It was the second week in October, and the woods were changing their green liveries of summer for tawny1 and amber2 tints3, so various and so harmonious4 in their delicate gradations that the eye of the artist was gladdened by their decay. The hawthorns5 in Wimperfield Park glowed in the distance like patches of crimson6 flame, and the undulating sweeps of bracken showed golden-brown against the green-sward; while the oaks-symbolic of all that is solid, ponderous7, and constant in woodland nature, slow to bloom and slow to die — had hardly a faded leaf to murk the coming of winter.
A fine domain8, this Wimperfield Park, with its hill and vale, its oaks and beeches9, and avenue of immemorial elms, to be owned by the man who six weeks ago had no better shelter than a lath and plaster villa10 in a French village, and who had found it a hard thing to pay the rent of that trumpery11 tenement12; and yet Sir Reginald Palliser accepted the change in his circumstances as tranquilly13 as if it had been but a migration14 from the red room to the blue. He took good fortune with the same easy indolent air with which he had endured evil fortune. He had the Horatian temperament15, uneager to anticipate the future, content if the present were fairly comfortable, sighing for no palatial16 halls over-arched with gold and ivory, no porphyry columns, or marble terraces encroaching upon the sea. He was a man to whom it had been but a slight affliction to live in a small house, and to be deprived of all pomp and state, nay17, even of the normal surroundings of gentle birth, so long as he had those things which were absolutely necessary to his own personal comfort. He was honestly sorry for the untimely fate of his young kinsmen18; but he slipped into his nephew’s vacant place with an ease which filled his wife and daughter with wonder.
To poor little Fanny Palliser, who had never known the sensation of a spare five-pound note, nay, of even a sovereign which she might squander19 on the whim20 of the moment, this sudden possession of ample means was strange even to bewilderment. Not to have to cut and contrive21 any more, not to have to cook her husband’s dinners, or to run about from morning till twilight22, supplementing the labours of an incompetent23 maid-of-all-work, was to enter upon a new phase of life almost as surprising as if she, Fanny Palliser, had died and been buried, and been resolved back into the elements, to be born again as a princess of the blood royal. She kept on repeating feebly that it was all like a dream — she had not been able to realise the change yet.
To Reginald Palliser the inheritance of Wimperfield was only a return to the home of his childhood. To his lowly-born little helpmeet it was the beginning of a new life. It was a new sensation to Fanny Palliser to live in large rooms, to walk about a house in which the long corridors, the wide staircase, the echoing stone hall, the plenitude of light and space, seemed to her to belong to a public institution rather than to a domestic dwelling24 — a new sensation, and not altogether a pleasant one. She was awe-stricken by the grandeur25 — the largeness and airiness of her new surroundings.
There was not one of the sitting-rooms at Wimperfield in which, even after a month’s residence, she could feel thoroughly27 at home. She envied Mrs. Moggs, the housekeeper28, her parlour looking into the stable-yard, which seemed to Sir Reginald’s wife the only really snug29 room within the four walls of that respectable mansion30. Mrs. Moggs’ old-fashioned grate and brass31 fender, little round table, tea-tray, and kettle singing on the hob, reminded Fanny Palliser of her own girlhood, when her mother’s sitting room had worn just such an air of humble32 comfort. Those white and gold drawing-rooms, with their amber satin curtains and Georgian furniture, had a scenic33 and altogether artificial appearance to the unaccustomed eyes of one born and reared amidst the narrow surroundings of poverty.
And then, again, how terrible was that highly respectable old butler, who knew the ways of gentle folks so much better than his new mistress did; and who put her to shame, in a quiet unconscious way, a hundred times a day by his superior knowledge and experience. How often she asked for things that were altogether wrong; how continually she exposed her ignorance, both to Rogers the butler, and to Moggs, the housekeeper; and what a feeble creature she felt herself in the presence of Jane Dyson, her own maid, who had come to her fresh from the sainted presence of an archbishop’s wife, and who was inclined to be slightly dictatorial35 in consequence, always quoting and referring to that paragon36 of women, her late mistress, whose only error in life had been the leaving it before Jane Dyson had saved enough to justify37 her retirement38 from service. Those highly-educated retainers were a terror to poor little Fanny Palliser. There were times when she would have been glad to be impecunious39 again, and running after her faithful Lizette, who had every possible failing except that of being superior to her mistress. These Wimperfield servants were models; but they did not disguise their quiet contempt for a lady who was evidently a stranger in that sphere where powdered footmen and elaborate dinners are among the indispensables of existence.
Only six weeks, and Sir Reginald and his family were established in the place that had been Sir Vernon’s, and the old servants waited on their new lord, and all the mechanical routine of life went on as smoothly40 as if there had been no change of masters. Ida found herself wondering which was the reality and which the dream — the past or the present. There had been a few days of excitement, hurry, and confusion at Les Fontaines after the awful news of the wreck41: and then Sir Reginald had come to London with his wife and boy, and had put up at the Grosvenor Hotel while the lawyers settled the details of his inheritance. Sir Vernon had left no will. Everything went to the heir-at-law — pictures, plate, horses and carriages, and those wonderful cellars of old wine which had been slowly accumulated by Sir Reginald’s father and grandfather.
Reginald Palliser passed from the pittance42 of a half-pay captain, eked43 out by the desultory44 donations of his open-handed nephew, to the possession of a fine income and a perfectly-appointed establishment. There was nothing for him to do, no trouble of furnishing, or finding servants. He came into his kingdom, and everything was ready for him. Yet in this house where he was born, in which every stone was familiar to him, how little that was mortal was left of those vanished days of his youth! Among all these old servants there was only one who remembered the new master’s boyhood; and that was a deaf old helper in the garden, a man who seemed past all labour except the sweeping45 up of dead leaves, being himself little better than a withered46 leaf. This man remembered wheeling the present baronet about the gardens in his barrow, forty years ago — his function even then being to collect the fallen leaves — and was a little offended with Sir Reginald for having forgotten the man and the fact.
At the Grosvenor Hotel, calm even in the dawn of his altered fortunes, Brian Walford found his father-in-law, and told, with the pleasantest, most plausible47 air, the story of Ida’s clandestine48 marriage, slurring49 over every detail that reflected on himself, and making very light of Ida’s revulsion of feeling, which he represented as a girlish whim, rather than a woman’s bitter anger against the husband who had allowed her to marry him under a delusion50 as to his social status.
Sir Reginald was at first inclined to be angry. The whole thing was a mystification — absurd, discreditable. His daughter had grossly deceived him. It needed all the stepmother’s gentle influence to soften51 the outraged52 father’s feelings. But Lady Palliser said all that was kindly53 about Ida’s youth and inexperience, her impulsive54 nature; and a man who has just dropped into ￡7,000 a year is hardly disposed to be inflexible55. Sir Reginald was too generous even to question Brian closely as to his capability56 of supporting a wife. The man was a gentleman — young, good-looking, with winning manners, and a member of a family in which his daughter had found warm and generous friends. Ida’s father could not be uncivil to a Wendover.
‘Well, my good fellow, it is altogether a foolish business,’ he said; ‘but what’s done cannot be undone57. I am sorry my daughter did not ask my leave before she plunged58 into matrimony; but I suppose I must forgive her, and her husband into the bargain. You have both acted like a pair of children, falling in love and marrying, and quarrelling, and making friends again, without rhyme or reason; but the best thing you can do is to bring your wife — your wife? my little Ida a wife? — Good God, how old I am getting! — yes, you had better bring her to Wimperfield next week, and then we can get better acquainted with you, and I shall see what I can do for you both.’
This no doubt meant a handsome allowance. Brian Walford felt, for the first time in his life, that he had fallen on his feet. He hated the country, and Wimperfield would be only a shade better than Kingthorpe; but it was essential that he should please his easy-tempered father-in-law.
‘If he wanted me to live in the moon I should have to go there!’ he said to himself. And then Lady Palliser went into an adjoining chamber59 and brought forth60 little Vernon, to exhibit him, as a particular favour and privilege, to Ida’s husband; and Brian, who detested61 children, had to appear grateful, and to address himself to the irksome task of making friends with the little man. This was not easy, for the boy, though frank and bright enough in a general way, did not take to his new connexion: and it was only when Brian spoke62 of Ida that his young brother-in-law became friendly. ‘Where is she? why haven’t you brought her? Take me to her directly-minute,’ said the child, whose English savoured rather of the lower than the upper strata63 of society.
Brian snapped at the opportunity, and carried the boy off instanter in a Hansom cab to that hotel near Fleet Street where his young wife was pining in her second-floor sitting-room26, like a wild woodland bird behind the bars of a cage. The young man thought the little fellow might be a harbinger of peace — nor was he mistaken, for Ida melted at sight of him, and seemed quite happy when they three sat down to a dainty little luncheon64, she waiting upon and petting her young brother all the while.
‘This is partridge, isn’t it?’ asked Vernie. ‘I like partridge. We always have nice dinners now — jellies, and creams, and wine that goes fizz; and we all have the same as pa. We didn’t in France, you know,’ explained the boy, unconscious of any reason for suppressing facts in the presence of the waiter.
‘Mamma and I used to have any little bits — it didn’t matter for us, you know — we could pinch. Mamma was used to it, and it was good for me, you know, because I’m often bilious65 — and it’s better to go without rich things than to take Gregory’s powder, isn’t it?’
‘Decidedly,’ said Brian, who was not too old to remember that bugbear of the Edinburgh pharmacopoeia.
‘And now we have dessert every day,’ continued Vernie; ‘lovely dessert — almonds and raisins66, and pears, and nuts, and things, just like Christmas Day. I thought that kind of dessert was only meant for Christmas Day. And we have men to wait upon us, dressed like clergymen, just like him,’ added the child, pointing to the waiter.
‘Oh, Vernie, it’s so rude to point,’ murmured Ida.
‘Not for me; I can’t be rude,’ replied the boy, with conviction. ‘I’m a baronet’s son. I shall be a baronet myself some day. Mamma told me. I may do what I like.’
‘No, pet, you must be a gentleman. If you were a king’s son you would have to be that.’
‘Then I wouldn’t. What’s the use of being rich if you can’t do what you like?’ demanded Vernie, who already began to have ideas, and who was as sharp for his age as the chicken which begins to catch flies directly its head is out of the shell.
‘What’s the good of being somebody if you have to behave just as well as if you were nobody?’ said Brian. ‘Little Vernon has the feudal67 idea strongly developed; no doubt; in evolution from some long-departed ancestor, who lived in the days when there were different laws for the knight68 and the villain69. Now, how are we going to amuse this young gentleman? I have leave to keep him till half-past seven, when we are all three to dine with Sir Reginald and Lady Palliser at the Grosvenor.’
Vernie, who was half way through his second glass of sparkling moselle, burst out laughing.
‘Lady Palliser!’ he exclaimed, ‘it’s so funny to hear mamma called Lady: because she isn’t a lady, you know. She used to run about the house all day with her sleeves tucked up, and she used to cook; and Jane, our English servant, said no lady ever did that. Jane and mamma used to quarrel,’ explained the infant, calmly.
‘Jane knew very little about what makes a lady or not a lady,’ said Ida, grieved to find a want of elevation70 in the little man’s ideas. ‘Some of the truest and noblest ladies have worked hard all their lives.’
‘But not with their sleeves tucked up,’ argued the boy; ‘no lady would do that. Papa told mamma so one day, and he must know. He told her she was cook, slush, and bottle-washer. Wasn’t that funny? You worked hard too, didn’t you, Ida?’ interrogated72 Vernon. ‘Papa paid you were a regular drudge73 at Miss Pew’s. He said it was a hard thing that such a handsome girl as you should be a drudge, but his poverty and not his will consented.’
‘Vernie quotes Shakespeare,’ exclaimed Brian, trying to take the thing lightly, but painfully conscious of the head waiter, who was deliberately74 removing crumbs75 with a silver scraper. It could not matter to any one what the waiter — a waif from Whitechapel or the Dials most likely — knew or did not know of Mr. and Mrs. Wendover’s family affairs; but there is an instinctive76 feeling that any humiliating details of life should be kept from these menials. They should be maintained in the delusion that the superior class which employs them has never known want or difficulty. Perhaps the maintenance of this great sham34 is not without its evil, as it is apt to make the waiter class rapacious77 and exacting78, and ready to impute79 meanness to that superior order which has wallowed in wealth from the cradle.
‘Suppose we go to the Tower?’ inquired Brian. ‘Perhaps Vernie has never seen the Tower?’
Neither Vernon nor Ida had seen that stony80 page of feudal history, and Vernon had to be informed what manner of building it was, his sole idea of a tower being Babel, which he had often tried to reproduce with his wooden bricks, with no happier result than was obtained in the original attempt. So another Hansom was chartered, and they all went off to the Tower, Vernon sitting between them, perky and loquacious81, and intensely curious about every object they passed on their way.
Interested in the associations of the grim old citadel82, amused and pleaded by little Vernon’s prattle83 as he trotted84 about holding his sister’s hand, Ida forgot to be unhappy upon that particular afternoon. The whole history of her marriage was a misery85 to her; the marriage itself was a mistake; but there are hours of respite86 in the saddest life, and she was brave enough to try and make the best of hers. Above all, she was too generous to wish her husband to be painfully conscious of the change in their relative positions, that he was now in a manner dependent upon her father. Her own proud nature, which would have profoundly felt the humiliation87 of such a position as that which Brian Walford now occupied, was moved to pity for those feelings of shame and degradation88 which he might or might not experience, and she was kinder to him on this account than she would have been otherwise.
The dinner at the Grosvenor went off with as much appearance of goodwill89 and proper family feeling as if there had been no flaw in Ida’s matrimonial bliss90. Sir Reginald was full of kindness for his new son-in-law: as he would have been for any other human creature whom he had asked to dinner. Hospitality was a natural instinct of his being, and he invited Brian Wendover to take up his abode91 at Wimperfield as easily as he would have offered him a cigar.
‘There are no end of rooms. It is a regular barrack,’ he said. ‘You and Ida can be very comfortable without putting my little woman or me out of the way.’
This had happened just six weeks ago, and now Ida and her half-brother were wandering about among the ferny hollows and breezy heights of the park, or roving off to adjacent heaths and hills, and it seemed almost as if they had lived there all their lives. Vernon had been quick to make himself at home in the stately old house, rummaging92 and foraging93 in every room, routing out all manner of forgotten treasures, riding his father’s old rocking-horse, exploring stables and lofts94, saddle-rooms, and long-disused holes and corners, going up ladders, climbing walls, and endangering life and limbs in every possible way which infantine ingenuity95 could suggest.
‘Mamma, however could we live so long in that horrid96 little house in France?’ he demanded one day, as he prowled about his mother’s spacious97 morning-room in the autumn dusk, dragging fine old folios out of a book shelf in his search for picture-books, while Lady Palliser and her stepdaughter sat at tea by the fire.
The lady of the house gave a faint sigh.
‘I don’t know, Vernie,’ she said. ‘I almost think I was happier there than I am here. It was a poor little place, but I felt it was my own house, and I never feel that here.’
‘It will be my house when papa’s dead,’ replied Vernon, cheerfully, seating himself on the ground in front of the broad bay window and turning over Gell’s ‘Pompeiianai’; ‘everything will be mine. Is that why you don’t feel as if it was yours now?’
‘No, Vernie, that’s not it. I hope it will be a great many years before your father is taken away.’
‘But you don’t think so,’ argued Vernon. ‘You told him the other day that if he did not walk more, and take less champagne98, he would soon kill himself.’
‘But I didn’t mean it, darling. I only spoke for his good. The doctor says he must take no champagne, or only the dryest of the dry.’
‘What a silly that doctor must be!’ interrupted Vernon; ‘all wine is wet.’
‘The doctor meant wine that is not sweet, dear.’
‘Then he should have said so,’ remarked Vernon, sententiously. He had lived all his little life in grown-up society, and had been allowed to hear everything, and to talk about everything, whereby he had come to consider himself an oracle99.
‘The doctor thinks your poor papa has a lym — lym —’
‘Lymphatic temperament?’ suggested Ida.
‘Yes, dear, that’s the name of his complaint,’ replied Lady Palliser, who was not scientific. ‘He has a — well, that particular disease,’ continued the little woman, breaking down again, ‘and he ought to diet himself and take regular exercise; and he won’t diet himself, and he won’t walk or ride; and I lay awake at nights thinking of it,’ she concluded, piteously.
‘You can’t lay awake,’ said the boy; ‘Ida says you can’t. You can lay down your hat or your umbrella, but you can’t lay. It’s impossible.
‘But I tell you I do, Vernie; I lay awake night after night,’ protested Lady Palliser, not seeing the grammatical side of the question. ‘Oh, Vernie!’ as the folio plates gave an alarming crackle, ‘you are tearing that beautiful big book which cost your grandfather so much money.’
‘It’s a nasty book,’ said Vernon, ‘all houses and posts and things. Show me some nice books, Ida; please, do.’
Ida was sitting on the carpet beside him in the next minute and together they went through a bulky quarto Shakespeare with awe-inspiring illustrations by Fuseli. She told him what the pictures meant, and this naturally compelled her to tell the stories of the plays, and in this manner she kept him amused till it was time to dress for dinner, and almost bedtime for the little man. The happiest hours of her life were those in which she devoted100 herself mentally and bodily to her young brother. If he had loved her in adversity a year ago, he loved her still better in prosperity, when she was able to do so much more for his comfort and amusement. He was rarely out of her sight, the companion of all her rides and rambles101, the exacting charge of her life. Brian Walford was not slow to perceive that the boy took precedence of him in all his wife’s thoughts, that the boy’s society was more agreeable to her than that of her husband, and his health and happiness of more importance. As a wife she was amiable102, submissive, dutiful; but it needed no hypersensitiveness on the husband’s part to warn him that she gave him duty without love, submission103 without reverence104 or esteem105 The consciousness of his wife’s indifference106 made Mr. Wendover less agreeable than he had been during that brief courtship among the willows107 and rushes by the river. He was inclined to be captious108, and did not conceal109 his jealousy110 of the boy from Ida, although he set a watch upon his tongue in the presence of Vernon’s father and mother.
After all it was a rather pleasant thing to have free quarters at Wimperfield, to have hunters to ride, and covers to shoot over which were almost as much his own as if they had belonged to him. Sir Reginald Palliser had a large way of conferring benefits, which was instinctive in a man of his open and careless temper. Having given Brian Wendover what he called the run of his teeth at Wimperfield, he had no idea of limiting the privileges of residence there. Even when the stud-groom grumbled111 at the laming112 of a fine horse by injudicious bucketting up hill and down hill in a lively run with the Petersfield Harriers Sir Reginald made light of the injury, and sent Pepperbox into the straw-yard to recover at his leisure. His own use of the stable was restricted to an occasional ride on an elderly brown cob, of aristocratic lineage and manners that would have been perfect but for the old-gentleman-like habit of dropping asleep over his work. The new baronet was too lazy to hunt, too liberal to put down the hunting stable established by his predecessor113. The horses were there — let Ida and Brian ride them. Of those good things which the blind goddess had flung into his lap nothing was too good for his daughter or his daughter’s husband in Sir Reginald’s opinion.
Happily for the domestic peace, Lady Palliser was able to get on harmoniously114 with her stepdaughter’s husband, and was not disposed to grudge115 him the luxuries of Wimperfield.
Brian Walford had been quick to take that good-hearted little woman’s intellectual measure. He flattered her small vanities, and made her so pleased with herself that she was naturally pleased with him. His shallow and frivolous116 nature made him livelier company than a man of profounder thought and deeper feeling. He sang light and lively music from the comic operas of the day, nay, would even stoop to some popular strain from the music-halls. He was clever at all round games and drawing-room amusements. He enlivened conversation with puns, which ranged from the utterly117 execrable to the tolerably smart. He quoted all the plays and burlesques118 that had been acted in London during the last five years; he could imitate all the famous actors; and he was a past master of modern slang. There was not much society within an easy drive of Wimperfield, but the few jog-trot county people who dined, or lunched, or afternoon-tea’d with the Pallisers were enlivened by Mr. Wendover’s social gifts, and talked of him afterwards as a talented young man.
So far Mr. Wendover had taken the goods the gods provided with a placid119 acceptance, and had shown no avidity for independence. He was silent as to his professional prospects120, although Sir Reginald had told him in the beginning of things that if he wanted to make his way at the Bar any money required for the smoothing of his path should be provided.
‘You are too good,’ Brian answered lightly; ‘but it isn’t a question of money — it’s a question of time. The Bar is a horribly slow profession. A man has to eat his heart out waiting for briefs.’
‘Yes, I have always heard as much,’ said Sir Reginald; ‘but will it do as well for you to eat your heart out down here as in the Temple? Will the briefs follow you to Wimperfield when the propitious121 time comes?’
‘I believe they are about as likely to find me here as anywhere else,’ answered Brian, moodily122 — he was apt to turn somewhat sullen123 at any suggestion of hard work —‘and in the meanwhile I am not wasting my time. I can go on writing for the magazines.’
That writing for the magazines was an unknown quantity. The young man occasionally shut himself in a little upstairs study on a wet day, smoked excessively, and was supposed to be writing laboriously124, his intellect being fed and sustained by tobacco. Sometimes the result of the day was a fat package of manuscript despatched to the post-office; sometimes there was no result except a few torn sheets of foolscap in the waste-paper basket Sometimes the manuscript came back to the writer after a considerable interval125; and at other times Mr. Wendover informed his wife vaguely126 that ‘those fellows’ had accepted his contribution. Whatever honorarium127 he received for his work was expended128 upon his menus plaisirs— or may be said rather to have dribbled129 from his waistcoat pocket in a series of trivial ex-travagances which won him a reputation for generosity130 among grooms131 and such small deer. To his wife he gave nothing: she was amply provided with money by her father, who would have lavished132 his newly-acquired wealth upon her if she had been disposed to spend it; but she was not. Her desires were no more extravagant133 now than when she was receiving ten pounds a quarter from Miss Wendover. Sooth to say, the temptations to extravagance at Wimperfield were not manifold. Ida’s only need for money was that she might give it to the poor, and that, according to Jeremy Taylor, is to send one’s cash straight to heaven.
The few old-established inhabitants of the neighbourhood, mostly sons of the soil, who attended the village church, were very plain in their raiment, knowing that they occupied a position in the general regard which no finery of velvets or satins could modify. Did not everybody about Wimperfield know everybody else’s income, how much or how little the various estates were encumbered134, the poverty or richness of the soil, and the rent of every farm upon it? It was only when Lady Pontifex of Heron Court came down from town, bringing gowns and cloaks and bonnets135 from Regent Street or the Rue71 de la Paix, that a transitory flash of splendour lighted up the shadowy old nave136 with the glow of newly-invented hues137 and the sheen of newly-woven fabrics138. But the natives only gazed and admired. There was nobody adventurous139 enough to imitate the audacities140 of a lady of fashion. Miss Emery, of Petersfield, was quite good enough for the landed gentry141 of this quiet region. She had the fashions direct from Paris in the gaily-coloured engravings of Le Follet, and what could anyone want more fashionable than Paris fashions? True that Miss Emery’s conscientious142 cutting and excellent workmanship imparted a certain heaviness to Parisian designs; but who would care to have a gown blown together, as it were, by girls who were not allowed to sit down at their work?
The life at Wimperfield was a pleasant life, albeit143 exceedingly quiet. There were times when Brian Walford felt the dulness of this rustic144 existence somewhat oppressive; but if life indoors was monotonous145 and uneventful, he had a good deal of amusement out of doors — hunting, shooting, football, and an occasional steeple-chase within a day’s drive. And a grand point was that nobody asked him to work hard. He could make a great show of industry with books and foolscap, and nobody pryed too closely into the result.
收听单词发音 |
1
tawny
|
|
| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
amber
|
|
| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
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： |
|
|
|
|
4
harmonious
|
|
| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
hawthorns
|
|
| n.山楂树( hawthorn的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
crimson
|
|
| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
ponderous
|
|
| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
domain
|
|
| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
beeches
|
|
| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
trumpery
|
|
| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
tenement
|
|
| n.公寓；房屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
tranquilly
|
|
| adv. 宁静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
migration
|
|
| n.迁移，移居，（鸟类等的）迁徙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
palatial
|
|
| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
kinsmen
|
|
| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
squander
|
|
| v.浪费，挥霍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
whim
|
|
| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
contrive
|
|
| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
incompetent
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
grandeur
|
|
| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
housekeeper
|
|
| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
snug
|
|
| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
brass
|
|
| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
scenic
|
|
| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
sham
|
|
| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
dictatorial
|
|
| adj. 独裁的，专断的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
paragon
|
|
| n.模范，典型 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
retirement
|
|
| n.退休，退职 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
impecunious
|
|
| adj.不名一文的，贫穷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
smoothly
|
|
| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
wreck
|
|
| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
pittance
|
|
| n.微薄的薪水，少量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
eked
|
|
| v.（靠节省用量）使…的供应持久( eke的过去式和过去分词 )；节约使用；竭力维持生计；勉强度日 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
desultory
|
|
| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
withered
|
|
| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
plausible
|
|
| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
clandestine
|
|
| adj.秘密的，暗中从事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
slurring
|
|
| 含糊地说出( slur的现在分词 )； 含糊地发…的声； 侮辱； 连唱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
soften
|
|
| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
outraged
|
|
| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
impulsive
|
|
| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
inflexible
|
|
| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
capability
|
|
| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
undone
|
|
| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
detested
|
|
| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
strata
|
|
| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
luncheon
|
|
| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
bilious
|
|
| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
raisins
|
|
| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
feudal
|
|
| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
villain
|
|
| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
elevation
|
|
| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
rue
|
|
| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
interrogated
|
|
| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
drudge
|
|
| n.劳碌的人；v.做苦工，操劳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
crumbs
|
|
| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
instinctive
|
|
| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
rapacious
|
|
| adj.贪婪的，强夺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
exacting
|
|
| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
impute
|
|
| v.归咎于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
stony
|
|
| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
loquacious
|
|
| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
citadel
|
|
| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
prattle
|
|
| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
trotted
|
|
| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
respite
|
|
| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
humiliation
|
|
| n.羞辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
degradation
|
|
| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
goodwill
|
|
| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
bliss
|
|
| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
abode
|
|
| n.住处，住所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
rummaging
|
|
| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
foraging
|
|
| v.搜寻（食物），尤指动物觅（食）( forage的现在分词 )；（尤指用手）搜寻（东西） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
lofts
|
|
| 阁楼( loft的名词复数 )； （由工厂等改建的）套房； 上层楼面； 房间的越层 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
ingenuity
|
|
| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
horrid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
champagne
|
|
| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
oracle
|
|
| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
rambles
|
|
| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
submission
|
|
| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
reverence
|
|
| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
willows
|
|
| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
captious
|
|
| adj.难讨好的，吹毛求疵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
grumbled
|
|
| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
laming
|
|
| 瘸的( lame的现在分词 )； 站不住脚的； 差劲的； 蹩脚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
predecessor
|
|
| n.前辈，前任 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
harmoniously
|
|
| 和谐地，调和地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
grudge
|
|
| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
frivolous
|
|
| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
burlesques
|
|
| n.滑稽模仿( burlesque的名词复数 )；（包括脱衣舞的）滑稽歌舞杂剧v.（嘲弄地）模仿，（通过模仿）取笑( burlesque的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
119
placid
|
|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
propitious
|
|
| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
moodily
|
|
| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
laboriously
|
|
| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
honorarium
|
|
| n.酬金，谢礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
expended
|
|
| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
dribbled
|
|
| v.流口水( dribble的过去式和过去分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
generosity
|
|
| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
grooms
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
lavished
|
|
| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
extravagant
|
|
| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
encumbered
|
|
| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
bonnets
|
|
| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
nave
|
|
| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
hues
|
|
| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
fabrics
|
|
| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
adventurous
|
|
| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
audacities
|
|
| n.大胆( audacity的名词复数 )；鲁莽；胆大妄为；鲁莽行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
141
gentry
|
|
| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
conscientious
|
|
| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
albeit
|
|
| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
rustic
|
|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |