Lady Godolphin was as fond of Broomhead as the Godolphins were of Ashlydyat. Certainly Broomhead was the more attractive home of the two. A fine house of exquisite3 taste; with modern rooms and modern embellishments; and when she invited the two young ladies to accompany her on a visit to it, she was actuated as much by a sense of exultation4 at exhibiting the place to them, as by a desire for their companionship, though she did like and desire the companionship. Lady Godolphin, who never read, and never worked; in short, never did anything; was obliged to have friends with her to dissipate her ennui5 and cheat time. She liked young ladies best; for they did not interfere6 with her own will, and were rarely exacting7 visitors.
But she required less of this companionship at Broomhead. There she knew every one, and every one knew her. She was sufficiently8 familiar with the smallest and poorest cottage to take an interest in its ill-doings and its short-comings; at least, as much interest as it was possible to the nature of Lady Godolphin to take. Old acquaintances dropped in without ceremony and remained the morning with her, gossiping of times past and present: or she dropped into their houses, and remained with them. Of gaiety there was none: Sir George’s state of health forbade it: and in this quiet social intercourse9—which Charlotte Pain held in especial contempt—the young visitors were not wanted. Altogether they were much at liberty, and went roaming where they would, under the protection of Mr. George Godolphin.
He had now been a week at Broomhead: flirting10 with Charlotte, giving stolen minutes to Maria. A looker-on might have decided11 that Miss Pain was the gentleman’s chief attraction: for, in public, his attentions were principally given to her. She may be pardoned for estimating them at more than they were worth: but she could very well have welcomed any friendly wind that would have wafted12 away Maria, and have kept her away. They knew, those two girls, that their mutual13 intercourse was of a hollow nature; their paraded friendship, their politeness, rotten at the core. Each was jealous of the other; and the one subject which filled their minds was never alluded14 to in conversation. Either might have affirmed to the other, “You are aware that I watch you and George: my jealous eyes are upon your every movement, my jealous ears are ever open.” But these avowals are not made in social life, and Charlotte and Maria observed[53] studied courtesy, making believe to be mutually unconscious: knowing all the time that the consciousness existed in a remarkable16 degree. It was an artificial state of things.
“How dark you are putting in those trees!” exclaimed Charlotte Pain.
Maria paused, pencil in hand; glanced at the trees opposite, and at the trees on paper. “Not too dark,” she said. “The grove17 is a heavy one.”
“What’s that queer-looking thing in the corner? It is like a half-moon, coming down to pay us a visit.”
Maria held out her sketch at arm’s distance, laughing merrily. “You do not understand perspective, Charlotte. Look at it now.”
“Not I,” said Charlotte. “I understand nothing of the work. They tried to teach me when I was a child, but I never could make a straight line without the ruler. After all, where’s the use of it? The best-made sketch cannot rival its model—nature.”
“But sketches18 serve to remind us of familiar places, when we are beyond their reach,” was Maria’s answer. “I love drawing.”
“Maria draws well,” observed George Godolphin, from his swinging perch19 on the branch of a neighbouring tree.
She looked up at him, almost gratefully. “This will be one of the best sketches I have taken here,” she said. “It is so thoroughly20 picturesque21: and that farm-house, under the hill, gives life to the picture.”
Charlotte Pain cast her eyes upon the house in the distance over the green field, to which she had not before vouchsafed22 a glance. A shade of contempt crossed her face.
“Call that a farm-house! I should say it was a tumble-down old cottage.”
“It is large for a cottage; and has a barn and a shed round it,” returned Maria. “I conclude that it was a farm some time.”
“It is not inhabited,” said Charlotte.
“And her pipe also?” cried George.
“Her pipe!”
George took his own cigar from his mouth, as he answered. “She is smoking, that woman. A short pipe.”
Maria shaded her eyes with her hand, and gazed attentively24. “I—really—do—think—she—is!” she exclaimed slowly. “What a strange thing!”
“I’ll make her a Welshwoman,” said Maria gaily26, “with a man’s coat, and a man’s hat. But, there’s—there’s another now. George, it is Margery!”
“Yes,” said Mr. George composedly. “I saw her go in half an hour ago. How smart she is! She must be paying morning calls.”
They laughed at this, and watched Margery. A staid woman of middle age, who had been maid to the late Mrs. Godolphin. Margery dressed plainly, but she certainly looked smart to-day, as the sun’s[54] rays fell upon her. The sun was unusually bright, and Charlotte Pain remarked it, saying it made her eyes ache.
“Suspiciously bright,” observed George Godolphin.
“Suspiciously?”
He flirted27 the ashes from his cigar with his finger. “Suspicious of a storm,” he said. “We shall have it, ere long. See those clouds. They look small and inoffensive; but they mean mischief28.”
Charlotte Pain strolled away over the meadows towards the side path on which Margery was advancing. George Godolphin leaped from his seat, apparently29 with the intention of following her. But first of all he approached Maria, and bent30 to look at her progress.
“Make the farm—as you call it—very conspicuous31, Maria, if you are going to keep the sketch as a memento,” said he.
“Is it not a farm?”
“It was, once; until idleness suffered it to drop through.”
“Why should I make it particularly conspicuous?” she continued.
There was no reply, and she looked quickly up. A peculiar32 expression, one which she did not understand, sat upon his face.
“If we had a mind to cheat the world, Maria, we might do so, by paying a visit to that house.”
“In what way?”
“I might take you in Maria Hastings, and bring you out Mrs. George Godolphin.”
“What do you mean?” she inquired, completely puzzled.
Mr. George laughed. “The man who lives there, Sandy Bray33, has made more couples one than a rustic34 parson. Some people call him a public nuisance; others say he is a convenience, as it is three miles to the nearest kirk. He goes by the nickname of Minister Bray. Many a lad and lassie have stolen in there, under cover of the twilight35, and in five minutes have come forth36 again, married, the world being none the wiser.”
“Is it the place they call Gretna Green?” inquired Maria in much astonishment37.
“No, it is not Gretna Green. Only a place of the same description, and equally serviceable.”
“Indeed they are. You have surely heard of the Scotch laws?”
“I have been told that any one can marry people in Scotland. I have heard that the simple declaration of saying you take each other for man and wife constitutes a marriage.”
“Yes; if said before a witness. Would you like to try it, Maria?”
The colour mantled39 to her face as she bent over her drawing. She smiled at the joke, simply shaking her head by way of answer. And Mr. George Godolphin went off laughing, lighting40 another cigar as he talked. Overtaking Charlotte Pain just as Margery came up, he accosted41 the latter.
“Grand!” returned Margery. “Who says it? What is there grand about me?”
“That shawl displays as many colours as a kaleidoscope. We[55] thought it was a rainbow coming along. Did it arrive in an express parcel last night from Paisley?”
“It isn’t me that has money to spend upon parcels!” retorted Margery. “I have too many claims dragging my purse at both ends, for that.”
A faithful servant was Margery, in spite of her hard features, and her stern speech. Scant43 of ceremony she had always been, and scant of ceremony she would remain. In fact, she was given to treating the younger branches of the Godolphins, Mr. George included, very much as she had treated them when they were children. They knew her sterling44 worth, and did not quarrel with her severe manners.
“When you have half a dozen kin15 pulling at you, ‘I want this!’ from one, and ‘I want that!’ from another, and the same cry running through all, it isn’t much money you can keep to spend on shawls,” resumed Margery. “I was a fool to come here; that’s what I was! When the master said to me, ‘You had better come with us, Margery,’ I ought to have answered, ‘No, Sir George, I’m better away.’”
“Well, what is the grievance45, Margery?” George asked, while Charlotte Pain turned from one to the other in curiosity.
“Why, they are on at me for money, that’s what it is, Mr. George. My lady sent for me this morning to say she intended to call and see Selina to-day. Of course I knew what it meant—that I was to go and give them a hint to have things tidy—for, if there’s one thing my lady won’t do, it is to put her foot into a pigsty46. So I threw on my shawl, that you are laughing at, and went. There was nothing the matter with the place, for a wonder; but there was with them. Selina, she’s in bed, ill—and if she frets48 as she’s fretting49 now, she won’t get out of it in a hurry. Why did she marry the fellow? It does make me so vexed50!”
“What does she always have to fret about?” retorted Margery. “His laziness, and the children’s ill-doings. They go roaming about the country, here, there, and everywhere, after work, as they say, after places; and then they get into trouble and untold51 worry, and come home or send home for money to help them out of it! One of them, Nick—and a good name for him, say I!—must be off into Wales to those relations of Bray’s; and he has been at some mischief there, and is in prison for it, and is now committed for trial. And the old woman has walked all the way here to get funds from them, to pay for his defence. The news has half killed Selina.”
“I said she was a Welshwoman,” interrupted Charlotte Pain. “She was smoking, was she not, Margery?”
“She’s smoking a filthy52 short pipe,” wrathfully returned Margery. “But for that, I should have said she was a decent body—although it’s next to impossible to understand her tongue. She puts in ten words of Welsh to two of English. Of course they have no money to furnish for it; it wouldn’t be them, if they had; so they are wanting to get it out of me. Fifteen or twenty pounds! My word! They’d like me to end my days in the workhouse.”
“You might turn a deaf ear, Margery,” said George.
“I know I might; and many a hundred times have I vowed53 I[56] would,” returned Margery. “But there’s she in her bed, poor thing, sobbing55 and moaning, and asking if Nick is to be quite abandoned. The worse a lad turns out, the more a mother clings to him—as it seems to me. Let me be here, or let me be at Ashlydyat, I have no peace for their wants. By word of mouth or by letter they are on at me for ever.”
“If ‘Nick’ has a father, why can he not supply him?” asked Charlotte.
“It’s a sensible question, Miss Pain,” said the woman. “Nick’s father is one of those stinging-nettles that only encumber56 the world, doing no good for themselves nor for anybody else. ‘Minister’ Bray, indeed! it ought to be something else, I think. Many a one has had cause to rue57 the hour that he ‘ministered’ for them!”
“How does he minister?—what do you mean?” wondered Charlotte.
“He marries folks; that’s his ne’er-do-well occupation, Miss Pain. Give him a five-shilling piece, and he’d marry a boy to his grandmother. I’m Scotch by birth—though it’s not much that I have lived in the land—but, I do say, that to suffer such laws to stand good, is a sin and a shame. Two foolish children—and many of those that go to him are no better—stand before him for a half-minute, and he pronounces them to be man and wife! And man and wife they are, and must remain so, till the grave takes one of them: whatever their repentance58 may be when they wake up from their folly59. It’s just one of the blights60 upon bonny Scotland.”
Margery, with no ceremonious leave-taking, turned at the last words, and continued her way. George Godolphin smiled at the blank expression displayed on Charlotte Pain’s countenance61. Had Margery talked in Welsh, as did the old woman with the pipe, she could not have less understood her.
“You require the key, Charlotte,” said he. “Shall I give it to you? Margery was my mother’s maid, as you may have heard. Her sister, Selina, was maid to the present Lady Godolphin: not of late years: long and long before she ever knew my father. It appears the girl, Selina, was a favourite with her mistress; but she left her, in spite of opposition62 from all quarters, to marry Mr. Sandy Bray. And has, there’s no doubt, been rueing it ever since. There are several children, of an age now to be out in the world; but you heard Margery’s account of them. I fear they do pull unconscionably at poor Margery’s purse-strings.”
“Why does she let them do so?” asked Charlotte.
Mr. George opened his penknife and ran the point of it through his cigar, ere he answered. “Margery has a soft place in her heart. As I believe most of us have—if our friends could but give us credit for it.”
“How strange the two sisters should live, the one with your father’s first wife, the other with his second!” exclaimed Charlotte, when she had given a few moments to thought. “Were they acquainted with each other?—the ladies.”
“Not in the least. They never saw each other. I believe it was through these women being sisters that my father became acquainted with the present Lady Godolphin. He was in Scotland with Janet, visiting my mother’s family; and Margery, who was with them, brought[57] Janet to that very house, there, to see her sister. Mrs. Campbell—as she was, then—happened to have gone there that day: and that’s how the whole thing arose. People say there’s a fatality63 in all things. One would think it must be so. Until that day, Mrs. Campbell had not been in the house for two or three years, and would not be likely to go into it again for two or three more.”
“Is Bray a mauvais sujet?”
George lifted his eyebrows64. “I don’t know that there’s much against him, except his incorrigible65 laziness: that’s bad enough when a man has children to keep. Work he will not. Beyond the odds66 and ends that he gets by the exercise of what he is pleased to call his trade, the fellow earns nothing. Lady Godolphin is charitable to the wife; and poor Margery, as she says, finds her purse drawn67 at both ends.”
“I wondered why Margery came to Scotland,” observed Charlotte, “not being Lady Godolphin’s maid. What is Margery’s capacity in your family? I have never been able to find out.”
“It might puzzle herself to tell you what it is, now. After my mother’s death, she waited on my sisters: but when they left Ashlydyat, Margery declined to follow them. She would not leave Sir George. She is excessively attached to him, almost as much so as she was to my mother. That quitting Ashlydyat, ourselves first, and then my father, was a blow to Margery,” George added in a dreamy tone. “She has never been the same since.”
“It was Margery, was it not, who attended upon Sir George in his long illness?”
“I do not know what he would have done without her,” spoke68 George Godolphin in a tone that betrayed its own gratitude69. “In sickness she is invaluable70: certainly not to be replaced, where she is attached. Lady Godolphin, though in her heart I do not fancy she likes Margery, respects her for her worth.”
“I cannot say I like her,” said Charlotte Pain. “Her manners are too independent. I have heard her order you about very cavalierly.”
“And you will hear her again,” said George Godolphin. “She exercised great authority over us when we were children, and she looks upon us as children still. Her years have grown with ours, and there is always the same distance as to age between us. I speak of the younger amongst us: to Thomas and Janet she is ever the respectful servant; in a measure also to Bessy: of myself and Cecil she considers herself partial mistress.”
“If they are so poor as to drain Margery of her money, how is it they can live in that house and pay its rent?” inquired Charlotte, looking towards the building.
“It is Bray’s own. The land, belonging to it, has been mortgaged three deep long ago. He might have been in a tolerably good position, had he chosen to make the most of his chances: he was not born a peasant.”
“Who is this?” exclaimed Charlotte.
A tall, slouching man, with red hair and heavy shoulders, was advancing towards them from the house. George turned to look.
“That is Bray himself. Look at the lazy fellow! You may tell his temperament71 from his gait.”
[58]George Godolphin was right. The man was not walking along, but sauntering; turning to either side and bending his head as if flowers lay in his path and he wished to look at them: his hands in his pockets, his appearance anything but fresh and neat. They watched him come up. He touched his hat then, and accosted Mr. George Godolphin.
“My service to ye, sir. I didna know you were in these parts.”
“So you are still in the land of the living, Bray!” was Mr. George’s response. “How is business?”
“Dull as a dyke,” returned Bray. “Times are bad. I’ve hardly took a crown in the last three months, sir. I shall have to emigrate, if this is to go on.”
“I fear you would scarcely find another country so tolerant to your peculiar calling, Bray,” said George, some mockery in his tone. “And what would the neighbourhood do without you? It must resign itself to single blessedness.”
“The neighbourhood dunna come to me. Folk go over to the kirk now: that has come into fashion; and I’m going down. ’Twas different in past times. A man would give a ten-pun note then to have things done neatly72 and quietly. But there’s fresh notions and fresh havers; and, for all the good they have done me, I might as well be out of the world. Is this Miss Cecil?”
The last question was put abruptly73, the man turning himself full upon Charlotte Pain, and scanning her face. George Godolphin was surprised out of an answer: had he taken a moment for reflection, he might have deemed the question an impertinence, and passed it by.
“Miss Cecilia is not in Scotland.”
“I thought it might be her,” said the man; “for Miss Cecil’s looks are a country’s talk, and I have heard much of them. I see now; there’s nought74 of the Godolphin there. But it’s a bonny face, young lady: and I dare say there’s those that are finding it so.”
He shambled on, with a gesture of the hand by way of salutation. Charlotte Pain did not dislike the implied compliment. “How can this man marry people?” she exclaimed. “He is no priest.”
“He can, and he does marry them; and is not interfered75 with, or forbidden,” said George Godolphin. “At least, he did do so. By his own account, his patronage76 seems to be on the decline.”
“Did he marry them openly?”
“Well—no; I conclude not. If people found it convenient to marry openly, they would not go to him. And why they should go to him at all, puzzles me, and always has: for, the sort of marriage that he performs can be performed by any one wearing a coat, in Scotland, or by the couple themselves. But he has acquired a name, ‘Minister Bray;’ and a great deal lies in a name for ladies’ ears.”
“Ladies!” cried Charlotte scornfully. “Only the peasants went to him, I am sure.”
“Others have gone as well as peasants. Bray boasts yet of a fifty-pound note, once put into his hand for pronouncing the benediction77. It is a ceremony that we are given to be lavish78 upon,” added George, laughing. “I have heard of money being grudged79 for a funeral, but I never did for a wedding.”
[59]“Were I compelled to be a resident of this place, I should get married myself, out of sheer ennui, or do something else as desperate,” she exclaimed.
“You find it dull?”
George raised his hat, and his blue eyes shot a glance into hers. “Thank you, Charlotte.”
“Why were you so long in coming? Do you know what I had done? I had written a letter to desire Mrs. Verrall to recall me. Another week of it would have turned me melancholy82. Your advent83 was better than nobody’s.”
“Thank you again, mademoiselle. When I promise——”
“Promise,” she warmly interrupted. “I have learnt what your promises are worth. Oh, but, George, tell me—What was it that you and Lady Godolphin were saying yesterday? It was about Ethel Grame. I only caught a word here and there.”
“Thomas wishes Lady Godolphin would invite Ethel here for the remainder of their stay. He thinks Ethel would be all the better for a change, after being mured up in that fever-tainted house. But, don’t talk of it. It was only a little private negotiation84 that Thomas was endeavouring to carry out upon his own account. He wrote to me, and he wrote to my lady. Ethel knows nothing of it.”
“And what does Lady Godolphin say?”
George drew in his lips. “She says No. As I expected. And I believe she is for once sorry to say it, for pretty Ethel is a favourite of hers. But she retains her dread85 of the fever. Her argument is, that, although Ethel has escaped it in her own person, she might possibly bring it here in her boxes.”
“Stuff!” cried Charlotte Pain. “Sarah Anne might do so; but I do not see how Ethel could. I wonder Thomas does not marry, and have done with it! He is old enough.”
“And Ethel young enough. It will not be delayed long now. The vexatious question, concerning residence, must be settled in some way.”
“There is some vexation about it, in some way or other,” returned George with indifference87, not choosing to speak more openly. “It is not my affair; it lies between Thomas and Sir George. When Thomas comes here next week——”
“Is Thomas coming next week?” she interrupted.
“That is the present plan. And I return.”
She threw her flashing eyes at him. They said—well, they said a good deal: perhaps Mr. George could read it. “You had better get another letter of recall written, Charlotte,” he resumed in a tone which might be taken for jest or earnest, “and give me the honour of your escort.”
“How you talk!” returned she peevishly88. “As if Lady Godolphin would allow me to go all that way under your escort! As if I would go myself!”
“You might have a less safe one, Charlotte mia,” cried Mr. George somewhat saucily89. “No lion should come near you, to eat you up.”
[60]“George,” resumed Charlotte, after a pause, “I wish you would tell me whether Mrs. Verrall—— Good Heavens! what’s that?”
Sounds of distress90 were sounding in their ears. They turned hastily. Maria Hastings, her camp-stool overturned, her sketching91 materials scattered92 on the ground, was flying towards them, calling upon George Godolphin to save her. There was no mistaking that she was in a state of intense terror.
Charlotte Pain wondered if she had gone mad. She could see nothing to alarm her. George Godolphin cast his rapid glance to the spot where she had sat, and could see nothing, either. He hastened to meet her, and caught her in his arms, into which she literally93 threw herself.
Entwined round her left wrist was a small snake, or reptile94 of the species, more than a foot long. It looked like an eel95, writhing96 there. Maria had never come into personal contact with anything of the sort: but she remembered what had been said of the deadly bite of a serpent; and terror completely overmastered her.
He seized it and flung it from her; he laid her poor terrified face upon his breast, that she might there sob54 out her fear; he cast a greedy glance at her wrist, where the thing had been: and his own face had turned white with emotion.
“My darling, there is no injury,” he soothingly97 whispered. “Be calm! be calm!” And, utterly98 regardless of the presence of Charlotte Pain, he laid his cheek against hers, as if to reassure99 her, and kept it there.
Less regardless, possibly, had he seen Charlotte Pain’s countenance. It was dark as night. The scales were rudely torn from her eyes: and she saw, in that moment, how fallacious had been her own hopes touching100 George Godolphin.
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1
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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exacting
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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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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wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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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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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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thoroughly
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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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vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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standing
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attentively
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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gaily
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flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mischief
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apparently
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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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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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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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bray
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| n.驴叫声, 喇叭声；v.驴叫 | |
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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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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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mantled
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| 披着斗篷的，覆盖着的 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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agate
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| n.玛瑙 | |
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43
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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45
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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46
pigsty
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| n.猪圈，脏房间 | |
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47
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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frets
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| 基质间片； 品丝（吉他等指板上定音的）( fret的名词复数 ) | |
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fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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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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51
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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52
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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54
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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encumber
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| v.阻碍行动，妨碍，堆满 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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59
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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blights
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| 使凋萎( blight的第三人称单数 )； 使颓丧； 损害； 妨害 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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incorrigible
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| adj.难以纠正的，屡教不改的 | |
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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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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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81
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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82
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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83
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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84
negotiation
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| n.谈判，协商 | |
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85
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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86
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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87
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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88
peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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89
saucily
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| adv.傲慢地，莽撞地 | |
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90
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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91
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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92
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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94
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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95
eel
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| n.鳗鲡 | |
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96
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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97
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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98
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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99
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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100
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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