Work: A Story of Experience - Chapter 4
时间：2021-01-24 02:24:14
（单词翻译:单击）
MR. PHILIP FLETCHER.
DURING the next few weeks Christie learned the worth of many things which she had valued very lightly until then. Health became a boon1 too precious to be trifled with; life assumed a deeper significance when death's shadow fell upon its light, and she discovered that dependence2 might be made endurable by the sympathy of unsuspected friends.
Lucy waited upon her with a remorseful3 devotion which touched her very much and won entire forgiveness for the past, long before it was repentantly implored5. All her comrades came with offers of help and affectionate regrets. Several whom she had most disliked now earned her gratitude6 by the kindly7 thoughtfulness which filled her sick-room with fruit and flowers, supplied carriages for the convalescent, and paid her doctor's bill without her knowledge.
Thus Christie learned, like many another needy8 member of the gay profession, that though often extravagant9 and jovial10 in their way of life, these men and women give as freely as they spend, wear warm, true hearts under their motley, and make misfortune only another link in the bond of good-fellowship which binds11 them loyally together.
Slowly Christie gathered her energies after weeks of suffering, and took up her life again, grateful for the gift, and anxious to be more worthy13 of it. Looking back upon the past she felt that she had made a mistake and lost more than she had gained in those three years. Others might lead that life of alternate excitement and hard work unharmed, but she could not. The very ardor14 and insight which gave power to the actress made that mimic15 life unsatisfactory to the woman, for hers was an earnest nature that took fast hold of whatever task she gave herself to do, and lived in it heartily16 while duty made it right, or novelty lent it charms. But when she saw the error of a step, the emptiness of a belief, with a like earnestness she tried to retrieve17 the one and to replace the other with a better substitute.
In the silence of wakeful nights and the solitude18 of quiet days, she took counsel with her better self, condemned19 the reckless spirit which had possessed20 her, and came at last to the decision which conscience prompted and much thought confirmed.
"The stage is not the place for me," she said. "I have no genius to glorify21 the drudgery22, keep me from temptation, and repay me for any sacrifice I make. Other women can lead this life safely and happily: I cannot, and I must not go back to it, because, with all my past experience, and in spite of all my present good resolutions, I should do no better, and I might do worse. I'm not wise enough to keep steady there; I must return to the old ways, dull but safe, and plod23 along till I find my real place and work."
Great was the surprise of Lucy and her mother when Christie told her resolution, adding, in a whisper, to the girl, "I leave the field clear for you, dear, and will dance at your wedding with all my heart when St. George asks you to play the 'Honeymoon25' with him, as I'm sure he will before long."
Many entreaties26 from friends, as well as secret longings28, tried and tempted29 Christie sorely, but she withstood them all, carried her point, and renounced30 the profession she could not follow without self-injury and self-reproach. The season was nearly over when she was well enough to take her place again, but she refused to return, relinquished31 her salary, sold her wardrobe, and never crossed the threshold of the theatre after she had said good-bye.
Then she asked, "What next?" and was speedily answered. An advertisement for a governess met her eye, which seemed to combine the two things she most needed just then, - employment and change of air.
"Mind you don't mention that you've been an actress or it will be all up with you, me dear," said Mrs. Black, as Christie prepared to investigate the matter, for since her last effort in that line she had increased her knowledge of music, and learned French enough to venture teaching it to very young pupils.
"I'd rather tell in the beginning, for if you keep any thing back it's sure to pop out when you least expect or want it. I don't believe these people will care as long as I'm respectable and teach well," returned Christie, wishing she looked stronger and rosier34.
"You'll be sorry if you do tell," warned Mrs. Black, who knew the ways of the world.
"I shall be sorry if I don't," laughed Christie, and so she was, in the end.
"L. N. Saltonstall" was the name on the door, and L. N. Saltonstall's servant was so leisurely35 about answering Christie's meek36 solo on the bell, that she had time to pull out her bonnet37-strings half-a-dozen times before a very black man in a very white jacket condescended38 to conduct her to his mistress.
A frail39, tea-colored lady appeared, displaying such a small proportion of woman to such a large proportion of purple and fine linen40, that she looked as if she was literally41 as well as figuratively "dressed to death."
Christie went to the point in a business-like manner that seemed to suit Mrs. Saltonstall, because it saved so much trouble, and she replied, with a languid affability:
"I wish some one to teach the children a little, for they are getting too old to be left entirely42 to nurse. I am anxious to get to the sea-shore as soon as possible, for they have been poorly all winter, and my own health has suffered. Do you feel inclined to try the place? And what compensation do you require?"
Christie had but a vague idea of what wages were usually paid to nursery governesses, and hesitatingly named a sum which seemed reasonable to her, but was so much less than any other applicant43 had asked, that Mrs. Saltonstall began to think she could not do better than secure this cheap young person, who looked firm enough to manage her rebellious44 son and heir, and well-bred enough to begin the education of a little fine lady. Her winter had been an extravagant one, and she could economize45 in the governess better perhaps than elsewhere; so she decided46 to try Christie, and get out of town at once.
"Your terms are quite satisfactory, Miss Devon, and if my brother approves, I think we will consider the matter settled. Perhaps you would like to see the children? They are little darlings, and you will soon be fond of them, I am sure."
A bell was rung, an order given, and presently appeared an eight-year old boy, so excessively Scotch47 in his costume that he looked like an animated48 checkerboard; and a little girl, who presented the appearance of a miniature opera-dancer staggering under the weight of an immense sash.
"Go and speak prettily49 to Miss Devon, my pets, for she is coming to play with you, and you must mind what she says," commanded mamma.
The pale, fretful-looking little pair went solemnly to Christie's knee, and stood there staring at her with a dull composure that quite daunted50 her, it was so sadly unchildlike.
"What is your name, dear?" she asked, laying her hand on the young lady's head.
"Villamena Temmatina Taltentall. You mustn't touch my hair; it's just turled," was the somewhat embarrassing reply.
"Mine's Louy 'Poleon Thaltensthall, like papa's," volunteered the other young person, and Christie privately51 wondered if the possession of names nearly as long as themselves was not a burden to the poor dears.
Feeling that she must say something, she asked, in her most persuasive52 tone:
"Would you like to have me come and teach you some nice lessons out of your little books?"
If she had proposed corporal punishment on the spot it could not have caused greater dismay. Wilhelmina cast herself upon the floor passionately53, declaring that she "touldn't tuddy," and Saltonstall, Jr., retreated precipitately54 to the door, and from that refuge defied the whole race of governesses and "nasty lessons" jointly55.
"There, run away to Justine. They are sadly out of sorts, and quite pining for sea-air," said mamma, with both hands at her ears, for the war-cries of her darlings were piercing as they departed, proclaiming their wrongs while swarming56 up stairs, with a skirmish on each landing.
With a few more words Christie took leave, and scandalized the sable57 retainer by smiling all through the hall, and laughing audibly as the door closed. The contrast of the plaid boy and beruffled girl's irritability58 with their mother's languid affectation, and her own unfortunate efforts, was too much for her. In the middle of her merriment she paused suddenly, saying to herself:
"I never told about my acting59. I must go back and have it settled." She retraced60 a few steps, then turned and went on again, thinking, "No; for once I'll be guided by other people's advice, and let well alone."
A note arrived soon after, bidding Miss Devon consider herself engaged, and desiring her to join the family at the boat on Monday next.
At the appointed time Christie was on board, and looked about for her party. Mrs. Saltonstall appeared in the distance with her family about her, and Christie took a survey before reporting herself. Madame looked more like a fashion-plate than ever, in a mass of green flounces, and an impressive bonnet flushed with poppies and bristling62 with wheat-ears. Beside her sat a gentleman, rapt in a newspaper, of course, for to an American man life is a burden till the daily news have been absorbed. Mrs. Saltonstall's brother was the possessor of a handsome eye without softness, thin lips without benevolence63, but plenty of will; a face and figure which some thirty-five years of ease and pleasure had done their best to polish and spoil, and a costume without flaw, from his aristocratic boots to the summer hat on his head.
The little boy more checkered64 and the little girl more operatic than before, sat on stools eating bonbons65, while a French maid and the African footman hovered66 in the background.
MRS. SALTONSTALL AND FAMILY.
Feeling very much like a meek gray moth24 among a flock of butterflies, Christie modestly presented herself.
"Good morning," said Madame with a nod, which, slight as it was, caused a great commotion67 among the poppies and the wheat; "I began to be anxious about you. Miss Devon, my brother, Mr. Fletcher."
The gentleman bowed, and as Christie sat down he got up, saying, as he sauntered away with a bored expression:
"Will you have the paper, Charlotte? There's nothing in it."
As Mrs. Saltonstall seemed going to sleep and she felt delicate about addressing the irritable69 infants in public, Christie amused herself by watching Mr. Fletcher as he roamed listlessly about, and deciding, in her usual rash way, that she did not like him because he looked both lazy and cross, and ennui70 was evidently his bosom71 friend. Soon, however, she forgot every thing but the shimmer72 of the sunshine on the sea, the fresh wind that brought color to her pale cheeks, and the happy thoughts that left a smile upon her lips. Then Mr. Fletcher put up his glass and stared at her, shook his head, and said, as he lit a cigar:
But Christie needed no pity, and thought herself a fortunate young woman when fairly established in her corner of the luxurious75 apartments occupied by the family. Her duties seemed light compared to those she had left, her dreams were almost as bright as of old, and the new life looked pleasant to her, for she was one of those who could find little bits of happiness for herself and enjoy them heartily in spite of loneliness or neglect.
One of her amusements was studying her companions, and for a time this occupied her, for Christie possessed penetration76 and a feminine fancy for finding out people.
Mrs. Saltonstall's mission appeared to be the illustration of each new fashion as it came, and she performed it with a devotion worthy of a better cause. If a color reigned77 supreme78 she flushed herself with scarlet79 or faded into primrose80, made herself pretty in the bluest of blue gowns, or turned livid under a gooseberry colored bonnet. Her hat-brims went up or down, were preposterously81 wide or dwindled82 to an inch, as the mode demanded. Her skirts were rampant83 with sixteen frills, or picturesque84 with landscapes down each side, and a Greek border or a plain hem12. Her waists were as pointed61 as those of Queen Bess or as short as Diana's; and it was the opinion of those who knew her that if the autocrat85 who ruled her life decreed the wearing of black cats as well as of vegetables, bugs86, and birds, the blackest, glossiest87 Puss procurable88 for money would have adorned89 her head in some way.
Her time was spent in dressing68, driving, dining and dancing; in skimming novels, and embroidering90 muslin; going to church with a velvet91 prayer-book and a new bonnet; and writing to her husband when she wanted money, for she had a husband somewhere abroad, who so happily combined business with pleasure that he never found time to come home. Her children were inconvenient92 blessings93, but she loved them with the love of a shallow heart, and took such good care of their little bodies that there was none left for their little souls. A few days' trial satisfied her as to Christie's capabilities94, and, relieved of that anxiety, she gave herself up to her social duties, leaving the ocean and the governess to make the summer wholesome95 and agreeable to "the darlings."
Mr. Fletcher, having tried all sorts of pleasure and found that, like his newspaper, there was "nothing in it," was now paying the penalty for that unsatisfactory knowledge. Ill health soured his temper and made his life a burden to him. Having few resources within himself to fall back upon, he was very dependent upon other people, and other people were so busy amusing themselves, they seemed to find little time or inclination96 to amuse a man who had never troubled himself about them. He was rich, but while his money could hire a servant to supply each want, gratify each caprice, it could not buy a tender, faithful friend to serve for love, and ask no wages but his comfort.
He knew this, and felt the vain regret that inevitably97 comes to those who waste life and learn the value of good gifts by their loss. But he was not wise or brave enough to bear his punishment manfully, and lay the lesson honestly to heart. Fretful and imperious when in pain, listless and selfish when at ease, his one aim in life now was to kill time, and any thing that aided him in this was most gratefully welcomed.
For a long while he took no more notice of Christie than if she had been a shadow, seldom speaking beyond the necessary salutations, and merely carrying his finger to his hat-brim when he passed her on the beach with the children. Her first dislike was softened100 by pity when she found he was an invalid101, but she troubled herself very little about him, and made no romances with him, for all her dreams were of younger, nobler lovers.
Busied with her own affairs, the days though monotonous102 were not unhappy. She prospered103 in her work and the children soon believed in her as devoutly104 as young Turks in their Prophet. She devised amusements for herself as well as for them; walked, bathed, drove, and romped105 with the little people till her own eyes shone like theirs, her cheek grew rosy106, and her thin figure rounded with the promise of vigorous health again.
Christie was at her best that summer, physically107 speaking, for sickness had refined her face, giving it that indescribable expression which pain often leaves upon a countenance108 as if in compensation for the bloom it takes away. The frank eyes had a softer shadow in their depths, the firm lips smiled less often, but when it came the smile was the sweeter for the gravity that went before, and in her voice there was a new undertone of that subtle music, called sympathy, which steals into the heart and nestles there.
She was unconscious of this gracious change, but others saw and felt it, and to some a face bright with health, intelligence, and modesty109 was more attractive than mere98 beauty. Thanks to this and her quiet, cordial manners, she found friends here and there to add charms to that summer by the sea.
The dashing young men took no more notice of her than if she had been a little gray peep on the sands; not so much, for they shot peeps now and then, but a governess was not worth bringing down. The fashionable belles111 and beauties were not even aware of her existence, being too entirely absorbed in their yearly husband-hunt to think of any one but themselves and their prey112. The dowagers had more interesting topics to discuss, and found nothing in Christie's humble113 fortunes worthy of a thought, for they liked their gossip strong and highly flavored, like their tea.
But a kind-hearted girl or two found her out, several lively old maids, as full of the romance of the past as ancient novels, a bashful boy, three or four invalids114, and all the children, for Christie had a motherly heart and could find charms in the plainest, crossest baby that ever squalled.
Of her old friends she saw nothing, as her theatrical115 ones were off on their vacations, Hepsey had left her place for one in another city, and Aunt Betsey seldom wrote.
But one day a letter came, telling her that the dear old lady would never write again, and Christie felt as if her nearest and dearest friend was lost. She had gone away to a quiet spot among the rocks to get over her first grief alone, but found it very hard to check her tears, as memory brought back the past, tenderly recalling every kind act, every loving word, and familiar scene. She seldom wept, but when any thing did unseal the fountains that lay so deep, she cried with all her heart, and felt the better for it.
With the letter crumpled116 in her hand, her head on her knees, and her hat at her feet, she was sobbing117 like a child, when steps startled her, and, looking up, she saw Mr. Fletcher regarding her with an astonished countenance from under his big sun umbrella.
Something in the flushed, wet face, with its tremulous lips and great tears rolling down, seemed to touch even lazy Mr. Fletcher, for he furled his umbrella with unusual rapidity, and came up, saying, anxiously:
"My dear Miss Devon, what's the matter? Are you hurt? Has Mrs. S. been scolding? Or have the children been too much for you?"
"No; oh, no! it's bad news from home," and Christie's head went down again, for a kind word was more than she could bear just then.
"Some one ill, I fancy? I'm sorry to hear it, but you must hope for the best, you know," replied Mr. Fletcher, really quite exerting himself to remember and present this well-worn consolation119.
"There is no hope; Aunt Betsey's dead!"
"Dear me! that's very sad."
Mr. Fletcher tried not to smile as Christie sobbed120 out the old-fashioned name, but a minute afterward121 there were actually tears in his eyes, for, as if won by his sympathy, she poured out the homely122 little story of Aunt Betsey's life and love, unconsciously pronouncing the kind old lady's best epitaph in the unaffected grief that made her broken words so eloquent123.
For a minute Mr. Fletcher forgot himself, and felt as he remembered feeling long ago, when, a warm-hearted boy, he had comforted his little sister for a lost kitten or a broken doll. It was a new sensation, therefore interesting and agreeable while it lasted, and when it vanished, which it speedily did, he sighed, then shrugged124 his shoulders and wished "the girl would stop crying like a water-spout."
"It's hard, but we all have to bear it, you know; and sometimes I fancy if half the pity we give the dead, who don't need it, was given to the living, who do, they'd bear their troubles more comfortably. I know I should," added Mr. Fletcher, returning to his own afflictions, and vaguely125 wondering if any one would cry like that when he departed this life.
Christie minded little what he said, for his voice was pitiful and it comforted her. She dried her tears, put back her hair, and thanked him with a grateful smile, which gave him another pleasant sensation; for, though young ladies showered smiles upon him with midsummer radiance, they seemed cool and pale beside the sweet sincerity126 of this one given by a girl whose eyes were red with tender tears.
"That's right, cheer up, take a little run on the beach, and forget all about it," he said, with a heartiness127 that surprised himself as much as it did Christie.
"I will, thank you. Please don't speak of this; I'm used to bearing my troubles alone, and time will help me to do it cheerfully."
"That's brave! If I can do any thing, let me know; I shall be most happy." And Mr. Fletcher evidently meant what he said.
Christie gave him another grateful "Thank you," then picked up her hat and went away along the sands to try his prescription128; while Mr. Fletcher walked the other way, so rapt in thought that he forgot to put up his umbrella till the end of his aristocratic nose was burnt a deep red.
That was the beginning of it; for when Mr. Fletcher found a new amusement, he usually pursued it regardless of consequences. Christie took his pity for what it was worth, and thought no more of that little interview, for her heart was very heavy. But he remembered it, and, when they met on the beach next day, wondered how the governess would behave. She was reading as she walked, and, with a mute acknowledgment of his nod, tranquilly129 turned a page and read on without a pause, a smile, or change of color.
Mr. Fletcher laughed as he strolled away; but Christie was all the more amusing for her want of coquetry, and soon after he tried her again. The great hotel was all astir one evening with bustle130, light, and music; for the young people had a hop118, as an appropriate entertainment for a melting July night. With no taste for such folly131, even if health had not forbidden it, Mr. Fletcher lounged about the piazzas133, tantalizing134 the fair fowlers who spread their nets for him, and goading135 sundry136 desperate spinsters to despair by his erratic137 movements. Coming to a quiet nook, where a long window gave a fine view of the brilliant scene, he found Christie leaning in, with a bright, wistful face, while her hand kept time to the enchanting138 music of a waltz.
"Wisely watching the lunatics, instead of joining in their antics," he said, sitting down with a sigh.
Christie looked around and answered, with the wistful look still in her eyes:
"I daresay I can find you one, if you care to try it. I don't indulge myself." And Mr. Fletcher's eye went from the rose in Christie's brown hair to the silvery folds of her best gown, put on merely for the pleasure of wearing it because every one else was in festival array.
She shook her head. "No, thank you. Governesses are very kindly treated in America; but ball-rooms like that are not for them. I enjoy looking on, fortunately; so I have my share of fun after all."
"I shan't get any complaints out of her. Plucky141 little soul! I rather like that," said Mr. Fletcher to himself; and, finding his seat comfortable, the corner cool, and his companion pleasant to look at, with the moonlight doing its best for her, he went on talking for his own satisfaction.
Christie would rather have been left in peace; but fancying that he did it out of kindness to her, and that she had done him injustice142 before, she was grateful now, and exerted herself to seem so; in which endeavor she succeeded so well that Mr. Fletcher proved he could be a very agreeable companion when he chose. He talked well; and Christie was a good listener. Soon interest conquered her reserve, and she ventured to ask a question, make a criticism, or express an opinion in her own simple way. Unconsciously she piqued143 the curiosity of the man; for, though he knew many lovely, wise, and witty144 women, he had never chanced to meet with one like this before; and novelty was the desire of his life. Of course he did not find moonlight, music, and agreeable chat as delightful145 as she did; but there was something animating146 in the fresh face opposite, something flattering in the eager interest she showed, and something most attractive in the glimpses unconsciously given him of a nature genuine in its womanly sincerity and strength. Something about this girl seemed to appeal to the old self, so long neglected that he thought it dead. He could not analyze147 the feeling, but was conscious of a desire to seem better than he was as he looked into those honest eyes; to talk well, that he might bring that frank smile to the lips that grew either sad or scornful when he tried worldly gossip or bitter satire148; and to prove himself a man under all the elegance149 and polish of the gentleman.
He was discovering then, what Christie learned when her turn came, that fine natures seldom fail to draw out the finer traits of those who approach them, as the little witch-hazel wand, even in the hand of a child, detects and points to hidden springs in unsuspected spots. Women often possess this gift, and when used worthily150 find it as powerful as beauty; for, if less alluring151, it is more lasting152 and more helpful, since it appeals, not to the senses, but the souls of men.
Christie was one of these; and in proportion as her own nature was sound and sweet so was its power as a touchstone for the genuineness of others. It was this unconscious gift that made her wonder at the unexpected kindness she found in Mr. Fletcher, and this which made him, for an hour or two at least, heartily wish he could live his life over again and do it better.
After that evening Mr. Fletcher spoke153 to Christie when he met her, turned and joined her sometimes as she walked with the children, and fell into the way of lounging near when she sat reading aloud to an invalid friend on piazza132 or sea-shore. Christie much preferred to have no auditor154 but kind Miss Tudor; but finding the old lady enjoyed his chat she resigned herself, and when he brought them new books as well as himself, she became quite cordial.
Everybody sauntered and lounged, so no one minded the little group that met day after day among the rocks. Christie read aloud, while the children revelled155 in sand, shells, and puddles156; Miss Tudor spun157 endless webs of gay silk and wool; and Mr. Fletcher, with his hat over his eyes, lay sunning himself like a luxurious lizard158, as he watched the face that grew daily fairer in his sight, and listened to the pleasant voice that went reading on till all his ills and ennui seemed lulled159 to sleep as by a spell.
A week or two of this new caprice set Christie to thinking. She knew that Uncle Philip was not fond of "the darlings;" it was evident that good Miss Tudor, with her mild twaddle and eternal knitting, was not the attraction, so she was forced to believe that he came for her sake alone. She laughed at herself for this fancy at first; but not possessing the sweet unconsciousness of those heroines who can live through three volumes with a burning passion before their eyes, and never see it till the proper moment comes, and Eugene goes down upon his knees, she soon felt sure that Mr. Pletcher found her society agreeable, and wished her to know it.
Being a mortal woman, her vanity was flattered, and she found herself showing that she liked it by those small signs and symbols which lovers' eyes are so quick to see and understand, - an artful bow on her hat, a flower in her belt, fresh muslin gowns, and the most becoming arrangement of her hair.
"Poor man, he has so few pleasures I'm sure I needn't grudge160 him such a small one as looking at and listening to me if he likes it," she said to herself one day, as she was preparing for her daily stroll with unusual care. "But how will it end? If he only wants a mild flirtation162 he is welcome to it; but if he really cares for me, I must make up my mind about it, and not deceive him. I don't believe he loves me: how can he? such an insignificant163 creature as I am."
Here she looked in the glass, and as she looked the color deepened in her cheek, her eyes shone, and a smile would sit upon her lips, for the reflection showed her a very winning face under the coquettish hat put on to captivate.
"Don't be foolish, Christie! Mind what you do, and be sure vanity doesn't delude164 you, for you are only a woman, and in tilings of this sort we are so blind and silly. I'll think of this possibility soberly, but I won't flirt161, and then which ever way I decide I shall have nothing to reproach myself with."
Armed with this virtuous165 resolution, Christie sternly replaced the pretty hat with her old brown one, fastened up a becoming curl, which of late she had worn behind her ear, and put on a pair of stout166, rusty167 boots, much fitter for rocks and sand than the smart slippers168 she was preparing to sacrifice. Then she trudged169 away to Miss Tudor, bent170 on being very quiet and reserved, as became a meek and lowly governess.
But, dear heart, how feeble are the resolutions of womankind! When she found herself sitting in her favorite nook, with the wide, blue sea glittering below, the fresh wind making her blood dance in her veins171, and all the earth and sky so full of summer life and loveliness, her heart would sing for joy, her face would shine with the mere bliss172 of living, and underneath173 all this natural content the new thought, half confessed, yet very sweet, would whisper, "Somebody cares for me."
If she had doubted it, the expression of Mr. Fletcher's face that morning would have dispelled174 the doubt, for, as she read, he was saying to himself: "Yes, this healthful, cheery, helpful creature is what I want to make life pleasant. Every thing else is used up; why not try this, and make the most of my last chance? She does me good, and I don't seem to get tired of her. I can't have a long life, they tell me, nor an easy one, with the devil to pay with my vitals generally; so it would be a wise thing to provide myself with a good-tempered, faithful soul to take care of me. My fortune would pay for loss of time, and my death leave her a bonny widow. I won't be rash, but I think I'll try it,"
With this mixture of tender, selfish, and regretful thoughts in his mind, it is no wonder Mr. Fletchcr's eyes betrayed him, as he lay looking at Christie. Never had she read so badly, for she could not keep her mind on her book. It would wander to that new and troublesome fancy of hers; she could not help thinking that Mr. Fletcher must have been a handsome man before he was so ill; wondering if his temper was very bad, and fancying that he might prove both generous and kind and true to one who loved and served him well. At this point she was suddenly checked by a slip of the tongue that covered her with confusion.
She was reading "John Halifax," and instead of saying "Phineas Fletcher" she said Philip, and then colored to her forehead, and lost her place. Miss Tudor did not mind it, but Mr. Fletcher laughed, and Christie thanked Heaven that her face was half hidden by the old brown hat.
Nothing was said, but she was much relieved to find that Mr. Fletcher had joined a yachting party next day and he would be away for a week. During that week Christie thought over the matter, and fancied she had made up her mind. She recalled certain speeches she had heard, and which had more weight with her than she suspected. One dowager had said to another: "P. F. intends to marry, I assure you, for his sister told me so, with tears in her eyes. Men who have been gay in their youth make very good husbands when their wild oats are sowed. Clara could not do better, and I should be quite content to give her to him."
"Well, dear, I should be sorry to see my Augusta his wife, for whoever he marries will be a perfect slave to him. His fortune would be a nice thing if he did not live long; but even for that my Augusta shall not be sacrificed," returned the other matron whose Augusta had vainly tried to captivate "P. F.," and revenged herself by calling him "a wreck175, my dear, a perfect wreck."
At another time Christie heard some girls discussing the eligibility176 of several gentlemen, and Mr. Fletcher was considered the best match among; them.
"You can do any thing you like with a husband a good deal older than yourself. He's happy with his business, his club, and his dinner, and leaves you to do what you please; just keep him comfortable and he'll pay your bills without much fuss," said one young thing who had seen life at twenty.
"I'd take him if I had the chance, just because everybody wants him. Don't admire him a particle, but it will make a jolly stir whenever he does marry, and I wouldn't mind having a hand in it," said the second budding belle110.
"I'd take him for the diamonds alone. Mamma says they are splendid, and have been in the family for ages. He won't let Mrs. S. wear them, for they always go to the eldest177 son's wife. Hope he'll choose a handsome woman who will show them off well," said a third sweet girl, glancing at her own fine neck.
"He won't; he'll take some poky old maid who will cuddle him when he is sick, and keep out of his way when he is well. See if he don't."
"I saw him dawdling178 round with old Tudor, perhaps he means to take her: she's a capital nurse, got ill herself taking care of her father, you know."
"Perhaps he's after the governess; she's rather nice looking, though she hasn't a bit of style."
"Gracious, no! she's a dowdy179 thing, always trailing round with a book and those horrid180 children. No danger of his marrying her." And a derisive181 laugh seemed to settle that question beyond a doubt.
"Oh, indeed!" said Christie, as the girls went trooping out of the bath-house, where this pleasing chatter182 had been carried on regardless of listeners. She called them "mercenary, worldly, unwomanly flirts," and felt herself much their superior. Yet the memory of their gossip haunted her, and had its influence upon her decision, though she thought she came to it through her own good judgment183 and discretion184.
"If he really cares for me I will listen, and not refuse till I know him well enough to decide. I'm tired of being alone, and should enjoy ease and pleasure so much. He's going abroad for the winter, and that would be charming. I'll try not to be worldly-minded and marry without love, but it does look tempting185 to a poor soul like me."
So Christie made up her mind to accept, if this promotion186 was offered her; and while she waited, went through so many alternations of feeling, and was so harassed187 by doubts and fears that she sometimes found herself wishing it had never occurred to her.
Mr. Pletcher, meantime, with the help of many meditative188 cigars, was making up his mind. Absence only proved to him how much he needed a better time-killer than billiards189, horses, or newspapers, for the long, listless days seemed endless without the cheerful governess to tone him up, like a new and agreeable sort of bitters. A gradually increasing desire to secure this satisfaction had taken possession of him, and the thought of always having a pleasant companion, with no nerves, nonsense, or affectation about her, was an inviting190 idea to a man tired of fashionable follies191 and tormented192 with the ennui of his own society.
The gossip, wonder, and chagrin193 such a step would cause rather pleased his fancy; the excitement of trying almost the only thing as yet untried allured194 him; and deeper than all the desire to forget the past in a better future led him to Christie by the nobler instincts that never wholly die in any soul. He wanted her as he had wanted many other things in his life, and had little doubt that he could have her for the asking. Even if love was not abounding195, surely his fortune, which hitherto had procured196 him all he wished (except health and happiness) could buy him a wife, when his friends made better bargains every day. So, having settled the question, he came home again, and every one said the trip had done him a world of good.
Christie sat in her favorite nook one bright September morning, with the inevitable197 children hunting hapless crabs198 in a pool near by. A book lay on her knee, but she was not reading; her eyes were looking far across the blue waste before her with an eager gaze, and her face was bright with some happy thought. The sound of approaching steps disturbed her reverie, and, recognizing them, she plunged199 into the heart of the story, reading as if utterly200 absorbed, till a shadow fell athwart the page, and the voice she had expected to hear asked blandly201:
"What book now, Miss Devon?"
"'Jane Eyre,' sir."
Mr. Fletcher sat down just where her hat-brim was no screen, pulled off his gloves, and leisurely composed himself for a comfortable lounge.
"What is your opinion of Rochester?" he asked, presently.
"Not a very high one."
"Then you think Jane was a fool to love and try to make a saint of him, I suppose?"
"I like Jane, but never can forgive her marrying that man, as I haven't much faith in the saints such sinners make."
"But don't you think a man who had only follies to regret might expect a good woman to lend him a hand and make him happy?"
"If he has wasted his life he must take the consequences, and be content with pity and indifference202, instead of respect and love. Many good women do 'lend a hand,' as you say, and it is quite Christian203 and amiable204, I 've no doubt; but I cannot think it a fair bargain."
Mr. Fletcher liked to make Christie talk, for in the interest of the subject she forgot herself, and her chief charm for him was her earnestness. But just then the earnestness did not seem to suit him, and he said, rather sharply:
"What hard-hearted creatures you women are sometimes! Now, I fancied you were one of those who wouldn't leave a poor fellow to his fate, if his salvation205 lay in your hands."
"I can't say what I should do in such a case; but it always seemed to me that a man should have energy enough to save himself, and not expect the 'weaker vessel,' as he calls her, to do it for him," answered Christie, with a conscious look, for Mr. Fletcher's face made her feel as if something was going to happen.
Evidently anxious to know what she would do in aforesaid case, Mr. Fletcher decided to put one before her as speedily as possible, so he said, in a pensive206 tone, and with a wistful glance:
"You looked very happy just now when I came up. I wish I could believe that my return had any thing to do with it."
Christie wished she could control her tell-tale color, but finding she could not, looked hard at the sea, and, ignoring his tender insinuation, said, with suspicious enthusiasm:
"I was thinking of what Mrs. Saltonstall said this morning. She asked me if I would like to go to Paris with her for the winter. It has always been one of my dreams to go abroad, and I do hope I shall not be disappointed."
Christie's blush seemed to be a truer answer than her words, and, leaning a little nearer, Mr. Fletcher said, in his most persuasive tone:
"Will you go to Paris as my governess, instead of Charlotte's?"
Christie thought her reply was all ready; but when the moment came, she found it was not, and sat silent, feeling as if that "Yes" would promise far more than she could give. Mr. Fletcher had no doubt what the answer would be, and was in no haste to get it, for that was one of the moments that are so pleasant and so short-lived they should be enjoyed to the uttermost. He liked to watch her color come and go, to see the asters on her bosom tremble with the quickened beating of her heart, and tasted, in anticipation207, the satisfaction of the moment when that pleasant voice of hers would falter208 out its grateful assent209. Drawing yet nearer, he went on, still in the persuasive tone that would have been more lover-like if it had been less assured.
"I think I am not mistaken in believing that you care for me a little. You must know how fond I am of you, how much I need you, and how glad I should be to give all I have if I might keep you always to make my hard life happy. May I, Christie?"
"You would soon tire of me. I have no beauty, no accomplishments210, no fortune, - nothing but my heart, and my hand to give the man I marry. Is that enough?" asked Christie, looking at him with eyes that betrayed the hunger of an empty heart longing27 to be fed with genuine food.
But Mr. Fletcher did not understand its meaning; he saw the humility211 in her face, thought she was overcome by the weight of the honor he did her, and tried to reassure212 her with the gracious air of one who wishes to lighten the favor he confers.
"It might not be for some men, but it is for me, because I want you very much. Let people say what they will, if you say yes I am satisfied. You shall not regret it, Christie; I'll do my best to make you happy; you shall travel wherever I can go with you, have what you like, if possible, and when we come back by and by, you shall take your place in the world as my wife. You will fill it well, I fancy, and I shall be a happy man. I've had my own way all my life, and I mean to have it now, so smile, and say, 'Yes, Philip,' like a sweet soul, as you are."
But Christie did not smile, and felt no inclination to say "Yes, Philip," for that last speech of his jarred on her ear. The tone of unconscious condescension213 in it wounded the woman's sensitive pride; self was too apparent, and the most generous words seemed to her like bribes214. This was not the lover she had dreamed of, the brave, true man who gave her all, and felt it could not half repay the treasure of her innocent, first love. This was not the happiness she had hoped for, the perfect faith, the glad surrender, the sweet content that made all things possible, and changed this work-a-day world into a heaven while the joy lasted.
She had decided to say "yes," but her heart said "no" decidedly, and with instinctive215 loyalty216 she obeyed it, even while she seemed to yield to the temptation which appeals to three of the strongest foibles in most women's nature, - vanity, ambition, and the love of pleasure.
"You are very kind, but you may repent4 it, you know so little of me," she began, trying to soften99 her refusal, but sadly hindered by a feeling of contempt.
"I know more about you than you think; but it makes no difference," interrupted Mr. Fletcher, with a smile that irritated Christie, even before she understood its significance. "I thought it would at first, but I found I couldn't get on without you, so I made up my mind to forgive and forget that my wife had ever been an actress."
Christie had forgotten it, and it would have been well for him if he had held his tongue. Now she understood the tone that had chilled her, the smile that angered her, and Mr. Fletcher's fate was settled in the drawing of a breath.
"Who told you that?" she asked, quickly, while every nerve tingled217 with the mortification218 of being found out then and there in the one secret of her life.
"I saw you dancing on the beach with the children one day, and it reminded me of an actress I had once seen. I should not have remembered it but for the accident which impressed it on my mind. Powder, paint, and costume made 'Miss Douglas' a very different woman from Miss Devon, but a few cautious inquiries219 settled the matter, and I then understood where you got that slight soupcon of dash and daring which makes our demure220 governess so charming when with me."
As he spoke, Mr. Fletcher smiled again, and kissed his hand to her with a dramatic little gesture that exasperated221 Christie beyond measure. She would not make light of it, as he did, and submit to be forgiven for a past she was not ashamed of. Heartily wishing she had been frank at first, she resolved to have it out now, and accept nothing Mr. Fletcher offered her, not even silence.
"Yes," she said, as steadily222 as she could, "I was an actress for three years, and though it was a hard life it was an honest one, and I'm not ashamed of it. I ought to have told Mrs. Saltonstall, but I was warned that if I did it would be difficult to find a place, people are so prejudiced. I sincerely regret it now, and shall tell her at once, so you may save yourself the trouble."
"My dear girl, I never dreamed of telling any one!" cried Mr. Fletcher in an injured tone. "I beg you won't speak, but trust me, and let it be a little secret between us two. I assure you it makes no difference to me, for I should marry an opera dancer if I chose, so forget it, as I do, and set my mind at rest upon the other point. I'm still waiting for my answer, you know."
"It is ready."
"A kind one, I'm sure. What is it, Christie?"
"No, I thank you."
"But you are not in earnest?"
Mr. Fletcher got up suddenly and set his back against the rock, saying in a tone of such unaffected surprise and disappointment that her heart reproached her:
"NO, I THANK YOU."
"Am I to understand that as your final answer, Miss Devon?"
"Distinctly and decidedly my final answer, Mr, Pletcher."
Christie tried to speak kindly, but she was angry with herself and him, and unconsciously showed it both in face and voice, for she was no actress off the stage, and wanted to be very true just then as a late atonement for that earlier want of candor224.
A quick change passed over Mr. Fletcher's face; his cold eyes kindled225 with an angry spark, his lips were pale with anger, and his voice was very bitter, as he slowly said:
"I've made many blunders in my life, and this is one of the greatest; for I believed in a woman, was fool enough to care for her with the sincerest love I ever knew, and fancied that she would be grateful for the sacrifice I made."
He got no further, for Christie rose straight up and answered him with all the indignation she felt burning in her face and stirring the voice she tried in vain to keep as steady as his own.
"The sacrifice would not have been all yours, for it is what we are, not what we have, that makes one human being superior to another. I am as well-born as you in spite of my poverty; my life, I think, has been a better one than yours; my heart, I know, is fresher, and my memory has fewer faults and follies to reproach me with. What can you give me but money and position in return for the youth and freedom I should sacrifice in marrying you? Not love, for you count the cost of your bargain, as no true lover could, and you reproach me for deceit when in your heart you know you only cared for me because I can amuse and serve you. I too deceived myself, I too see my mistake, and I decline the honor you would do me, since it is so great in your eyes that you must remind me of it as you offer it."
In the excitement of the moment Christie unconsciously spoke with something of her old dramatic fervor226 in voice and gesture; Mr. Fletcher saw it, and, while he never had admired her so much, could not resist avenging227 himself for the words that angered him, the more deeply for their truth. Wounded vanity and baffled will can make an ungenerous man as spiteful as a woman; and Mr. Fletcher proved it then, for he saw where Christie's pride was sorest, and touched the wound with the skill of a resentful nature.
As she paused, he softly clapped his hands, saying, with a smile that made her eyes flash:
"Very well done! infinitely228 superior to your 'Woffington,' Miss Devon. I am disappointed in the woman, but I make my compliment to the actress, and leave the stage free for another and a more successful Romeo." Still smiling, he bowed and went away apparently229 quite calm and much amused, but a more wrathful, disappointed man never crossed those sands than the one who kicked his dog and swore at himself for a fool that day when no one saw him.
For a minute Christie stood and watched him, then, feeling that she must either laugh or cry, wisely chose the former vent32 for her emotions, and sat down feeling inclined to look at the whole scene from a ludicrous point of view.
"My second love affair is a worse failure than my first, for I did pity poor Joe, but this man is detestable, and I never will forgive him that last insult. I dare say I was absurdly tragical230, I'm apt to be when very angry, but what a temper he has got! The white, cold kind, that smoulders and stabs, instead of blazing up and being over in a minute. Thank Heaven, I'm not his wife! Well, I've made an enemy and lost my place, for of course Mrs. Saltonstall won't keep me after this awful discovery. I'll tell her at once, for I will have no 'little secrets' with him. No Paris either, and that's the worst of it all! Never mind, I haven't sold my liberty for the Fletcher diamonds, and that's a comfort. Now a short scene with my lady and then exit governess."
But though she laughed, Christie felt troubled at the part she had played in this affair; repented231 of her worldly aspirations232; confessed her vanity; accepted her mortification and disappointment as a just punishment for her sins; and yet at the bottom of her heart she did enjoy it mightily233.
She tried to spare Mr. Fletcher in her interview with his sister, and only betrayed her own iniquities234. But, to her surprise, Mrs. Saltonstall, though much disturbed at the discovery, valued Christie as a governess, and respected her as a woman, so she was willing to bury the past, she said, and still hoped Miss Devon would remain.
Then Christie was forced to tell her why it was impossible for her to do so; and, in her secret soul, she took a naughty satisfaction in demurely235 mentioning that she had refused my lord.
Mrs. Saltonstall's consternation236 was comical, for she had been so absorbed in her own affairs she had suspected nothing; and horror fell upon her when she learned how near dear Philip had been to the fate from which she jealously guarded him, that his property might one day benefit the darlings.
In a moment every thing was changed; and it was evident to Christie that the sooner she left the better it would suit madame. The proprieties237 were preserved to the end, and Mrs. Saltonstall treated her with unusual respect, for she had come to honor, and also conducted herself in a most praiseworthy manner. How she could refuse a Fletcher visibly amazed the lady; but she forgave the slight, and gently insinuated238 that "my brother" was, perhaps, only amusing himself.
Christie was but too glad to be off; and when Mrs. Saltonstall asked when she would prefer to leave, promptly239 replied, "To-morrow," received her salary, which was forthcoming with unusual punctuality, and packed her trunks with delightful rapidity.
As the family was to leave in a week, her sudden departure caused no surprise to the few who knew her, and with kind farewells to such of her summer friends as still remained, she went to bed that night all ready for an early start. She saw nothing more of Mr. Fletcher that day, but the sound of excited voices in the drawing-room assured her that madame was having it out with her brother; and with truly feminine inconsistency Christie hoped that she would not be too hard upon the poor man, for, after all, it was kind of him to overlook the actress, and ask the governess to share his good things with him.
She did not repent, but she got herself to sleep, imagining a bridal trip to Paris, and dreamed so delightfully240 of lost splendors241 that the awakening242 was rather blank, the future rather cold and hard.
She was early astir, meaning to take the first boat and so escape all disagreeable rencontres, and having kissed the children in their little beds, with tender promises not to forget them, she took a hasty breakfast and stepped into the carriage waiting at the door. The sleepy waiters stared, a friendly housemaid nodded, and Miss Walker, the hearty243 English lady who did her ten miles a day, cried out, as she tramped by, blooming and bedraggled:
"Bless me, are you off?"
"Yes, thank Heaven!" answered Christie; but as she spoke Mr. Fletcher came down the steps looking as wan33 and heavy-eyed as if a sleepless244 night had been added to his day's defeat. Leaning in at the window, he asked abruptly245, but with a look she never could forget:
"Will nothing change your answer, Christie?"
"Nothing."
His eyes said, "Forgive me," but his lips only said, "Good-by," and the carriage rolled away.
Then, being a woman, two great tears fell on the hand still red with the lingering grasp he had given it, and Christie said, as pitifully as if she loved him:
"He has got a heart, after all, and perhaps I might have been glad to fill it if he had only shown it to me sooner. Now it is too late."
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1
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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binds
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| v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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possessed
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glorify
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| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
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drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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moth
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honeymoon
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entreaties
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longing
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longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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vent
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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rosier
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| Rosieresite | |
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leisurely
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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applicant
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| n.申请人，求职者，请求者 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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economize
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| v.节约，节省 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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jointly
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| ad.联合地，共同地 | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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59
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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60
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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61
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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62
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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63
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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64
checkered
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| adj.有方格图案的 | |
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65
bonbons
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| n.小糖果( bonbon的名词复数 ) | |
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66
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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67
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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68
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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69
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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70
ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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71
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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72
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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73
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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74
brats
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| n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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75
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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76
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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77
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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78
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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79
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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80
primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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81
preposterously
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| adv.反常地；荒谬地；荒谬可笑地；不合理地 | |
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82
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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84
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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85
autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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86
bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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87
glossiest
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| 光滑的( glossy的最高级 )； 虚有其表的； 浮华的 | |
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88
procurable
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| adj.可得到的，得手的 | |
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89
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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90
embroidering
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| v.（在织物上）绣花( embroider的现在分词 )；刺绣；对…加以渲染（或修饰）；给…添枝加叶 | |
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91
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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92
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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93
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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94
capabilities
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| n.能力( capability的名词复数 )；可能；容量；[复数]潜在能力 | |
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95
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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96
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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97
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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98
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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99
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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100
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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101
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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102
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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103
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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105
romped
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| v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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106
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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107
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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108
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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109
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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110
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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111
belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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112
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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113
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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114
invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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115
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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116
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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117
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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118
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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119
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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120
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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121
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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122
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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123
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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124
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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125
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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126
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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127
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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128
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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129
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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130
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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131
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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132
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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133
piazzas
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| n.广场，市场( piazza的名词复数 ) | |
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134
tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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135
goading
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| v.刺激( goad的现在分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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136
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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137
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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138
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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139
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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140
bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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141
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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142
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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143
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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144
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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145
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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146
animating
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| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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147
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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148
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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149
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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150
worthily
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| 重要地，可敬地，正当地 | |
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151
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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152
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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153
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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154
auditor
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| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
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155
revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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156
puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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157
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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158
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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159
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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160
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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161
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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162
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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163
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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164
delude
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| vt.欺骗；哄骗 | |
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165
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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166
stout
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| adj.强壮的，粗大的，结实的，勇猛的，矮胖的 | |
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167
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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168
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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169
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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170
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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171
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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172
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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173
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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174
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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175
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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176
eligibility
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| n.合格，资格 | |
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177
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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178
dawdling
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| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
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179
dowdy
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| adj.不整洁的；过旧的 | |
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180
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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181
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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182
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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183
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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184
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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185
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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186
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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187
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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188
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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189
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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190
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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191
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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192
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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193
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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194
allured
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| 诱引，吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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195
abounding
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| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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196
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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197
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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198
crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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199
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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200
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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201
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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202
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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203
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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204
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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205
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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206
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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207
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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208
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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209
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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210
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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211
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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212
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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213
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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214
bribes
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| n.贿赂( bribe的名词复数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂v.贿赂( bribe的第三人称单数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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215
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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216
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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217
tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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218
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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219
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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220
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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221
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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222
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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223
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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224
candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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225
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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226
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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227
avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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228
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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229
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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230
tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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231
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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232
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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233
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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234
iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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235
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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236
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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237
proprieties
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| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
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238
insinuated
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| v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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239
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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240
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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241
splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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242
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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243
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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244
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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245
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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