," they told him, and he came back with a glad face. He was a kind soul despite his calves166, and he thought there was a child dying.
Once a week I used to go over and look at it. Ostensibly I called in connection with the Bazaar accounts. I could not see any difference in the position from one week's end to another. There seemed to be a clump167 of pawns168 in the middle, with all the other pieces looking idly on; there was no thoroughfare anywhere.
They told me it always came like that when you played cautiously. They said it was a French opening. I could not see any opening anywhere; it certainly was not the English way of fighting. Picture my suspense during those horrible weeks.
"Is this the way all match-games are played?" I said once.
"N-n-o," admitted Lord Arthur. "We for-g-g-ot to p-p-p-ut a t-t-t-t-t-time-limit."
"What's the time-limit?" I asked the Captain, wishing my singer could learn to put one to his sentences.
"So many moves must be made in an hour—usually fifteen. Otherwise the younger champion would always win, merely by outliving the elder. We forgot to include that condition."
At length our butler brought back word that "it couldn't last much longer." His face was grave and he gave the message in low tones.
"What a blessing169. It's been lingering long enough! I wish they would polish it off," I murmured fretfully. After that I frequently caught him looking at me as if I were Lucrezia Borgia.
The end came suddenly. The butler went across to make the usual inquiry. He returned, with a foolish face of horror and whispered, "It is all over. It has been drawn170 by perpetual check!"
"Great Heavens!" I cried. My consternation171 was so manifest that he forgave the utterance172 of a peevish173 moment. I put on my nicest hat at once and went over. We held a council of war afresh.
"Let's go by who catches the biggest trout," suggested the Captain.
"No," I said. "I will not be angled for. Besides, the biggest is not grammatical. It should be the bigger."
Thus reproved, the Captain grew silent and we came to a deadlock174 once more. I gave up the hunt at last.
"I think the best plan will be for you both to go away and travel. Go round the world, see fresh faces, try to forget me. One of you will succeed."
"But suppose we both succeed?" asked the Captain.
"That would be more awkward than ever," I admitted.
"And if neither succeed?" asked Lord Arthur at some length.
"Pardon me," said Lord Arthur with some spirit. "The plurality is merely apparent. 'Succeed' is subjunctive after if."
"Ah, true," I said. "Then suppose you go round the world and I give my hand to whoever comes back and proposes to me first."
"Something like the man in Jules Verne!" cried the Captain. "Glorious!"
"Except that it can be done quicker now," I said.
Lord Arthur fell in joyously with the idea, which was a godsend to me, for the worry of having about you two men whom you love and who love you cannot be easily conceived by those who have not been through it. They, too, were pining away and felt the journey would do them [pg 73] good. Captain Athelstan applied176 for three months' furlough. He was to put a girdle round the earth from West to East, Lord Arthur from East to West. It was thought this would work fairly—as whatever advantages one outgoing route had over the other would be lost on the return. Each drew up his scheme and prepared his equipment. The starting-point was to be my house, and consequently this was also the goal. After forty-eight days had passed (the minimum time possible) I was to remain at home day and night, awaiting the telegram which was to be sent the moment either touched English soil again. On the receipt of the telegram I was to take up my position at the front window on the ground floor, with a white rose in my hair to show I was still unwon, and to wait there day and night for the arrival of my offer of marriage, which I was not to have the option of refusing. During the race they were not to write to me.
The long-looked-for day of their departure duly arrived. Two hansoms were drawn up side by side, in front of the house. A white rose in my hair, I sat at the window. A parting smile, a wave of my handkerchief, and my lovers were off. In an instant they were out of sight. For a month they were out of mind, too. After the exhausting emotions I had undergone this period of my life was truly halcyon177. I banished178 my lovers from my memory and enjoyed what was left of the season and of my girlish freedom. In two months I should be an affianced wife and it behoved me to make the best of my short span of spinsterhood. The season waned179, fashion drifted to Cowes, I was left alone in empty London. Then my thoughts went back to the two travellers. As day followed day, my anxiety and curiosity mounted proportionately. The forty-eight days went by, but there was no wire. They passed slowly—oh, so slowly—into fifty, while I waited, waited, from dawn to midnight, with ears pricked180 up, for that double rat-tat which came not or which came about something else. The sands of September dribbled181 out, and my fate still hung in the balance. I went about the house like an unquiet spirit. In imagination I was seeing those two men sweeping182 towards me—one from the East of the world, one from the West. And there I stood, rooted to the spot, while from either side a man was speeding inevitably183 towards me, across oceans and continents, through canals and tunnels, along deserts or rivers, pressing into his service every human and animal force and every blind energy that man had tamed. To my fevered imagination I seemed to be between the jaws184 of a leviathan, which were closing upon me at a terrific rate, yet which took days to snap together, so wide were they apart, so gigantic was the monster. Which of the jaws would touch me first?
The fifties mounted into the sixties, but there was no telegram. The tension became intolerable. Again and again I felt tempted185 to fly, but a lingering sense of honor kept me to my post. On the sixty-first day my patience was rewarded. Sitting at my window one morning I saw a telegraph-boy sauntering along. He reached the gate. He paused. I rushed to the door and down the steps, seized the envelope and tore it frantically open.
"Coming, but suppose all over.—Arthur."
I leaned on the gate, half fainting. When I went to my room, I read the wire again and noted186 it had been handed in at Liverpool. In four or five hours at most I should cease to belong to myself. I communicated the news to the Honorable Miss Primpole who congratulated me cordially. She made no secret of her joy that the nobleman had won. For my part I was still torn with conflicting emotions. Now that I knew it was to be the one, I hankered after the other. Yet in the heart of the storm there was peace in the thought that the long suspense was over. I ordered a magnificent repast to be laid for the home-coming voyager, which would also serve to celebrate our nuptials187. The Honorable Miss Primpole consented to grace the board and the butler to surrender the choicest vintages garnered188 in my father's cellar.
Two hours and a half dragged by; then there came another wire—I opened it with some curiosity, but as my eye caught the words I almost swooned with excitement. It ran:
"Arrived, but presume too late.—Athelstan."
With misty189 vision I strove to read the place of despatch190. It was Dover. A great wave of hope surged in my bosom191. My Saga-hero might yet arrive in time. Half frenziedly I turned over the leaves of Bradshaw. No, after sending that wire, he would just have missed the train to Victoria! Cruel! Cruel! But stay! there was another route. He might have booked for Charing192 Cross. Yes! Heaven be praised, if he did that, he would just catch a train. And of course he would do that—surely he would have planned out every possibility while crossing the Channel, have arranged for all—my Captain, my blue-eyed Berserker! But then Lord Arthur had had two and a half hours' start.—I turned to Liverpool and essayed to discover whether that was sufficient to balance the difference of the two distances from London. Alas! my head swam before I had travelled two stations. There were no less than four routes to Euston, to St. Pancras, to King's Cross, to Paddington! Still I made out that if he had kept his head very clear, and been very, very fortunate, he might just get level with the Captain. But then on a longer route the chances of accidental delays were more numerous. On the whole the odds193 were decidedly in favor of the Captain. But one thing was certain—that they would both arrive in time for supper. I ordered an additional cover to be laid, then I threw myself upon a couch and tried to read. But I could not. Terrible as was the strain, my thoughts refused to be distracted. The minutes crawled along—gradually peace came back as I concluded that only by a miracle could Lord Arthur win. At last I jumped up with a start, for the shades of evening were falling and my toilette was yet to make. I dressed myself in a dainty robe of white, trimmed with sprays of wild flowers, and I stuck the white rose in my hair—the symbol that I was yet unasked in wedlock194, the white star of hope to the way-worn wanderer! I did my best to be the fairest sight the travellers should have seen in all the world.
The Honorable Miss Primpole started when she saw me. "What have you been doing to yourself, Princess?" she said. "You're lovelier than I ever dreamed."
And indeed the crisis had lent a flush to my cheek and a flash to my eye which I would not willingly repay. My bosom rose and fell with excitement. In half an hour I should be in my Saga-hero's arms! I went down to the ground-floor front and seated myself at the open window and gazed at the Square and the fiery195 streaks196 of sunset in the sky. The Honorable Miss Primpole lay upon an ottoman, less excited. Every now and again she asked,
"Do you see anything, Princess?"
"Nothing," I answered.
Of course she did not take my answer literally197. Several times cabs and carriages rattled198 past the window, but with no visible intention of drawing up. Duskier, duskier grew the September evening, as I sat peering into the twilight199.
"Do you see anything, Princess?"
"Nothing."
A moment after a hansom came dashing into sight—a head protruded200 from it. I uttered a cry and leant forward, straining my eyes. Captain Athelstan. Yes! No! No! Yes! No! No! Will it be believed that (such is the heart of woman) I felt a sensation of relief on finding the issue still postponed201? For in the moment when the Captain seemed to flash upon my vision—it was borne in upon me like a chilling blast that I had lost my Voice. Never would that glorious music swell202 for me as I sat alone with my husband in the gloaming.
The streaks of sunset faded into gray ashes.
"Do you see anything, Princess?"
"Nothing."
Even as I spoke I heard the gallop203 of hoofs204 in the quiet Square, and, half paralyzed by the unexpected vision, I saw Lord Arthur dashing furiously up on horseback—Lord Arthur, bronzed and bearded and travel-stained, but Lord Arthur beyond a doubt. He took off his hat and waved it frantically in the air when he caught sight of my white figure, with the white rose of promise nestling in my hair. My poor Saga-hero!
"W-w-w——"
Even Mr. Gladstone, if he had been racing206 as madly as Lord Arthur might well have been flustered207 in his speech. The poor singer could not get out the first word, try as he would. At last it came out like a soda-water cork208 and 'you' with it. But at the 'be' there was—O dire52 to tell!—another stoppage.
"B-b-b-b-b——"
"Fire! Fire! Hooray!" The dull roar of an advancing crowd burst suddenly upon our ears, mingled209 with the piercing exultation210 of small boys. The thunderous clatter211 of the fire-engine seemed to rock the soil of the Square.
But neither of us took eyes off the other.
"Be!" It was out at last. The end was near. In another second I should say "Yes."
"M-m-m-y——"
Lord Arthur's gallant steed shifted uneasily. The fire-engine was thundering down upon it.
"W-w-w——"
"Will you be——" The clarion213 notes of the Captain rang out above the clatter of the fire-engine from which he madly jumped.
"Wife?" }
"Mine?" } the two travellers exclaimed together.
"Dead heat," I murmured, and fell back in a dead faint. My overwrought nerves could stand no more.
Nevertheless it was a gay supper-party; the air was thick with travellers' tales, and the butler did not spare the champagne214. We could not help being tickled215 by the quaint216 termination of the colossal217 globe-trotting competition, and we soothed Lord Arthur's susceptibilities by insisting that if he had only remembered the shorter proposal formula employed by his rival, he would have won by a word. It was a pure fluke that the Captain was able to tie, for he had not thought of telegraphing for a horse, but had taken a hansom at the station, and only exchanged to the fire-engine when he heard people shouting there was a fire in Seymour Street. Lord Arthur obliged five times during the evening, and the Honorable Miss Primpole relaxed more than ever before and accompanied him on the banjo. Before we parted, I had been persuaded by my lovers to give them one last trial. That night three months I was to give another magnificent repast, to which they were both to be invited. During the interval each was to do his best to become famous, and at the supper-party I was to choose the one who was the more widely known [pg 80] throughout the length and breadth of the kingdom. They were to place before me what proofs and arguments they pleased, and I was to decide whose name had penetrated218 to the greater number of people. There was to be no appeal from my decision, nor any limitation to what the candidates might do to force themselves upon the universal consciousness, so long as they did not merely advertise themselves at so much a column or poster. They could safely be trusted not to do anything infamous219 in the attempt to become famous, and so there was no need to impose conditions. I had a secret hope that Lord Arthur might thus be induced to bring his talents before the world and get over his objection to the degradation220 of public appearances. My hope was more than justified221.
I grieve to say neither strove to benefit his kind. His lordship went on the music-hall stage, made up as a costermonger, and devoted222 his wonderful voice and his musical genius to singing a cockney ballad223 with a chorus consisting merely of the words "Ba, ba, ba, boodle-dee" repeated [pg 81] sixteen times. It caught on like a first-class epidemic224. "Ba, ba, ba, boodle-dee" microbes floated in every breeze. The cholera-chorus raged from Piccadilly to Land's End, from Kensington to John o'Groats. The swarthy miners hewed225 the coal to it. It dropped from passing balloons, the sailors manned the capstan to it, and the sound of it superseded226 fog-horns. Duchesses danced to it, and squalid infants cried for it. Divines with difficulty kept it out of their sermons, philosophers drew weighty lessons from it, critics traced its history, and as it didn't mean anything the greatest Puritans hummed it inaccurately227. "Ba, ba, ba, boodle-dee," sang Lord Arthur nightly at six halls and three theatres, incidentally clearing off all the debts on the family estates, and, like a flock of sheep, the great British public took up the bleat228, and in every hall and drawing-room blossomed the big pearl buttons of the cockney costermonger.
But Captain Athelstan came to the front far more easily, if less profitably. He sent a testimonial to the Perfect Cure Elixir229. The Elixir was accustomed to testimonials from the suffering millions. The spelling generally had to be corrected before they were fit for publication. It also received testimonials which were useless, such as: "I took only one bottle of your Elixir and I got fourteen days." But a testimonial from a Captain of the Guards was a gold-mine. The Captain's was the best name the Elixir had ever had, and he had enjoyed more diseases than it had hitherto professed230 to cure. Astonished by its own success the Elixir resolved to make a big spurt231 and kill off all its rivals. For the next few months Captain Athelstan was rammed232 down the throats of all England. He came with the morning milk in all the daily papers, he arrived by the first post in a circular, he stared at people from every dead wall when they went out to business, he was with them at lunch, in little plaques233 and placards in every restaurant, he nodded at them in every bar, rode with them in every train and tram-car, either on the wall or on the back of the ticket, joined them at dinner in the evening papers and supplied the pipe lights after the meal. You took up a magazine and found he had slipped between the sheets, you went to bed and his diseased figure haunted your dreams. Life lost its sweetness, literature its charm. The loathsome234 phantasm of the complexly-afflicted Captain got between you and the sunshine. Stiff examination papers (compiled from the Captain) were set at every breakfast-table, and you were sternly interrogated235 as to whether you felt an all-gone sensation at the tip of your nose, and you were earnestly adjured236 to look at your old diseases. You began to read an eloquent237 description of the Alps, and lo! there was the Captain perched on top. You started a thrilling story of the sea, and the Captain bobbed up from the bottom; you began a poetical allegory concerning the Valley of the Shadow, and you found the Captain had been living there all his life—till he came upon the Elixir. A little innocent child remarked, "Pater, it is almost bath-time," and you felt for your handkerchief in view of a touching domestic idyl, but the Captain froze your tears. "Why have sunstroke in India?" you were asked, and the Captain supplied the answer. Something came like a thief in the night. It was the Captain. You were startled to see that there was "A Blight238 Over All Creation," but it turned out to be only the Captain. Everything abutted239 on the Captain—Shakespeare and the musical glasses, the Venus of Milo and the Mikado, Day and Night and all the seasons, the potato harvest and the Durham Coal Strike, the advantages of early rising, and the American Copyright Act. He was at the bottom of every passage, he lurked240 in every avenue, he was at the end of every perspective. The whole world was familiar with his physical symptoms, and his sad history. The exploits of Julius Cæsar were but a blur241 in the common mind, but everybody knew that the Captain's skin grew Gobelin blue, that the whites of his eyes turned green, and his tongue stuck in his cheek, and that the rest of his organism behaved with corresponding gruesomeness. Everybody knew how they dropped off, "petrified242 by my breath," and how his sympathetic friends told him in large capitals
"You will never get better, Captain,"
and how his weeping mother, anxious to soothe9 his last hours, remarked in reply to a request for another box of somebody else's pills,
"The only box you'll ever want will be a Coffin,"
and how
"He thought it was only Cholera,"
but how one dose of the Elixir (which new-born babies clamored for in preference to their mother's milk) had baffled all their prognostications and made him a celebrity243 for life. In private the Captain said that he really had these ailments244, though he only discovered the fact when he read the advertisements of the Elixir. But the Mess had an inkling that it was all done for a wager, and christened him "The Perfect Cure." To me he justified himself on the ground that he had scrupulously245 described himself as having his tongue in his cheek, and that he really suffered from love-sickness, which was worse than all the ills the Elixir cured.
I need scarcely say that I was shocked by my lovers' practical methods of acquiring that renown246 for which so many gifted souls have yearned247 in vain, though I must admit that both gentlemen retained sufficient sense of decorum to be revolted by the other's course of action. They remonstrated248 with each other gently but firmly. The result was that their friendship snapped and a week before the close of the competition they crossed the Channel to fight a duel249. I got to hear of it in time and wired to Boulogne that if they killed each other I would marry neither, that if only one survived I would never marry my lover's murderer, and that a duel excited so much gossip that, if both survived, they would be equally famous and the competition again a failure.
These simple considerations prevented any mishap250. The Captain returned to his Regiment and Lord Arthur went on to the Riviera to while away the few remaining days and to get extra advertisement out of not appearing at his halls through indisposition. At Monte Carlo he accidentally broke the bank, and explained his system to the interviewers. To my chagrin, for I was tired of see-sawing, this brought him level with the Captain again. I had been prepared to adjudicate in favour of the latter, on the ground that although "Ba, ba, ba, boodle-dee" was better known than the Patent Cure Elixir, yet the originator of the song remained unknown to many to whom the Captain was a household word, and this in despite of the extra attention secured to Lord Arthur by his rank. The second supper-party was again sicklied over with the pale cast of thought.
"No more competitions!" I said. "You seem destined to tie with each other instead of with me. I will return to my original idea. I will give you a task which it is not likely both will perform. I will marry the man who asks me, provided he comes, neither walking nor riding, neither sailing nor driving, neither skating nor sliding nor flying, neither by boat nor by balloon nor by bicycle, neither by swimming nor by floating nor by anybody carrying or dragging or pushing him, neither by any movement of hand or foot nor by any extraordinary method whatever. Till this is achieved neither of you must look upon my face again."
"They looked aghast when I set the task. They went away and I have not seen them from that day to this. I shall never marry now. So I may as well devote myself to the cause of the Old Maids you are so nobly championing." She rolled up the MS.
"But," said Lillie excitedly, breaking in for the first time, "what is the way you want them to come?"
The Princess laughed a silvery laugh.
"No way. Don't you understand? It was a roundabout way of saying I was tired of them."
"Oh!" said Lillie.
"You see, I got the idea from a fairy-tale," said the Princess. "There, the doer evaded251 the conditions by being dragged at a horse's tail—I have guarded against this, so that now the thing is impossible." Again her mischievous252 laughter rang out through the misanthropic253 room.
Lillie smiled, too. She felt certain Lord Silverdale would find no flaw in the Princess's armor, and she was exultant254 at so auspicious255 an accession. For the sake of formality, however, she told her that she would communicate her election by letter.
The next day a telegram came to the Club.
Equally aghast and excited, Lillie wired back, "How?" and prepaid the reply.
"Lover happened to be here. Came up in lift as I was waiting to go down."
"Which?"
"Leave you to guess," answered the electric current.
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1
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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5
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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6
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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7
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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8
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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10
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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14
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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15
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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17
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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18
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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19
reverberation
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| 反响； 回响； 反射； 反射物 | |
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20
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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21
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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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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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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24
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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26
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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30
vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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31
torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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32
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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33
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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34
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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35
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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silhouettes
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| 轮廓( silhouette的名词复数 )； （人的）体形； （事物的）形状； 剪影 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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38
tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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39
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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40
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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41
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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42
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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43
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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44
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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45
saga
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| n.(尤指中世纪北欧海盗的)故事，英雄传奇 | |
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46
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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47
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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48
subtleties
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| 细微( subtlety的名词复数 )； 精细； 巧妙； 细微的差别等 | |
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49
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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50
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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51
abortive
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| adj.不成功的，发育不全的 | |
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52
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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53
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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54
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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55
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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56
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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57
palled
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| v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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59
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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60
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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61
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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62
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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63
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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64
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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65
rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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66
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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67
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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68
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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69
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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70
abracadabra
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| n.咒语，胡言乱语 | |
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71
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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72
belabor
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| vt.痛斥；作过长说明 | |
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73
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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74
beseechingly
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| adv. 恳求地 | |
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75
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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76
lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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77
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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78
royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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79
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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80
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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81
remorsefully
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| adv.极为懊悔地 | |
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82
abjure
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| v.发誓放弃 | |
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83
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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84
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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85
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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86
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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87
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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88
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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89
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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90
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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91
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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94
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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95
obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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96
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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98
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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99
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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100
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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101
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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102
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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103
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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104
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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105
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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106
enunciate
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| v.发音；（清楚地）表达 | |
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107
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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109
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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110
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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111
tardily
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| adv.缓慢 | |
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112
inverts
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| v.使倒置，使反转( invert的第三人称单数 ) | |
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113
justifies
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| 证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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114
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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115
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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116
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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117
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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118
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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119
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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120
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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121
ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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122
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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123
benighted
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| adj.蒙昧的 | |
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124
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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125
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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126
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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127
gargoyles
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| n.怪兽状滴水嘴( gargoyle的名词复数 ) | |
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128
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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129
renovation
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| n.革新，整修 | |
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130
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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131
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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132
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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133
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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134
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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135
perpetuate
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| v.使永存，使永记不忘 | |
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136
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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137
premier
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| adj.首要的；n.总理，首相 | |
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138
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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139
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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140
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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141
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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142
precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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143
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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144
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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145
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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146
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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147
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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148
bazaars
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| （东方国家的）市场( bazaar的名词复数 )； 义卖； 义卖市场； （出售花哨商品等的）小商品市场 | |
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149
kudos
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| n.荣誉，名声 | |
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150
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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151
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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152
deduct
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| vt.扣除，减去 | |
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153
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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154
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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155
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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156
pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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157
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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158
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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159
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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160
precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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161
wrangled
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| v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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163
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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164
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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165
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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166
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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167
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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168
pawns
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| n.（国际象棋中的）兵( pawn的名词复数 )；卒；被人利用的人；小卒v.典当，抵押( pawn的第三人称单数 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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169
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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170
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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171
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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172
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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173
peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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174
deadlock
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| n.僵局，僵持 | |
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175
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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176
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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177
halcyon
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| n.平静的，愉快的 | |
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178
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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179
waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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180
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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181
dribbled
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| v.流口水( dribble的过去式和过去分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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182
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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183
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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184
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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185
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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186
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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187
nuptials
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| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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188
garnered
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| v.收集并（通常）贮藏（某物），取得，获得( garner的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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189
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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190
despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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191
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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192
charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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193
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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194
wedlock
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| n.婚姻，已婚状态 | |
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195
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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196
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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197
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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198
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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199
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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200
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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201
postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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202
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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203
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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204
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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205
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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206
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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207
flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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208
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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209
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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210
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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211
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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212
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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213
clarion
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| n.尖音小号声；尖音小号 | |
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214
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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215
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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216
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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217
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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218
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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219
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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220
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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221
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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222
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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223
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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224
epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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225
hewed
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的过去式和过去分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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226
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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227
inaccurately
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| 不精密地，不准确地 | |
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228
bleat
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| v.咩咩叫，(讲)废话，哭诉；n.咩咩叫，废话，哭诉 | |
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229
elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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230
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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231
spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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232
rammed
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| v.夯实（土等）( ram的过去式和过去分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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233
plaques
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| （纪念性的）匾牌( plaque的名词复数 )； 纪念匾； 牙斑； 空斑 | |
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234
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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235
interrogated
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| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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236
adjured
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| v.（以起誓或诅咒等形式）命令要求( adjure的过去式和过去分词 )；祈求；恳求 | |
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237
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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238
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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239
abutted
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| v.（与…）邻接( abut的过去式和过去分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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240
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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241
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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242
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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243
celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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244
ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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245
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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246
renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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247
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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248
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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249
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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250
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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251
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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252
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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253
misanthropic
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| adj.厌恶人类的，憎恶（或蔑视）世人的；愤世嫉俗 | |
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254
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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255
auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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256
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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257
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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