It was quite a private marriage so to say; but few guests being present, and they relatives, or very close friends. Lady Godolphin had responded to the invitation (which Janet had not expected her to do), and was the guest of Ashlydyat. Very superb was she in silks and jewels this day. Old Mrs. Briscow had also remained for it. Mr. Crosse was present, and some relatives of the Hastings family: and Grace and Cecil were bridesmaids. The Rector joined their hands, speaking the necessary words slowly and emphatically; words that bound them to each other until death.
Then came the breakfast at the Rectory, and then the going away. The carriage waited at the gate. The Rector laid his hand upon George Godolphin’s arm as he was going out to it, and addressed him in a low tone.
“Always!” emphatically pronounced George, grasping the Rector’s hand. “You shall never have cause to repent5 the gift.”
Thomas Godolphin was placing Maria in the carriage. She looked out through her tears, nodding her last adieus. George took his place beside her, and the postboy started on the first stage towards Dover.
As they were passing the house of Lady Sarah Grame, by which[147] their route lay, that lady herself sat at the window, as did also Sarah Anne; both on the tiptoe of curiosity, beyond all doubt. Between them, laughing and talking with a gay air, and looking out, stood Charlotte Pain. Maria gave vent6 to an involuntary exclamation7.
Another moment, and they had whirled by, beyond view. George turned impulsively8 to M aria2 and drew her closer to him. “Thank God! thank God!” he earnestly said.
“For what?” she murmured.
“That you are mine. Maria, I dreamt last night that I had married Charlotte Pain, and that you were dying. The dream has been haunting me all day. I can laugh at it now, thank God!”
In the gayest and lightest room of Lady Godolphin’s Folly9, its windows open to the green slopes, the gay flowers, the magnificent prospect10 which swept the horizon in the distance, was Mrs. Verrall. She lay back in a fauteuil, in the vain, idle, listless manner favoured by her; toying with the ribbons of her tasty dress, with the cluster of gleaming trifles on her watch-chain, with her gossamer11 handkerchief, its lace so fine in texture12 that unobservant eyes could not tell where the cambric ended and the lace began, with her fan which lay beside her, tapping her pretty foot upon an ottoman in some impatience13; there she sat, displaying her conscious charms, and waiting for any callers, idle and vain as herself, who might arrive to admire them.
At a distance, in another fauteuil, listless and impatient also, sat Rodolf Pain. Time hung heavily on Mr. Pain’s hands just now. He was kept a sort of prisoner at Lady Godolphin’s Folly, and it appeared to be the chief business of Charlotte Pain’s life to be cross to him. Three weeks had his sojourn14 there lasted: and though he had hinted to Charlotte on his arrival that he might remain a goodly number of weeks—interminable weeks, was the expression, I think—he had not really expected to do so; and the delay was chafing15 him. What particular business might be keeping Mr. Pain at Prior’s Ash it is not our province at present to inquire: what his especial motive16 might be for rather shunning17 observation than courting it, is no affair of ours. He did not join Mrs. Verrall in her visiting: he had an innate18 dislike to visitors—to “fine people,” as he phrased it. Even now, if any carriage drove up and deposited its freight at the Folly, it would be the signal for Mr. Rodolf Pain to walk out of the drawing-room. He was shy, and had not been accustomed to society. He strolled in and out all day in his restlessness, nearly unnoticed by Mrs. Verrall, fidgeting Charlotte Pain; a cigar in his mouth, and his hands in his pockets; sauntering about the grounds, flinging himself into chairs, one sentence of complaint for ever on his lips: “I wish to goodness Verrall would write!”
But Verrall did not write. Mrs. Verrall had received one or two short notes from him after her return from London—where she had stayed but twenty-four hours—and all the allusion19 in them to Mr. Pain had been, “Tell Rodolf he shall hear from me as soon as possible.” Rodolf could only wait with what patience he might, and feel himself like a caged tiger, without its fierceness. There was no fierceness about Rodolf Pain;—timidity rather than that.
A timidity for which Charlotte despised him. Had he been more bold and self-asserting, she might have accorded him greater respect.[148] What could have possessed20 Charlotte ever to engage herself to Rodolf Pain, would be a mystery for curious minds to solve, only that such mysteries are enacted21 every day. Engagements and marriages apparently22 the most incongruous take place. This much may be said for Charlotte: that let her enter into what engagement she might, she would keep it or break it, just as whim23 or convenience suited her. Rodolf Pain’s thoughts, as he sat in that chair, were probably turned to this very fact, for he broke the silence suddenly by a pertinent24 question to Mrs. Verrall.
“Does she never mean to marry?”
“Who?” languidly asked Mrs. Verrall.
“Charlotte, of course. I have nothing to do with anybody else, that I should ask. She faithfully promised to be my wife: you know she did, Mrs. Verrall——”
“Don’t talk to me, Rodolf,” apathetically25 interrupted Mrs. Verrall; “As if I should interfere26 between you and Charlotte!”
“I think you are in league together to snub me, Mrs. Verrall, she and you; that’s what I think,” grumbled27 Rodolf. “If I only remind her of her promise, she snaps my nose off. Are we to be married, or are we not?”
“It is no affair of mine, I say,” said Mrs. Verrall, “and I shall not make it one. I had as soon Charlotte married you, as not; but I am not going to take an active part in urging it—probably only to be blamed afterwards. This is all I can say, and if you tease me more, Rodolf, I shall trouble you to walk into another room.”
Thus repulsed28, Rodolf Pain held his tongue. He turned about in his chair, stretched out his feet, drew, them in again, threw up his arms with a prolonged yawn, and altogether proved that he was going wild for want of something to do. Presently he began again.
“Where’s she off to?”
“Charlotte?” cried Mrs. Verrall. “She went into Prior’s Ash. She said—yes, I think she said, she should call upon Lady Sarah Grame. Look there!”
Mrs. Verrall rose from her seat, and ran to a farther window, whence she gained a better view of the high-road, leading from Ashlydyat to Prior’s Ash. A chariot-and-four was passing slowly towards the town. Its postboys wore white favours, and Margery and a manservant were perched outside. Mrs. Verrall knew that it was the carriage destined29 to convey away George Godolphin and his bride, who were at that moment seated at the breakfast at All Souls’ Rectory, chief amidst the wedding guests.
“Then Margery does go abroad with them!” exclaimed Mrs. Verrall. “The servants had so many conflicting tales, that it was impossible to know which to believe. She goes as Mrs. George’s maid, I suppose, and to see after him and his rheumatism31.”
“His rheumatism’s well, isn’t it?” returned Rodolf Pain.
“That is well; but he’s not. He is weak as water, needing care still. Prudent32 Janet does well to send Margery. What should Maria Hastings know about taking care of the sick? I think they have shown excessively bad manners not to invite me to the breakfast,” continued Mrs. Verrall, in a tone of acidity33.
[149]“Some one said it was to be quite a private breakfast: confined to relatives.”
“I don’t care,” said Mrs. Verrall; “they might have made an exception in my favour. They know I like such things: and we lived in their house, Ashlydyat, and are now living at Lady Godolphin’s Folly.”
“That’s where Charlotte’s gone, I’ll lay,” cried Mr. Rodolf Pain.
Mrs. Verrall turned her eyes upon him with a slight accession of wonder in them. “Gone there! To the Rectory? Nonsense, Rodolf!”
“I didn’t say to the Rectory, Mrs. Verrall. She wouldn’t be so stupid as to go there without an invitation. She’s gone about the town, to stare at the carriages, and look out for what she can see.”
“Very possibly,” returned Mrs. Verrall, throwing herself into her chair in weariness. “What has become of all the people to-day, that no one comes to call upon me? I should think they are stopping to look at the wedding.”
Rodolf, in weariness as great, slowly lifted his body out of the chair, gave himself another stretch, and left the room. The curse of work! Never did work bring a curse half as great as that brought by idleness. Better break stones on the road, better work in galley-chains, than sit through the livelong day, day after day as the year goes round, and be eaten up by lassitude. Rodolf Pain’s compulsory34 idleness was only temporary; he was away from his occupation only for a time: but Mrs. Verrall possessed no occupation from year’s end to year’s end. Her hands had no duties to perform, no labour to transact35: she never touched anything in the shape of ornamental36 work; she rarely, if ever, opened a book. She was one of those who possess no resources within themselves: and, may Heaven have mercy upon all such!
By-and-by, after Rodolf had smoked two cigars outside, and had lounged in again, pretty nearly done to death with the effort to kill time, Charlotte returned. She came in at the open window, apparently in the highest spirits, her face sparkling.
“Did you hear the bells?” asked she.
“I did,” answered Rodolf. “I heard them when I was out just now.”
“The town’s quite in a commotion37,” Charlotte resumed. “Half the ragamuffins in the place are collected round the Rectory gates: they had better let the beadle get amongst them!”
“Commotion or no commotion, I know I have not had a soul to call here!” grumbled Mrs. Verrall. “Where have you been, Charlotte?”
“At Lady Sarah’s. And I have had the great honour of seeing the bride and bridegroom!” went on Charlotte, in a tone of complaisance38 so intense as to savour of mockery. “They came driving by in their carriage, and we had full view of them.”
This somewhat aroused Mrs. Verrall from her listlessness. “They have started, then! How did she look, Charlotte?”
“Look!” cried Charlotte. “She looked as she usually looks, for all I saw. His cheeks were hectic39; I could see that. Mr. George must take care of himself yet, I fancy.”
[150]“How was she dressed?” questioned Mrs. Verrall again.
“Could I see?—seated low in the carriage, as she was, and leaning back in it!” retorted Charlotte. “She wore a white bonnet40 and veil, and that’s all I can tell you. Margery and Pearce were with them. Kate, don’t you think Lady Sarah must feel this day? A few months ago, and it was her daughter who was on the point of marriage with a Godolphin. But she did not seem to think of it. She’d give her head for a daughter of hers to wed30 a Godolphin still.”
Mrs. Verrall raised her eyes to Charlotte’s with an expression of simple astonishment41. The remark mystified her. Mrs. Verrall could boast little depth of any sort, and never saw half as far as Charlotte did. Charlotte resumed:
“I saw; I know: I have seen and known ever since Ethel died. My lady would like Sarah Anne to take Ethel’s place with Thomas Godolphin.”
“I can hardly believe that, Charlotte.”
“Disbelieve it then,” equably responded Charlotte, as she passed out to the terrace, and began calling to her dogs. They came noisily up in answer; and Charlotte disappeared with them.
And Mr. Rodolf Pain, sitting there in his embroidered42 chair, with a swelling43 heart, remarked that Charlotte had not vouchsafed44 the smallest notice to him. “I wouldn’t stop another hour,” he murmured to himself, “only that my going back would put up Verrall: and—and it might not do.”
Very intense was that gentleman’s surprise to see, not two minutes after, Mr. Verrall himself enter the room by the window. Mrs. Verrall gave a little shriek45 of astonishment; and the new-comer, throwing his summer overcoat upon a chair, shook hands with his wife, and gave her a kiss. Plenty of dust was mingled46 with his yellow whiskers, and his moustache.
“I came third-class most of the way,” explained Mr. Verrall, as an apology for the dust. “The first-class carriage was stuffing hot, and there was no getting a smoke in it. We had a troublesome guard: the fellow excused himself by saying one of the directors was in the train.”
“I have been all this time rubbing my eyes to find out whether they are deceiving me,” cried Rodolf Pain. “Who was to dream of seeing you here to-day, sir?”
“I should think you expected to see me before, Rodolf,” was Mr. Verrall’s answer.
“Well, so I did. But it seemed to be put off so long, that I am surprised to see you now. Is—is all straight?”
“Quite straight,” replied Mr. Verrall; “after an overwhelming amount of bother. You are going up to-day, Pain.”
“And not sorry to hear it, either,” cried Rodolf Pain, with emphasis. “I am sick of having nothing to do. Is Appleby settled?” he added, dropping his voice.
Mr. Verrall gave a nod; and, drawing Rodolf Pain to a far window, stood there talking to him for some minutes in an undertone. Mrs. Verrall, who never concerned herself with matters of business, never would listen to them, went out on the terrace, a pale pink parasol with its white fringe, held between her face and the sun. While thus stand[151] ing, the distant bells of All Souls’, which had been ringing occasional peals47 throughout the day, smote48 faintly upon her ear. She went in again.
“Verrall,” said she, “if you come out, you can hear the bells. Do you know what they are ringing for?”
“What bells? Why should I listen to them?” inquired Mr. Verrall, turning from Rodolf Pain.
“They are ringing for George Godolphin’s wedding. He has been married to-day.”
The information appeared—as Rodolf Pain would have expressed it, had he given utterance49 to his sentiments—to strike Mr. Verrall all of a heap. “George Godolphin married to-day!” he repeated, in profound astonishment, remembering the weak state George had been in when he had left Prior’s Ash, some weeks before. “Married or buried, do you mean?”
Mrs. Verrall laughed. “Oh, he has got well from his illness: or, nearly so,” she said. “The bells would ring muffled50 peals, if he were buried, Verrall, as they did for Sir George.”
“And whom has he married?” continued Mr. Verrall, not in the least getting over his astonishment.
“Maria Hastings.”
Mr. Verrall stroked his yellow moustache; a somewhat recent appendage51 to his beauty. He was by no means a demonstrative man—except on rare occasions—and though the tidings evidently made a marked impression on him, he said nothing. “Is Charlotte at the wedding?” he casually52 asked.
“No strangers were invited,” replied Mrs. Verrall. “Lady Godolphin came for it, and is staying at Ashlydyat. She has put off her weeds for to-day, and appears in colours: glad enough, I know, of the excuse for doing so.”
“Where is Charlotte?” resumed Mr. Verrall.
He happened to look at Rodolf Pain as he spoke53, and the latter answered, pointing towards some trees on the right.
“She went down there with her dogs. I’ll go and find her.”
Mr. Verrall watched him away, and then turned to his wife: speaking, however, impassively still.
“You say he has married Maria Hastings? How came Charlotte to let him slip through her fingers?”
“Because she could not help it, I suppose,” replied Mrs. Verrall, shrugging her pretty shoulders. “I never thought Charlotte had any chance with George Godolphin, Maria Hastings being in the way. Had Charlotte been first in the field, it might have made all the difference. He had fallen in love with Maria Hastings before he ever saw Charlotte.”
Mr. Verrall superciliously54 drew down his lips at the corners. “Don’t talk about a man’s ‘falling in love,’ Kate. Girls fall in love: men know better. Charlotte has played her cards badly,” he added, with some emphasis.
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Verrall. “That Charlotte would play them to the best of her ability, there’s little doubt; but, as I say, she had no chance from the first. I think George did love Maria Hastings.[152] I’m sure they have been together enough, he and Charlotte, and they have flirted55 enough: but, as to caring for Charlotte, I don’t believe George cared for her any more than he cared for me. They have gone abroad for the winter: will be away six months or more.”
“I am sorry for that,” quietly remarked Mr. Verrall. “I was in hopes to have made some use of Mr. George Godolphin.”
“Use?” cried Mrs. Verrall. “What use?”
“Oh, nothing,” carelessly replied Mr. Verrall. “A little matter of business that I was going to propose to him.”
“Won’t it do when he comes home?”
“I dare say it may,” said Mr. Verrall.
Mr. Rodolf Pain had walked to the right, and plunged56 into the grove57 of trees in search of Charlotte. He was not long in finding her. The noise made by her dogs was sufficient guide to him. In one respect Charlotte Pain was better off than her sister, Mrs. Verrall: she found more resources for killing58 time. Charlotte had no greater taste for books than Mrs. Verrall had: if she took one up, it was only to fling it down again: she did not draw, she did not work. For some reasons of her own, Charlotte kept an ornamental piece of work in hand, which never got finished. Once in a way, upon rare occasions, it was taken up, and a couple of stitches done to it; and then, like the book, it was flung down again. Charlotte played well; nay59, brilliantly: but she never played to amuse herself, or for the love of music—always for display. The resources which Charlotte possessed above Mrs. Verrall, lay in her horsemanship and her dogs. Mrs. Verrall could ride, and sometimes did so; but it was always in a decorous manner. She did not gallop60, helter-skelter, across country as Charlotte did, with half a dozen cavaliers barely keeping up with her: she took no pleasure in horses for themselves, and she would as soon have entered a pigsty61 as a stable. With all Mrs. Verrall’s vanity, and her not over-strong intellect, she possessed more of the refinement62 of the gentlewoman than did Charlotte.
Look at Charlotte now: as Rodolf Pain—a cigar, which he had just lighted, between his lips, and his hands in his pockets—approaches her. She is standing63 on a garden bench, with the King Charley in her arms: the other two dogs she has set on to fight at her feet, their muzzles65 lying on the bench beside her. What with the natural tempers of these two agreeable animals, and what with Charlotte’s frequent pastime of exasperating66 the one against the other, it had been found necessary to keep them muzzled67 to prevent quarrels: but Charlotte delighted in removing the muzzles, and setting them on, as she had done now. Charlotte had these resources in addition to any possessed by Mrs. Verrall. Mrs. Verrall would not, of her own free will, have touched a dog with her finger: if compelled to do so, it would have been accomplished68 in the most gingerly fashion with the extreme tip: and it was a positive source of annoyance69 to Mrs. Verrall, often of contention70 between them, Charlotte’s admitting these dogs to familiar companionship. Charlotte, when weary from want of pastime, could find it in the stables, or with her dogs. Many an hour did she thus pass: and, so far, she had the advantage of Mrs. Verrall. Mrs. Verrall often told Charlotte that she ought to have been born a man; it cannot[153] be denied that some of her tastes were more appropriate to a man than to a gentlewoman.
Rodolf Pain reached the bench. It was a lovely spot, secluded71 and shaded by trees; with an opening in front to admit a panoramic72 view of the enchanting73 scenery. But, on the mossy turf between that bench and the opening, snarled74 and fought those awful dogs: neither the noise nor the pastime particularly in accordance with that pleasant spot, so suggestive of peace. Charlotte looked on approvingly, giving a helping75 word to either side which she might deem required it; while the King Charley barked and struggled in her arms, because he was restrained from joining in the mêlée.
“I am going up at last, Charlotte.”
“Up where?” asked Charlotte, without turning her eyes on Rodolf Pain.
“To town. Verralls come back.”
Surprise caused her to look at him now. “Verrall back!” she uttered. “He has come suddenly, then; he was not back five minutes ago. When are you going up?”
“Muzzle them yourself,” said Charlotte, kicking the muzzles on to the grass with her foot.
Mr. Pain accomplished his task, though he did not particularly like it; neither was it an easy one: the dogs were ferocious77 at the moment. He then drove them away, and Charlotte dropped her King Charley that he might run after them; which he did, barking his short squeaking78 bark. Rodolf held out his hand to help Charlotte down from the bench; but Charlotte chose to remain where she was, and seated herself on one of its arms. Rodolf Pain took a seat on the bench sideways, so as to face her, leaning his back against the other arm.
“When do you go?” repeated Charlotte.
“In an hour from this.”
“Quick work,” remarked Charlotte. “Verrall gives no time for the grass to grow in anything he has to do with.”
“The quick departure is mine,” said Mr. Pain. “So that I am in town for business to-morrow morning, it’s all that Verrall cares about. He suggested that I should go up by a night train.”
“I should,” cried Charlotte, bluntly.
“No you would not,” answered Rodolf Pain in a tone of bitterness. “Were you treated by any one as you treat me, you’d be glad enough to get away.”
“That’s good!” ejaculated Charlotte with a ringing laugh. “I’m sure I treat you beautifully. Many a one would jump at getting the treatment from me that I give you; I can tell you that, Mr. Dolf.”
“What have you to complain of?” pursued Charlotte.
“This,” said he, sternly. “That you promised to be my wife; that you have led me on, Heaven knows how long, causing me to believe you meant what you said, that you would keep your promise; and now you coolly turn round and jilt me! That bare fact, is quite enough,[154] Charlotte, without going into another mortifying80 fact—your slighting behaviour to me lately.”
“Who says I have jilted you—or that I mean to jilt you?” asked Charlotte.
“Who says it?” retorted Rodolf Pain. “Why—are you not doing so?”
“No. I dare say I shall have you some time.”
“I am getting tired of it, Charlotte,” said he, in a weary tone of pain. “I have cared for nothing but you in the world—in the shape of woman—but I am getting tired; and I have had enough to make me. If you will fix our wedding now, before I go up, and keep to it, I’ll bless you for it, and make you a fonder husband than George Godolphin would have made you.”
“How dare you mention George Godolphin to me in that way?” cried Charlotte, with flashing eyes, for the sentence had roused all her ire. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dolf Pain! Has not George Godolphin—as it turns out—been engaged to Maria Hastings longer than I have known him, and has now married her? Do you suppose I could have spent that time with them both, in Scotland, at Lady Godolphin’s, and not have become acquainted with their secret? That must prove what your senseless jealousy81 was worth!”
“Charlotte,” said he, meekly82, “as to George Godolphin, I readily confess I was mistaken, and I am sorry to have been so stupid. You might have set me right with a word, but I suppose you preferred to tease me. However, he is done with now. But, Charlotte, I tell you that altogether I am getting tired of it. Have me, or not, as you feel you can: but, played with any longer, I will not be. If you dismiss me now, you dismiss me for good.”
“I have half a mind to say yes,” returned Charlotte, in the coolest tone, as if she were deciding a trifling83 matter—the choice of a bonnet, or the route to be pursued in a walk. “But there’s one thing holds me back, Dolf.”
“What’s that?” asked Dolf, whose cheek had lighted up with eager hope.
Charlotte leaped off the bench and sat down on it, nearer to Dolf, her accent and face as apparently honest as if fibs were unknown to her. “And it is the only thing which has held me back all along,” she went on, staring unflinchingly into Dolf’s eyes.
“Well, what is it?” cried he.
“The hazard of the step.”
“The hazard!” repeated Dolf. “What hazard?”
Charlotte glanced round, as if to convince herself that nothing with human ears was near, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “You and Verrall are not upon the safest course——”
“It’s as safe as many others,” interrupted Dolf Pain.
“Don’t bother about others,” testily84 rebuked85 Charlotte. “Look to itself. I say that it is hazardous86: what little I know of it tells me that. I have heard a word dropped by you and a word dropped by Verrall, and I can put two and two together as well as most people. Is there no danger, no chance,” she spoke lower still, and with unmistakable gravity—“that a crisis might come, which—which would[155] carry you to a place where nobody stands willingly—the Criminal Bar?”
“Good gracious, no!” cried Rodolf Pain, flinging his cigar away in his surprise and anger. “What could put that into your head, Charlotte? The—profession—may not be one of the strictest honour, and it has its dark sides as well as its light; but there’s no danger of such a thing as you hint at. Where did you pick up the idea?”
“I don’t know where. I have caught a word or two, not meant for me; and now and then I see things reported in the newspapers. You can’t deny one thing, Dolf: that, if any unpleasantness should drop from the skies, it has been made a matter of arrangement that you should be the sufferer, not Verrall.”
Rodolf’s light eyes expanded beyond common. “How did you get to know that?” he asked.
“Never mind how I got to know it. Is it so?”
“Yes, it is,” acknowledged Mr. Pain, who was by nature more truthful87 than Charlotte. “But I give you my word of honour, Charlotte, that there’s no danger of our falling into such a pit as you have hinted at. We should not be such fools. The worst that could happen to me would be a sojourn, short or long, in some snug88 place such as this, while Verrall puts things right. As it has been now, for instance, through this business of Appleby’s.”
“You tell me this to satisfy me,” said Charlotte.
“I tell it because it is truth—so far as my belief goes, and as far as I can now foresee.”
“Very well. I accept it,” returned Charlotte. “But now, Rodolf, mark what I say. If this worst state of things should come to pass——”
“It won’t, I tell you,” he interrupted. “It can’t.”
“Will you listen? I choose to put the matter upon a supposition that it may do so. If this state of things should come to pass and you fall, I will never fall with you; and it is only upon that condition that I will become your wife.”
The words puzzled Mr. Pain not a little. “I don’t understand you, Charlotte. As to ‘conditions,’ you may make any for yourself that you please—in reason.”
“Very well. We will have an understanding with each other, drawn89 up as elaborately as if it were a marriage settlement,” she said, laughing. “Yes, Mr. Rodolf, while you have been ill-naturedly accusing me of designs upon the heart of George Godolphin, I was occupied with precautions touching90 my married life with you. You don’t deserve me; and that’s a fact. Let go my hand, will you. One of those dogs has got unmuzzled, I fancy, by the noise, and I must run or there’ll be murder committed.”
“Charlotte,” he cried, feverishly91 and eagerly, not letting go her hand, “when shall it be?”
“As you like,” she answered indifferently. “This month, or next month, or the month after: I don’t care.”
The tone both mortified92 and pained him. His brow knit: and Charlotte saw the impression her words had made. She put on a pretty look of contrition93.
[156]“Mind, Rodolf, it shall be an understood thing beforehand that you don’t attempt to control me in the smallest particular: that I have my own way in everything.”
“You will take care to have that, Charlotte, whether it be an understood thing beforehand, or not,” replied he.
Charlotte laughed as she walked away. A ringing laugh of power, which the air echoed: of power, at any rate, over the heart and will of Mr. Rodolf Pain.
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complexion
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confided
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repent
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exclamation
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impulsively
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prospect
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gossamer
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texture
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impatience
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sojourn
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15
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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16
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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17
shunning
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的现在分词 ) | |
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18
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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19
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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20
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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21
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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23
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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24
pertinent
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| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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25
apathetically
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| adv.不露感情地；无动于衷地；不感兴趣地；冷淡地 | |
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26
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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27
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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28
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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29
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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30
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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31
rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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32
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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acidity
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| n.酸度，酸性 | |
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34
compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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35
transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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36
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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37
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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38
complaisance
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| n.彬彬有礼，殷勤，柔顺 | |
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hectic
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| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
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40
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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41
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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42
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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43
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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44
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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45
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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46
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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peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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48
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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51
appendage
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| n.附加物 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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53
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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superciliously
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| adv.高傲地；傲慢地 | |
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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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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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57
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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58
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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60
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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61
pigsty
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| n.猪圈，脏房间 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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65
muzzles
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| 枪口( muzzle的名词复数 )； （防止动物咬人的）口套； （四足动物的）鼻口部； （狗）等凸出的鼻子和口 | |
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66
exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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muzzled
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| 给（狗等）戴口套( muzzle的过去式和过去分词 )； 使缄默，钳制…言论 | |
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68
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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69
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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70
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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71
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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72
panoramic
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| adj. 全景的 | |
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73
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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74
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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75
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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76
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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78
squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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79
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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80
mortifying
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| adj.抑制的，苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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81
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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82
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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83
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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84
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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85
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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87
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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88
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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89
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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90
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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91
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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92
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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93
contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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