Ida Palliser’s holidays were coming to an end, like a tale that is told. There was only one day more left, but that day was to be especially glorious; for it was Bessie Wendover’s birthday, a day which from time immemorial — or, at all events, ever since Bessie was ten years old — had been sacred to certain games or festivities — a modernized1 worship of the great god Pan.
Sad was it for Bessie and all the junior Wendovers when the seventh of September dawned with gray skies, or east winds, rain, or hail. It was usually a brilliant day. The clerk of the weather appeared favourably2 disposed to the warm-hearted Bessie.
On this particular occasion the preparations for the festival were on a grander scale than usual, in honour of Ida, who was on the eve of departure. A cruel, cruel car was to carry her off to Winchester at six o’clock on the morning after the birthday; the railway station was to swallow her up alive; the train was to rush off with her, like a fiery3 dragon carrying off the princess of fairy tale; and the youthful Wendovers were to be left lamenting4.
In six happy weeks their enthusiasm for their young guest had known no abatement5. She had realized their fondest anticipations6. She had entered into their young lives and made herself a part of them. She had given herself up, heart and soul, to childish things and foolish things, to please these devoted7 admirers; and the long summer holiday had been very sweet to her. The open-air life — the balmy noontides in woods and meadows, beside wandering trout8 streams — on the breezy hill-tops — the afternoon tea-drinking in gardens and orchards9 — the novels read aloud, seated in the heart of some fine old tree, with her auditors10 perched on the branches round about her, like gigantic birds — the boating excursions on a river with more weeds than water in it — the jaunts12 to Winchester, and dreamy afternoons in the cathedral — all had been delicious. She had lived in an atmosphere of homely13 domestic love, among people who valued her for herself, and did not calculate the cost of her gowns, or despise her because she had so few. The old church was lovely in her eyes; the old vicar and his wife had taken a fancy to her. Everything at Kingthorpe was delightful14, except Urania. She certainly was a drawback; but she had been tolerably civil since the first day at the Abbey.
Ida had spent many an hour at the Abbey since that first inspection15. She knew every room in the house — the sunniest windows — the books in the long library, with its jutting16 wings between the windows, and cosy17 nooks for study. She knew almost every tree in the park, and the mild faces of the deer looking gravely reproachful, as if asking what business she had there. She had lain asleep on the sloping bank above the lake on drowsy18 afternoons, tired by wandering far a-field with her young esquires. She knew the Abbey by heart — better than even Urania knew it; though she had used that phrase to express utter satiety19. Ida Palliser had a deeper love of natural beauty, a stronger appreciation20 of all that made the old place interesting. She had a curious feeling, too, about the absent master of that grave, gray old house — a fond, romantic dream, which she would not for the wealth of India have revealed to mortal ear, that in the days to come Brian’s life would be in somewise linked with hers. Perhaps this foolish thought was engendered21 of the blankness of her own life, a stage on which the players had been so few that this figure of an unknown young man assumed undue22 proportions.
Then, again, the fact that she could hear very little about Mr. Wendover from his cousins, stimulated23 her curiosity about him, and intensified24 her interest in him. Brian’s merits were a subject which the Wendover children always shirked, or passed over so lightly that Ida was no wiser for her questioning; and maidenly25 reserve forbade her too eager inquiry26.
About Brian Walford, the son of Parson Wendover, youngest of the three brothers, for seven years vicar of a parish near Hereford, and for the last twelve years at rest in the village churchyard, the young Wendovers had plenty to say. He was good-looking, they assured Ida. She would inevitably27 fall in love with him when they met. He was the cleverest young man in England, and was certain to finish his career as Lord Chancellor28, despite the humility29 of his present stage of being.
‘He has no fortune, I suppose?’ hazarded Ida, in a conversation with Horatio.
She did not ask the question from any interest in the subject. Brian Walford was a being whose image never presented itself to her mind. She only made the remark for the sake of saying something.
‘Not a denarius,’ said Horry, who liked occasionally to be classical. ‘But what of that? If I were as clever as Brian I shouldn’t mind how poor I was. With his talents he is sure to get to the top of the tree.’
‘What can he do?’ asked Ida.
‘Ride a bicycle better than any man I know.’
‘What else?’
‘Sing a first-rate comic song.’
‘What else?’
‘Get longer breaks at billiards30 than any fellow I ever played with.’
‘What else?’
‘Pick the winner out of a score of race-horses in the preliminary canter.’
‘Those are great gifts, I have no doubt,’ said Ida. ‘But do eminent31 lawyers, in a general way, win their advancement32 by riding bicycles and singing comic songs?’
‘Don’t sneer33, Ida. When a fellow is clever in one thing he is clever in other things. Genius is many-sided, universal. Carlyle says as much. If Napoleon Bonaparte had not been a great general, he would have been a great writer like Voltaire — or a great lawyer like Thurlow.’
From this time forward Ida had an image of Brian Walford in her mind. It was the picture of a vapid34 youth, fair-haired, with thin moustache elaborately trained, and thinner whiskers — a fribble that gave half its little mind to its collar, and the other half to its boots. Such images are photographed in a flash of lightning on the sensitive brain of youth, and are naturally more often false guesses than true ones.
There was delightful riot in the house of the Wendovers on the night before the picnic. The Colonel had developed a cold and cough within the last week, so he and his wife had jogged off to Bournemouth, in the T-cart, with one portmanteau and one servant, leaving Bessie mistress of all things. It was a grief to Mrs. Wendover to be separated from home and children at any time, and she was especially regretful at being absent on her eldest35 daughter’s birthday; but the Colonel was paramount36. If his cough could be cured by sea air, to the sea he must go, with his faithful wife in attendance upon him.
‘Don’t let the children turn the house quite out of windows, darling,’ said Mrs. Wendover, at the moment of parting.
‘No, mother dear, we are all going to be goodness itself.’
‘I know, dears, you always are. And I hope you will all enjoy yourselves.’
‘We’re sure to do that, mother,’ answered Reginald, with a cheerfulness that seemed almost heartless.
The departing parent would not have liked them to be unhappy, but a few natural tears would have been a pleasing tribute. Not a tear was shed. Even the little Eva skipped joyously37 on the doorstep as the phaeton drove away. The idea of the picnic was all-absorbing.
The Colonel and his wife were to spend a week, at Bournemouth. Ida would see them no more this year.
‘You must come again next summer, Mrs. Wendover said heartily38, as she kissed her daughter’s friend.
‘Of course she must,’ cried Horry. ‘She is coming every summer. She is one of the institutions of Kingthorpe. I only wonder how we ever managed to get on so long without her.’
All that evening was devoted to the packing of hampers39, and to general skirmishing. The picnic was to be held on the highest hill-top between Kingthorpe and Winchester, one of those little Lebanons, fair and green, on which the yew-trees flourished like the cedars41 of the East, but with a sturdy British air that was all their own.
The birthday dawned with the soft pearly gray and tender opal tints43 which presage44 a fair noontide. Before six o’clock the children had all besieged45 Bessie’s door, with noisy tappings and louder congratulations. At seven, they were all seated at breakfast, the table strewn with birthday gifts, mostly of that useless and semi-idiotic character peculiar46 to such tributes-ormolu inkstands, holding a thimbleful of ink — penholders warranted to break before they have been used three times — purses with impossible snaps — photograph frames and pomatum-pots.
Bessie pretended to be enraptured47 with everything. The purse Horry gave her was ‘too lovely.’ Reginald’s penholder was the very thing she had been wanting for an age. Dear little Eva’s pomatum-pot was perfection. The point-lace handkerchief Ida had worked in secret was exquisite48. Blanche’s crochet49 slippers50 were so lovely that their not being big enough was hardly a fault. They were much too pretty to be worn. Urania contributed a more costly51 gift, in the shape of a perfume cabinet, all cut-glass, walnut-wood, and ormolu.
‘Urania’s presents are always meant to crush one,’ said Blanche disrespectfully; ‘they are like the shields and bracelets52 those rude soldiers flung at poor Tarpeia.’
Urania was to be one of the picnic party. She was to be the only stranger present. There had been a disappointment about the two cousins. Neither Brian had accepted the annual summons. One was supposed to be still in Norway, the other had neglected to answer the letter which had been sent more than a week ago to his address in Herefordshire.
‘I’m afraid you’ll find it dreadfully like our every-day picnics,’ Bessie said to Ida, as they were starting.
‘I shall be satisfied if it be half as pleasant.’
‘Ah, it would have been nice enough if the two Brians had been with us. Brian Walford is so amusing.’
‘He would have sung comic songs, I suppose?’ said Ida rather contemptuously.
‘Oh, no; you must not suppose that he is always singing comic songs. He is one of those versatile54 people who can do anything.’
‘I don’t want to be rude about your own flesh and blood Bess, but in a general way I detest55 versatile people,’ said Ida.
‘What a queer girl you are, Ida! I’m afraid you have taken a dislike to Brian Walford,’ complained Bessie.
‘No,’ said Ida, deep in thought — the two girls were standing56 at the hall-door, waiting for the carriage — ‘it is not that.’
‘You like the idea of the other Brian better?’
Ida’s wild-rose bloom deepened to a rich carnation57.
‘Oh, Ida,’ cried Bessie; ‘do you remember what you said about marrying for money?’
‘It was a revolting sentiment; but it was wrung58 from me by the infinite vexations of poverty.’
‘Wouldn’t it be too lovely if Brian the Great were to fall in love with you, and ask you to be mistress of that dear old Abbey which you admire so much?
‘Don’t be ecstatic, Bessie. I shall never be the mistress of the Abbey. I was not born under a propitious59 star. There must have been a very ugly concatenation of planets ruling the heavens at the hour of my birth. You see, Brian the Great does not even put himself in the way of falling captive to my charms.’
This was said half in sport, half in bitterness; indeed, there was a bitter flavour in much of Ida Palliser’s mirth. She was thinking of the stories she had read in which a woman had but to be young and lovely, and all creation bowed down to her. Yet her beauty had been for the most part a cause of vexation, and had made people hate her. She had been infinitely60 happy during the last six weeks; but embodied61 hatred62 had been close at hand in the presence of Miss Rylance; and if anyone had fallen in love with her during that time, it was the wrong person.
The young ladies were to go in the landau, leaving the exclusive enjoyment63 of Robin64’s variable humours to Horatio and the juveniles66. There was a general idea that Robin, in conjunction with a hilly country, might be sooner or later fatal to the young Wendovers; but they went on driving him, nevertheless, as everybody knew that if he did ultimately prove disastrous67 to them it would be with the best intentions and without loss of temper.
Bessie and Ida took their seats in the roomy carriage, Reginald mounted to the perch11 beside the coachman, and they drove triumphantly68 through the village to the gate of Dr. Rylance’s cottage, where Urania stood waiting for them.
‘I hope we haven’t kept you long?’ said Bessie.
‘Not more than a quarter of an hour,’ answered Urania, meekly69; ‘but that seems rather long in a broiling70 sun. You always have such insufferably hot weather on your birthdays, Bessie.’
‘It will be cool enough on the hills by-and-by,’ said Bess, apologetically.
‘I daresay there will be a cold wind,’ returned Urania, who wore an unmistakable air of discontent. ‘There generally is on these unnatural71 September days.’
‘One would think you bore a grudge72 against the month of September because I was born in it,’ retorted Bessie. And then, remembering her obligations, she hastened to add, ‘How can I thank you sufficiently73 for that exquisite scent-case? It is far too lovely.’
‘I am very glad you like it. One hardly knows what to choose.’
Miss Rylance had taken her seat in the landau by this time, and they were bowling74 along the smooth high road at that gentle jog-trot75 pace affected76 by a country gentleman’s coachman.
The day was heavenly; the wind due south; a day on which life — mere77 sensual existence — is a delight. The landscape still wore its richest summer beauty — not a leaf had fallen. They were going upward, to the hilly region between Kingthorpe and Winchester, to a spot where there was a table-shaped edifice78 of stones, supposed to be of Druidic origin.
The young Wendovers were profoundly indifferent to the Druids, and to that hypothetical race who lived ages before the Druids, and have broken out all over the earth in stony79 excrescences, as yet vaguely80 classified. That three-legged granite81 table, whose origin was lost in the remoteness of past time, seemed to the young Wendovers a thing that had been created expressly for their amusement, to be climbed upon or crawled under as the fancy moved them. It was a capital rallying-point for a picnic or a gipsy tea-drinking.
‘We are to have no grown-ups to-day,’ said Reginald, looking down from his place beside the coachman. ‘The pater and mater are away, and Aunt Betsy has a headache; so we can have things all our own way.’
‘You are mistaken, Reginald,’ said Urania; ‘my father is going to join us by-and-by. I hope he won’t be considered an interloper. I told him that it was to be a young party, and that I was sure he would be in the way; but he wouldn’t take my advice. He is going to ride over in the broiling sun. Very foolish, I think.’
‘I thought Dr. Rylance was in London?’
‘He was till last night. He came down on purpose to be at your picnic.’
‘I am sure I feel honoured,’ said Bessie.
‘Do you? I don’t think you are the attraction,’ answered Urania, with a cantankerous82 glance at Miss Palliser.
Ida’s dark eyes were looking far away across the hills. It seemed as if she neither heard Miss Rylance’s speech nor saw the sneer which emphasized it.
Dr. Rylance’s substantial hunter came plodding83 over the turfy ridge84 behind them five minutes afterwards, and presently he was riding at a measured trot beside the carriage door, congratulating Bessie on the beauty of the day, and saying civil things to every one.
‘I could not resist the temptation to give myself a day’s idleness in the Hampshire air,’ he said.
Reginald felt an utterably savage85. What a trouble-feast the man was. They would have to adapt the proceedings86 of the day to his middle-aged87 good manners. There could be no wild revelry, no freedom. Dr. Rylance was an embodiment of propriety88.
Half-an-hour after dinner they were all scattered89 upon the hills.
Reginald, who cherished a secret passion for Ida, which was considerably90 in advance of his years, and who had calculated upon being her guide, philosopher, and friend all through the day, found himself ousted91 by the West End physician, who took complete possession of Miss Palliser, under the pretence92 of explaining the history — altogether speculative93 — of the spot. He discoursed94 eloquently95 about the Druids, expatiated96 upon the City of Winchester, dozing97 in the sunshine yonder, among its fat water meadows. He talked of the Saxons and the Normans, of William of Wykeham, and his successors, until poor Ida felt sick and faint from very weariness. It was all very delightful talk, no doubt — the polished utterance98 of a man who read his Saturday Review and Athenaeum diligently99, saw an occasional number of Fors Clavigera, and even skimmed the more aesthetic100 papers in the Architect; but to Ida this expression of modern culture was all weariness. She would rather have been racing101 those wild young Wendovers down the slippery hill-side, on which they were perilling102 their necks; she would rather have been lying beside the lake in Kingthorpe Park, reading her well-thumbed Tennyson, or her shabby little Keats.
Her thoughts had wandered ever so far away when she was called back to the work-a-day world by finding that Dr. Rylance’s conversation had suddenly slipped from archaeology103 into a more personal tone.
‘Are you really going away to-morrow?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ answered Ida, sadly, looking at one of the last of the butterflies, whose brief summertide of existence was wearing to its close, like her own.
‘You are going back to Mauleverer Manor104?’
‘Yes. I have another half-year of bondage105, I am going back to drudgery106 and self-contempt, to be brow-beaten by Miss Pew, and looked down upon by most of her pupils. The girls in my own class are very fond of me, but I’m afraid their fondness is half pity. The grown-up girls with happy homes and rich fathers despise me. I hardly wonder at it. Genteel poverty certainly is contemptible107. There is nothing debasing in a smock-frock or a fustian108 jacket. The labourers I see about Kingthorpe have a glorious air of independence, and I daresay are as proud, in their way, as if they were dukes. But shabby finery — genteel gowns worn threadbare: there is a deep degradation109 in those.’
‘Not for you,’ answered Dr. Rylance, earnestly, with an admiring look in his blue-gray eyes. They were somewhat handsome eyes when they did not put on their cruel expression. ‘Not for you. Nothing could degrade, nothing could exalt110 you. You are superior to the accident of your surroundings.’
‘It’s very kind of you to say that; but it’s a fallacy, all the same,’ said Ida. ‘Do you think Napoleon at St. Helena, squabbling with Sir Hudson Lowe, is as dignified111 a figure as Napoleon at the Tuileries, in the zenith of his power? But I ought not to be grumbling112 at fate. I have been happy for six sunshiny weeks. If I were to live to be a century old, I could never forget how good people at Kingthorpe have been to me. I will go back to my old slavery, and live upon the memory of that happiness.’
‘Why should you go back to slavery?’ asked Dr. Rylance, taking her hand in his and holding it with so strong a grasp that she could hardly have withdrawn113 it without violence. ‘There is a home at Kingthorpe ready to receive you. If you have been happy there in the last few weeks, why not try if you can be happy there always? There is a house in Cavendish Square whose master would be proud to make you its mistress. Ida, we have seen very little of each other, and I may be precipitate114 in hazarding this offer; but I am as fond of you as if I had known you half a lifetime, and I believe that I could make your life happy.’
Ida Palliser’s heart thrilled with a chill sense of horror and aversion. She had talked recklessly enough of her willingness to marry for money, and, lo! here was a prosperous man laying two handsomely furnished houses at her feet — a man of gentlemanlike bearing, good-looking, well-informed, well-spoken, with no signs of age in his well-preserved face and figure; a man whom any woman, friendless, portionless, a mere waif upon earth’s surface, at the mercy of all the winds that blow, ought proudly and gladly to accept for her husband.
No, too bold had been her challenge to fate. She had said that she would marry any honest man who would lift her out of the quagmire115 of poverty: but she was not prepared to accept Dr. Rylance’s offer, generous as it sounded. She would rather go back to the old treadmill116, and her old fights with Miss Pew, than reign117 supreme118 over the dainty cottage at Kingthorpe and the house in Cavendish Square. Her time had not come.
Dr. Rylance had not risen to eloquence119 in making his offer; and Ida’s reply was in plainest words.
‘I am very sorry,’ she faltered120. ‘I feel that it is very good of you to make such a proposal; but I cannot accept it.’
‘There is some one else,’ said the doctor. ‘Your heart is given away already.’
‘No,’ she answered sadly; ‘my heart is like an empty sepulchre.’
‘Then why should I not hope to win you? I have been hasty, no doubt: but I want if possible to prevent your return to that odious121 school. If you would but make me happy by saying yes, you could stay with your kind friends at The Knoll122 till the day that makes you mistress of my house. We might be married in time to spend November in Italy. It is the nicest month for Rome. You have never seen Italy, perhaps?’
‘No. I have seen very little that is worth seeing.’
‘Ida, why will you not say yes? Do you doubt that I should try my uttermost to make you happy?’
‘No,’ she answered gravely, but I doubt my own capacity for that kind of happiness.’
Dr. Rylance was deeply wounded. He had been petted and admired by women during the ten years of his widowhood, favoured and a favourite everywhere. He had made up his mind deliberately123 to marry this penniless girl. Looked at from a worldling’s point of view, it would seem, at the first glance, an utterly124 disadvantageous alliance: but Dr. Rylance had an eye that could sweep over horizons other than are revealed to the average gaze, and he told himself that so lovely a woman as Ida Palliser must inevitably become the fashion in that particular society which Dr. Rylance most affected: and a wife famed for her beauty and elegance125 Would assuredly be of more advantage to a fashionable physician than a common-place wife with a fortune. Dr. Rylance liked money; but he liked it only for what it could buy. He had no sons, and he was much too fond of himself to lead laborious126 days in order to leave a large fortune to his daughter. He had bought a lease of his London house, which would last his time; he had bought the freehold of the Kingthorpe cottage; and he was living up to his income. When he died there would be two houses of furniture, plate, pictures, horses and carriages, and the Kingthorpe cottage, to be realized for Urania. He estimated these roughly as worth between six and seven thousand pounds, and he considered seven thousand pounds an ample fortune for his only daughter. Urania was in happy ignorance of the modesty127 of his views. She imagined herself an heiress on a much larger scale.
To offer himself to a penniless girl of whose belongings128 he knew absolutely nothing, and to be peremptorily130 refused! Dr. Rylance could hardly believe such a thing possible. The girl must be trifling131 with him, playing her fish, with the fixed132 intention of landing him presently. It was in the nature of girls to do that kind of thing. ‘Why do you reject me?’ he asked seriously ‘is it because I am old enough to be your father?’
‘No, I would marry a man old enough to be my grandfather if I loved him,’ answered Ida, with cruel candour.
‘And I am to understand that your refusal is irrevocable? he urged.
‘Quite irrevocable. But I hope you believe that I am grateful for the honour you have done me.’
‘That is the correct thing to say upon such occasions, answered Dr. Rylance, coldly; ‘I wonder the sentence is not written in your copy books, among those moral aphorisms133 which are of so little use in after life.’
‘The phrase may seem conventional, but in my case it means much more than usual,’ said Ida; ‘a girl who has neither money nor friends has good reason to be grateful when a gentleman asks her to be his wife.’
‘I wish I could be grateful for your gratitude,’ said Dr. Rylance, ‘but I can’t. I want your love, and nothing else. Is it on Urania’s account that you reject me?’ he urged. ‘If you think that she would be a hindrance134 to your happiness, pray dismiss the thought. If she did not accommodate herself pleasantly to my choice her life would have to be spent apart from us. I would brook135 no rebellion.’
The cruel look had come into Dr. Rylance’s eyes. He was desperately136 angry. He was surprised, humiliated137, indignant. Never had the possibility of rejection138 occurred to him. It had been for him to decide whether he would or would not take this girl for his wife; and after due consideration of her merits and all surrounding circumstances, he had decided139 that he would take her.
‘Is my daughter the stumbling-block?’ he urged.
‘No,’ she answered, ‘there is no stumbling-block. I would marry you to-morrow, if I felt that I could love you as a wife ought to love her husband. I said once — only a little while ago — that I would marry for money. I find that I am not so base as I thought myself.’
‘Perhaps the temptation is not large enough,’ said Dr. Rylance. ‘If I had been Brian Wendover, and the owner of Kingthorpe Abbey, you would hardly have rejected me so lightly.’
Ida crimsoned140 to the roots of her hair. The shaft141 went home. It was as if Dr. Rylance had been inside her mind and knew all the foolish day-dreams she had dreamed in the idle summer afternoons, under the spreading cedar42 branches, or beside the lake in the Abbey grounds. Before she had time to express her resentment142 a cluster of young Wendovers came sweeping143 down the greensward at her side, and in the next minute Blanche was hanging upon her bodily, like a lusty parasite144 strangling a slim young tree.
‘Darling,’ cried Blanche gaspingly, ‘such news. Brian has come — cousin Brian — after all, though he thought he couldn’t. But he made a great effort, and he has come all the way as fast as he could tear to be here on Bessie’s birthday. Isn’t it too jolly?’
‘All the way from Norway?’ asked Ida.
‘Yes,’ said Urania, who had been carried down the hill with the torrent145 of Wendovers, ‘all the way from Norway. Isn’t it nice of him?’
Blanche’s frank face was brimming over with smiles. The boys were all laughing. How happy Brian’s coming had made them!
Ida looked at them wonderingly.
‘How pleased you all seem!’ she said. ‘I did not know you were so fond of your cousin. I thought it was the other you liked.’
‘Oh, we like them both,’ said Blanche, ‘and it is so nice of Brian to come on purpose for Bessie’s birthday. Do come and see him. He is on the top of the hill talking to Bess; and the kettle boils, and we are just going to have tea. We are all starving.’
‘After such a dinner!’ exclaimed Ida.
‘Such a dinner, indeed! — two or three legs of fowls146 and a plate or so of pie!’ ejaculated Reginald, contemptuously. ‘I began to be hungry a quarter of an hour afterwards. Come and see Brian.’
Ida looked round her wonderingly, feeling as if she was in a dream.
Dr. Rylance had disappeared. Urania was smiling at her sweetly, more sweetly than it was her wont147 to smile at Ida Palliser.
‘One would think she knew that I had refused her father,’ mused148 Ida.
They all climbed the hill, the children talking perpetually, Ida unusually silent. The smoke of a gipsy fire was going up from a hollow near the Druid altar, and two figures were standing beside the altar; one, a young man, with his arm resting on the granite slab149, and his head bent150 as he talked, with seeming earnestness, to Bessie Wendover. He turned as the crowd approached, and Bessie introduced him to Miss Palliser. ‘My cousin Brian — my dearest friend Ida,’ she said.
‘She is desperately fond of the Abbey,’ said Blanche; ‘so I hope she will like you. “Love me, love my dog,” says the proverb, so I suppose one might say, “Love my house, love me.”’
Ida stood silent amidst her loquacious151 friends, looking at the stranger with a touch of wonder. No, this was not the image which she had pictured to herself. Mr. Wendover was very good-looking — interesting even; he had the kind of face which women call nice — a pale complexion152, dreamy gray eyes, thin lips, a well-shaped nose, a fairly intellectual forehead. But the Brian of her fancies was a man of firmer mould, larger features, a more resolute153 air, an eye with more fire, a brow marked by stronger lines. For some unknown reason she had fancied the master of the Abbey like that Sir Tristram Wendover who had been so loyal a subject and so brave a soldier, and before whose portrait she had so often lingered in dreamy contemplation.
‘And you have really come all the way from Norway to be at Bessie’s picnic?’ she faltered at last, feeling that she was expected to say something.
‘I would have come a longer distance for the sake of such a pleasant meeting,’ he answered, smiling at her.
‘Bessie,’ cried Blanche, who had been grovelling154 on her knees before the gipsy fire, ‘the kettle will go off the boil if you don’t make tea instantly. If it were not your birthday I should make it myself.’
‘You may,’ said Bessie, ‘although it is my birthday.’
She had walked a little way apart with Urania, and they two were talking somewhat earnestly.
‘Those girls seem to be plotting something,’ said Reginald; ‘a charade155 for to-night, perhaps. It’s sure to be stupid if Urania’s in it.’
‘You mean that it will be too clever,’ said Horatio.
‘Yes, that kind of cleverness which is the essence of stupidity.’
While Bessie and Miss Rylance conversed156 apart, and all the younger Wendovers devoted their energies to the preparation of a tremendous meal, Ida and Brian Wendover stood face to face upon the breezy hill-top, the girl sorely embarrassed, the young man gazing at her as if he had never seen anything so lovely in his life.
‘I have heard so much about you from Bessie,’ he said after a silence which seemed long to both. ‘Her letters for the last twelve months have been a perpetual paean157 — like one of the Homeric hymns158, with you for the heroine. I had quite a dread53 of meeting you, feeling that, after having my expectations strung up to such a pitch, I must be disappointed. Nothing human could justify159 Bessie’s enthusiasm.’
‘Please don’t talk about it. Bessie’s one weak point is her affection for me. I am very grateful. I love her dearly, but she does her best to make me ridiculous.’
‘I am beginning to think Bessie a very sensible girl,’ said Brian, longing129 to say much more, so deeply was he impressed by this goddess in a holland gown, with glorious eyes shining upon him under the shadow of a coarse straw hat.
‘Have you come back to Hampshire for good?’ asked Ida, as they strolled towards Bessie and Urania.
‘For good! No, I never stay long.’
‘What a pity that lovely old Abbey should be deserted160!’
‘Yes, it is rather a shame, is it not? But then no one could expect a young man to live there except in the hunting season — or for the sake of the shooting.’
‘Could anyone ever grow tired of such a place?’ asked Ida.
She was wondering at the young man’s indifferent air, as if that solemn abbey, those romantic gardens, were of no account to him. She supposed that this was in the nature of things. A man born lord of such an elysium would set little value upon his paradise. Was it not Eve’s weariness of Eden which inclined her ear to the serpent?
And now the banquet was spread upon the short smooth turf, and everybody was ordered to sit down. They made a merry circle, with the tea-kettle in the centre, piles of cake, and bread and butter, and jam-pots surrounding it. Blanche and Horatio were the chief officiators, and were tremendously busy ministering to the wants of others, while they satisfied their own hunger and thirst hurriedly between whiles. The damsel sat on the grass with a big crockery teapot in her lap, while her brother watched and managed the kettle, and ran to and fro with cups and saucers. Bessie, as the guest of honour, was commanded to sit still and look on.
‘Dreadfully babyish, isn’t it?’ said Urania, smiling with her superior air at Brian, who had helped himself to a crust of home-made bread, and a liberal supply of gooseberry jam.
‘Uncommonly jolly,’ he answered gaily161. ‘I confess to a weakness for bread and jam. I wish people always gave it at afternoon teas.’
‘Has it not a slight flavour of the nursery?’
‘Of course it has. But a nursery picnic is ever so much better than a swell162 garden-party, and bread and jam is a great deal more wholesome163 than salmon-mayonaise and Strasbourg pie. You may despise me as much as you like, Miss Rylance. I came here determined164 to enjoy myself.’
‘That is the right spirit for a picnic,’ said Ida, ‘People with grand ideas are not wanted.’
‘And I suppose in the evening you will join in the dumb charades165, and play hide-and-seek in the garden, all among spiders and cockchafers.’
‘I will do anything I am told to do,’ answered Brian, cheerily. ‘But I think the season of the cockchafer is over.’
‘What has become of Dr. Rylance?’ asked Bessie, looking about her as if she had only that moment missed him.
‘I think he went back to the farm for his horse,’ said Urania. ‘I suppose he found our juvenile65 sports rather depressing.’
‘Well, he paid us a compliment in coming at all,’ answered Bessie, ‘so we must forgive him for getting tired of us.’
The drive home was very merry, albeit166 Bessie and her friend were to part next morning — Ida to go back to slavery. They were both young enough to be able to enjoy the present hour, even on the edge of darkness.
Bessie clasped her friend’s hand as they sat side by side in the landau.
‘You must come to us at Christmas,’ she whispered: ‘I shall ask mother to invite you.’
Brian was full of talk and gaiety as they drove home through the dusk. He was very different from that ideal Brian of Ida’s girlish fancy — the Brian who embodied all her favourite attributes, and had all the finest qualities of the hero of romance. But he was an agreeable, well-bred young man, bringing with him that knowledge of life and the active world which made his talk seem new and enlightening after the strictly167 local and domestic intellects of the good people with whom she had been living.
With the family at The Knoll conversation had been bounded by Winchester on one side, and Romsey on the other. There was an agreeable freshness in the society of a young man who could talk of all that was newest in European art and literature, and who knew how the world was being governed.
But this fund of information was hinted at rather than expressed. To-night Mr. Wendover seemed most inclined to mere nonsense talk — the lively nothings that please children. Of himself and his Norwegian adventures he said hardly anything.
‘I suppose when a man has travelled so much he gets to look upon strange countries as a matter of course,’ speculated Ida. ‘If I had just come from Norway, I should talk of nothing else.’
The dumb-charades and hide-and-seek were played, but only by the lower orders, as Bessie called her younger brothers and sisters.
Ida strolled in the moonlit garden with Mr. Wendover, Bessie Urania, and Mr. Ratcliffe, a very juvenile curate, who was Bessie’s admirer and slave. Urania had no particular admirer She felt that every one at Kingthorpe must needs behold168 her with mute worship; but there was no one so audacious as to give expression to the feeling; no one of sufficient importance to be favoured with her smiles. She looked forward to her first season in London next year, and then she would be called upon to make her selection.
‘She is worldly to the tips of her fingers,’ said Ida, as she and Bessie talked apart from the others for a few minutes: ‘I wonder she does not try to captivate your cousin.’
‘What — Brian? Oh, he is not at all in her line. He would not suit her a bit.’
‘But don’t you think it would suit her to be mistress of the Abbey?’
Bessie gave a little start, as if the idea were new.
‘I don’t think she has ever thought of him in that light,’ she said.
‘Don’t you? If she hasn’t she is not the girl I think her.’
‘Oh, I know she is very worldly; but I don’t think she’s so bad as that.’
‘Not so bad as to be capable of marrying for money — no, I suppose not,’ said Ida, thoughtfully.
‘I’m sure you would not, darling, said Bessie. ‘You talked about it once, when you were feeling bitter; but I know that in your heart of hearts you never meant it. You are much too high-minded.’
‘I am not a bit high-minded. All my high-mindedness, if I ever had any, has been squeezed out of me by poverty. My only idea is to escape from subjection and humiliation169 — a degrading bondage to vulgar-minded people.’
‘But would the escape be worth having at the cost of your own degradation?’ urged Bessie, who felt particularly heroic this evening, exalted170 by the moonlight, the loveliness of the garden, the thought of parting with her dearest friend. ‘Marry for love, dearest. Sacrifice everything in this world rather than be false to yourself.’
‘You dear little enthusiast171, I may never be asked to make any such sacrifice. I have not much chance of suitors at Mauleverer, as you know — and as for falling in love —’
‘Oh, you never know when the fatal moment may come. How do you like Brian?’
‘He is very gentlemanlike; he seems very well informed.’
‘He is immensely clever,’ answered Bessie, almost offended at this languid praise; ‘he is a man who might succeed in any line he chose for himself. Do you think him handsome?’
‘He is certainly nice looking.’
‘How cool you are! I had set my heart upon your liking172 him.’
‘What could come of my liking?’ asked Ida with a touch of bitterness. ‘Is there a portionless girl in all England who would not like the master of Wendover Abbey?’
‘But for his own sake,’ urged Bessie, with a vexed173 air; ‘surely he is worthy174 of being liked for his own sake, without a thought of the Abbey.’
‘I cannot dissociate him from that lovely old house and gardens. Indeed, to my mind he rather belongs to the Abbey than the Abbey belongs to him. You see I knew the Abbey first.’
Here they were interrupted by Brian and Urania, and presently Ida found herself walking in the moonlight in a broad avenue of standard roses, at the end of the garden, with Mr. Wendover by her side, and the voices of the other three sounding ever so far away. On the other side of a low quickset hedge stretched a wide expanse of level meadow land, while in the farther distance rose the Wiltshire hills, and nearer the heathy highlands of the New Forest. The lamp-lit windows of Miss Wendover’s cottage glimmered175 a little way off, across gardens and meadows.
‘And so you are really going to leave us to-morrow morning?’ said Brian, regretfully.
‘By the eight o’clock train from Winchester. To-morrow evening I shall be sitting on a form in a big bare class-room, listening to the babble176 of a lot of girls pretending to learn their lessons.’
‘Are you fond of teaching?’
‘Just imagine to yourself the one occupation which is most odious to you, and then you may know how fond I am of teaching; and of school-girls; and of school-life altogether.’
‘It is very hard that you should have to pursue such an uncongenial career.’
‘It seems so to me; but, perhaps, that is my selfishness. I suppose half the people in this world have to live by work they hate.’
‘Allowing for the number of people to whom all kind of work is hateful, I dare say you are right. But I think, in a general way, congenial work means successful work. No man hates the profession that brings him fame and money; but the doctor without patients, the briefless barrister, can hardly love law or medicine.’
He beguiled177 Ida into talking of her own life, with all its bitterness. There was something in his voice and manner which tempted178 her to confide179 in him. He seemed thoroughly180 sympathetic.
‘I keep forgetting what strangers we are,’ she said, apologizing for her unreserve.
‘We are not strangers. I have heard of you from Bessie so much that I seem to have known you for years. I hope you will never think of me as a stranger.’
‘I don’t think I ever can, after this conversation. I am afraid you will think me horribly egotistical.’
She had been talking of her father and stepmother, the little brother she loved so fondly, dwelling181 with delight upon his perfections.
‘I think you all that is good and noble. How I wish this were not your last evening at the Knoll!’
‘Do you think I do not wish it? Hark, there’s Bessie calling us.’
They went back to the house, and to the drawing-room, which wore quite a festive182 appearance, in honour of Bessie’s birthday; ever so many extra candles dotted about, and a table laid with fruit and sandwiches, cake and claret-cup, the children evidently considering a superfluity of meals indispensable to a happy birthday. Blanche and her juniors were sitting about the room, in the last stage of exhaustion183 after hide-and-seek.
‘This has been a capital birthday,’ said Horatio, wiping the perspiration184 from his brow, and then filling for himself a bumper185 of claret-cup; ‘and now we are going to dance. Blanche, give us the Faust Waltz, and go on playing till we tell you to leave off.’
Blanche, considerably blown, and with her hair like a mop, sat down and began to touch the piano with resolute fingers and forcible rhythm. ONE, two, three, ONE, two, three. The boys pushed the furniture into the corners. Brian offered himself to Ida; Bessie insisted upon surrendering the curate to Urania, and took one of her brothers for a partner; and the three couples went gliding186 round the pretty old room, the cool night breezes blowing in upon them from wide-open windows.
They danced and played, and sang and talked, till midnight chimed from the old eight-day clock in the hall — a sound which struck almost as much consternation187 to Bessie’s soul as if she had been Cinderella at the royal ball.
‘TWELVE O’CLOCK! and the little ones all up!’ she exclaimed, looking round the circle of towzled heads with remorseful188 eyes. ‘What would mother say? And she told me she relied on my discretion189! Go to bed, every one of you, this instant!’
‘Oh, come, now,’ remonstrated190 Blanche, ‘there’s no use in hustling191 us off like that, after letting us sit up hours after our proper time. I’m going to have another sandwich; and there’s not a bit of good in leaving all those raspberry tarts192. The servants won’t thank us. They have as many jam tarts as they like.’
‘You greedy little wretches193; you have been doing nothing but eat all day,’ said Ida. ‘When I am back at Mauleverer I shall remember you only as machines for the consumption of pudding and jam. Obey your grown-up sister, and go to bed directly.’
‘Grown up, indeed! How long has she been grown up, I should like to know!’ exclaimed Blanche vindictively194. ‘She’s only an inch and a quarter taller than me, and she’s a mere dumpling compared with Horry.’
The lower orders were got rid of somehow — driven to their quarters, as it were, at the point of the bayonet; and then the grown-ups bade each other good-night; the curate escorting Miss Rylance to her home, and Brian going up to the top floor to a bachelor’s room.
‘Who is going to drive Miss Palliser to the station?’ he asked, as they stood, candlestick in hand, at the foot of the stairs.
‘I am, of course,’ answered Reginald. ‘Robin will spin us over the hills in no time. I’ve ordered the car for seven sharp.’
There was very little sleep for either Bessie or her guest that night. Both girls were excited by memories of the day that was past, and by thoughts of the day that was coming. Ida was brooding a little upon her disappointment in Brian Wendover. He had very pleasant manners, he seemed soft-hearted and sympathetic, he was very good-looking — but he was not the Brian of her dreams. That ideal personage had never existed outside her imagination. It was a shock to her girlish fancy. There was a sense of loss in her mind.
‘I must be very silly,’ she told herself, ‘to make a fancy picture of a person, and to be vexed with him because he does not resemble my portrait.’
She was disappointed, and yet she was interested in this new acquaintance. He was the first really interesting young man she had ever met, and he was evidently interested in her. And then she pictured him at the Abbey, in the splendid solitude195 of those fine old rooms, leading the calm, studious life which Bessie had talked of — an altogether enviable life, Ida thought.
Mr. Wendover was in the dining-room at half-past six when the two girls went down to breakfast. All the others came trooping down a few minutes afterwards, Reginald got up to the last degree of four-in-handishness which the resources of his wardrobe allowed, and with a flower in his buttonhole. There was a loud cry for eggs and bacon, kippered herrings, marmalade, Yorkshire cakes; but neither Ida nor Bessie could eat.
‘Do have a good breakfast,’ pleaded Blanche affectionately; ‘you will be having bread and scrape to-morrow. We have got a nice hamper40 for you, with a cake and a lot of jam puffs196 and things; but those will only last a short time.’
‘You dear child, I wouldn’t mind the bread and scrape, if there were only a little love to flavour it,’ answered Ida softly.
The jaunting-car came to the door as the clock struck seven. Ida’s luggage was securely bestowed197, then, after a perfect convulsion of kissing, she was banded to her place, Reginald jumped into his seat and took the reins198, and Brian seated himself beside Ida.
‘You are not going with them?’ exclaimed Bessie.
‘Yes I am, to see that Miss Palliser is not spilt on the hills.’
‘What rot!’ cried Reginald. ‘I should be rather sorry for myself if I were not able to manage Robin.’
‘This is a new development in you, who are generally the laziest of living creatures,’ said Bessie to Brian, and before he could reply, Robin was bounding cheerily through the village, making very little account of the jaunting-car and its occupants. Urania was at her garden gate, fresh and elegant-looking in pale blue cambric. She smiled at Ida, and waved her a most gracious farewell.
‘I don’t think I ever saw Miss Rylance look so amiable,’ said Ida. ‘She does not often favour me with her smiles.’
‘Are you enemies?’ asked Brian.
‘Not open foes199; we have always maintained an armed neutrality. I don’t like her, and she doesn’t like me, and we both know it. But perhaps I ought not to be so candid200. She may be a favourite of yours.’
‘She might be, but she is not. She is very elegant, very lady-like — according to her own lights — very viperish201.’
It was a lovely drive in the crisp clear air, across the breezy hills. Ida could not help enjoying the freshness of morning, the beauty of earth, albeit she was going from comfort to discomfort202, from love to cold indifference203 or open enmity.
‘How I delight in this landscape!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is it not ever so much better than Norway?’ appealing to Brian.
‘It is a milder, smaller kind of beauty,’ he answered. ‘Would you not like to see Norway?’
‘I would like to see all that is lovely on earth; yet I think I could be content to spend, a life-time here. This must seem strange to you, who grow weary of that beautiful Abbey.’
‘It is not of his house, but of himself, that a man grows weary,’ answered Brian.
Robin was in a vivacious204 humour, and rattled205 the car across the hills at a good pace. They had a quarter of an hour to wait at the busy little station. Brian and Ida walked up and down the platform talking, while Reginald looked after the pony206 and the luggage. They found so much to say to each other, that the train seemed to come too soon.
They bade each other good-bye with a tender look on Brian’s part, a blush on Ida’s. Reginald had to push his cousin away from the carriage window, in order to get a word with the departing guest.
‘We shall all miss you awfully,’ he said; ‘but mind, you must come back at Christmas.’
‘I shall be only too glad, if Mrs. Wendover will have me. Good-bye.’
The train moved slowly forward, and she was gone.
‘Isn’t she a stunner?’ asked Reginald of his cousin, as they stood on the platform looking at each other blankly.
‘She is the handsomest girl I ever saw, and out and away the nicest,’ answered Brian.
收听单词发音 |
1
modernized
|
|
| 使现代化，使适应现代需要( modernize的过去式和过去分词 )； 现代化，使用现代方法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
favourably
|
|
| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
lamenting
|
|
| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
abatement
|
|
| n.减(免)税，打折扣，冲销 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
anticipations
|
|
| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
trout
|
|
| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
orchards
|
|
| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
auditors
|
|
| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
perch
|
|
| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
jaunts
|
|
| n.游览( jaunt的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
inspection
|
|
| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
jutting
|
|
| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
cosy
|
|
| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
drowsy
|
|
| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
satiety
|
|
| n.饱和；(市场的)充分供应 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
appreciation
|
|
| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
engendered
|
|
| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
undue
|
|
| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
stimulated
|
|
| a.刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
intensified
|
|
| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
maidenly
|
|
| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
inevitably
|
|
| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
chancellor
|
|
| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
humility
|
|
| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
billiards
|
|
| n.台球 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
eminent
|
|
| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
advancement
|
|
| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
vapid
|
|
| adj.无味的；无生气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
eldest
|
|
| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
paramount
|
|
| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
joyously
|
|
| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
hampers
|
|
| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
hamper
|
|
| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
cedars
|
|
| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
cedar
|
|
| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
tints
|
|
| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
presage
|
|
| n.预感，不祥感；v.预示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
besieged
|
|
| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
enraptured
|
|
| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
crochet
|
|
| n.钩针织物；v.用钩针编制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
slippers
|
|
| n. 拖鞋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
costly
|
|
| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
bracelets
|
|
| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
versatile
|
|
| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
detest
|
|
| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
carnation
|
|
| n.康乃馨（一种花） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
wrung
|
|
| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
propitious
|
|
| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
embodied
|
|
| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
robin
|
|
| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
juvenile
|
|
| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
juveniles
|
|
| n.青少年( juvenile的名词复数 )；扮演少年角色的演员；未成年人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
disastrous
|
|
| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
triumphantly
|
|
| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
meekly
|
|
| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
broiling
|
|
| adj.酷热的，炽热的，似烧的v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的现在分词 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
grudge
|
|
| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
bowling
|
|
| n.保龄球运动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
trot
|
|
| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
edifice
|
|
| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
stony
|
|
| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
granite
|
|
| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
cantankerous
|
|
| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
plodding
|
|
| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
ridge
|
|
| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
middle-aged
|
|
| adj.中年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
propriety
|
|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
ousted
|
|
| 驱逐( oust的过去式和过去分词 )； 革职； 罢黜； 剥夺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
pretence
|
|
| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
speculative
|
|
| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
discoursed
|
|
| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
eloquently
|
|
| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
expatiated
|
|
| v.详述，细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
dozing
|
|
| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
diligently
|
|
| ad.industriously;carefully | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
aesthetic
|
|
| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
racing
|
|
| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
perilling
|
|
| 置…于危险中（peril的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
archaeology
|
|
| n.考古学 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
manor
|
|
| n.庄园，领地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
bondage
|
|
| n.奴役，束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
drudgery
|
|
| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
contemptible
|
|
| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
fustian
|
|
| n.浮夸的；厚粗棉布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
degradation
|
|
| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
exalt
|
|
| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
grumbling
|
|
| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
withdrawn
|
|
| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
precipitate
|
|
| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
quagmire
|
|
| n.沼地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
treadmill
|
|
| n.踏车；单调的工作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
eloquence
|
|
| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
faltered
|
|
| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
odious
|
|
| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
knoll
|
|
| n.小山，小丘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
elegance
|
|
| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
laborious
|
|
| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
modesty
|
|
| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
belongings
|
|
| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
peremptorily
|
|
| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
trifling
|
|
| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
aphorisms
|
|
| 格言，警句( aphorism的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
hindrance
|
|
| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
brook
|
|
| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
desperately
|
|
| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
humiliated
|
|
| 感到羞愧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
rejection
|
|
| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
crimsoned
|
|
| 变为深红色（crimson的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
shaft
|
|
| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
parasite
|
|
| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
torrent
|
|
| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
fowls
|
|
| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
mused
|
|
| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
slab
|
|
| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
loquacious
|
|
| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
resolute
|
|
| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
grovelling
|
|
| adj.卑下的，奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 )；趴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
charade
|
|
| n.用动作等表演文字意义的字谜游戏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
conversed
|
|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
paean
|
|
| n.赞美歌，欢乐歌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
hymns
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
swell
|
|
| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
wholesome
|
|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
charades
|
|
| n.伪装( charade的名词复数 )；猜字游戏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
albeit
|
|
| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
strictly
|
|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
behold
|
|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
humiliation
|
|
| n.羞辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
exalted
|
|
| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
enthusiast
|
|
| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
vexed
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
glimmered
|
|
| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
babble
|
|
| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
beguiled
|
|
| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
confide
|
|
| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
festive
|
|
| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
exhaustion
|
|
| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
perspiration
|
|
| n.汗水；出汗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
bumper
|
|
| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
gliding
|
|
| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
consternation
|
|
| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
remorseful
|
|
| adj.悔恨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
discretion
|
|
| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
remonstrated
|
|
| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
hustling
|
|
| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
tarts
|
|
| n.果馅饼( tart的名词复数 )；轻佻的女人；妓女；小妞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
wretches
|
|
| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
vindictively
|
|
| adv.恶毒地；报复地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
puffs
|
|
| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
bestowed
|
|
| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
reins
|
|
| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
foes
|
|
| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
candid
|
|
| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
201
viperish
|
|
| adj.毒蛇般的，阴险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
202
discomfort
|
|
| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
203
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
204
vivacious
|
|
| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
205
rattled
|
|
| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
206
pony
|
|
| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |