ON the stroke of seven o'clock the next morning, Burton came downstairs with that exactness which even the most careless man can display in regard to his favorite sport. The rigors1 of the cub-hunting season being over, the meet did not take place until eight.
Cora was not yet ready for breakfast, and Crane went to fill his cigarette case before starting.
The drawing-room was still dark and in disorder2. Crane lit a match to find his way to the table where the tobacco was kept. It was the same table on which had lain the miniature of the lady in the mauve ball dress; and as he held up his lighted match, his eyes sought once more that enchanting3 pearl circle. The flame died down and burned his fingers before his eyes had encountered what they were looking for. He lit a second match, and then a candle, before he could assure himself that the miniature was really gone.
He sprang into the hall and called: "Smithfield!" with a violence that had little respect for late sleepers4.
Smithfield came hurrying out of the dining-room.
"Where's the miniature that used to be on this table?"
"The what is it, sir?"
"The miniature, a picture in a pearl frame."
Smithfield looked thoughtful.
"And what was it a picture of, sir?"
"Of a lady."
"In a black lace cap, and she with white hair, sir?"
"No," said Crane, "she was young and lovely, in a ball dress and a wreath. You must remember it. It was here yesterday."
Smithfield shook his head blankly.
"No, sir," he said, "I can't rightly say that I remember it, but I'll inquire for it."
Crane swore with an uncontrollable irritation5—irritation at Smithfield for being so stupid, irritation that he himself had been so careless as to leave the picture about among a houseful of unknown servants.
He was not distracted even by the sight of Cora coming downstairs, looking very workmanlike in her habit with her hat well down over her brows, and her boots, over which Brindlebury had evidently expended6 himself, showing off her slender feet.
They breakfasted alone; but Burton's mind ran on the loss of the miniature, and he did not really recover his temper until he had mounted Cora, found all the straps7 of her skirt, adjusted her stirrup, loosened the curb8 for her, and finally swung himself up on his own hunter, a big ugly chestnut9.
The meet was near-by and they were going to jog quietly over to it. They took a short cut across the lawn, and at the sight of the turf, at the smell of the fresh clear morning, the horses began to dance as spontaneously as children will at the sound of a street organ. Crane and Cora glanced at each other and laughed at this exhibition of high spirits on the part of their darlings.
No horseman is proof against the pleasure of seeing one of his treasured animals well shown by its rider; and the Irish mare10 had never looked as well as she now did under Cora's skilful11 management. He told her so, praising her hands, her appearance, her understanding of the horse's mind; and she, very fittingly, replied with flattery of the mare and of Crane's own remarkable12 powers of selection.
They were getting on so well that Burton found himself saying earnestly:
"You really must stay on as long as I do, Cora. Don't let your mother take you away, as she wants to."
The girl's surprise actually checked the mare in her stride.
"My mother is thinking of going away?" she cried.
Well, of course, he wanted her to stay, wanted her, even, to want to stay, but somehow he did not want her to be so much terrified at the thought of departure, did not want her black eyes to open upon him with such manifest horror at the bare idea of departure.
He suggested sending the horses along a little, and they cantered side by side on the grass at the roadside. Crane kept casting the glances of a lover, not at Cora, but at the black mare, as she arched her neck to a light touch on the curb, so that the sunlight ran in iridescent13 colors along her crest14.
Presently they saw two horsemen ahead of them, one of them in that weather-stained pink that, to hunting eyes, makes the most beautiful piece of color imaginable against the autumn fields.
"That's Eliot, the Master," cried Crane. "The hounds must be just ahead. He's a nice old fellow; let's join him. I can't make out who the other one is—no one who was out the last time we hunted."
The canter had given Cora a color. She looked straight before her for a moment, and then she said:
"I think I recognize that other man."
"Who is it?"
"Some one I should like you to know, Burt. His name is Lefferts."
The lane was now too narrow for four to ride abreast15. Crane drew Eliot to his side. He wanted to ask him about the Crosslett-Billingtons, for since the disappearance16 of the miniature, he had made up his mind to investigate the references of his staff. But strange to say, Eliot had never heard of the Billingtons, of their collection of tapestry17, or their villa18 at Capri. He wished to talk of the Revellys.
"A great loss they are to the county, Crane, though, of course, we gain you. I wonder where they are. Gone North, I heard, though I thought I saw one of the boys out the morning of the day you came. The Revellys will hunt anything, from a plow-horse to a thoroughbred. Hard up, you know. Glad they consented to rent their house. Didn't suppose they ever would. Too proud, you know. They have things in it of immense value. Portrait of the grandfather, Marshall Revelly. Second in command to Stonewall Jackson at one time. I'd like to have you know them. Paul, the elder brother, is a man of some ability; may make his mark. And the younger daughter, Miss Claudia Revelly—" Do what he would, Eliot's voice changed slightly in pronouncing the name. "—Miss Claudia is one of our great beauties, the recipient19 of a great deal of attention. Why, sir, last summer, when Daniel W. Williams, the Governor-elect of this State, saw Miss Claudia at—"
But the story, in which, to be candid20, Crane did not take a great deal of interest, was interrupted by Cora who pushed her mare forward in order to attract Crane's attention and to introduce him to her companion.
The young man was extraordinarily21 good-looking. His eyes were a strange greenish-brown color, like the water in the dock of a city ferry; his skin was ivory in hue22 and as smooth as a woman's, but his hands and a certain decisiveness of gesture were virile23 in the extreme.
"We ought to have a good run," said Crane, in order to say something.
"If any run can be good," answered the young man.
"You don't like hunting?"
"I hate anything to do with horses," answered Lefferts, plaintively24. "You must admit they are particularly unintelligent animals. If they weren't, of course they wouldn't let us bully25 them and ride them about, when they could do anything they wanted with us. No, I only do it because she," he nodded toward Miss Falkener, "makes me."
Cora, looking very handsome, laughed.
"He's a poet," she said.
"Is that why he has to hunt?" asked Crane, and he wondered if poetry had anything to do with the excellence26 of the young man's coat and boots.
"There are other forms of athletics28 I don't hate nearly as much," Lefferts went on to Crane, "swimming, for instance, and sailing, and even walking isn't so bad. It doesn't need so much preparation, and getting up early in the morning, and all that sort of thing."
"Fortunately, I know what's best for him," said Cora.
"She makes me think she does," said the poet, still plaintively.
Crane wanted to ask Cora where and how she had acquired this rather agreeable responsibility, but he had no opportunity before they were off.
He and Cora started together, less, perhaps, from chivalry29 on Burton's part than because of his desire to watch the performance of the mare, but in the course of the run they became separated, and he finally jogged home alone.
He dismounted in the stable-yard and stood watching one of the grooms30 loosening the saddle-girths, while he and the head man discussed the excellent conduct of his own horses as compared with the really pitiable showing of other people's, and debated whether the wretched deterioration31 in a certain Canadian bay horse ridden that day by the Master of Hounds was owing to naturally poor conformation on the part of the horse, or deplorable lack of judgment32 on the part of the rider.
In the midst of these absorbing topics, Crane suddenly became aware that Smithfield was waiting for him at the gateway33. He stopped short in what he was saying.
"You wanted to speak to me, Smithfield?"
"When you've finished, sir."
Crane had finished, he said, and turned in the direction of the house with the butler at his side.
"There's been a terrible disturbance34 at the house, sir, since you went out this morning."
"Oh, my powers!" cried Burton. "What has been happening now?"
Smithfield was stepping along, throwing out his feet and resting on the ball of his foot with the walk that Mrs. Falkener had so much admired.
"Well, sir," he said, "the trouble has been between Mr. Tucker and Brindlebury."
"I don't defend the boy, sir. I fear he forgot his place."
"Look here, Smithfield," said Crane, "candidly36, now, what is the matter with all of you? You know you really are a very queer lot."
Thus appealed to, Smithfield considered.
"Well, sir," he said, "I think the trouble—as much as any one thing is the trouble—is that we're young, and servants oughtn't to be young. They should be strong, healthy, hard working, but not young; for youth means impulses, hopes of improvement, love of enjoyment37, all qualities servants must not have." The man spoke38 entirely39 without bitterness, and Crane turning to him said suddenly:
"Smithfield, what do you think about class distinctions?"
For the first time, Smithfield smiled.
"I think, sir," he said, "that if they were done away with, I should lose my job."
"Well, by heaven, if I were you, then," cried Crane, with unusual feeling, "I'd get a job that wasn't dependent on a lie, for if I believe anything it is that all these dissimilarities between rich and poor, and men and women, and black and white, are pretty trivial as compared with their similarities. It's my opinion we are all very much alike, Smithfield," and Crane, as he spoke, was astonished at the passion for democracy that stirred within him.
"That, sir," replied Smithfield, "if you forgive my saying it, is the attitude toward democracy of some one who has always been at the top. There must be distinctions, mustn't there, sir, and you would probably say that the ideal distinction was along the line of merit—that every one should have the place in the world that he deserves. But, dear me, sir, that would be very cruel. So many of us would then be face to face with our own inferiority. Now, as things are, I can think that it's only outside conditions that are keeping me down, and that I should make as good or even better a master, begging your pardon, than you, sir. But under a true democracy, if I were still in an inferior position, I should have to admit I belonged there, which I don't admit at all now, not at all."
"But how about my not admitting that I'm a master?" said Crane.
"In one sense, perhaps you are not, sir," answered Smithfield. "For, after all, some training is necessary to be a servant, particularly a butler, but for the exercise of the functions of the higher classes, no training at all seems to be required. Curious, isn't it, sir? Utterly40 unskilled labor41 is found only among the very rich and the very poor."
The conversation had brought them to the house, without the case of Brindlebury having been further discussed. Suddenly realizing this, Crane stopped at the foot of the steps.
"Now, what is it that's happened?" he asked.
Smithfield showed some embarrassment42.
"I'm afraid, sir," he said, "that some rather hot words passed. In fact—I do so much regret it, sir, but I fear Brindlebury actually raised his hand against Mr. Tucker."
It was a triumph of self-control that not a muscle of Burton's face quivered at this intelligence.
"If that is true," he said, "the boy will have to go, of course."
"I had hoped you might wish to hear both sides, sir."
"No," answered Crane. "I might hear what Brindlebury had to say, or I might understand without hearing, or I might know that I should have done the same in his place, or, even, going a step farther, I might think him right to have done it, but the fact remains43 that I can't keep a servant who strikes a guest of mine. That's a class distinction, Smithfield, but there it is."
Smithfield bowed.
"If I might suggest, sir, perhaps you do not understand rightly how Mr. Tucker—"
"Nothing like that, Smithfield. Tell the boy to go, go this afternoon. Pay him what's right and get him out." He ran up the steps, but turned half-way and added with a smile: "And you know there really isn't anything you could tell me about Mr. Tucker that I haven't known a great deal longer than any of you have."
He went in. Tucker and Mrs. Falkener were sitting side by side in the drawing-room, with that unmistakable air of people who expect, and have a right to expect, that they should be given an opportunity to tell their troubles. The only revenge that Crane permitted himself, if indeed revenge can be used to describe so mild a punishment, was that he continued to ignore their perfectly44 obvious grumpiness.
Tucker opened his mouth to say "We have not," but Crane was already in full description of the run, undaunted by the fact that neither of his listeners, if they were indeed listeners, could be induced to manifest enough interest in his story to meet his eye.
"I'm glad some one has enjoyed the day," said Tucker, as Crane paused to light a cigarette. He laid an unmistakable emphasis on the words "some one."
Crane patted him on the shoulder.
"Thanks, Tuck," he said; "I believe that's true. I believe you are glad. Yes, we had a good day—three foxes, and your daughter, Mrs. Falkener, went like a bird. She's a wonderful horsewoman—not only looks well herself, but makes the horse look well, too."
At this Mrs. Falkener's manner grew distinctly more cheerful, and she asked:
"And, by the way, where is Cora?"
Tucker, annoyed at the desertion on the part of his ally, pressed his hand over his eyes and sighed audibly, but no one noticed him.
"I took a wrong turn in search of a short cut and lost the rest of them," said Crane. "But she'll be back directly. She's perfectly safe. She was with Eliot, our neighbor, and a fellow named Lefferts, whom she seemed to know."
"Lefferts!" cried Mrs. Falkener. "That man here! O Burton, how could you leave my daughter in such company? O Solon, you remember I told you about that man!"
Tucker nodded shortly. He wasn't going to take any interest in any one's grievances46 until his own had been disposed of.
"What's the matter with Lefferts?" said Crane. "He's staying with Eliot, and they asked us all over to lunch to-morrow. Shan't we go?"
"No, nowhere that that young man is," cried Mrs. Falkener, who seemed to be a good deal excited by the news. "He's an idler, a waster. Why, Burton," she ended in a magnificent climax47, "he's a poet!"
"So Cora told me."
"He affects to be devoted48 to Cora," her mother went on bitterly, "and follows her about everywhere, without the slightest encouragement on her part, I can assure you, but I have known him to take a most insolent49 tone about her. The very first time I ever saw him, he was sitting beside me at a party, and I said, as Cora came across the room with that magnificent walk of hers, 'She moves like a full-rigged ship, doesn't she?' He answered: 'Or rather, more like a submarine; you never know where she'll pop up next. Yes, there's a sort of practical mystery about Cora very suitable to modern warfare50.' He called her Cora behind her back, but not to her face, be sure. And very soon a poem of his appeared in one of the magazines—'To My Love, Comparing Her to a Submarine.' I thought it most insulting."
"And what did Cora think?" asked Crane.
"She hardly read the thing through. Cora is far too sensible to pay much attention to poetry."
"But poets are different, I suppose," answered Crane. Personally, he was pleased with the submarine simile51.
"No, nor poets, either," said Mrs. Falkener tartly52, and rising she hurried away to see if by some fortunate chance her errant daughter had returned without letting her know.
"Well, Tuck," he said, "you look in fine form. What have you been doing since I went away?"
"I have not had a very agreeable day," said Tucker, in a voice so low and deep that it was almost a growl54.
"No? Not a return of your old dyspepsia, I hope," said Crane.
Tucker shook his head impatiently.
"At breakfast," he said, "I heard from Mrs. Falkener, who had heard from her daughter, that you had observed the loss of the miniature that used to lie on this table. Such things cannot be taken lightly, Burton. The owners might put almost any price on an article of that kind—wretched as it was, as a work of art—and you would be forced to pay. You see, it could not be replaced. I thought it my duty, therefore, to send for each of the servants and question them on the subject."
"You thought it your duty to send for Jane-Ellen, Tuck?"
Again Tucker frowned.
"I said I sent for all of the servants. Smithfield displayed, to my mind, a most suspicious ignorance and indifference55 to the whole subject. The housemaid was so hysterical56 and frightened that if I did not know a great deal of such cases, I should suspect her—"
"No," Tucker explained, "she did not appear to be frightened, but then, I may tell you that I do not suspect the cook of complicity in the theft."
"The deuce you don't!" said Crane. He found himself suddenly annoyed without reason, that Tucker should have been interviewing and questioning his servants during his absence; stirring up trouble, he said to himself, and perhaps hurting the feelings of a perfectly good cook. Suppose she had decided to leave as a result of these activities of Solon's! He found he had not been listening to the account his friend was giving of the conversation, until he heard him say:
"It seems Jane-Ellen had never been in this room before; she was very much interested in everything. I saw her looking at that splendid portrait of General Revelly, and she asked—in fact, she made me give her quite a little account of his life—"
"A little lecture on the Civil War, eh?" said Crane.
His tone was not wholly friendly and Tucker did not find it so. He colored.
"Really, Burton," he said, coldly, "in case of crime, or of theft, a man's lawyer is usually supposed to know what it is best to do."
"Possibly, but I see no point in having dragged the cook into it."
"I see even less point in treating her on a different plane from any of the other servants."
"It almost seems, Tuck, as if you enjoyed your constant interviews with her."
"That is just, I regret to say, Burton, what I was thinking about you."
"It seems to me," said Crane, "that this discussion is not leading anywhere, and might as well end."
"One moment," exclaimed the other, "my story is not finished. When it came to be the turn of that boy Brindlebury, in whom I may as well tell you I have no confidence whatever, his manner was so insolent, his refusal to answer my questions so suspicious—Well, to make a long story short, your boot-boy, Burton, attempted to knock me down, and I had, of course, to put him out of the room. The situation is perfectly simple. I must ask you either to dismiss him, or to order the motor to take me to the train."
There was a short pause, during which Crane very deliberately58 lit a cigarette. Then he said in a level tone:
"The boy is already dismissed. He is out of the house at this moment, probably. As to the other alternative—the ordering the motor—I will, of course, do that, too, if you insist."
But Tucker did not insist.
"On the contrary," he said, "you have done all I could desire—more, indeed, for you have evidently decided against the boy before you even heard my side of the case."
"One cannot always decide these cases with regard for eternal justice," said Crane.
Before Tucker could inquire just what was meant by this rather disagreeable pronouncement, Smithfield appeared in the doorway59 to say that Jane-Ellen would be glad if she might speak to Mr. Crane for a moment.
This was what Crane had dreaded60; she was going to leave. His anger against Tucker flared61 up again, but he said, with apparent calmness, that Jane-Ellen might come in. Tucker should see for himself the effect of his meddling62. Tucker suggested in a sort of half-hearted way that he would go away, but his host told him, shortly, to remain.
Jane-Ellen entered. There was no doubt but that she was displeased63 with the presence of a third party. She made a little bob of a curtsy and started for the door.
"I'll come back when you're alone, sir."
"No," said Crane. "Anything you have to say can be said before Mr. Tucker."
"Oh, of course, sir." But her tone lacked conviction. "I wanted to speak about Brindlebury. He is very sorry for what happened, sir. I wish you could see your way—"
"I can't," said Crane.
Jane-Ellen glanced at Tucker under her eye-lashes.
"I know, sir," she went on, "that there could be no excuse for the way he has acted, but if any excuse was possible, it did seem—" She hesitated.
"You wish to say," interrupted Burton who now felt he did not care what he said to any one, "that Mr. Tucker was extremely provoking. I have no doubt, but that has nothing to do with it."
"Really, Burton," observed his guest, "I don't think that that is the way to speak of me, particularly," he added firmly, "to a servant."
"It's sometimes a good idea to speak the truth, even to servants, Solon," returned Crane. "You are provoking, and no one knows it better than I have known it during the past fifteen minutes. But your powers of being provoking have nothing to do with the matter, except theoretically. The boy has got to go. I want him to be out of the house within an hour. That's all there is to the whole question, Jane-Ellen."
"But, oh, sir, if he is sorry—"
"I doubt very much if he is sorry."
"Oh, why, sir?"
"Because I feel sure that in his place I shouldn't be sorry in the least, except for having failed—if he did fail."
"I know it's a great liberty, sir, but I do wish you could give him another chance." Her look was extraordinarily appealing.
"What in the world is Brindlebury to you, Jane-Ellen?"
"Didn't Mr. Tucker tell you, sir? He's my brother."
"No, he didn't tell me. Did you know he was Jane-Ellen's brother, Solon?"
"Brin told him, himself, sir." She was a little overeager.
Tucker frowned.
"Yes, I believe the boy did say something to that effect. I own I was not much interested in the fact, and I can't say I think it has any bearing on the present situation."
Crane was silent for an instant. Then he said:
"No, it hasn't. He's got to go," and then he added, quite clearly, and looking at his cook very directly:
"But I am sorry, Jane-Ellen, not to be able to do anything that you ask me to do."
She looked back at him for an instant, with a sort of imperishable sweetness, and then went sadly out of the room.
Crane went and took out one of the motors and rushed at a high rate of speed over the country, frightening one or two sedate65 black mules66, the only other travelers on the roads, and soothing67 his own irritation by the rapidity of the motion.
More and more he regretted not having been able to grant the favor Jane-Ellen had so engagingly asked, more and more he felt inclined to believe that in Brindlebury's place he would have done the same thing, more and more did he feel disposed to fasten upon Tucker all the disagreeableness of the situation.
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rigors
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| 严格( rigor的名词复数 )； 严酷； 严密； （由惊吓或中毒等导致的身体）僵直 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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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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iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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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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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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athletics
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| n.运动，体育，田径运动 | |
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chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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deterioration
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| n.退化；恶化；变坏 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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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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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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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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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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