1 37 409
THE NOVELS AND TALES OF
HENRY* JAMES
New York EtKtion
VOLUME XVIII
THE PATAGONIA
V
AND OTHER TALES
HENRY JAMES
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
COPYRIGHT 1909 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS;
RENEWAL COPYRIGHT 1937 HENRY JAMES
A-io.63 [MH]
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED NO PART OF THIS BOOK
MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT
THE PERMISSION OF CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PREFACE
IT was in Rome during the autumn of 1877 ; a friend then
living there but settled now in a South less weighted with
appeals and memories happened to mention which she
might perfectly not have done some simple and uninformed
American lady of the previous winter, whose young daughter,
a child of nature and of freedom, accompanying her from
hotel to hotel, had u picked up " by the wayside, with the
best conscience in the world, a good-looking Roman, of
vague identity, astonished at his luck, yet (so far as might
be, by the pair) all innocently, all serenely exhibited and
introduced : this at least till the occurrence of some small
social check, some interrupting incident, of no great gravity
or dignity, and which I forget. I had never heard, save on
this showing, of the amiable but not otherwise eminent
ladies, who weren't in fact named, I think, and whose case
had merely served to point a familiar moral ; and it must
have been just their want of salience that left a margin for
the small pencil-mark inveterately signifying, in such con-
nexions, u Dramatise, dramatise ! " The result of my re-
cognising a few months later the sense of my pencil-mark
was the short chronicle of "Daisy Miller," which I indited
in London the following spring and then addressed, with
no conditions attached, as I remember, to the editor of a
magazine that had its seat of publication at Philadelphia and
had lately appeared to appreciate my contributions. That
gentleman however (an historian of some repute) promptly
returned me my missive, and with an absence of comment
that struck me at the time as rather grim as, given the
circumstances, requiring indeed some explanation : till a
friend to whom I appealed for light, giving him the thing
to read, declared it could only have passed with the Phil-
adelphian critic for "an outrage on American girlhood."
v
PREFACE
This was verily a light, and of bewildering intensity; though
I was presently to read into the matter a further helpful
inference. To the fault of being outrageous this little com-
position added that of being essentially and pre-eminently a
nouvelle; a signal example in fact of that type, foredoomed
at the best, in more cases than not, to editorial disfavour.
If accordingly I was afterwards to be cradled, almost bliss-
fully, in the conception that u Daisy " at least, among my
productions, might approach "success," such success for
example, on her eventual appearance, as the state of being
promptly pirated in Boston a sweet tribute I hadn'i yet
received and was never again to know the irony of things
yet claimed its rights, I could n't but long continue to feel,
in the circumstance that quite a special reprobation had
waited on the first appearance in the world of the ultimately
most prosperous child of my invention. So doubly discred-
ited, at all events, this bantling met indulgence, with no
great delay, in the eyes of my admirable friend the late Les-
lie Stephen and was published in two numbers of The Corn-
bill Magazine (1878).
It qualified itself in that publication and afterwards as
" a Study " ; for reasons which I confess I fail to recapture
unless they may have taken account simply of a certain flat-
ness in my poor little heroine's literal denomination. Flat-
ness indeed, one must have felt, was the very sum of her
story j so that perhaps after all the attached epithet was
meant but as a deprecation, addressed to the reader, of any
great critical hope of stirring scenes. It provided for mere
concentration, and on an object scant and superficially vul-
gar from which, however, a sufficiently brooding tender-
ness might eventually extract a shy incongruous charm. I
suppress at all events here the appended qualification in
view of the simple truth, which ought from the first to have
been apparent to me, that my little exhibition is made to no
degree whatever in critical but, quite inordinately and ex-
travagantly, in poetical terms. It comes back to me that I
was at a certain hour long afterwards to have reflected, in
this connexion, on the characteristic free play of the whirl-
vi
PREFACE
igig of time. It was in Italy again in Venice and in the
prized society of an interesting friend, now dead, with whom
I happened to wait, on the Grand Canal, at the animated
water-steps of one of the hotels. The considerable little
terrace there was so disposed as to make a salient stage for
certain demonstrations on the part of two young girls, child-
ren they^ if ever, of nature and of freedom, whose use of
those resources, in the general public eye, and under our
own as we sat in the gondola, drew from the lips of a second
companion, sociably afloat with us, the remark that there
before us, with no sign absent, were a couple of attesting
Daisy Millers. Then it was that, in my charming hostess's
prompt protest, the whirligig, as I have called it, at once
betrayed itself. " How can you liken those creatures to a
figure of which the only fault is touchingly to have trans-
muted so sorry a type and to have, by a poetic artifice, not
only led our judgement of it astray, but made any judge-
ment quite impossible ? " With which this gentle lady and
admirable critic turned on the author himself. "You know
you quite falsified, by the turn you gave it, the thing you
had begun with having in mind, the thing you had had, to
satiety, the chance of c observing * : your pretty perversion
of it, or your unprincipled mystification of our sense of it,
does it really too much honour in spite of which, none
the less, as anything charming or touching always to that
extent justifies itself, we after a fashion forgive and under-
stand you. But why waste your romance ? There are cases,
too many, in which you 've done it again ; in which, pro-
voked by a spirit of observation at first no doubt sufficiently
sincere, and with the measured and felt truth fairly twitch-
ing your sleeve, you have yielded to your incurable prejudice
in favour of grace to whatever it is in you that makes so
inordinately for form and prettiness and pathos ; not to say
sometimes for misplaced drolling. Is it that you Ve after all
too much imagination ? Those awful young women caper-
ing at the hotel-door, they are the real little Daisy Millers
that were ; whereas yours in the tale is such a one, more 's
the pity, as for pitch of the ingenuous, for quality of the
vii
PREFACE
artless could n't possibly have been at all." My answer
to all which bristled of course with more professions than
I can or need report here; the chief of them inevitably
to the effect that my supposedly typical little figure was of
course pure poetry, and had never been anything else ; since
this is what helpful imagination, in however slight a dose,
ever directly makes for. As for the original grossness of
readers, I dare say I added, that was another matter but
one which at any rate had then quite ceased to signify.
A good deal of the same element has doubtless sneaked
into " Pandora," which I also reprint here for congruity's
sake, and even while the circumstances attending the birth
of this anecdote, given to the light in a New York news-
paper (1884), pretty well lose themselves for me in the
mists of time. I do nevertheless connect a Pandora " with
one of the scantest of memoranda, twenty words jotted
down in New York during a few weeks spent there a year
or two before. I had put a question to a friend about a
young lady present at a certain pleasure-party, but present
in rather perceptibly unsupported and unguaranteed fash-
ion, as without other connexions, without more operative
"backers," than a proposer possibly half-hearted and a
slightly sceptical seconder ; and had been answered to the
effect that she was an interesting representative of a new
social and local variety, the " self-made," or at least self-
making, girl, whose sign was that given some measur-
ably amusing appeal in her to more or less ironic curiosity
or to a certain complacency of patronage she was any-
where made welcome enough if she only came, like one
of the dismembered charges of Little Bo-Peep, leaving her
" tail " behind her. Docked of all natural appendages and
having enjoyed, as was supposed, no natural advantages ;
with the " line drawn," that is, at her father and her mother,
her sisters and her brothers, at everything that was hers, and
with the presumption crushing as against these adjuncts, she
was yet held free to prove her case and sail her boat her-
self; even quite quaintly or quite touchingly free, as might
be working out thus on her own lines her social salvation.
viii
PREFACE
This was but five-and-twenty years ago ; yet what to-day
most strikes me in the connexion, and quite with surprise,
is that at a period so recent there should have been nov-
elty for me in a situation so little formed by more con-
temporary lights to startle or waylay. The evolution of
varieties moves fast 5 the Pandora Days can no longer, I
fear, pass for quaint or fresh or for exclusively native to
any one tract of Anglo-Saxon soil. Little Bo-Peep's charges
may, as manners have developed, leave their tails behind
them for the season, but quite knowing what they have
done with them and where they shall find them again as
is proved for the most part by the promptest disavowal of
any apparent ground for ruefulness. To " dramatise " the
hint thus gathered was of course, rudimentanly, to see the
self-made girl apply her very first independent measure to
the renovation of her house, founding its fortunes, intro-
ducing her parents, placing her brothers, marrying her sis-
ters (this care on her own behalf being a high note of
superiority quite secondary), in fine floating the heavy
mass on the flood she had learned to breast. Something of
that sort must have proposed itself to me at that time as
the latent u drama " of the case ; very little of which, how-
ever, I am obliged to recognise, was to struggle to the sur-
face. What is more to the point is the moral I at present
find myself drawing from the fact that, then turning over
my American impressions, those proceeding from a brief
but profusely peopled stay in New York, I should have
fished up that none so very precious particle as one of the
pearls of the collection. Such a circumstance comes back,
for me, to that fact of my insuperably restricted experience
and my various missing American clues or rather at least
to my felt lack of the most important of them all on
which the current of these remarks has already led me to
dilate. There had been indubitably and multitudinously,
for me, in my native city, the world "down-town"
since how otherwise should the sense of " going " down, the
sense of hovering at the narrow gates and skirting the so
violently overscored outer face of the monstrous labyrinth
ix
PREFACE
that stretches from Canal Street to the Battery, have taken
on, to me, the intensity of a worrying, a tormenting im-
pression? Yet it was an impression any attempt at the
active cultivation of which, one had been almost violently
admonished, could but find one in the last degree unprepared
and uneducated. It was essentially New York, and New
York was, for force and accent, nothing else worth speaking
of; but without the special lights it remained impenetrable
and inconceivable ; so that one but mooned about superfi-
cially, circumferentially, taking in, through the pores of what-
ever wistfulness, no good material at all. 1 had had to retire,
accordingly, with my yearning presumptions all unverified
presumptions, I mean, as to the privilege of the imagin-
ative initiation, as to the hived stuff of drama, at the service
there of the literary adventurer really informed enough and
bold enough ; and with my one drop of comfort the obser-
vation already made that at least I descried, for my own
early humiliation and exposure, no semblance of such a com-
petitor slipping in at any door or perched, for raking the
scene, on any coign of vantage. That invidious attestation
of my own appointed and incurable deafness to the major
key I frankly surmise I could scarce have borne. For there it
was ; not only that the major key was u down-town " but
that down-town wassail itself, the major key absolutely,
exclusively ; with the inevitable consequence that if the minor
was " up-town," and (by a parity of reasoning) up-town the
minor, so the field was meagre and the inspiration thin for
any unfortunate practically banished from the true pasture.
Such an unfortunate, even at the time I speak of, had still
to confess to the memory of a not inconsiderably earlier
season when, seated for several months at the very mod-
erate altitude of Twenty-Fifth Street, he felt himself day by
day alone in that scale of the balance; alone, I mean, with
the music-masters and French pastry-cooks, the ladies and
children immensely present and immensely numerous
these, but testifying with a collective voice to the extraor-
dinary absence (save as pieced together through a thousand
gaps and indirectnesses) of a serious male interest. One had
x
PREFACE
heard and seen novels and plays appraised as lacking, detri-
mentally, a serious female ; but the higher walks in that
community might at the period I speak of have formed a
picture bright and animated, no doubt, but marked with the
very opposite defect.
Here it was accordingly that loomed into view more than
ever the anomaly, in various ways dissimulated to a first im-
pression, rendering one of the biggest and loudest of cities one
of the very least of Capitals; together with the immediate re-
minder, on the scene, that an adequate muster of Capital char-
acteristics would have remedied half my complaint. To have
lived in capitals, even in some of the smaller, was to be sure of
that and to know why and all the more was this a conse-
quence of having happened to live in some of the greater.
Neither scale of the balance, in these, had ever struck one as
so monstrously heaped-up at the expense of the other ; there
had been manners and customs enough, so to speak, there had
been features and functions, elements, appearances, social
material, enough to go round. The question was to have
appeared, however, and the question was to remain, this
interrogated mystery of what American town-life had left to
entertain the observer withal when nineteen twentieths of it,
or in other words the huge organised mystery of the consum-
mately, the supremely applied money-passion, were inexor-
ably closed to him. My own practical answer figures here
perforce in the terms, and in them only, of such propositions
as are constituted by the four or five longest tales comprised
in this series. What it came to was that up-town would do
for me simply what up-town could and seemed in a man-
ner apologetically conscious that this might n't be described
as much. The kind of appeal to interest embodied in these
portrayals and in several of their like companions was the
measure of the whole minor exhibition, which affected me
as virtually saying: "Yes I'm either that that range and
order of things, or I 'in nothing at all ; therefore make the
most of me 1 " Whether " Daisy Miller," Pandora," " The
Patagonia," "Miss Gunton," "Julia Bride" and tutti
quanti do in fact conform to any such admonition would be
xi
PREFACE
an issue by itself and which must n't overcome my shyness ;
all the more that the point of interest is really but this
that I was on the basis of the loved nouvelle form, with the
best will in the world and the best conscience, almost help-
lessly cornered. To ride the nouvelle down-town, to prance
and curvet and caracole with it there that would have been
the true ecstasy. But a single "spill" such as I so easily
might have had in Wall Street or wherever would have
forbidden me, for very shame, in the eyes of the expert and
the knowing, ever to mount again ; so that in short it was n't
to be risked on any terms.
There were meanwhile the alternatives of course that
I might renounce the nouvelle, or else might abjure that
"American life" the characteristic towniness of which was
lighted for me, even though so imperfectly, by New York
and Boston by those centres only. Such extremities,
however, I simply could n't afford artistically, sentiment-
ally, financially, or by any other sacrifice to face ; and
if the fact nevertheless remains that an adjustment, under
both the heads in question, had eventually to take place,
every inch of my doubtless meagre ground was yet first
contested, every turn and twist of my scant material eco-
nomically used. Add to this that if the other constituents
of the volume, the intermediate ones, serve to specify what
I was then thrown back on, I need n't perhaps even at the
worst have found within my limits a thinness of interest
to resent : seeing that still after years the common appeal
remained sharp enough to flower again into such a compo-
sition as "Julia Bride" (which independently of its appear-
ance here has seen the light but in Harper's Magazine^
1908). As I wind up with this companion-study to u Daisy
Miller" the considerable assortment of my shorter tales I
seem to see it symbolise my sense of my having waited
with something of a subtle patience, my having still hoped
as against hope that the so ebbing and obliging seasons
would somehow strike for me some small flash of what I
have called the major light would suffer, I mean, to glim-
mer out, through however odd a crevice or however vouch-
xii
PREFACE
safed a contact, just enough of a wandering air from the
down-town penetralia as might embolden, as might inform,
as might, straining a point, even conceivably inspire (always
where the nouvelle^ and the nouvelle only, should be con-
cerned) ; all to the advantage of my extension of view and
my variation of theme. A whole passage of intellectual his-
tory, if the term be not too pompous, occupies in fact, to
my present sense, the waiting, the so fondly speculative
interval : in which I seem to see myself rather a high and
dry, yet irrepressibly hopeful artistic Micawber, cocking an
ostensibly confident hat and practising an almost passionate
system of u bluff" ; insisting, in fine, that something (out of
the just-named penetralia) would turn up if only the right
imaginative hanging-about on the chance, if only the true
intelligent attention, were piously persisted in.
I forget exactly what Micawber, who had hung about so
on the chance, I forget exactly what he^ at the climax of his
exquisite consciousness, found himself in fact reverting to ;
but I feel that my analogy loses nothing from the circum-
stance that so recently as on the publication of " Fordham
Castle " (1904), for which I refer my reader to Volume xvi,
the miracle, after all, alas, had n't happened, the stray emit-
ted gleam had n't fallen across my page, the particular su-
preme u something " those who live by their wits finally and
most yearningly look for had n't, in fine, turned up. What
better proof of this than that, with the call of the u four or
five thousand words " of u Fordham Castle " for instance
to meet, or even with the easier allowance of space for its
successor to rise to, I was but to feel myself fumble again
in the old limp pocket of the minor exhibition, was but to
know myself reduced to finger once more, not a little rue-
fully, a chord perhaps now at last too warped and rusty for
complicated music at short order ? I trace myself, for that
matter, in " Fordham Castle" positively " squirming" with
the ingenuity of my effort to create for my scrap of an up-
town subject such a scrap as I at the same time felt myself
admonished to keep it down to 1 a certain larger connexion ;
I may also add that of the exceedingly close complexus of
xiii
PREFACE
intentions represented by the packed density of those few
pages it would take some ampler glance here to give an
account. My point is that my pair of little up-town iden-
tities, the respectively typical objects of parental and con-
jugal interest, the more or less mitigated, more or less
embellished or disfigured, intensified or modernised Daisy
Millers, Pandora Days, Julia Brides, Miss Guntons or
whatever, of the anxious pair, the ignored husband and rele-
gated mother, brought together in the Swiss lakeside pension
my point is that these irrepressible agents yet betrayed
the conscious need of tncking-out their time-honoured case.
To this we owe it that the elder couple bear the brunt of
immediate appearance and are charged with the function
of adorning at least the foreground of the general scene ;
they convey, by implication, the moral of the tale, at least
its aesthetic one, if there be such a thing : they fairly hint,
and from the very centre of the familiar field, at positive
deprecation (should an imagined critic care not to neglect
such a shade) of too unbroken an eternity of mere inter-
national young ladies. It 's as if the international young
ladies, felt by me as once more, as verily once too much,
my appointed thematic doom, had inspired me with the fond
thought of attacking them at an angle and from a quarter
by which the peril and discredit of their rash inveteracy
might be a bit conjured away.
These in fact are the saving sanities of the dramatic poet's
always rather mad undertaking the rigour of his artistic
need to cultivate almost at any price variety of appearance
and experiment, to dissimulate likenesses, samenesses, stale-
nesses, by the infinite play of a form pretending to a life of
its own. There are not so many quite distinct things in his
field, I think, as there are sides by which the main masses
may be approached ; and he is after all but a nimble besieger
or nocturnal sneaking adventurer who perpetually plans,
watches, circles for penetrable places. I offer " Fordham
Castle," positively for a rare little memento of that truth :
once I had to be, for the light wind of it in my sails, u in-
ternationally " American, what amount of truth my subject
xiv
PREFACE
might n't aspire to was urgently enough indicated which
condition straightway placed it in the time-honoured cate-
gory ; but the range of choice as to treatment, by which I
mean as to my pressing the clear liquor of amusement and
refreshment from the golden apple of composition, that
blest freedom, with its infinite power of renewal, was still
my resource, and I felt myself invoke it not in vain. There
was always the difficulty I have in the course of these so
numerous preliminary observations repeatedly referred to it,
but the point is so interesting that it can scarce be made too
often that the simplest truth about a human entity, a sit-
uation, a relation, an aspect of life, however small, on behalf
of which the claim to charmed attention is made, strains
ever, under one's hand, more intensely, most intensely, to
justify that claim; strains ever, as it were, toward the utter-
most end or aim of one's meaning or of its own numerous
connexions ; struggles at each step, and in defiance of one's
raised admonitory finger, fully and completely to express
itself. Any real art of representation is, I make out, a con-
trolled and guarded acceptance, in fact a perfect economic
mastery, of that conflict : the general sense of the expansive,
the explosive principle in one's material thoroughly noted,
adroitly allowed to flush and colour and animate the dis-
puted value, but with its other appetites and treacheries, its
characteristic space-hunger and space-cunning, kept down.
The fair flower of this artful compromise is to my sense
the secret of " foreshortening " the particular economic
device for which one must have a name and which has in
its single blessedness and its determined pitch, I think, a
higher price than twenty other clustered loosenesses; and
just because full-fed statement, just because the picture of
as many of the conditions as possible made and kept propor-
tionate, just because the surface iridescent, even in the short
piece, by what is beneath it and what throbs and gleams
through, are things all conducive to the only compactness
that has a charm, to the only spareness that has a force, to
the only simplicity that has a grace those, in each order,
that produce the rich effect.
XV
PREFACE
Let me say, however, that such reflexions had never
helped to close my eyes, at any moment, to all that had
come and gone, over the rest of the field, in the fictive
world of adventure more complacently so called the
American world, I particularly mean, that might have put
me so completely out of countenance by having drawn its
inspiration, that of thousands of celebrated works, neither
from up-town nor from down-town nor from my lady's
chamber, but from the vast wild garden of u unconventional "
life in no matter what part of our country. I grant in fact
that this demonstration of how consummately my own
meagrely-conceived sources were to be dispensed with by
the more initiated minds would but for a single circumstance,
grasped at in recovery of self-respect, have thrown me back
in absolute dejection on the poverty of my own categories.
Why had n't so quickened a vision of the great neglected
native quarry at large more troubled my dreams, instead of
leaving my imagination on the whole so resigned ? Well,
with many reasons I could count over, there was one that
all exhaustively covered the ground and all completely an-
swered the question : the reflexion, namely, that the common
sign of the productions" unconventionally" prompted (and
this positively without exception) was nothing less than the
birthmark of Dialect, general or special dialect with the
literary rein loose on its agitated back and with its shambling
power of traction, not to say, more analytically, of ^/traction,
trusted for all such a magic might be woith. Distinctly that
was the odd case : the key to the whole of the treasure of ro-
mance independently garnered was the riot of the vulgar
tongue. One might state it more freely still and the truth
would be as evident : the plural number, the vulgar tongues,
each with its intensest note, but pointed the moral more
luridly. Grand generalised continental not or particular
pedantic, particular discriminated and " sectional " and self-
conscious riot to feel the thick breath, to catch the ugly
snarl, of all or of either, was to be reminded afresh of the
only conditions that guard the grace, the only origins that
save the honour, or even the life, of dialect : those preced-
xvi
PREFACE
ent to the invasion, to the sophistication, of schools and
unconscious of the smartness of echoes and the taint of
slang. The thousands of celebrated productions raised their
monument but to the bastard vernacular of communities
disinherited of the felt difference between the speech of the
soil and the speech of the newspaper, and capable thereby,
accordingly, of taking slang for simplicity, the composite
for the quaint and the vulgar for the natural. These were
unutterable depths, and, as they yawned about one, what
appreciable coherent sound did they seem most to give
out? Well, to my ear surely, at the worst, none that deter-
mined even a tardy compunction. The monument was
there, if one would, but was one to regret one's own failure
to have contributed a stone ? Perish, and all ignobly, the
thought!
Each of the other pieces of which this volume is composed
would have its small history; but they have above all in
common that they mark my escape from the predicament,
as I have called it, just glanced at ; my at least partial way
out of the dilemma formed by the respective discourage-
ments of down-town, of up-town and of the great dialectic
tracts. Various up-town figures flit, I allow, across these
pages; but they too, as it were, have for the time dodged the
dilemma; I meet them, I exhibit them, in an air of different
and, I think, more numerous alternatives. Such is the case
with the young American subject in " Fhckerbndge "(1902)
and with the old American subject, as my signally mature
heroine may here be pronounced, in " The Beldonald Hol-
bein'* (1901). In these two cases the idea is but a stray spark
of the old " international " flame; of course, however, it was
quite internationally that I from far back sought my salvation.
Let such matters as those I have named represent accordingly
so many renewed, and perhaps at moments even rather de-
sperate, clutches of that useful torch. We may put it in this
way that the scale of variety had, by the facts of one's situa-
tion, been rather oddly predetermined with Europe so con-
stantly in requisition as the more salient American stage or
more effective repoussoir^ and yet with any particular action
xvii
PREFACE
on this great lighted and decorated scene depending for half
its sense on one of my outland importations. Comparatively
few those of my productions in which I appear to have felt,
and with confidence, that source of credit freely negligible ;
"The Princess Casamassima," " The Tragic Muse," " The
Spoils of Poynton," "The Other House," "What Maisie
Knew," "The Sacred Fount," practically, among the more
or less sustained things, exhausting the list in which
moreover I have set down two compositions not included
in the present series. Against these longer and shorter novels
stand many of the other category ; though when it comes to
the array of mere brevities as in " The Marriages " (i 89 1 )
and four of its companions here the balance is more
evenly struck : a proof, doubtless, that confidence in what
he may call the indirect initiation, in the comparatively
hampered saturation, may even after long years often fail an
earnest worker in these fields. Conclusive that, in turn, as
to the innumerable parts of the huge machine, a thing of
a myriad parts, about which the intending painter of even a
few aspects of the life of a great old complex society must
either be right or be ridiculous. He has to be, for authority
and on all such ground authority is everything but con-
tinuously and confidently right ; to which end, in many a
case, If he happens to be but a civil alien, he had best be
simply born again I mean born differently.
Only then, as he's quite liable to say to himself, what
would perhaps become, under the dead collective weight
of those knowledges that he may, as the case stands for
him, often separately miss, what would become of the free
intensity of the perceptions which serve him in their stead,
in which he never hesitates to rejoice, and to which, in a
hundred connexions, he just impudently trusts ? The ques-
tion is too beguiling, alas, now to be gone into ; though
the mere putting of it fairly describes the racked conscious-
ness of the unfortunate who has incurred the dread herit-
age of easy comparisons. His wealth, in this possession,
is supposed to be his freedom of choice, but there are too
many days when he asks himself if the artist may n't easily
xviii
PREFACE
know an excess of that freedom. Those of the smaller sort
never use all the freedom they have which is the sign,
exactly, by which we know them; but those of the greater
have never had too much immediately to use which is
the sovereign mark of their felicity. From which range of
speculation let me narrow down none the less a little
ruefully ; since I confess to no great provision of u his-
tory " on behalf of " The Marriages/* The embodied no-
tion, for this matter, sufficiently tells its story; one has
never to go far afield to speculate on the possible pangs of
filial piety in face of the successor, in the given instance,
to either lost parent, but perhaps more particularly to the
lost mother, often inflicted on it by the parent surviving.
As in the classic case of Mrs. Glasse's receipt, it *s but a
question of " first catching " the example of piety intense
enough. Granted that, the drama is all there all in the
consciousness, the fond imagination, the possibly poisoned
and inflamed judgement, of the suffering subject ; where,
exactly, u The Marriages " was to find it.
As to the "The Real Thing" (1890) and " Brooksmith "
(1891) my recollection is sharp; the subject of each of
these tales was suggested to me by a briefly-reported case.
To begin with the second-named of them, the appreciative
daughter of a friend some time dead had mentioned to me
a visit received by her from a servant of the late distin-
guished lady, a devoted maid whom I remembered well to
have repeatedly seen at the latter's side and who had come
to discharge herself so far as she might of a sorry burden.
She had lived in her mistress's delightful society and in
that of the many so interesting friends of the house ; she
had been formed by nature, as unluckily happened, to enjoy
this privilege to the utmost, and the deprivation of every-
thing was now bitterness in her cup. She had had her
choice, and had made her trial, of common situations or
of a return to her own people, and had found these ordeals
alike too cruel. She had in her years of service tasted of
conversation and been spoiled for life ; she had, in recall
of Stendhal's inveterate motto, caught a glimpse, all un-
xix
PREFACE
timely, of tt la beaute parfaite," and should never find again
what she had lost so that nothing was left her but
to languish to her end. There was a touched spring, of
course, to make " Dramatise, dramatise ! " ring out ; only
my little derived drama, in the event, seemed to require, to
be ample enough, a hero rather than a heroine. I desired
for my poor lost spirit the measured maximum of the fatal
experience : the thing became, in a word, to my imagina-
tion, the obscure tragedy of the " intelligent " butler pre-
sent at rare table-talk, rather than that of the more effaced
tirewoman ; with which of course was involved a corre-
sponding change from mistress to master.
In like manner my much-loved friend George du Maurier
had spoken to me of a call from a strange and striking couple
desirous to propose themselves as artist's models for his
weekly " social " illustrations to Puncb^ and the acceptance
of whose services would have entailed the dismissal of an
undistinguished but highly expert pair, also husband and wife,
who had come to him from far back on the irregular day
and whom, thanks to a happy, and to that extent lucrative,
appearance of" type " on the part of each, he had reproduced,
to the best effect, in a thousand drawing-room attitudes and
combinations. Exceedingly modest members of society, they
earned their bread by looking and, with the aid of supplied
toggery, dressing, greater favourites of fortune to the life ;
or, otherwise expressed, by skilfully feigning a virtue not
in the least native to them. Here meanwhile were their
so handsome proposed, so anxious, so almost haggard com-
petitors, originally, by every sign, of the best condition and
estate, but overtaken by reverses even while conforming im-
peccably to the standard of superficial "smartness" and plead-
ing with well-bred ease and the right light tone, not to say
with feverish gaiety, that (as in the interest of art itself) they
at least should n't have to Cl make believe." The question
thus thrown up by the two friendly critics of the rather
lurid little passage was of whether their not having to make
believe would in fact serve them, and above all serve their
interpreter as well as the borrowed graces of the compara-
xx
PREFACE
lively sordid professionals who had had, for dear life, to know
bow (which was to have learnt how) to do something. The
question, I recall, struck me as exquisite, and out of a mo-
mentary fond consideration of it "The Real Thing" sprang
at a bound.
" Flickerbridge " indeed I verily give up : so thoroughly
does this highly-finished little anecdote cover its tracks;
looking at me, over the few years and out of its bland neat-
ness, with the fine inscrutability, in fact the positive coquetry,
of the refusal to answer free-and-easy questions, the mere
cold smile for their impertinence, characteristic of any com-
plete artistic thing. "Dramatise, dramatise!" there had
of course been that preliminary, there couldn't not have
been ; but how represent here clearly enough the small suc-
cession of steps by which such a case as the admonition is
applied to in my picture of Frank Granger's visit to Miss
Wenham came to issue from the whole thick-looming cloud
of the noted appearances, the dark and dismal consequences,
involved more and more to-day in our celebration, our com-
memoration, our unguardedly-uttered appreciation, of any
charming impression ? Living as we do under permanent
visitation of the deadly epidemic of publicity, any rash word,
any light thought that chances to escape us, may instantly,
by that accident, find itself propagated and perverted, multi-
plied and diffused, after a fashion poisonous, practically, and
speedily fatal, to its subject that is to our idea, our senti-
ment, our figured interest, our too foolishly blabbed secret.
Fine old leisure, in George Eliot's phrase, was long ago
extinct, but rarity, precious rarity, its twin-sister, lingered
on a while only'to begin, in like manner, to perish by inches
to learn, in other words, that to be so much as breathed
about is to be handed over to the big drum and the brazen
blare, with all the effects of the vulgarised, trampled, dese-
crated state after the cyclone of sound and fury has spent
itself. To have observed that, in turn, is to learn to dread
reverberation, mere mechanical ventilation, more than the
Black Death ; which lesson the hero of my little apologue
is represented as, all by himself and with anguish at his
xxi
PREFACE
heart, spelling out the rudiments of. Of course it was a far
cry, over intervals of thought, artistically speaking, from the
dire truth I here glance at to my small projected example,
looking so all unconscious of any such portentous burden
of sense ; but through that wilderness I shall not attempt to
guide my reader. Let the accomplishment of the march
figure for him, on the author's part, the arduous sport, in
such a waste, of " dramatising."
Intervals of thought and a desolation of missing links strike
me, not less, as marking the approach to any simple expres-
sion of my " original hint " for " The Story In It." What
I definitely recall of the history of this tolerably recent
production is that, even after I had exerted a ferocious and
far from fruitless ingenuity to keep it from becoming a
nouvelle for it is in fact one of the briefest of my com-
positions it still haunted, a graceless beggar, for a couple
of years, the cold avenues of publicity ; till finally an old
acquaintance, about to " start a magazine," begged it in turn
of me and published it (1903) at no cost to himself but the
cost of his confidence, in that first number which was in
the event, if I mistake not, to prove only one of a pair. I
like perhaps " morbidly " to think that the Story in it may
have been more than the magazine could carry. There at
any rate for the u story," that is for the pure pearl of my
idea I had to take, in the name of the particular instance,
no less deep and straight a dive into the deep sea of a certain
general truth than I had taken in quest of " Flickerbridge."
The general truth had been positively phrased for me by a
distinguished friend, a novelist not to our manner either born
or bred, on the occasion of his having made such answer as
he could to an interlocutor (he, oh distinctly, indigenous and
glib 1) bent on learning from him why the adventures he
imputed to his heroines were so perversely and persistently
but of a type impossible to ladies respecting themselves. My
friend's reply had been, not unnaturally, and above all not
incongruously, that ladies who respected themselves took
particular care never to have adventures ; not the least little
adventure that would be worth (worth any self-respecting
xxii
PREFACE
novelist's) speaking of. There were certainly, it was to be
hoped, ladies who practised that reserve which, however
beneficial to themselves, was yet fatally detrimental to liter-
ature, in the sense of promptly making any artistic harmony
pitched m the same low key trivial and empty. A picture of
life founded on the mere reserves and omissions and suppres-
sions of life, what sort of a performance for beauty, for
interest, for tone could that hope to be? The enquiry
was n't answered in any hearing of mine, and of course in-
deed, on all such ground, discussion, to be really luminous,
would have to rest on some such perfect definition of terms
as is not of this muddled world. It is, not surprisingly, one
of the rudiments of criticism that a human, a personal u ad-
venture" is no a priori^ no positive and absolute and inelas-
tic thing, but just a matter of relation and appreciation a
name, we conveniently give, after the fact, to any passage, to
any situation, that has added the sharp taste of uncertainty
to a quickened sense of life. Therefore the thing is, all beau-
tifully, a matter of interpretation and of the particular con-
ditions ; without a view of which latter some of the most
prodigious adventures, as one has often had occasion to say,
may vulgarly show for nothing. However that may be, I
hasten to add, the mere stir of the air round the question
reflected in the brief but earnest interchange I have just re-
ported was to cause a " subject," to my sense, immediately
to bloom there. So it suddenly, on its small scale, seemed to
stand erect or at least quite intelligently to lift its head;
just a subject, clearly, though I could n't immediately tell
which or what. To find out I had to get a little closer to
it, and " The Story In It " precisely represents that under-
taking.
As for " The Beldonald Holbein," about which I have
said nothing, that story by which I mean the story of it
would take us much too far. "Mrs. Medwin," pub-
lished in Punch (1902) and in "The Better Sort" (1903),
I have also accommodated here for convenience. There is
a note or two I would fain add to this ; but I check my-
self with the sense of having, as it is, to all probability, vm-
xxiii
PREFACE
dicated with a due zeal, not to say a due extravagance, the
most general truth of many a story-teller's case : the truth,
already more than once elsewhere glanced at, that what
longest lives to his backward vision, in the whole business,
is not the variable question of the " success," but the invet-
erate romance of the labour.
HENRY JAMES.
CONTENTS
DAISY MILLER i
PANDORA 95
THE PATAGONIA 169
THE MARRIAGES 255
THE REAL THING 305
BROOKSMITH 347
THE BELDONALD HOLBEIN 373
THE STORY IN IT 407
FLICKERBRIDGE 437
MRS. MEDWIN 471
DAISY MILLER
DAISY MILLER
AT the little town of Vevey, in Switzerland, there is a
particularly comfortable hotel; there are indeed many
hotels, since the entertainment of tourists is the busi-
ness of the place, which, as many travellers will
remember, is seated upon the edge of a remarkably
blue lake a lake that it behoves every tourist to
visit. The shore of the lake presents an unbroken
array of establishments of this order, of every cate-
gory, from the "grand hotel" of the newest fashion,
with a chalk-white front, a hundred balconies, and a
dozen flags flying from its roof, to the small Swiss pen-
sion of an elder day, with its name inscribed in Ger-
man-looking lettering upon a pink or yellow wall and
an awkward summer-house in the angle of the garden.
One of the hotels at Vevey, however, is famous, even
classical, being distinguished from many of its upstart
neighbours by an air both of luxury and of maturity.
In this region, through the month of June, American
travellers are extremely numerous ; it may be said in-
deed that Vevey assumes at that time some of the char-
acteristics of an American watering-place. There are
sights and sounds that evoke a vision, an echo, of
Newport and Saratoga. There is a flitting hither and
thither of "stylish" young girls, a rustling of muslin
3
DAISY MILLER
flounces, a rattle of dance-music in the morning hours,
a sound of high-pitched voices at all times. You
receive an impression of these things at the excellent
inn of the "Trois Couronnes," and are transported in
fancy to the Ocean House or to Congress Hall. But at
the "Trois Couronnes," it must be added, there are
other features much at variance with these sugges-
tions : neat German waiters who look like secretaries
of legation; Russian princesses sitting in the garden;
little Polish boys walking about, held by the hand,
with their governors; a view of the snowy crest of
the Dent du Midi and the picturesque towers of the
Castle of Chillon.
I hardly know whether it was the analogies or the
differences that were uppermost in the mind of a
young American, who, two or three years ago, sat in
the garden of the "Trois Couronnes," looking about
him rather idly at some of the graceful objects I have
mentioned. It was a beautiful summer morning, and
in whatever fashion the young American looked at
things they must have seemed to him charming. He
had come from Geneva the day before, by the little
steamer, to see his aunt, who was staying at the hotel
Geneva having been for a long time his place of
residence. But his aunt had a headache his aunt
had almost always a headache and she was now
shut up in her room smelling camphor, so that he was
at liberty to wander about. He was some seven-and-
twenty years of age; when his friends spoke of him
they usually said that he was at Geneva "studying."
When his enemies spoke of him they said but after
all he had no enemies : he was extremely amiable and
4
DAISY MILLER
generally liked. What I should say is simply that
when certain persons spoke of him they conveyed that
the reason of his spending so much time at Geneva
was that he was extremely devoted to a lady who lived
there a foreign lady, a person older than himself.
Very few Americans truly I think none had ever
seen this lady, about whom there were some singular
stories. But Winterbourne had an old attachment for
the little capital of Calvinism; he had been put to
school there as a boy and had afterwards even gone, on
trial trial of the grey old "Academy" on the steep
and stony hillside to college there; circumstances
which had led to his forming a great many youthful
friendships. Many of these he had kept, and they
were a source of great satisfaction to him.
After knocking at his aunt's door and learning that
she was indisposed he had taken a walk about the
town and then he had come in to his breakfast. He
had now finished that repast, but was enjoying a small
cup of coffee which had been served him on a little
table in the garden by one of the waiters who looked
like attaches. At last he finished his coffee and lit a
cigarette. Presently a small boy came walking along
the path an urchin of nine or ten. The child, who
was diminutive for his years, had an aged expression
of countenance, a pale complexion and sharp little
features. He was dressed in knickerbockers and had
red stockings that displayed his poor little spindle-
shanks ; he also wore a brilliant red cravat. He carried
in his hand a long alpenstock, the sharp point of
which he thrust into everything he approached the
flower-beds, the garden-benches, the trains of the
5
DAISY MILLER
ladies' dresses. In front of Winterbourne he paused,
looking at him with a pair of bright and penetrating
little eyes.
" Will you give me a lump of sugar ? " he asked in a
small sharp hard voice a voice immature and yet
somehow not young.
Winterbourne glanced at the light table near him,
on which his coffee-service rested, and saw that several
morsels of sugar remained. " Yes, you may take one,"
he answered; "but I don't think too much sugar good
for little boys."
This little boy stepped forward and carefully se-
lected three of the coveted fragments, two of which
he buried in the pocket of his knickerbockers, deposit-
ing the other as promptly in another place. He poked
his alpenstock, lance-fashion, into Winterbourne's
bench and tried to crack the lump of sugar with his
teeth.
"Oh blazes; it's har-r-d!" he exclaimed, divesting
vowel and consonants, pertinently enough, of any
taint of softness.
Winterbourne had immediately gathered that he
might have the honour of claiming him as a coun-
tryman. "Take care you don't hurt your teeth," he
said paternally.
"I have n't got any teeth to hurt. They Ve all come
out. I've only got seven teeth. Mother counted them
last night, and one came out right afterwards. She
said she 'd slap me if any more came out. I can't help
it. It's this old Europe. It's the climate that makes
them come out. In America they did n't come out.
It's these hotels."
6
DAISY MILLER
Winterbourne was much amused. " If you eat three
lumps of sugar your mother will certainly slap you/*
he ventured.
"She's got to give me some candy then," rejoined
his young interlocutor. " I can't get any candy here
any American candy. American candy's the best
candy/'
"And are American little boys the best little boys ? "
Winterbourne asked.
"I don't know. I'm an American boy," said the
child.
"I see you're one of the best!" the young man
laughed.
"Are you an American man ?" pursued this viva-
cious infant. And then on his friend's affirmative
reply, "American men are the best," he declared with
assurance.
His companion thanked him for the compliment,
and the child, who had now got astride of his alpen-
stock, stood looking about him while he attacked
another lump of sugar. Winterbourne wondered if he
himself had been like this in his infancy, for he had
been brought to Europe at about the same age.
"Here comes my sister!" cried his young com-
patriot. " She 's an American girl, you bet ! "
Winterbourne looked along the path and saw a
beautiful young lady advancing. " American girls are
the best girls," he thereupon cheerfully remarked to
his visitor.
"My sister ain't the best!" the child promptly
returned. "She's always blowing at me."
"I imagine that's your fault, not hers," said Win-
7
DAISY MILLER
terbourne. The young lady meanwhile had drawn
near. She was dressed in white muslin, with a hun-
dred frills and flounces and knots of pale-coloured rib-
bon. Bareheaded, she balanced in her hand a large
parasol with a deep border of embroidery; and she
was strikingly, admirably pretty. "How pretty they
are ! " thought our friend, who straightened himself in
his seat as if he were ready to rise.
The young lady paused in front of his bench, near
the parapet of the garden, which overlooked the lake.
The small boy had now converted his alpenstock into
a vaulting-pole, by the aid of which he was springing
about in the gravel and kicking it up not a little.
"Why Randolph," she freely began, "what are you
doing?"
"I 'm going up the Alps ! " cried Randolph. "This
is the way!" And he gave another extravagant
jump, scattering the pebbles about Winterbourne's
ears.
"That's the way they come down," said Winter-
bourne.
"He's an American man!" proclaimed Randolph
in his harsh little voice.
The young lady gave no heed to this circumstance,
but looked straight at her brother. "Well, I guess
you'd better be quiet," she simply observed.
It seemed to Winterbourne that he had been in a
manner presented. He got up and stepped slowly
toward the charming creature, throwing away his
cigarette. "This little boy and I have made acquaint-
ance," he said with great civility. In Geneva, as he
had been perfectly aware, a young man was n't at lib-
8
DAISY MILLER
erty to speak to a young unmarried lady save under
certain rarely-occurring conditions ; but here at Vevey
what conditions could be better than these? a
pretty American girl coming to stand in front of you
in a garden with all the confidence in life. This pretty
American girl, whatever that might prove, on hearing
Winterbourne's observation simply glanced at him;
she then turned her head and looked over the parapet,
at the lake and the opposite mountains. He wondered
whether he had gone too far, but decided that he must
gallantly advance rather than retreat. While he was
thinking of something else to say the young lady
turned again to the little boy, whom she addressed
quite as if they were alone together. "I should like to
know where you got that pole."
"I bought it!" Randolph shouted.
"You don't mean to say you 're going to take it to
Italy!"
" Yes, I 'm going to take it t' Italy ! " the child rang
out.
She glanced over the front of her dress and smoothed
out a knot or two of ribbon. Then she gave her sweet
eyes to the prospect again. "Well, I guess you'd
better leave it somewhere," she dropped after a mo-
ment.
"Are you going to Italy ?" Winterbourne now de-
cided very respectfully to enquire.
She glanced at him with lovely remoteness. "Yes,
sir," she then replied. And she said nothing more.
"And are you a thinking of the Simplon ? "
he pursued with a slight drop of assurance.
"I don't know," she said. "I suppose it's some
9
DAISY MILLER
mountain. Randolph, what mountain are we thinking
of?"
"Thinking of ?" the boy stared.
"Why going right over."
"Going to where ?" he demanded.
"Why right down to Italy " Winterbourne felt
vague emulations.
"I don't know/ 5 said Randolph. "I don't want to
go t' Italy. I want to go to America."
"Oh Italy's a beautiful place!" the young man
laughed.
"Can you get candy there ? " Randolph asked of all
the echoes.
"I hope not," said his sister. "I guess you've had
enough candy, and mother thinks so too."
"I have n't had any for ever so long for a hun-
dred weeks ! " cried the boy, still jumping about.
The young lady inspected her flounces and smoothed
her ribbons again; and Winterbourne presently risked
an observation on the beauty of the view. He was
ceasing to be in doubt, for he had begun to perceive
that she was really not in the least embarrassed. She
might be cold, she might be austere, she might even
be prim; for that was apparently he had already
so generalised what the most "distant" American
girls did : they came and planted themselves straight
in front of you to show how rigidly unapproachable
they were. There had n't been the slightest flush in
her fresh fairness however; so that she was clearly
neither offended nor fluttered. Only she was com-
posed he had seen that before too of charming
little parts that did n't match and that made no
10
DAISY MILLER
ensemble; and if she looked another way when he
spoke to her, and seemed not particularly to hear him,
this was simply her habit, her manner, the result of
her having no idea whatever of "form " (with such a
tell-tale appendage as Randolph where in the world
would she have got it ?) in any such connexion. As
he talked a little more and pointed out some of the
objects of interest in the view, with which she ap-
peared wholly unacquainted, she gradually, none the
less, gave him more of the benefit of her attention;
and then he saw that act unqualified by the faintest
shadow of reserve. It was n't however what would
have been called a "bold" front that she presented,
for her expression was as decently limpid as the very
cleanest water. Her eyes were the very prettiest con-
ceivable, and indeed Winterbourne had n't for a long
time seen anything prettier than his fair country-
woman's various features her complexion, her nose,
her ears, her teeth. He took a great interest generally
in that range of effects and was addicted to noting and,
as it were, recording them ; so that in regard to this
young lady's face he made several observations. It
was n't at all insipid, yet at the same time was n't
pointedly what point, on earth, could she ever
make ? expressive ; and hough it offered such a col-
lection of small finenesses and neatnesses he mentally
accused it very forgivingly of a want of finish.
He thought nothing more likely than that its wearer
would have had her own experience of the action of
her charms, as she would certainly have acquired a
resulting confidence; but even should she depend on
this for her main amusement her bright sweet super-
II
DAISY MILLER
ficial little visage gave out neither mockery nor irony.
Before long it became clear that, however these things
might be, she was much disposed to conversation. She
remarked to Winterbourne that they were going to
Rome for the winter she and her mother and Ran-
dolph. She asked him if he was a "real American";
she would n't have taken him for one ; he seemed
more like a German this flower was gathered as
from a large field of comparison especially when he
spoke. Winterbourne, laughing, answered that he had
met Germans who spoke like Americans, but not, so
far as he remembered, any American with the resem-
blance she noted. Then he asked her if she might n't
be more at ease should she occupy the bench he had
just quitted. She answered that she liked hanging
round, but she none the less resignedly, after a little,
dropped to the bench. She told him she was from
New York State "if you know where that is"; but
our friend really quickened this current by catching
hold of her small slippery brother and making him
stand a few minutes by his side.
"Tell me your honest name, my boy." So he art-
fully proceeded.
In response to which the child was indeed unvar-
nished truth. " Randolph C. Miller. And Til tell you
hers." With which he levelled his alpenstock at his
sister.
"You had better wait till you 're asked \" said this
young lady quite at her leisure.
"I should like very much to know your name,"
Winterbourne made free to reply.
"Her name's Daisy Miller!" cried the urchin.
12
DAISY MILLER
" But that ain't her real name; that ain't her name on
her cards/'
"It's a pity you haven't got one of my cards!"
Miss Miller quite as naturally remarked.
"Her real name's Annie P. Miller," the boy went
on.
It seemed, all amazingly, to do her good. "Ask him
bis now " and she indicated their friend.
But to this point Randolph seemed perfectly indif-
ferent; he continued to supply information with regard
to his own family. "My father's name is Ezra B.
Miller. My father ain't in Europe he 's in a better
place than Europe." Winterbourne for a moment
supposed this the manner in which the child had been
taught to intimate that Mr. Miller had been removed
to the sphere of celestial rewards. But Randolph im-
mediately added : " My father 's in Schenectady. He 's
got a big business. My father 's rich, you bet."
" Well ! " ejaculated Miss Miller, lowering her para-
sol and looking at the embroidered border. Winter-
bourne presently released the child, who departed,
dragging his alpenstock along the path. "He don't
like Europe," said the girl as with an artless instinct
for historic truth. " He wants to go back."
"To Schenectady, you mean?"
"Yes, he wants to go right home. He has n't got
any boys here. There 's one boy here, but he always
goes round with a teacher. They won't let him play."
"And your brother has n't any teacher ?" Winter-
bourne enquired.
It tapped, at a touch, the spring of confidence.
"Mother thought of getting him one to travel
13
DAISY MILLER
round with us. There was a lady told her of a very
good teacher; an American lady perhaps you know
her Mrs. Sanders. I think she came from Boston.
She told her of this teacher, and we thought of getting
him to travel round with us. But Randolph said he
did n't want a teacher travelling round with us. He
said he would n't have lessons when he was in the cars.
And we are in the cars about half the time. There was
an English lady we met in the cars I think her name
was Miss Featherstone; perhaps you know her. She
wanted to know why I did n't give Randolph lessons
give him 'instruction/ she called it. I guess he
could give me more instruction than I could give him.
He's very smart."
"Yes," said Winterbourne; "he seems very smart."
"Mother's going to get a teacher for him as soon
as we get t' Italy. Can you get good teachers in
Italy?"
"Very good, I should think," Winterbourne hast-
ened to reply.
"Or else she *s going to find some school. He ought
to learn some more. He 's only nine. He 's going to
college." And in this way Miss Miller continued to
converse upon the affairs of her family and upon other
topics. She sat there with her extremely pretty hands,
ornamented with very brilliant rings, folded in her lap,
and with her pretty eyes now resting upon those of
Winterbourne, now wandering over the garden, the
people who passed before her and the beautiful view.
She addressed her new acquaintance as if she had
known him a long time. He found it very pleasant. It
was many years since he had heard a young girl talk so
DAISY MILLER
much. It might have been said of this wandering
maiden who had come and sat down beside him upon
a bench that she chattered. She was very quiet, she
sat in a charming tranquil attitude; but her lips and
her eyes were constantly moving. She had a soft slen-
der agreeable voice, and her tone was distinctly so-
ciable. She gave Winterbourne a report of her move-
ments and intentions, and those of her mother and
brother, in Europe, and enumerated in particular the
various hotels at which they had stopped. "That
English lady in the cars," she said "Miss Feather-
stone asked me if we did n't all live in hotels in
America. I told her I had never been in so many
hotels in my life as since I came to Europe. I 've never
seen so many it's nothing but hotels/' But Miss
Miller made this remark with no querulous accent;
she appeared to be in the best humour with everything.
She declared that the hotels were very good when once
you got used to their ways and that Europe was per-
fectly entrancing. She was n't disappointed not a
bit. Perhaps it was because she had heard so much
about it before. She had ever so many intimate
friends who had been there ever so many times, and
that way she had got thoroughly posted. And then she
had had ever so many dresses and things from Paris.
Whenever she put on a Paris dress she felt as if she
were in Europe.
"It was a kind of a wishing-cap," Winterbourne
smiled.
"Yes," said Miss Miller at once and without exam-
ining this analogy; "it always made me wish I was
here. But I need n't have done that for dresses. I 'm
15
DAISY MILLER
sure they send all the pretty ones to America; you see
the most frightful things here. The only thing I don't
like/' she proceeded, "is the society. There ain't any
society or if there is I don't know where it keeps
itself. Do you ? I suppose there 's some society some-
where, but I have n't seen anything of it. I 'm very
fond of society and I Ve always had plenty of it. I
don't mean only in Schenectady, but in New York. I
used to go to New York every winter. In New York
I had lots of society. Last winter I had seventeen din-
ners given me, and three of them were by gentlemen,"
added Daisy Miller. " I 've more friends in New York
than in Schenectady more gentlemen friends ; and
more young lady friends too," she resumed in a mo-
ment. She paused again for an instant; she was look-
ing at Winterbourne with all her prettiness in her
frank gay eyes and in her clear rather uniform
smile. "I've always had," she said, "a great deal of
gentlemen's society."
Poor Winterbourne was amused and perplexed
above all he was charmed. He had never yet heard a
young girl express herself in just this fashion ; never at
least save in cases where to say such things was to have
at the same time some rather complicated conscious-
ness about them. And yet was he to accuse Miss Daisy
Miller of an actual or a potential arriere-pensee, as
they said at Geneva ? He felt he had lived at Geneva
so long as to have got morally muddled ; he had lost
the right sense for the young American tone. Never
indeed since he had grown old enough to appreciate
things had he encountered a young compatriot of so
"strong" a type as this. Certainly she was very
16
DAISY MILLER
charming, but how extraordinarily communicative
and how tremendously easy ! Was she simply a pretty
girl from New York State were they all like that,
the pretty girls who had had a good deal of gentle-
men's society ? Or was she also a designing, an auda-
cious, in short an expert young person ? Yes, his in-
stinct for such a question had ceased to serve him, and
his reason could but mislead. Miss Daisy Miller
looked extremely innocent. Some people had told him
that after all American girls were exceedingly in-
nocent, and others had told him that after all they
weren't. He must on the whole take Miss Daisy
Miller for a flirt a pretty American flirt. He had
never as yet had relations with representatives of that
class. He had known here in Europe two or three wo-
men persons older than Miss Daisy Miller and pro-
vided, for respectability's sake, with husbands who
were great coquettes ; dangerous terrible women with
whom one's light commerce might indeed take a seri-
ous turn. But this charming apparition was n't a
coquette in that sense; she was very unsophisticated;
she was only a pretty American flirt. Winterbourne
was almost grateful for having found the formula that
applied to Miss Daisy Miller. He leaned back in his
seat ; he remarked to himself that she had the finest
little nose he had ever seen ; he wondered what were
the regular conditions and limitations of one's inter-
course with a pretty American flirt. It presently
became apparent that he was on the way to learn.
"Have you been to that old castle ?" the girl soon
asked, pointing with her parasol to the far-shining
walls of the Chateau de Chillon.
DAISY MILLER
"Yes, formerly, more than once/' said Winter-
bourne. " You too, I suppose, have seen it ? "
"No, we have n't been there. I want to go there
dreadfully. Of course I mean to go there. I would n't
go away from here without having seen that old
castle/'
"It's a very pretty excursion," the young man
returned, "and very easy to make. You can drive,
you know, or you can go by the little steamer/ 7
"You can go in the cars," said Miss Miller.
"Yes, you can go in the cars," Winterbourne
assented.
"Our courier says they take you right up to the
castle," she continued. "We were going last week, but
mother gave out. She suffers dreadfully from dyspep-
sia. She said she could n't any more go ! " But this
sketch of Mrs. Miller's plea remained unfinished.
" Randolph would n't go either ; he says he don't think
much of old castles. But I guess we '11 go this week if
we can get Randolph."
"Your brother isn't interested in ancient monu-
ments ? " Winterbourne indulgently asked.
He now drew her, as he guessed she would herself
have said, every time. " Why no, he says he don't care
much about old castles. He 's only nine. He wants to
stay at the hotel. Mother's afraid to leave him alone,
and the courier won't stay with him; so we have n't
been to many places. But it will be too bad if we
don't go up there." And Miss Miller pointed again
at the Chateau de Chillon.
"I should think it might be arranged," Winter-
bourne was thus emboldened to reply. " Could n't you
18
DAISY MILLER
get some one to stay for the afternoon with Ran-
dolph?"
Miss Miller looked at him a moment, and then with
all serenity, " I wish you *d stay with him ! " she said.
He pretended to consider it. "I 'd much rather go
to Chillon with you."
" With me ? " she asked without a shadow of emo-
tion.
She did n't rise blushing, as a young person at
Geneva would have done ; and yet, conscious that he
had gone very far, he thought it possible she had
drawn back. "And with your mother," he answered
very respectfully.
But it seemed that both his audacity and his respect
were lost on Miss Daisy Miller. "I guess mother
would n't go for you," she smiled. "And she ain't
much bent on going, anyway. She don't like to ride
round in the afternoon." After which she familiarly
proceeded: "But did you really mean what you said
just now that you 'd like to go up there ? "
"Most earnestly I meant it," Winterbourne de-
clared.
"Then we may arrange it. If mother will stay with
Randolph I guess Eugenio will."
"Eugenio?" the young man echoed.
" Eugenio 's our courier. He doesn't like to stay
with Randolph he's the most fastidious man I ever
saw. But he 's a splendid courier. I guess he '11 stay at
home with Randolph if mother does, and then we can
go to the castle."
Winterbourne reflected for an instant as lucidly as
possible: "we" could only mean Miss Miller and
19
DAISY MILLER
himself. This prospect seemed almost too good to
believe; he felt as if he ought to kiss the young lady's
hand. Possibly he would have done so, and quite
spoiled his chance; but at this moment another person
presumably Eugenio appeared. A tall hand-
some man, with superb whiskers and wearing a velvet
morning-coat and a voluminous watch-guard, ap-
proached the young lady, looking sharply at her com-
panion. "Oh Eugenio ! " she said with the friendliest
accent.
Eugenio had eyed Winterbourne from head to foot;
he now bowed gravely to Miss Miller. "I have the
honour to inform Mademoiselle that luncheon's on
table/'
Mademoiselle slowly rose. "See here, Eugenio, 1 'm
going to that old castle anyway."
"To the Chateau de Chillon, Mademoiselle ?" the
courier enquired. "Mademoiselle has made arrange-
ments ? " he added in a tone that struck Winterbourne
as impertinent.
Eugenie's tone apparently threw, even to Miss
Miller's own apprehension, a slightly ironical light on
her position. She turned to Winterbourne with the
slightest blush. "You won't back out?"
" I shall not be happy till we go ! " he protested.
"And you're staying in this hotel ?" she went on.
"And you're really American ?"
The courier still stood there with an effect of
offence for the young man so far as the latter saw in it
a tacit reflexion on Miss Miller's behaviour and an
insinuation that she "picked up" acquaintances. "I
shall have the honour of presenting to you a person
20
DAISY MILLER
who'll tell you all about me," he said, smiling, and
referring to his aunt.
"Oh well, we'll go some day/ 5 she beautifully an-
swered ; with which she gave him a smile and turned
away. She put up her parasol and walked back to the
inn beside Eugenio. Winterbourne stood watching
her, and as she moved away, drawing her muslin
furbelows over the walk, he spoke to himself of her
natural elegance.
II
HE had, however, engaged to do more than proved
feasible in promising to present his aunt, Mrs. Cos-
tello, to Miss Daisy Miller. As soon as that lady had
got better of her headache he waited on her in her
apartment and, after a show of the proper solicitude
about her health, asked if she had noticed in the hotel
an American family a mamma, a daughter and an
obstreperous little boy.
"An obstreperous little boy and a preposterous big
courier ?" said Mrs, Costello. "Oh yes, I 've noticed
them. Seen them, heard them and kept out of their
way." Mrs. Costello was a widow of fortune, a person
of much distinction and who frequently intimated that
if she had n't been so dreadfully liable to sick-head-
aches she would probably have left a deeper impress
on her time. She had a long pale face, a high nose and
a great deal of very striking white hair, which she wore
in large puffs and over the top of her head. She had
two sons married in New York and another who was
now in Europe. This young man was amusing him-
self at Homburg and, though guided by his taste, was
rarely observed to visit any particular city at the mo-
ment selected by his mother for her appearance there.
Her nephew, who had come to Vevey expressly to see
her, was therefore more attentive than, as she said, her
very own. He had imbibed at Geneva the idea that
one must be irreproachable in all such forms. Mrs.
22
DAISY MILLER
Costello had n't seen him for many years and was
now greatly pleased with him, manifesting her appro-
bation by initiating him into many of the secrets of
that social sway which, as he could see she would like
him to think, she exerted from her stronghold in Forty-
Second Street. She admitted that she was very exclus-
ive, but if he had been better acquainted with New
York he would see that one had to be. And her pic-
ture of the minutely hierarchical constitution of the
society of that city, which she presented to him in
many different lights, was, to Winterbourne's imagin-
ation, almost oppressively striking.
He at once recognised from her tone that Miss Daisy
Miller's place in the social scale was low. " I 'm afraid
you don't approve of them/' he pursued in reference
to his new friends.
"They're horribly common" it was perfectly
simple. " They 're the sort of Americans that one does
one's duty by just ignoring."
"Ah you just ignore them ? " the young man took
it in.
"I can't not, my dear Frederick. I wouldn't if I
had n't to, but I have to."
"The little girl 's very pretty," he went on in a mo-
ment.
"Of course she *s very pretty. But she 's of the last
crudity."
" I see what you mean of course," he allowed after
another pause.
"She has that charming look they all have," his
aunt resumed. "I can't think where they pick it up;
and she dresses in perfection no, you don't know
23
DAISY MILLER
how well she dresses. I can't think where they get
their taste/'
" But, my dear aunt, she 's not, after all, a Coman-
che savage."
"She is a young lady," said Mrs. Costello, "who
has an intimacy with her mamma's courier ? "
"An 'intimacy' with him ?" Ah there it was !
"There's no other name for such a relation. But
the skinny little mother 's just as bad ! They treat the
courier as a familiar friend as a gentleman and a
scholar. I should n't wonder if he dines with them.
Very likely they 've never seen a man with such good
manners, such fine clothes, so like a gentleman or a
scholar. He probably corresponds to the young lady's
idea of a count. He sits with them in the garden of
an evening. I think he smokes in their faces."
Winterbourne listened with interest to these dis-
closures; they helped him to make up his mind about
Miss Daisy. Evidently she was rather wild. "Well,"
he said, " I 'm not a courier and I did n't smoke in her
face, and yet she was very charming to me."
"You had better have mentioned at first," Mrs.
Costello returned with dignity, "that you had made
her valuable acquaintance."
"We simply met in the garden and talked a bit."
" By appointment no ? Ah that 's still to come !
Pray what did you say ? "
"I said I should take the liberty of introducing her
to my admirable aunt."
"Your admirable aunt's a thousand times obliged
to you."
"It was to guarantee my respectability."
24
DAISY MILLER
"And pray who's to guarantee hers ?"
"Ah you're cruel!" said the young man. "She's
a very innocent girl."
"You don't say that as if you believed it," Mrs.
Costello returned.
"She's completely uneducated," Winterbourne
acknowledged, "but she's wonderfully pretty, and in
short she 's very nice. To prove I believe it I 'm going
to take her to the Chateau de Chillon."
Mrs. Costello made a wondrous face. "You two
are going off there together ? I should say it proved
just the contrary. How long had you known her, may
I ask, when this interesting project was formed ? You
have n't been twenty-four hours in the house."
" I had known her half an hour ! " Winterbourne
smiled.
"Then she's just what I supposed."
"And what do you suppose?"
"Why that she's a horror."
Our youth was silent for some moments. " You
really think then," he presently began, and with
a desire for trustworthy information, "you really
think that " But he paused again while his aunt
waited.
"Think what, sir?"
"That she's the sort of young lady who expects a
man sooner or later to well, we'll call it carry
her off?"
" I have n't the least idea what such young ladies
expect a man to do. But I really consider you had
better not meddle with little American girls who are
uneducated, as you mildly put it. You 've lived too
25
DAISY MILLER
long out of the country. You 'II be sure to make some
great mistake. You're too innocent."
"My dear aunt, not so much as that comes to ! " he
protested with a laugh and a curl of his moustache.
"You're too guilty then!"
He continued all thoughtfully to finger the orna-
ment in question. "You won't let the poor girl know
you then ? " he asked at last.
"Is it literally true that she's going to the Chateau
de Chillon with you ? "
"I've no doubt she fully intends it."
"Then, my dear Frederick," said Mrs. Costello,
" I must decline the honour of her acquaintance. I 'm
an old woman, but I 'm not too old thank heaven
to be honestly shocked ! "
"But don't they all do these things the little
American girls at home ? " Winterbourne enquired.
Mrs. Costello stared a moment. " I should like to
see my granddaughters do them!" she then grimly
returned.
This seemed to throw some light on the matter, for
Winterbourne remembered to have heard his pretty
cousins in New York, the daughters of this lady's two
daughters, called "tremendous flirts." If therefore
Miss Daisy Miller exceeded the liberal licence allowed
to these young women it was probable she did go even
by the American allowance rather far. Winterbourne
was impatient to see her again, and it vexed, it even
a little humiliated him, that he should n't by instinct
appreciate her justly.
Though so impatient to see her again he hardly
knew what ground he should give for his aunt's refusal
26
DAISY MILLER
to become acquainted with her; but he discovered
promptly enough that with Miss Daisy Miller there
was no great need of walking on tiptoe. He found her
that evening in the garden, wandering about in the
warm starlight after the manner of an indolent sylph
and swinging to and fro the largest fan he had ever
beheld. It was ten o'clock. He had dined with his
aunt, had been sitting with her since dinner, and had
just taken leave of her till the morrow. His young
friend frankly rejoiced to renew their intercourse; she
pronounced it the stupidest evening she had ever
passed.
" Have you been all alone ? " he asked with no in-
tention of an epigram and no effect of her perceiving
one.
" I 've been walking round with mother. But mo-
ther gets tired walking round," Miss Miller explained.
"Has she gone to bed ?"
"No, she does n't like to go to bed. She does n't
sleep scarcely any not three hours. She says she
does n't know how she lives. She 's dreadfully nerv-
ous. I guess she sleeps more than she thinks. She's
gone somewhere after Randolph ; she wants to try to
get him to go to bed. He does n't like to go to bed."
The soft impartiality of her constatations, as Win-
terbourne would have termed them, was a thing by
itself exquisite little fatalist as they seemed to make
her. "Let us hope she'll persuade him," he encour-
agingly said.
"Well, she'll talk to him all she can but he
does n't like her to talk to him " : with which Miss
Daisy opened and closed her fan. "She's going to try
27
DAISY MILLER
to get Eugenic to talk to him. But Randolph ain't
afraid of Eugenio. Eugenio 's a splendid courier, but
he can't make much impression on Randolph ! I don't
believe he'll go to bed before eleven." Her detach-
ment from any invidious judgement of this was, to her
companion's sense, inimitable; and it appeared that
Randolph's vigil was in fact triumphantly prolonged,
for Winterbourne attended her in her stroll for some
time without meeting her mother. " I 've been looking
round for that lady you want to introduce me to," she
resumed "I guess she 's your aunt." Then on his
admitting the fact and expressing some curiosity as to
how she had learned it, she said she had heard all
about Mrs. Costello from the chambermaid. She was
very quiet and very comrne il faut; she wore white
puffs ; she spoke to no one and she never dined at the
common table. Every two days she had a headache.
"I think that's a lovely description, headache and
all ! " said Miss Daisy, chattering along in her thin gay
voice. "I want to know her ever so much. I know
just what your aunt would be; I know I'd like her.
She 'd be very exclusive. I like a lady to be exclusive;
I 'm dying to be exclusive myself. Well, I guess we are
exclusive, mother and I. We don't speak to any one
or they don't speak to us. I suppose it 's about the
same thing. Anyway, I shall be ever so glad to meet
your aunt."
Winterbourne was embarrassed he could but
trump up some evasion. "She'd be most happy, but
I'm afraid those tiresome headaches are always to
be reckoned with."
The girl looked at him through the fine dusk.
28
DAISY MILLER
"Well, I suppose she does n't have a headache every
day."
He had to make the best of it. " She tells me she
wonderfully does/* He did n't know what else to say.
Miss Miller stopped and stood looking at him. Her
prettiness was still visible in the darkness; she kept
flapping to and fro her enormous fan. "She does n't
want to know me ! " she then lightly broke out. " Why
don't you say so ? You need n't be afraid. / *m not
afraid ! " And she quite crowed for the fun of it.
Winterbourne distinguished however a wee false
note in this : he was touched, shocked, mortified by it.
"My dear young lady, she knows no one. She goes
through life immured. It 's her wretched health."
The young girl walked on a few steps in the glee of
the thing. " You need n't be afraid," she repeated.
"Why should she want to know me?" Then she
paused again ; she was close to the parapet of the gar-
den, and in front of her was the starlit lake. There
was a vague sheen on its surface, and in the dis-
tance were dimly-seen mountain forms. Daisy Miller
looked out at these great lights and shades and again
proclaimed a gay indifference "Gracious! she is
exclusive ! " Winterbourne wondered if she were seri-
ously wounded and for a moment almost wished her
sense of injury might be such as to make it becoming
in him to reassure and comfort her. He had a pleasant
sense that she would be all accessible to a respectful
tenderness at that moment. He felt quite ready to
sacrifice his aunt conversationally; to acknow-
ledge she was a proud rude woman and to make the
point that they need n't mind her. But before he had
29
DAISY MILLER
time to commit himself to this questionable mixture of
gallantry and impiety, the young lady, resuming her
walk, gave an exclamation in quite another tone.
"Well, here's mother! I guess she has n't got Ran-
dolph to go to bed." The figure of a lady appeared, at
a distance, very indistinct in the darkness ; it advanced
with a slow and wavering step and then suddenly
seemed to pause.
"Are you sure it's your mother? Can you make
her out in this thick dusk ? " Winterbourne asked.
"Well," the girl laughed, "I guess I know my
own mother ! And when she has got on my shawl too.
She's always wearing my things."
The lady in question, ceasing now to approach,
hovered vaguely about the spot at which she had
checked her steps.
" I 'm afraid your mother does n't see you," said
Winterbourne. " Or perhaps," he added thinking,
with Miss Miller, the joke permissible " perhaps
she feels guilty about your shawl."
"Oh it's a fearful old thing!" his companion
placidly answered. " I told her she could wear it if she
did n't mind looking like a fright. She won't come
here because she sees you."
"Ah then," said Winterbourne, "I had better leave
you."
" Oh no come on ! " the girl insisted.
" I 'm afraid your mother does n't approve of my
walking with you."
She gave him, he thought, the oddest glance. "It
is n't for me ; it 's for you that is it 's for her. Well,
I don't know who it 's for ! But mother does n't like
3
DAISY MILLER
any of my gentlemen friends. She y s right down timid.
She always makes a fuss if I introduce a gentleman.
But I do introduce them almost always. If I
did n't introduce my gentlemen friends to mother/'
Miss Miller added, in her small flat monotone, "I
should n't think I was natural."
"Well, to introduce me," Winterbourne remarked,
"you must know my name/' And he proceeded to
pronounce it.
"Oh my I can't say all that!" cried his com-
panion, much amused. But by this time they had
come up to Mrs. Miller, who, as they drew near,
walked to the parapet of the garden and leaned on it,
looking intently at the lake and presenting her back to
them. " Mother ! " said the girl in a tone of decision
upon which the elder lady turned round. "Mr.
Frederick Forsyth Winterbourne," said the latter's
young friend, repeating his lesson of a moment before
and introducing him very frankly and prettily. " Com-
mon" she might be, as Mrs. Costello had pro-
nounced her; yet what provision was made by that
epithet for her queer little native grace ?
Her mother was a small spare light person, with a
wandering eye, a scarce perceptible nose, and, as to
make up for it, an unmistakeable forehead, decorated
but too far back, as Winterbourne mentally de-
scribed it with thin much-frizzled hair. Like her
daughter Mrs. Miller was dressed with extreme
elegance; she had enormous diamonds in her ears.
So far as the young man could observe, she gave
him no greeting she certainly was n't looking
at him. Daisy was near her, pulling her shawl
31
DAISY MILLER
time to commit himself to this questionable mixture of
gallantry and impiety, the young lady, resuming her
walk, gave an exclamation in quite another tone.
" Well, here's mother! I guess she hasnt got Ran-
dolph to go to bed." The figure of a lady appeared, at
a distance, very indistinct in the darkness ; it advanced
with a slow and wavering step and then suddenly
seemed to pause.
"Are you sure it's your mother? Can you make
her out in this thick dusk ? " Winterbourne asked.
"Well," the girl laughed, "I guess I know my
own mother ! And when she has got on my shawl too.
She 's always wearing my things."
The lady in question, ceasing now to approach,
hovered vaguely about the spot at which she had
checked her steps.
" I 'm afraid your mother does n't see you," said
Winterbourne. "Or perhaps," he added thinking,
with Miss Miller, the joke permissible " perhaps
she feels guilty about your shawl."
"Oh it's a fearful old thing!" his companion
placidly answered. " I told her she could wear it if she
did n't mind looking like a fright. She won't come
here because she sees you."
"Ah then," said Winterbourne, "I had better leave
you."
" Oh no come on ! " the girl insisted.
" I 'm afraid your mother does n't approve of my
walking with you."
She gave him, he thought, the oddest glance. "It
is n't for me ; it 's for you that is it 's for her. Well,
I don't know who it *s for ! But mother does n't like
3
DAISY MILLER
any of my gentlemen friends. She 's right down timid.
She always makes a fuss if I introduce a gentleman.
But I do introduce them almost always. If I
did n't introduce my gentlemen friends to mother/'
Miss Miller added, in her small flat monotone, "I
should n't think I was natural."
"Well, to introduce me," Winterbourne remarked,
"you must know my name." And he proceeded to
pronounce it.
"Oh my I can't say all that!" cried his com-
panion, much amused. But by this time they had
come up to Mrs. Miller, who, as they drew near,
walked to the parapet of the garden and leaned on it,
looking intently at the lake and presenting her back to
them. " Mother ! " said the girl in a tone of decision
upon which the elder lady turned round. "Mr.
Frederick Forsyth Winterbourne," said the latter's
young friend, repeating his lesson of a moment before
and introducing him very frankly and prettily. " Com-
mon" she might be, as Mrs. Costello had pro-
nounced her; yet what provision was made by that
epithet for her queer little native grace ?
Her mother was a small spare light person, with a
wandering eye, a scarce perceptible nose, and, as to
make up for it, an unmistakeable forehead, decorated
but too far back, as Winterbourne mentally de-
scribed it with thin much-frizzled hair. Like her
daughter Mrs. Miller was dressed with extreme
elegance; she had enormous diamonds in her ears.
So far as the young man could observe, she gave
him no greeting she certainly was n't looking
at him. Daisy was near her, pulling her shawl
31
DAISY MILLER
straight. "What are you doing, poking round here ? "
this young lady enquired yet by no means with
the harshness of accent her choice of words might
have implied.
"Well, I don't know" and the new-comer
turned to the lake again.
" I should n't think you 'd want that shawl ! " Daisy
familiarly proceeded.
"Well I do 1 " her mother answered with a sound
that partook for Winterbourne of an odd strain be-
tween mirth and woe.
"Did you get Randolph to go to bed?" Daisy
asked.
"No, I could n't induce him" and Mrs. Miller
seemed to confess to the same mild fatalism as her
daughter. " He wants to talk to the waiter. He likes
to talk to that waiter."
"I was just telling Mr. Winterbourne," the girl
went on ; and to the young man's ear her tone might
have indicated that she had been uttering his name all
her life.
"Oh yes!" he concurred "I've the pleasure of
knowing your son."
Randolph's mamma was silent; she kept her atten-
tion on the lake. But at last a sigh broke from her.
"Well, I don't see how he lives!"
"Anyhow, it is n't so bad as it was at Dover," Daisy
at least opined.
"And what occurred at Dover?" Winterbourne
desired to know.
"He would n't go to bed at all. I guess he sat up
all night in the public parlour. He wasn't in
3*
DAISY MILLER
bed at twelve o'clock : it seemed as if he could n't
budge/'
"It was half-past twelve when / gave up/* Mrs.
Miller recorded with passionless accuracy.
It was of great interest to Winterbourne. " Does he
sleep much during the day ? "
"I guess he doesn't sleep very much/* Daisy
rejoined.
" I wish he just would! " said her mother. " It seems
as if he must make it up somehow.'*
"Well, I guess it *s we that make it up. I think he 's
real tiresome," Daisy pursued.
After which, for some moments, there was silence.
"Well, Daisy Miller," the elder lady then unexpect-
edly broke out, " I should n't think you 'd want to talk
against your own brother ! "
"Well, he is tiresome, mother/' said the girl, but
with no sharpness of insistence.
"Well, he's only nine," Mrs. Miller lucidly urged.
"Well, he would n't go up to that castle, anyway,"
her daughter replied as for accommodation. "I'm
going up there with Mr. Winterbourne."
To this announcement, very placidly made, Daisy's
parent offered no response. Winterbourne took for
granted on this that she opposed such a course; but
he said to himself at the same time that she was a
simple easily-rmanaged person and that a few deferen-
tial protestationlTwould modify her attitude. "Yes,"
he therefore interposed, "your daughter has kindly
allowed me the honour of being her guide."
Mrs. Miller's wandering eyes attached themselves
with an appealing air to her other companion, who,
33
DAISY MILLER
however, strolled a few steps further, gently humming
to herself. " I presume you '11 go in the cars," she then
quite colourlessly remarked.
"Yes, or in the boat," said Winterbourne.
"Well, of course I don't know," Mrs. Miller re-
turned. " I 've never been up to that castle."
" It is a pity you should n't go," he observed, begin-
ning to feel reassured as to her opposition. And yet he
was quite prepared to find that as a matter of course
she meant to accompany her daughter.
It was on this view accordingly that light was pro-
jected for him. "We've been thinking ever so much
about going, but it seems as if we could n't. Of course
Daisy she wants to go round everywhere. But
there 's a lady here I don't know her name she
says she should n't think we 'd want to go to see castles
here; she should think we 'd want to wait till we got t'
Italy. It seems as if there would be so many there,"
continued Mrs. Miller with an air of increasing con-
fidence. " Of course we only want to see the principal
ones. We visited several in England," she presently
added.
"Ah yes, in England there are beautiful castles,"
said Winterbourne. " But Chillon here is very well
worth seeing."
"Well, if Daisy feels up to it " said Mrs.
Miller in a tone that seemed to break under the bur-
den of such conceptions. "It seems as if there's
nothing she won't undertake."
"Oh I'm pretty sure she'll enjoy it!" Winter-
bourne declared. And he desired more and more to
make it a certainty that he was to have the privilege of
34
DAISY MILLER
a tete-a-tete with the young lady who was still strolling
along in front of them and softly vocalising. " You 're
not disposed, madam," he enquired, "to make the so
interesting excursion yourself?"
So addressed Daisy's mother looked at him an in-
stant with a certain scared obliquity and then walked
forward in silence. Then, "I guess she had better
go alone," she said simply.
It gave him occasion to note that this was a very dif-
ferent type of maternity from that of the vigilant
matrons who massed themselves in the forefront of
social intercourse in the dark old city at the other end
of the lake. But his meditations were interrupted by
hearing his name very distinctly pronounced by Mrs.
Miller's unprotected daughter. " Mr. Winterbourne ! "
she piped from a considerable distance.
"Mademoiselle!" said the young man.
"Don't you want to take me out in a boat?"
"At present?" he asked.
"Why of course!" she gaily returned.
"Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother.
"I beg you, madam, to let her go," he hereupon
eagerly pleaded ; so instantly had he been struck with
the romantic side of this chance to guide through the
summer starlight a skiff freighted with a fresh and
beautiful young girl.
"I shouldn't think she'd want to," said her
mother. "I should think she'd rather go indoors."
" I 'm sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me,"
Daisy declared. " He 's so awfully devoted ! "
" I '11 row you over to Chillon under the stars. "
"I don't believe it!" Daisy laughed.
35
DAISY MILLER
"Well!" the elder lady again gasped, as in rebuke
of this freedom.
"You haven't spoken to me for half an hour,"
her daughter went on.
"I've been having some very pleasant conversa-
tion with your mother," Winterbourne replied.
"Oh pshaw! I want you to take me out in a
boat ! " Daisy went on as if nothing else had been said.
They had all stopped and she had turned round and
was looking at her friend. Her face wore a charming
smile, her pretty eyes gleamed in the darkness, she
swung her great fan about. No, he felt, it was im-
possible to be prettier than that.
"There are half a dozen boats moored at that
landing-place," and he pointed to a range of steps
that descended from the garden to the lake. " If you '11
do me the honour to accept my arm we '11 go and select
one of them."
She stood there smiling; she threw back her head;
she laughed as for the drollery of this. " I like a gen-
tleman to be formal ! "
"I assure you it's a formal offer."
" I was bound I 'd make you say something," Daisy
agreeably mocked.
"You see it's not very difficult," said Winter-
bourne. " But I 'm afraid you *re chaffing me."
" I think not, sir," Mrs. Miller shyly pleaded.
" Do then let me give you a row," he persisted to
Daisy.
" It 's quite lovely, the way you say that ! " she cried
in reward
"It will be still more lovely to do it."
36
DAISY MILLER
" Yes, it would be lovely ! " But she made no move-
ment to accompany him; she only remained an ele-
gant image of free light irony.
" I guess you 'd better find out what time it is/' her
mother impartially contributed.
"It's eleven o'clock, Madam," said a voice with a
foreign accent out of the neighbouring darkness; and
Winterbourne, turning, recognised the florid person-
age he had already seen in attendance. He had ap-
parently just approached.
"Oh Eugenio," said Daisy, "I'm going out with
Mr. Winterbourne in a boat!"
Eugenio bowed. "At this hour of the night, Made-
moiselle ? "
" I 'm going with Mr. Winterbourne," she repeated
with her shining smile. " I 'm going this very minute."
"Do tell her she can't, Eugenio," Mrs. Miller said
to the courier,
"I think you had better not go out in a boat,
Mademoiselle," the man declared.
Winterbourne wished to goodness this pretty girl
were not on such familiar terms with her courier; but
he said nothing, and she meanwhile added to his
ground. "I suppose you don't think it's proper!
My ! " she wailed ; " Eugenio does n't think anything 's
proper."
" I 'm nevertheless quite at your service," Winter-
bourne hastened to remark.
"Does Mademoiselle propose to go alone ?" Euge-
nio asked of Mrs. Miller.
"Oh no, with this gentleman!" cried Daisy's
mamma for reassurance.
37
DAISY MILLER
"I meant alone with the gentleman." The courier
looked for a moment at Winterbourne the latter
seemed to make out in his face a vague presumptuous
intelligence as at the expense of their companions
and then solemnly and with a bow, "As Mademoiselle
pleases !" he said.
But Daisy broke off at this. "Oh I hoped you'd
make a fuss ! I don't care to go now."
"Ah but I myself shall make a fuss if you don't go,"
Winterbourne declared with spirit.
"That's all I want a little fuss!" With which
she began to laugh again.
"Mr. Randolph has retired for the night!" the
courier hereupon importantly announced.
"Oh Daisy, now we can go then!" cried Mrs.
Miller.
Her daughter turned away from their friend, all
lighted with her odd perversity. "Good-night I
hope you're disappointed or disgusted or some-
thing!"
He looked at her gravely, taking her by the hand she
offered. " I 'm puzzled, if you want to know ! " he an-
swered.
"Well, I hope it won't keep you awake!" she said
very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged
Eugenic, the two ladies passed toward the house.
Winterbourne's eyes followed them ; he was indeed
quite mystified. He lingered beside the lake a quarter
of an hour, baffled by the question of the girl's sudden
familiarities and caprices. But the only very definite
conclusion he came to was that he should enjoy
deucedly "going off" with her somewhere.
38
DAISY MILLER
Two days later he went off with her to the Castle of
Chillon. He waited for her in the large hall of the
hotel, where the couriers, the servants, the foreign tour-
ists were lounging about and staring. It was n't the
place he would have chosen for a tryst, but she had
placidly appointed it. She came tripping downstairs,
buttoning her long gloves, squeezing her folded para-
sol against her pretty figure, dressed exactly in the way
that consorted best, to his fancy, with their adventure.
He was a man of imagination and, as our ancestors
used to say, of sensibility; as he took in her charming
air and caught from the great staircase her impatient
confiding step the note of some small sweet strain of
romance, not intense but clear and sweet, seemed to
sound for their start. He could have believed he was
really going "off" with her. He led her out through
all the idle people assembled they all looked at
her straight and hard: she had begun to chatter as
soon as she joined him. His preference had been that
they should be conveyed to Chillon in a carriage, but
she expressed a lively wish to go in the little steamer
there would be such a lovely breeze upon the water
and they should see such lots of people. The sail
was n't long, but Winterbourne's companion found
time for many characteristic remarks and other de-
monstrations, not a few of which were, from the ex-
tremity of their candour, slightly disconcerting. To
the young man himself their small excursion showed
so for delightfully irregular and incongruously intim-
ate that, even allowing for her habitual sense of free-
dom, he had some expectation of seeing her appear to
find in it the same savour. But it must be confessed
39
DAISY MILLER
that he was in this particular rather disappointed.
Miss Miller was highly animated, she was in the
brightest spirits ; but she was clearly not at all in a nerv-
ous flutter as she should have been to match bis
tension ; she avoided neither his eyes nor those of any
one else; she neither coloured from an awkward con-
sciousness when she looked at him nor when she saw
that people were looking at herself. People continued
to look at her a great deal, and Winterbourne could at
least take pleasure in his pretty companion's distin-
guished air. He had been privately afraid she would
talk loud, laugh overmuch, and even perhaps desire to
move extravagantly about the boat. But he quite for-
got his fears ; he sat smiling with his eyes on her face
while, without stirring from her place, she delivered
herself of a great number of original reflexions. It was
the most charming innocent prattle he had ever heard,
for, by his own experience hitherto, when young per-
sons were so ingenuous they were less articulate and
when they were so confident were more sophisticated.
If he had assented to the idea that she was "common,"
at any rate, was she proving so, after all, or was he
simply getting used to her commonness? Her dis-
course was for the most part of what immediately and
superficially surrounded them, but there were mo-
ments when it threw out a longer look or took a sud-
den straight plunge,
"What on earth are you so solemn about?" she
suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes on her
friend's.
"Am I solemn ?" he asked. "I had an idea I was
grinning from ear to ear."
40
DAISY MILLER
"You look as if you were taking me to a prayer-
meeting or a funeral. If that's a grin your ears are
very near together/*
"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the
deck?"
" Pray do, and I '11 carry round your hat. It will pay
the expenses of our journey."
"I never was better pleased in my life," Winter-
bourne returned.
She looked at him a moment, then let it renew her
amusement. "I like to make you say those things.
You 're a queer mixture ! "
In the castle, after they had landed, nothing could
exceed the light independence of her humour. She
tripped about the vaulted chambers, rustled her skirts
in the corkscrew staircases, flirted back with a pretty
little cry and a shudder from the edge of the oubliettes
and turned a singularly well-shaped ear to everything
Winterbourne told her about the place. But he saw
she cared little for mediaeval history and that the grim
ghosts of Chillon loomed but faintly before her. They
had the good fortune to have been able to wander
without other society than that of their guide; and
Winterbourne arranged with this companion that they
should n't be hurried that they should linger and
pause wherever they chose. He interpreted the bar-
gain generously Winterbourne on his side had been
generous and ended by leaving them quite to them-
selves. Miss Miller's observations were marked by no
logical consistency; for anything she wanted to say
she was sure to find a pretext. She found a great many,
in the tortuous passages and rugged embrasures
41
DAISY MILLER
of the place, for asking her young man sudden ques-
tions about himself, his family, his previous history,
his tastes, his habits, his designs, and for supplying
information on corresponding points in her own situa-
tion. Of her own tastes, habits and designs the charm-
ing creature was prepared to give the most definite and
indeed the most favourable account.
"Well, I hope you know enough!" she exclaimed
after Winterbourne had sketched for her something
of the story of the unhappy Bonnivard. " I never saw
a man that knew so much ! " The history of Bonnivard
had evidently, as they say, gone into one ear and out
of the other. But this easy erudition struck her none
the less as wonderful, and she was soon quite sure she
wished Winterbourne would travel with them and
"go round " with them: they too in that case might
learn something about something. " Don't you want
to come and teach Randolph ? " she asked ; " I guess
he'd improve with a gentleman teacher." Winter-
bourne was certain that nothing could possibly please
him so much, but that he had unfortunately other
occupations. "Other occupations? I don't believe
a speck of it!" she protested. "What do you mean
now ? You 're not in business." The young man al-
lowed that he was not in business, but he had engage-
ments which even within a day or two would necessi-
tate his return to Geneva. "Oh bother ! " she panted,
"I don't believe it!" and she began to talk about
something else. But a few moments later, when he
was pointing out to her the interesting design of an
antique fireplace, she broke out irrelevantly: "You
don't mean to say you 're going back to Geneva ? "
DAISY MILLER
"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to report
myself there to-morrow/'
She met it with a vivacity that could only flatter
him. "Well, Mr. Winterbourne, I think you're hor-
rid!"
"Oh don't say such dreadful things!" he quite
sincerely pleaded "just at the last."
" The last ? " the girl cried ; " I call it the very first !
I 've half a mind to leave you here and go straight back
to the hotel alone." And for the next ten minutes she
did nothing but call him horrid. Poor Winterbourne
was fairly bewildered; no young lady had as yet done
him the honour to be so agitated by the mention
of his personal plans. His companion, after this,
ceased to pay any attention to the curiosities of Chillon
or the beauties of the lake; she opened fire on the
special charmer in Geneva whom she appeared to
have instantly taken it for granted that he was hurry-
ing back to see. How did Miss Daisy Miller know
of that agent of his fate in Geneva ? Winterbourne,
who denied the existence of such a person, was quite
unable to discover; and he was divided between
amazement at the rapidity of her induction and amuse-
ment at the directness of her criticism. She struck him
afresh, in all this, as an extraordinary mixture of inno-
cence and crudity. " Does she never allow you more
than three days at a time ? " Miss Miller wished ironic-
ally to know. "Does n't she give you a vacation in
summer ? there 's no one so hard-worked but they
can get leave to go off somewhere at this season. I
suppose if you stay another day she '11 come right after
you in the boat. Do wait over till Friday and I '11 go
43
DAISY MILLER
down to the landing to see her arrive ! " He began
at last even to feel he had been wrong to be disap-
pointed in the temper in which his young lady had
embarked. If he had missed the personal accent, the
personal accent was now making its appearance. It
sounded very distinctly, toward the end, in her telling
him she'd stop "teasing" him if he'd promise her
solemnly to come down to Rome that winter.
"That's not a difficult promise to make," he hast-
ened to acknowledge. "My aunt has taken an apart-
ment in Rome from January and has already asked
me to come and see her."
"I don't want you to come for your aunt," said
Daisy ; " I want you just to come for me." And this
was the only allusion he was ever to hear her make
again to his invidious kinswoman. He promised her
that at any rate he would certainly come, and after
this she forbore from teasing. Winterbourne took a
carriage and they drove back to Vevey in the dusk ;
the girl at his side, her animation a little spent, was
now quite distractingly passive.
In the evening he mentioned to Mrs. Costello that
he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy
Miller.
"The Americans of the courier?" asked this
lady.
"Ah happily the courier stayed at home/*
"She went with you all alone?"
"All alone."
Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling-bottle.
"And that," she exclaimed, "is the little abomination
you wanted me to know ! "
Ill
WINTERBOURNE, who had returned to Geneva the day
after his excursion to Chillon, went to Rome toward the
end of January. His aunt had been established there
a considerable time and he had received from her
a couple of characteristic letters. "Those people you
were so devoted to last summer at Vevey have turned
up here, courier and all," she wrote. "They seem to
have made several acquaintances, but the courier con-
tinues to be the most intlme. The young lady, how-
ever, is also very intimate with various third-rate Ital-
ians, with whom she rackets about in a way that makes
much talk. Bring me that pretty novel of Cherbuliez's
* Paule Mere ' and don't come later than the23d."
Our friend would in the natural course of events,
on arriving in Rome, have presently ascertained Mrs.
Miller's address at the American banker's and gone
to pay his compliments to Miss Daisy. "After what
happened at Vevey I certainly think I may call upon
them," he said to Mrs. Costello.
" If after what happens at Vevey and every-
where you desire to keep up the acquaintance,
you 're very welcome. Of course you 're not squeam-
ish a man may know every one. Men are welcome
to the privilege ! "
"Pray what is it then that 'happens* here for
instance ? " Winterbourne asked.
"Well, the girl tears about alone with her unmis-
45
DAISY MILLER
takeably low foreigners. As to what happens further
you must apply elsewhere for information. She has
picked up half a dozen of the regular Roman fortune-
hunters of the inferior sort and she takes them about
to such houses as she may put her nose into. When she
comes to a party such a party as she can come to
she brings with her a gentleman with a good deal of
manner and a wonderful moustache/*
"And where 's the mother ?"
"I haven't the least idea. They're very dreadful
people."
Winterbourne thought them over in these new
lights. " They 're very ignorant very innocent only,
and utterly uncivilised. Depend on it they're not
'bad.'"
"They're hopelessly vulgar," said Mrs. Costello.
" Whether or no being hopelessly vulgar is being * bad '
is a question for the metaphysicians. They're bad
enough to blush for, at any rate; and for this short life
that 's quite enough."
The news that his little friend the child of nature of
the Swiss lakeside was now surrounded by half a
dozen wonderful moustaches checked Winterbourne's
impulse to go straightway to see her. He had perhaps
not definitely flattered himself that he had made an
ineffaceable impression upon her heart, but he was
annoyed at hearing of a state of affairs so little in har-
mony with an image that had lately flitted in and out
of his own meditations ; the image of a very pretty girl
looking out of an old Roman window and asking her-
self urgently when Mr. Winterbourne would arrive.
If, however, he determined to wait a little before re-
DAISY MILLER
minding this young lady of his claim to her faithful
remembrance, he called with more promptitude on
two or three other friends. One of these friends was an
American lady who had spent several winters at
Geneva, where she had placed her children at school.
She was a very accomplished woman and she lived in
Via Gregoriana. Winterbourne found her in a little
crimson drawing-room on a third floor; the room was
filled with southern sunshine. He had n't been there
ten minutes when the servant, appearing in the door-
way, announced complacently "Madame Mila!"
This announcement was presently followed by the
entrance of little Randolph Miller, who stopped in the
middle of the room and stood staring at Winter-
bourne. An instant later his pretty sister crossed the
threshold ; and then, after a considerable interval, the
parent of the pair slowly advanced.
"I guess I know you!" Randolph broke ground
without delay.
"I 'm sure you know a great many things" and
his old friend clutched him all interestedly by the
arm. "How's your education coming on ?"
Daisy was engaged in some pretty babble with her
hostess, but when she heard Winterbourne's voice she
quickly turned her head with a "Well, I declare!"
which he met smiling. " I told you I should come, you
know."
"Well, I did n't believe it," she answered.
"I'm much obliged to you for that," laughed the
young man.
"You might have come to see me then," Daisy went
on as if they had parted the week before.
47
DAISY MILLER
" I arrived only yesterday."
" I don't believe any such thing ! " the girl declared
afresh.
Winterbourne turned with a protesting smile to her
mother, but this lady evaded his glance and, seating
herself, fixed her eyes on her son. " We 've got a bigger
place than this," Randolph hereupon broke out. " It 's
all gold on the walls."
Mrs. Miller, more of a fatalist apparently than ever,
turned uneasily in her chair. " I told you if I was to
bring you you 'd say something ! " she stated as for the
benefit of such of the company as might hear it.
"I told you!" Randolph retorted. " I tell you, sir ! "
he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on
the knee. "It is bigger too! "
As Daisy's conversation with her hostess still occu-
pied her Winterbourne judged it becoming to address
a few words to her mother such as " I hope you 've
been well since we parted at Vevey."
Mrs. Miller now certainly looked at him at his
chin. "Not very well, sir," she answered.
"She's got the dyspepsia," said Randolph. "I've
got it too. Father 's got it bad. But I Ve got it worst ! "
This proclamation, instead of embarrassing Mrs.
Miller, seemed to soothe her by reconstituting the
environment to which she was most accustomed. "I
suffer from the liver," she amiably whined to Winter-
bourne. "I think it's this climate; it's less bracing
than Schenectady, especially in the winter season. I
don't know whether you know we reside at Schenec-
tady. I was saying to Daisy that I certainly had n't
found any one like Dr. Davis and I did n't believe I
DAISY MILLER
would. Oh up in Schenectady, he stands first; they
think everything of Dr. Davis. He has so much to do,
and yet there was nothing he would n't do for me. He
said he never saw anything like my dyspepsia, but he
was bound to get at it. I 'm sure there was nothing he
would n't try, and I did n't care what he did to me if
he only brought me relief. He was just going to try
something new, and I just longed for it, when we came
right off. Mr. Miller felt as if he wanted Daisy to see
Europe for herself. But I could n't help writing the
other day that I supposed it was all right for Daisy,
but that I did n't know as I could get on much longer
without Dr. Davis. At Schenectady he stands at the
very top ; and there 's a great deal of sickness there too.
It affects my sleep."
Winterbourne had a good deal of pathological
gossip with Dr. Davis's patient, during which Daisy
chattered unremittingly to her own companion. The
young man asked Mrs. Miller how she was pleased
with Rome. "Well, I must say I'm disappointed,'*
she confessed. "We had heard so much about it I
suppose we had heard too much. But we could n't help
that. We had been led to expect something different."
Winterbourne, however, abounded in reassurance.
"Ah wait a little, and you '11 grow very fond of it."
" I hate it worse and worse every day ! " cried Ran-
dolph.
"You're like the infant Hannibal," his friend
laughed.
"No I ain't like any infant!" Randolph declared
at a venture.
"Well, that's so and you never were!" his
49
DAISY MILLER
mother concurred. "But we've seen places," she
resumed, "that I 'd put a long way ahead of Rome/'
And in reply to Winterbourne's interrogation,
"There's Zurich up there in the mountains,"
she instanced; "I think Zurich's real lovely, and we
had n't heard half so much about it."
"The best place we've seen's the City of Rich-
mond!" said Randolph.
" He means the ship," Mrs. Miller explained. " We
crossed in that ship. Randolph had a good time on the
City of Richmond"
" It 's the best place / 9 ve struck," the child repeated.
"Only it was turned the wrong way."
"Well, we 've got to turn the right way sometime,"
said Mrs. Miller with strained but weak optimism.
Winterbourne expressed the hope that her daughter at
least appreciated the so various interest of Rome, and
she declared with some spirit that Daisy was quite
carried away. " It 's on account of the society the
society's splendid. She goes round everywhere; she
has made a great number of acquaintances. Of course
she goes round more than I do. I must say they 've all
been very sweet they've taken her right in. And
then she knows a great many gentlemen. Oh she
thinks there 's nothing like Rome. Of course it 's a
great deal pleasanter for a young lady if she knows
plenty of gentlemen."
By this time Daisy had turned her attention again
to Winterbourne, but in quite the same free form.
" I 've been telling Mrs. Walker how mean you were ! "
"And what's the evidence you 've offered ?" he
asked, a trifle disconcerted, for all his superior gal-
5
DAISY MILLER
lantry, by her inadequate measure of the zeal of an
admirer who on his way down to Rome had stopped
neither at Bologna nor at Florence, simply because of
a certain sweet appeal to his fond fancy, not to say to
his finest curiosity. He remembered how a cynical
compatriot had once told him that American women
the pretty ones, and this gave a largeness to the
axiom were at once the most exacting in the world
and the least endowed with a sense of indebtedness.
"Why you were awfully mean up at Vevey," Daisy
said. "You wouldn't do most anything. You
would n't stay there when I asked you."
"Dearest young lady," cried Winterbourne, with
generous passion, "have I come all the way to Rome
only to be riddled by your silver shafts ? "
" Just hear him say that ! " and she gave an affec-
tionate twist to a bow on her hostess's dress. " Did you
ever hear anything so quaint ? "
"So * quaint,' my dear ?" echoed Mrs. Walker more
critically quite in the tone of a partisan of Winter-
bourne.
"Well, I don't know" and the girl continued to
finger her ribbons. "Mrs. Walker, I want to tell you
something."
"Say, mother-r," broke in Randolph with his rough
ends to his words, "I tell you you've got to go.
Eugenio'il raise something!"
" I 'm not afraid of Eugenio," said Daisy with a toss
of her head. " Look here, Mrs. Walker," she went on,
"you know I'm coming to your party."
"I 'm delighted to hear it."
"I've got a lovely dress."
51
DAISY MILLER
"I *m very sure of that."
"But I want to ask a favour permission to bring
a friend."
"I shall be happy to see any of your friends,"
said Mrs. Walker, who turned with a smile to Mrs.
Miller.
"Oh they "re not my friends," cried that lady,
squirming in shy repudiation. "It seems as if they
did n't take to me I never spoke to one of them !"
"It's an intimate friend of mine, Mr. Giovanelli,"
Daisy pursued without a tremor in her young clear-
ness or a shadow on her shining bloom.
Mrs. Walker had a pause and gave a rapid glance at
Winterbourne. "I shall be glad to see Mr. Giovan-
elli," she then returned.
"He's just the finest kind of Italian," Daisy pur-
sued with the prettiest serenity. " He 's a great friend
of mine and the handsomest man in the world ex-
cept Mr. Winterbourne! He knows plenty of Italians,
but he wants to know some Americans. It seems as if
he was crazy about Americans. He's tremendously
bright. He's perfectly lovely!"
It was settled that this paragon should be brought
to Mrs. Walker's party, and then Mrs. Miller pre-
pared to take her leave. " I guess we '11 go right back
to the hotel," she remarked with a confessed failure of
the larger imagination.
"You may go back to the hotel, mother," Daisy
replied, "but I *m just going to walk round."
"She's going to go it with Mr. Giovanelli," Ran-
dolph unscrupulously commented.
"I'm going to go it on the Pincio," Daisy peace-
DAISY MILLER
ably smiled, while the way that she "condoned"
these things almost melted Winterbourne's heart.
"Alone, my dear at this hour?" Mrs. Walker
asked. The afternoon was drawing to a close it
was the hour for the throng of carriages and of con-
templative pedestrians. "I don't consider it's safe,
Daisy," her hostess firmly asserted.
"Neither do I then," Mrs. Miller thus borrowed
confidence to add. "You'll catch the fever as sure as
you live. Remember what Dr. Davis told you ! "
"Give her some of that medicine before she starts
in," Randolph suggested.
The company had risen to its feet; Daisy, still show-
ing her pretty teeth, bent over and kissed her hostess.
"Mrs. Walker, you're too perfect," she simply said.
"I 'm not going alone; I 'm going to meet a friend."
"Your friend won't keep you from catching the
fever even if it is his own second nature," Mrs. Miller
observed.
"Is it Mr. Giovanelli that's the dangerous attrac-
tion ? " Mrs. Walker asked without mercy.
Winterbourne was watching the challenged girl; at
this question his attention quickened. She stood there
smiling and smoothing her bonnet-ribbons; she
glanced at Winterbourne. Then, while she glanced
and smiled, she brought out all affirmatively and
without a shade of hesitation : "Mr. Giovanelli the
beautiful Giovanelli."
"My dear young friend" and, taking her hand,
Mrs. Walker turned to pleading "don't prowl off
to the Pincio at this hour to meet a beautiful Ital-
ian."
53
DAISY MILLER
"Well, he speaks first-rate English," Mrs. Miller
incoherently mentioned.
" Gracious me, " Daisy piped up, " I don't want to
do anything that 's going to affect my health or my
character either ! There 's an easy way to settle it."
Her eyes continued to play over Winterbourne. " The
Pincio 's only a hundred yards off, and if Mr. Winter-
bourne were as polite as he pretends he'd offer to
walk right in with me ! "
Winterbourne's politeness hastened to proclaim
itself, and the girl gave him gracious leave to accom-
pany her. They passed downstairs before her mo-
ther, and at the door he saw Mrs. Miller's carriage
drawn up, with the ornamental courier whose acquaint-
ance he had made at Vevey seated within. "Good-
bye, Eugenio," cried Daisy; "I'm going to take a
walk!" The distance from Via Gregoriana to the
beautiful garden at the other end of the Pincian
Hill is in fact rapidly traversed. As the day was
splendid, however, and the concourse of vehicles,
walkers and loungers numerous, the young Ameri-
cans found their progress much delayed. This fact
was highly agreeable to Winterbourne, in spite of
his consciousness of his singular situation. The slow-
moving, idly-gazing Roman crowd bestowed much
attention on the extremely pretty young woman
of English race who passed through it, with some
difficulty, on his arm; and he wondered what on
earth had been in Daisy's mind when she proposed
to exhibit herself unattended to its appreciation. His
own mission, to her sense, was apparently to consign
her to the hands of Mr. Giovanelli; but, at once
54
DAISY MILLER
annoyed and gratified, he resolved that he would do
no such thing.
"Why haven't you been to see me?" she mean-
while asked. "You can't get out of that."
" I 've had the honour of telling you that I 've only
just stepped out of the train."
"You must have stayed in the train a good while
after it stopped ! " she derisively cried. " I suppose you
were asleep. You've had time to go to see Mrs.
Walker."
"I knew Mrs. Walker " Winterbourne began to
explain.
"I know where you knew her. You knew her at
Geneva. She told me so. Well, you knew me at
Vevey. That's just as good. So you ought to have
come." She asked him no other question than this;
she began to prattle about her own affairs. "We've
got splendid rooms at the hotel; Eugenio says they're
the best rooms in Rome. We 're going to stay all win-
ter if we don't die of the fever; and I guess we'll
stay then! It's a great deal nicer than I thought; I
thought it would be fearfully quiet in fact I was
sure it would be deadly pokey. I foresaw we should
be going round all the time with one of those dreadful
old men who explain about the pictures and things.
But we only had about a week of that, and now I 'm
enjoying myself. I know ever so many people, and
they're all so charming. The society's extremely
select. There are all kinds English and Germans
and Italians. I think I like the English best. I like
their style of conversation. But there are some lovely
Americans. I never saw anything so hospitable.
55
DAISY MILLER
There 's something or other every day. There 's not
much dancing but I must say I never thought
dancing was everything. I was always fond of conver-
sation. I guess I '11 have plenty at Mrs. Walker's
her rooms are so small." When they had passed the
gate of the Pincian Gardens Miss Miller began to
wonder where Mr. Giovanelli might be. "We had
better go straight to that place in front, where you
look at the view."
Winterbourne at this took a stand. "I certainly
shan't help you to find him/*
"Then I shall find him without you," Daisy said
with spirit.
" You certainly won't leave me ! " he protested.
She burst into her familiar little laugh. "Are you
afraid you'll get lost or run over? But there's
Giovanelli leaning against that tree. He 's staring at
the women in the carriages : did you ever see anything
so cool?"
Winterbourne descried hereupon at some dis-
tance a little figure that stood with folded arms
and nursing its cane. It had a handsome face, a hat
artfully poised, a glass in one eye and a nosegay
in its buttonhole. Daisy's friend looked at it a mo-
ment and then said : * Do you mean to speak to that
thing?"
" Do I mean to speak to him ? Why you don't sup-
pose I mean to communicate by signs ! "
" Pray understand then," the young man returned,
"that I intend to remain with you."
Daisy stopped and looked at him without a sign of
troubled consciousness, with nothing in her face but
56
DAISY MILLER
her charming eyes, her charming teeth and her happy
dimples. " Well, she 9 s a cool one ! " he thought.
"I don't like the way you say that/' she declared.
"It's too imperious."
"I beg your pardon if I say it wrong. The main
point's to give you an idea of my meaning."
The girl looked at him more gravely, but with eyes
that were prettier than ever. " I 've never allowed a
gentleman to dictate to me or to interfere with any-
thing I do."
"I think that's just where your mistake has come
in," he retorted. "You should sometimes listen to a
gentleman the right one."
At this she began to laugh again. "I do nothing but
listen to gentlemen ! Tell me if Mr. Giovanelli is the
right one."
The gentleman with the nosegay in his bosom had
now made out our two friends and was approaching
Miss Miller with obsequious rapidity. He bowed to
Winterbourne as well as to the latter's compatriot; he
seemed to shine, in his coxcombical way, with the
desire to please and the fact of his own intelligent joy,
though Winterbourne thought him not a bad-looking
fellow. But he nevertheless said to Daisy: "No, he's
not the right one."
She had clearly a natural turn for free introduc-
tions ; she mentioned with the easiest grace the name
of each of her companions to the other. She strolled
forward with one of them on either hand ; Mr. Gio-
vanelli, who spoke English very cleverly Winter-
bourne afterwards learned that he had practised the
idiom upon a great many American heiresses ad-
57
DAISY MILLER
dressed her a great deal of very polite nonsense. He
had the best possible manners, and the young Amer-
ican, who said nothing, reflected on that depth of Ital-
ian subtlety, so strangely opposed to Anglo-Saxon
simplicity, which enables people to show a smoother
surface in proportion as they're more acutely dis-
pleased. Giovanelli of course had counted upon some-
thing more intimate he had not bargained for a
party of three; but he kept his temper in a manner
that suggested far-stretching intentions. Winter-
bourne flattered himself he had taken his measure.
"He's anything but a gentleman," said the young
American; "he isn't even a very plausible imitation
of one. He 's a music-master or a penny-a-liner or a
third-rate artist. He 's awfully on his good behaviour,
but damn his fine eyes ! " Mr. Giovanelli had indeed
great advantages; but it was deeply disgusting to
Daisy's other friend that something in her should n't
have instinctively discriminated against such a type.
Giovanelli chattered and jested and made himself
agreeable according to his honest Roman lights. It
was true that if he was an imitation the imitation was
studied. "Nevertheless/' Winterbourne said to him-
self, "a nice girl ought to know ! " And then he came
back to the dreadful question of whether this was in
fact a nice girl. Would a nice girl even allowing for
her being a little American flirt make a rendezvous
with a presumably low-lived foreigner ? The rendez-
vous in this case indeed had been in broad daylight and
in the most crowded corner of Rome; but was n't it
possible to regard the choice of these very circum-
stances as a proof more of vulgarity than of anything
58
DAISY MILLER
else ? Singular though it may seem, Winterbourne was
vexed that the girl, in joining her amoroso, should n't
appear more impatient of his own company, and he
was vexed precisely because of his inclination. It was
impossible to regard her as a wholly unspotted flower
she lacked a certain indispensable fineness ; and it
would therefore much simplify the situation to be able
to treat her as the subject of one of the visitations
known to romancers as "lawless passions." That she
should seem to wish to get rid of him would have
helped him to think more lightly of her, just as to be
able to think more lightly of her would have made her
less perplexing. Daisy at any rate continued on this
occasion to present herself as an inscrutable combina-
tion of audacity and innocence.
She had been walking some quarter of an hour, at-
tended by her two cavaliers and responding in a tone
of very childish gaiety, as it after all struck one of
them, to the pretty speeches of the other, when a car-
riage that had detached itself from the revolving train
drew up beside the path. At the same moment Win-
terbourne noticed that his friend Mrs. Walker the
lady whose house he had lately left was seated in
the vehicle and was beckoning to him. Leaving Miss
Miller's side, he hastened to obey her summons
and all to find her flushed, excited, scandalised. " It 's
really too dreadful " she earnestly appealed to him.
"That crazy girl must n't do this sort of thing. She
must n't walk here with you two men. Fifty people
have remarked her."
Winterbourne suddenly and rather oddly rubbed
the wrong way by this raised his grave eyebrows.
59
it."
DAISY MILLER
think it's a pity to make too much fuss about
"It's a pity to let the girl ruin herself!"
"She's very innocent," he reasoned in his own
troubled interest.
"She's very reckless," cried Mrs. Walker, "and
goodness knows how far left to itself it may go.
Did you ever," she proceeded to enquire, "see any-
thing so blatantly imbecile as the mother ? After you
had all left me just now I could n't sit still for thinking
of it. It seemed too pitiful not even to attempt to save
them. I ordered the carriage and put on my bonnet
and came here as quickly as possible. Thank heaven
I 've found you ! "
"What do you propose to do with us?" Winter-
bourne uncomfortably smiled.
"To ask her to get in, to drive her about here for
half an hour so that the world may see she 's not
running absolutely wild and then take her safely
home."
"I don't think it's a very happy thought," he said
after reflexion, " but you 're at liberty to try."
Mrs. Walker accordingly tried. The young man
went in pursuit of their young lady who had simply
nodded and smiled, from her distance, at her recent
patroness in the carriage and then had gone her way
with her own companion. On learning, in the event,
that Mrs. Walker had followed her, she retraced her
steps, however, with a perfect good grace and with
Mr. Giovanelli at her side. She professed herself
"enchanted " to have a chance to present this gentle-
man to her good friend, and immediately achieved the
60
DAISY MILLER
introduction; declaring with it, and as if it were of as
little importance, that she had never in her life seen
anything so lovely as that lady's carriage-rug.
" I 'm glad you admire it," said her poor pursuer,
smiling sweetly. "Will you get in and let me put it
over you ? "
"Oh no, thank you!" Daisy knew her mind.
" I '11 admire it ever so much more as I see you driving
round with it."
" Do get in and drive round with me," Mrs. Walker
pleaded.
"That would be charming, but it's so fascinating
just as I am ! " with which the girl radiantly took
in the gentlemen on either side of her.
" It may be fascinating, dear child, but it 's not the
custom here," urged the lady of the victoria, leaning
forward in this vehicle with her hands devoutly
clasped.
"Well, it ought to be then!" Daisy imperturbably
laughed. "If I did n't walk I 'd expire."
"You should walk with your mother, dear," cried
Mrs. Walker with a loss of patience.
"With my mother dear?" the girl amusedly
echoed. Winterbourne saw she scented interference.
" My mother never walked ten steps in her life. And
then, you know," she blandly added, " I 'm more than
five years old."
" You 're old enough to be more reasonable. You 're
old enough, dear Miss Miller, to be talked about."
Daisy wondered to extravagance. "Talked about ?
What do you mean ? "
" Come into my carriage and I '11 tell you."
6l
DAISY MILLER
Daisy turned shining eyes again from one of the
gentlemen beside her to the other. Mr. Giovanelli
was bowing to and fro, rubbing down his gloves and
laughing irresponsibly; Winterbourne thought the
scene the most unpleasant possible. "I don't think I
want to know what you mean," the girl presently said.
"I don't think I should like it."
Winterbourne only wished Mrs. Walker would tuck
up her carriage-rug and drive away; but this lady, as
she afterwards told him, did n't feel she could "rest
there." "Should you prefer being thought a very reck-
less girl?" she accordingly asked.
" Gracious me ! " exclaimed Daisy. She looked again
at Mr. Giovanelli, then she turned to her other com-
panion. There was a small pink flush in her cheek; she
was tremendously pretty. "Does Mr. Winterbourne
think," she put to him with a wonderful bright intens-
ity of appeal, "that to save my reputation I
ought to get into the carriage ? "
It really embarrassed him; for an instant he cast
about so strange was it to hear her speak that
way of her " reputation." But he himself in fact had
to speak in accordance with gallantry. The finest gal-
lantry here was surely just to tell her the truth ; and
the truth, for our young man, as the few indications I
have been able to give have made him known to the
reader, was that his charming friend should listen to
the voice of civilised society. He took in again her
exquisite prettiness and then said the more distinctly :
" I think you should get into the carriage."
Daisy gave the rein to her amusement. "I never
heard anything so stiff! If this is improper, Mrs.
62
DAISY MILLER
Walker," she pursued, "then I'm all improper, and
you had better give me right up. Good-bye; I hope
you'll have a lovely ride!" and with Mr. Gio-
vanelli, who made a triumphantly obsequious salute,
she turned away.
Mrs. Walker sat looking after her, and there were
tears in Mrs. Walker's eyes. "Get in here, sir," she
said to Winterbourne, indicating the place beside her.
The young man answered that he felt bound to accom-
pany Miss Miller; whereupon the lady of the victoria
declared that if he refused her this favour she would
never speak to him again. She was evidently wound
up. He accordingly hastened to overtake Daisy and
her more faithful ally, and, offering her his hand,
told her that Mrs. Walker had made a stringent
claim on his presence. He had expected her to an-
swer with something rather free, something still more
significant of the perversity from which the voice of
society, through the lips of their distressed friend, had
so earnestly endeavoured to dissuade her. But she
only let her hand slip, as she scarce looked at him,
through his slightly awkward grasp; while Mr.
Giovanelli, to make it worse, bade him farewell with
too emphatic a flourish of the hat.
Winterbourne was not in the best possible humour
as he took his seat beside the author of his sacrifice.
"That was not clever of you," he said candidly, as the
vehicle mingled again with the throng of carriages.
"In such a case," his companion answered, "I don't
want to be clever I only want to be true!"
"Well, your truth has only offended the strange
little creature it has only put her off."
63
DAISY MILLER
"It has happened very well" Mrs. Walker ac-
cepted her work. " If she *s so perfectly determined
to compromise herself the sooner one knows it the
better one can act accordingly."
" I suspect she meant no great harm, you know/*
Winterbourne maturely opined.
"So I thought a month ago. But she has been going
too far."
"What has she been doing?"
"Everything that's not done here. Flirting with
any man she can pick up; sitting in corners with mys-
terious Italians ; dancing all the evening with the same
partners; receiving visits at eleven o'clock at night.
Her mother melts away when the visitors come."
"But her brother," laughed Winterbourne, "sits
up till two in the morning."
" He must be edified by what he sees. I *m told that
at their hotel every one 's talking about her and that a
smile goes round among the servants when a gentle-
man comes and asks for Miss Miller."
"Ah we needn't mind the servants!" Winter-
bourne compassionately signified. "The poor girl's
only fault," he presently added, "is her complete lack
of education."
"She's naturally indelicate," Mrs. Walker, on her
side, reasoned. "Take that example this morning.
How long had you known her at Vevey ? "
"A couple of days."
"Imagine then the taste of her making it a personal
matter that you should have left the place ! "
He agreed that taste was n't the strong point of
the Millers after which he was silent for some
DAISY MILLER
moments; but only at last to add: "I suspect, Mrs.
Walker, that you and I have lived too long at Geneva I"
And he further noted that he should be glad to learn
with what particular design she had made him enter
her carriage.
"I wanted to enjoin on you the importance of your
ceasing your relations with Miss Miller; that of
your not appearing to flirt with her; that of your
giving her no further opportunity to expose herself;
that of your in short letting her alone/*
" I 'm afraid I can't do anything quite so enlight-
ened as that" he returned. "I like her awfully, you
know/'
"All the more reason you shouldn't help her to
make a scandal."
"Well, there shall be nothing scandalous in my
attentions to her," he was willing to promise.
"There certainly will be in the way she takes them.
But I 've said what I had on my conscience," Mrs.
Walker pursued. "If you wish to rejoin the young
lady I '11 put you down. Here, by the way, you have
a chance."
The carriage was engaged in that part of the Pincian
drive which overhangs the wall of Rome and over-
looks the beautiful Villa Borghese. It is bordered by
a large parapet, near which are several seats. One of
these, at a distance, was occupied by a gentleman and
a lady, toward whom Mrs. Walker gave a toss of her
head. At the same moment these persons rose and
walked to the parapet. Winterbourne had asked the
coachman to stop; he now descended from the car-
riage. His companion looked at him a moment in
65
DAISY MILLER
silence and then, while he raised his hat, drove ma-
jestically away. He stood where he had alighted ; he
had turned his eyes toward Daisy and her cavalier.
They evidently saw no one ; they were too deeply occu-
pied with each other. When they reached the low
garden-wall they remained a little looking off at the
great flat-topped pine-clusters of Villa Borghese; then
the girl's attendant admirer seated himself familiarly
on the broad ledge of the wall. The western sun in the
opposite sky sent out a brilliant shaft through a couple
of cloud-bars ; whereupon the gallant Giovanelli took
her parasol out of her hands and opened it. She came
a little nearer and he held the parasol over her; then,
still holding it, he let it so rest on her shoulder that
both of their heads were hidden from Winterbourne.
This young man stayed but a moment longer; then he
began to walk. But he walked not toward the
couple united beneath the parasol, rather toward the
residence of his aunt Mrs. Costello.
IV
HE flattered himself on the following day that there
was no smiling among the servants when he at least
asked for Mrs. Miller at her hotel. This lady and her
daughter, however, were not at home; and on the next
day after, repeating his visit, Winterbourne again was
met by a denial. Mrs. Walker's party took place on
the evening of the third day, and in spite of the final
reserves that had marked his last interview with that
social critic our young man was among the guests.
Mrs. Walker was one of those pilgrims from the
younger world who, while in contact with the elder,
make a point, in their own phrase, of studying Euro-
pean society; and she had on this occasion collected
several specimens of diversely-born humanity to
serve, as might be, for text-books. When Winter-
bourne arrived the little person he desired most to find
wasn't there; but in a few moments he saw Mrs.
Miller come in alone, very shyly and ruefully. This
lady's hair, above the dead waste of her temples, was
more frizzled than ever. As she approached their
hostess Winterbourne also drew near.
"You see I Ve come all alone/* said Daisy's unsup-
ported parent. " I 'm so frightened I don't know what
to do ; it *s the first time I Ve ever been to a party alone
especially in this country. I wanted to bring Ran-
dolph or Eugenio or some one, but Daisy just pushed
me off by myself. I ain't used to going round alone/*
67
DAISY MILLER
"And does n't your daughter intend to favour
us with her society ? " Mrs. Walker impressively en-
quired.
"Well, Daisy's all dressed," Mrs. Miller testified
with that accent of the dispassionate, if not of the
philosophic, historian with which she always recorded
the current incidents of her daughter's career. " She
got dressed on purpose before dinner. But she has
a friend of hers there; that gentleman the hand-
somest of the Italians that she wanted to bring.
They 've got going at the piano it seems as if they
could n't leave off. Mr. Giovanelli does sing splen-
didly. But I guess they'll come before very long,"
Mrs. Miller hopefully concluded.
"I'm sorry she should come in that particular
way," Mrs. Walker permitted herself to observe.
"Well, I told her there was no use in her getting
dressed before dinner if she was going to wait three
hours," returned Daisy's mamma. " I did n't see the
use of her putting on such a dress as that to sit round
with Mr. Giovanelli."
"This is most horrible ! " said Mrs. Walker, turning
away and addressing herself to Winterbourne. "Elle
s'affiche, la malheureuse. It's her revenge for my
having ventured to remonstrate with her. When she
comes I shan't speak to her."
Daisy came after eleven o'clock, but she was n't, on
such an occasion, a young lady to wait to be spoken to.
She rustled forward in radiant loveliness, smiling and
chattering, carrying a large bouquet and attended by
Mr. Giovanelli. Every one stopped talking and
turned and looked at her while she floated up to Mrs.
68
DAISY MILLER
Walker. "I'm afraid you thought I never was com-
ing, so I sent mother off to tell you. I wanted to make
Mr. Giovanelli practise some things before he came;
you know he sings beautifully, and I want you to ask
him to sing. This is Mr. Giovanelli ; you know I in-
troduced him to you ; he 9 s got the most lovely voice
and he knows the most charming set of songs. I made
him go over them this evening on purpose ; we had the
greatest time at the hotel." Of all this Daisy delivered
herself with the sweetest brightest loudest confidence,
looking now at her hostess and now at all the room,
while she gave a series of little pats, round her very
white shoulders, to the edges of her dress. "Is there
any one I know ? " she as undiscourageably asked.
"I think every one knows you!" said Mrs. Walker
as with a grand intention ; and she gave a very cursory
greeting to Mr. Giovanelii. This gentleman bore him-
self gallantly; he smiled and bowed and showed his
white teeth, he curled his moustaches and rolled his
eyes and performed all the proper functions of a hand-
some Italian at an evening party. He sang, very pret-
tily, half a dozen songs, though Mrs. Walker after-
wards declared that she had been quite unable to find
out who asked him. It was apparently not Daisy who
had set him in motion this young lady being
seated a distance from the piano and though she had
publicly, as it were, professed herself his musical pa-
troness or guarantor, giving herself to gay and audible
discourse while he warbled.
"It's a pity these rooms are so small; we can't
dance," she remarked to Winterbourne as if she had
seen him five minutes before.
DAISY MILLER
"I'm not sorry we can't dance," he candidly
returned. "I'm incapable of a step/'
"Of course you're incapable of a step," the girl
assented. "I should think your legs would be stiff
cooped in there so much of the time in that victoria."
"Well, they were very restless there three days
ago," he amicably laughed; "all they really wanted
was to dance attendance on you."
"Oh my other friend my friend in need stuck
to me; he seems more at one with his limbs than you
are I '11 say that for him. But did you ever hear
anything so cool," Daisy demanded, "as Mrs.
Walker's wanting me to get into her carriage and
drop poor Mr. Giovanelli, and under the pretext that
it was proper ? People have different ideas ! It would
have been most unkind; he had been talking about
that walk for ten days."
"He should n't have talked about it at all," Winter-
bourne decided to make answer on this: "he would
never have proposed to a young lady of this country to
walk about the streets of Rome with him."
"About the streets?" she cried with her pretty
stare. " Where then would he have proposed to her to
walk? The Pincio ain't the streets either, I guess;
and I besides, thank goodness, am not a young lady of
this country. The young ladies of this country have
a dreadfully pokey time of it, by what I can discover;
I don't see why I should change my habits for such
stupids."
"I'm afraid your habits are those of a ruthless
flirt," said Winterbourne with studied severity.
" Of course they are ! " and she hoped, evidently,
70
DAISY MILLER
by the manner of it, to take his breath away. " 1 *m a
fearful frightful flirt ! Did you ever hear of a nice girl
that was n't ? But I suppose you '11 tell me now I 'm
not a nice girl/*
He remained grave indeed under the shock of her
cynical profession. "You're a very nice girl, but I
wish you 'd flirt with me, and me only/'
"Ah thank you, thank you very much: you're the
last man I should think of flirting with. As I Ve had
the pleasure of informing you, you 're too stiff."
"You say that too often," he resentfully remarked.
Daisy gave a delighted laugh. "If I could have the
sweet hope of making you angry I 'd say it again."
"Don't do that when I 'm angry I 'm stiffer than
ever. But if you won't flirt with me do cease at least to
flirt with your friend at the piano. They don't," he
declared as in full sym pathy with "them," "under-
stand that sort of thing here."
" I thought they understood nothing else ! " Daisy
cried with startling world-knowledge.
"Not in young unmarried women."
"It seems to me much more proper in young un-
married than in old married ones," she retorted.
"Well," said Winterbourne, "when you deal with
natives you must go by the custom of the country.
American flirting is a purely American silliness; it
has in its ineptitude of innocence no place in
this system. So when you show yourself in public
with Mr, Giovanelli and without your mother "
"Gracious, poor mother!" and she made it
beautifully unspeakable.
Winterbourne had a touched sense for this, but it
71
DAISY MILLER
did n't alter his attitude. "Though you may be flirt-
ing Mr. Giovanelli isn't he means something
else."
"He isn't preaching at any rate," she returned.
"And if you want very much to know, we're neither
of us flirting not a little speck. We're too good
friends for that. We 're real intimate friends."
He was to continue to find her thus at moments
inimitable. "Ah," he then judged, "if you're in love
with each other it 's another affair altogether ! "
She had allowed him up to this point to speak so
frankly that he had no thought of shocking her by
the force of his logic; yet she now none the less imme-
diately rose, blushing visibly and leaving him men-
tally to exclaim* that the name of little American
flirts was incoherence. "Mr. Giovanelli at least,"
she answered, sparing but a single small queer glance
for it, a queerer small glance, he felt, than he had ever
yet had from her "Mr. Giovanelli never says to
me such very disagreeable things."
It had an effect on him he stood staring. The
subject of their contention had finished singing; he
left the piano, and his recognition of what a little
awkwardly did n't take place in celebration of this
might nevertheless have been an acclaimed operatic
tenor's series of repeated ducks before the curtain.
So he bowed himself over to Daisy. "Won't you come
to the other room and have some tea ? " he asked
offering Mrs. Walker's slightly thin refreshment as he
might have done all the kingdoms of the earth.
Daisy at last turned on Winterbourne a more
natural and calculable light. He was but the more
72
DAISY MILLER
muddled by it, however, since so inconsequent a smile
made nothing clear it seemed at the most to prove
in her a sweetness and softness that reverted instinct-
ively to the pardon of offences. " It has never oc-
curred to Mr. Winterbourne to offer me any tea,"
she said with her finest little intention of torment and
triumph.
" I 've offered you excellent advice," the young man
permitted himself to growl.
"I prefer weak tea!" cried Daisy, and she went
off with the brilliant Giovanelli. She sat with him in
the adjoining room, in the embrasure of the window,
for the rest of the evening. There was an interesting
performance at the piano, but neither of these con-
versers gave heed to it. When Daisy came to take
leave of Mrs, Walker this lady conscientiously re-
paired the weakness of which she had been guilty at
the moment of the girl's arrival she turned her
back straight on Miss Miller and left her to depart
with what grace she might. Winterbourne happened
to be neaif the door; he saw it all. Daisy turned very
pale and looked at her mother, but Mrs. Miller was
humbly unconscious of any rupture of any law or of
any deviation from any custom. She appeared indeed
to have felt an incongruous impulse to draw attention
to her own striking conformity. "Good-night, Mrs,
Walker," she said; "we've had a beautiful evening.
You see if I let Daisy come to parties without me I
don't want her to go away without me." Daisy
turned away, looking with a small white prettiness,
a blighted grace, at the circle near the door: Winter-
bourne saw that for the first moment she was too
73
DAISY MILLER
much shocked and puzzled even for indignation. He
on his side was greatly touched.
"That was very cruel," he promptly remarked to
Mrs. Walker.
But this lady's face was also as a stone. " She never
enters my drawing-room again."
Since Winterbourne then, hereupon, was not to
meet her in Mrs. Walker's drawing-room he went as
often as possible to Mrs. Miller's hotel. The ladies
were rarely at home, but when he found them the
devoted Giovanelli was always present. Very often
the glossy little Roman, serene in success, but not
unduly presumptuous, occupied with Daisy alone
the florid salon enjoyed by Eugenio's care, Mrs.
Miller being apparently ever of the opinion that dis-
cretion is the better part of solicitude. Winterbourne
noted, at first with surprise, that Daisy on these occa-
sions was neither embarrassed nor annoyed by his
own entrance; but he presently began to feel that she
had no more surprises for him and that he really
liked, after all, not making out what she was "up to/*
She showed no displeasure for the interruption of her
tete-a-tete with Giovanelli; she could chatter as freshly
and freely with two gentlemen as with one, and this easy
flow had ever the same anomaly for her earlier friend
that it was so free without availing itself of its freedom.
Winterbourne reflected that if she was seriously in-
terested in the Italian it was odd she should n't take
more trouble to preserve the sanctity of their inter-
views, and he liked her the better for her innocent-
looking indifference and her inexhaustible gaiety.
He could hardly have said why, but she struck him
74
DAISY MILLER
as a young person not formed for a troublesome jeal-
ousy. Smile at such a betrayal though the reader may,
it was a fact with regard to the women who had hith-
erto interested him that, given certain contingencies,
Winterbourne could see himself afraid literally
afraid of these ladies. It pleased him to believe
that even were twenty other things different and
Daisy should love him and he should know it and
like it, he would still never be afraid of Daisy. It
must be added that this conviction was not altogether
flattering to her : it represented that she was nothing
every way if not light.
But she was evidently very much interested in
Giovanelli. She looked at him whenever he spoke;
she was perpetually telling him to do this and to do
that; she was constantly chaffing and abusing him.
She appeared completely to have forgotten that her
other friend had said anything to displease her at
Mrs. Walker's entertainment. One Sunday after-
noon, having gone to Saint Peter's with his aunt, Win-
terbourne became aware that the young woman held
in horror by that lady was strolling about the great
church under escort of her coxcomb of the Corso.
It amused him, after a debate, to point out the ex-
emplary pair even at the cost, as it proved, of Mrs.
Costello's saying when she had taken diem in through
her eye-glass: "That's what makes you so pensive
in these days, eh?"
"I hadn't the least idea I was pensive," he
pleaded.
"You're very much preoccupied; you're always
thinking of something."
75
DAISY MILLER
"And what is it," he asked, "that you accuse me
of thinking of ?"
"Of that young lady's, Miss Baker's, Miss Chand-
ler's what's her name? Miss Miller's intrigue
with that little barber's block."
"Do you call it an intrigue/' he asked "an affair
that goes on with such peculiar publicity ? "
"That's their folly," said Mrs. Costello, "it's not
their merit."
"No," he insisted with a hint perhaps of the pre-
occupation to which his aunt had alluded "I don't
believe there 's anything to be called an intrigue."
"Well " and Mrs. Costello dropped her glass
"I Ve heard a dozen people speak of it : they say she 's
quite carried away by him."
"They're certainly as thick as thieves," our em-
barrassed young man allowed.
Mrs. Costello came back to them, however, after a
little; and Winterbourne recognised in this a further
illustration than that supplied by his own condi-
tion of the spell projected by the case. "He's
certainly very handsome. One easily sees how it is.
She thinks him the most elegant man in the world,
the finest gentleman possible. She has never seen
anything like him he's better even than the cour-
ier. It was the courier probably who introduced
him, and if he succeeds in marrying the young lady
the courier will come in for a magnificent commis-
sion."
"I don't believe she thinks of marrying him,"
Winterbourne reasoned, "and I don't believe he hopes
to marry her."
76
DAISY MILLER
"You maybe very sure she thinks of nothing at all.
She romps on from day to day, from hour to hour, as
they did in the Golden Age. I can imagine nothing
more vulgar," said Mrs. Costello, whose figure of
speech scarcely went on all fours. "And at the same
time," she added, "depend upon it she may tell you
any moment that she is 'engaged.'"
"I think that's more than Giovanelli really ex-
pects," said Winterbourne.
"And who is Giovanelli ?"
"The shiny but, to do him justice, not greasy
little Roman. I've asked questions about him and
learned something. He 's apparently a perfectly re-
spectable little man. I believe he 's in a small way
a cavaliers awocato. But he does n't move in what
are called the first circles. I think it really not ab-
solutely impossible the courier introduced him. He 's
evidently immensely charmed with Miss Miller. If she
thinks him the finest gentleman in the world, he, on
his side, has never found himself in personal contact
with such splendour, such opulence, such personal
daintiness, as this young lady's. And then she must
seem to him wonderfully pretty and interesting. Yes,
he can't really hope to pull it off. That must appear to
him too impossible a piece of luck. He has nothing
but his handsome face to offer, and there 's a substan-
tial, a possibly explosive Mr. Miller in that mysterious
land of dollars and six-shooters. Giovanelli 's but too
conscious that he has n't a title to offer. If he were
only a count or a marcbeset What on earth can he
make of the way they 've taken him up ? "
"He accounts for it by his handsome face and
77
DAISY MILLER
thinks Miss Miller a young lady qui se passe ses
fantatsies!"
"It's very true," Winterbourne pursued, "that
Daisy and her mamma have n't yet risen to that stage
of what shall I call it? of culture, at which the
idea of catching a count or a marchese begins, I be-
lieve them intellectually incapable of that conception."
"Ah but the cavaliere awocato doesn't believe
them!" cried Mrs. Costello.
Of the observation excited by Daisy's "intrigue"
Winterbourne gathered that day at Saint Peter's suf-
ficient evidence. A dozen of the American colonists
in Rome came to talk with his relative, who sat on
a small portable stool at the base of one of the great
pilasters. The vesper-service was going forward in
splendid chants and organ-tones in the adjacent choir,
and meanwhile, between Mrs. Costello and her
friends, much was said about poor little Miss Miller's
going really "too far." Winterbourne was not pleased
with what he heard; but when, coming out upon the
great steps of the church, he saw Daisy, who had
emerged before him, get into an open cab with her
accomplice and roll away through the cynical streets
of Rome, the measure of her course struck him as sim-
ply there to take. He felt very sorry for her not
exactly that he believed she had completely lost her
wits, but because it was painful to see so much that
was pretty and undefended and natural sink so low in
human estimation. He made an attempt after this to
give a hint to Mrs. Miller. He met one day in the
Corso a friend a tourist like himself who had
just come out of the Doria Palace, where he had been
78
DAISY MILLER
walking through the beautiful gallery. His friend
"went on " for some moments about the great portrait
of Innocent X, by Velasquez, suspended in one of the
cabinets of the palace, and then said : "And in the
same cabinet, by the way, I enjoyed sight of an image
of a different kind ; that little American who 's so
much more a work of nature than of art and whom you
pointed out to me last week." In answer to Winter-
bourne's enquiries his friend narrated that the little
American prettier now than ever was seated with
a companion in the secluded nook in which the papal
presence is enshrined.
"All alone?*' the young man heard himself disin-
genuously ask.
"Alone with a little Italian who sports in his but-
ton-hole a stack of flowers. The girl 's a charming
beauty, but I thought I understood from you the other
day that she 's a young lady du meilleur monde"
"So she is!" said Winterbourne; and having as-
sured himself that his informant had seen the inter-
esting pair but ten minutes before, he jumped into a
cab and went to call on Mrs. Miller. She was at home,
but she apologised for receiving him in Daisy's
absence.
"She's gone out somewhere with Mr. Giovanelli.
She *s always going round with Mr. Giovanelli."
"I've noticed they're intimate indeed," Winter-
bourne concurred.
"Oh it seems as if they could n't live without each
other!" said Mrs. Miller. "Well, he's a real gentle-
man anyhow. I guess I have the joke on Daisy
that she must be engaged ! "
79
DAISY MILLER
"And how does your daughter take the joke ?"
"Oh she just says she ain't. But she might as well
be!" this philosophic parent resumed. "She goes on
as if she was. But I 've made Mr. Giovanelli promise
to tell me if Daisy don't. 1 9 d want to write to Mr.
Miller about it would n't you ? "
Winterbourne replied that he certainly should;
and the state of mind of Daisy's mamma struck
him as so unprecedented in the annals of parental
vigilance that he recoiled before the attempt to edu-
cate at a single interview either her conscience or
her wit.
After this Daisy was never at home and he ceased to
meet her at the houses of their common acquaintance,
because, as he perceived, these shrewd people had
quite made up their minds as to the length she must
have gone. They ceased to invite her, intimating that
they wished to make, and make strongly, for the bene-
fit of observant Europeans, the point that though
Miss Daisy Miller was a pretty American girl all right,
her behaviour was n't pretty at all was in fact
regarded by her compatriots as quite monstrous.
Winterbourne wondered how she felt about all the
cold shoulders that were turned upon her, and
sometimes found himself suspecting with impatience
that she simply did n't feel and did n't know. He set
her down as hopelessly childish and shallow, as such
mere giddiness and ignorance incarnate as was power-
less either to heed or to suffer. Then at other mo-
ments he could n't doubt that she carried about in her
elegant and irresponsible little organism a defiant, pas-
sionate, perfectly observant consciousness of the im-
80
DAISY MILLER
pression she produced. He asked himself whether the
defiance would come from the consciousness of inno-
cence or from her being essentially a young person of
the reckless class. Then it had to be admitted, he felt,
that holding fast to a belief in her "innocence" was
more and more but a matter of gallantry too fine-spun
for use. As I have already had occasion to relate, he
was reduced without pleasure to this chopping of logic
and vexed at his poor fallibility, his want of instinct-
ive certitude as to how far her extravagance was
generic and national and how far it was crudely per-
sonal. Whatever it was he had helplessly missed her,
and now it was too late. She was "carried away" by
Mr. Giovanelli.
A few days after his brief interview with her
mother he came across her at that supreme seat of
flowering desolation known as the Palace of the
Caesars. The early Roman spring had filled the air
with bloom and perfume, and the rugged surface of
the Palatine was muffled with tender verdure. Daisy
moved at her ease over the great mounds of ruin that
are embanked with mossy marble and paved with
monumental inscriptions. It seemed to him he had
never known Rome so lovely as just then. He looked
off at the enchanting harmony of line and colour that
remotely encircles the city he inhaled the softly
humid odours and felt the freshness of the year and
the antiquity of the place reaffirm themselves in deep
interfusion. It struck him also that Daisy had never
showed to the eye for so utterly charming; but this
had been his conviction on every occasion of their
meeting. Giovanelli was of course at her side, and
81
DAISY MILLER
Giovanelli too glowed as never before with something
of the glory of his race.
" Well," she broke out upon the friend it would have
been such mockery to designate as the latter's rival,
"I should think you'd be quite lonesome!"
"Lonesome?" Winterbourne resignedly echoed.
" You 're always going round by yourself. Can't you
get any one to walk with you ? "
"I'm not so fortunate," he answered, "as your
gallant companion."
Giovanelli had from the first treated him with dis-
tinguished politeness; he listened with a deferential
air to his remarks; he laughed punctiliously at his
pleasantries ; he attached such importance as he could
find terms for to Miss Miller's cold compatriot. He
carried himself in no degree like a jealous wooer; he
had obviously a great deal of tact; he had no objection
to any one's expecting a little humility of him. It even
struck Winterbourne that he almost yearned at times
for some private communication in the interest of his
character for common sense; a chance to remark to
him as another intelligent man that, bless him, be
knew how extraordinary was their young lady and
did n't flatter himself with confident at least too
confident and too delusive hopes of matrimony and
dollars. On this occasion he strolled away from his
charming charge to pluck a sprig of almond-blossom
which he carefully arranged in his button-hole.
"I know why you say that," Daisy meanwhile
observed. "Because you think I go round too much
with him!" And she nodded at her discreet attend-
ant.
82
DAISY MILLER
"Every one thinks so if you care to know," was
all Winterbourne found to reply.
"Of course I care to know!" she made this
point with much expression. "But I don't believe a
word of it. They 're only pretending to be shocked.
They don't really care a straw what I do. Besides, I
don't go round so much."
"I think you'll find they do care. They'll show it
disagreeably," he took on himself to state.
Daisy weighed the importance of that idea. "How
disagreeably ? "
" Have n't you noticed anything ? " he compassion-
ately asked.
"I've noticed you. But I noticed you Ve no more
'give' than a ramrod the first time ever I saw you."
"You'll find at least that I 've more *give' than
several others," he patiently smiled.
"How shall I find it?"
"By going to see the others."
"What will they do to me ?"
"They'll show you the cold shoulder. Do you
know what that means ? "
Daisy was looking at him intently; she began to
colour. " Do you mean as Mrs. Walker did the other
night?"
"Exactly as Mrs. Walker did the other night."
She looked away at Giovanelli, still titivating with
his almond-blossom. Then with her attention again
on the important subject: "I should n't think you'd
let people be so unkind!"
"How can I help it?"
" I should think you ' d want to say something."
83
DAISY MILLER
"I do want to say something" and Winter-
bourne paused a moment. "I want to say that your
mother tells me she believes you engaged."
"Well, I guess she does," said Daisy very simply.
The young man began to laugh. "And does Ran-
dolph believe it?"
"I guess Randolph doesn't believe anything."
This testimony to Randolph's scepticism excited
Winterbourne to further mirth, and he noticed that
Giovanelli was coming back to them. Daisy, observ-
ing it as well, addressed herself again to her country-
man. " Since you 've mentioned it," she said, " I am
engaged." He looked at her hard he had stopped
laughing. " You don't believe it ! " she added.
He asked himself, and it was for a moment like
testing a heart-beat; after which, "Yes, I believe
it!" he said.
"Oh no, you don't," she answered. "But if you
possibly do," she still more perversely pursued
"well, I ain't!"
Miss Miller and her constant guide were on their
way to the gate of the enclosure, so that Winter-
bourne, who had but lately entered, presently took
leave of them. A week later on he went to dine at a
beautiful villa on the Caelian Hill, and, on arriving,
dismissed his hired vehicle. The evening was perfect
and he promised himself the satisfaction of walking
home beneath the Arch of Constantine and past the
vaguely-lighted monuments of the Forum. Above
was a moon half-developed, whose radiance was not
brilliant but veiled in a thin cloud-curtain that seemed
to diffuse and equalise it. When on his return from the
DAISY MILLER
villa at eleven o'clock he approached the dusky circle
of the Colosseum the sense of the romantic in him
easily suggested that the interior, in such an atmo-
sphere, would well repay a glance. He turned aside
and walked to one of the empty arches, near which, as
he observed, an open carriage one of the little Ro-
man street-cabs was stationed. Then he passed in
among the cavernous shadows of the great structure
and emerged upon the clear and silent arena. The
place had never seemed to him more impressive. One
half of the gigantic circus was in deep shade while the
other slept in the luminous dusk. As he stood there he
began to murmur Byron's famous lines out of "Maa-
fred"; but before he had finished his quotation he
remembered that if nocturnal meditation thereabouts
was the fruit of a rich literary culture it was none
the less deprecated by medical science. The air of
other ages surrounded one; but the air of other
ages, coldly analysed, was no better than a villainous
miasma. Winterbourne sought, however, toward the
middle of the arena, a further reach of vision, intend-
ing the next moment a hasty retreat. The great cross
in the centre was almost obscured; only as he drew
near did he make it out distinctly. He thus also dis-
tinguished two persons stationed on the low steps that
formed its base. One of these was a woman seated;
her companion hovered before her.
Presently the sound of the woman's voice came to
him distinctly in the warm night-air. "Well, he looks
at us as one of the old lions or tigers may have looked
at the Christian martyrs ! " These words were winged
with their accent, so that they fluttered and settled
85
DAISY MILLER
about him in the darkness like vague white doves.
It was Miss Daisy Miller who had released them for
flight.
"Let us hope he's not very hungry " the bland
Giovanelli fell in with her humour. "He'll have to
take me first; you'll serve for dessert/'
Winterbourne felt himself pulled up with final
horror now and, it must be added, with final relief.
It was as if a sudden clearance had taken place in
the ambiguity of the poor girl's appearances and the
whole riddle of her contradictions had grown easy to
read. She was a young lady about the shades of
whose perversity a foolish puzzled gentleman need
no longer trouble his head or his heart. That once
questionable quantity bad no shades it was a mere
black little blot. He stood there looking at her, look-
ing at her companion too, and not reflecting that
though he saw them vaguely he himself must have
been more brightly presented. He felt angry at all
his shiftings of view he felt ashamed of all his
tender little scruples and all his witless little mercies.
He was about to advance again, and then again
checked himself; not from the fear of doing her in-
justice, but from a sense of the danger of showing
undue exhilaration for this disburdenment of cautious
criticism. He turned away toward the entrance of the
place; but as he did so he heard Daisy speak again.
"Why it was Mr. Winterbourne! He saw me and
he cuts me dead ! "
What a clever little reprobate she was, he was amply
able to reflect at this, and how smartly she feigned,
how promptly she sought to play off on him, a sur-
86
DAISY MILLER
prised and injured innocence! But nothing would
induce him to cut her either "dead " or to within any
measurable distance even of the famous "inch" of
her life. He came forward again and went toward the
great cross. Daisy had got up and Giovanelli lifted
his hat. Winterbourne had now begun to think
simply of the madness, on the ground of exposure
and infection, of a frail young creature's lounging
away such hours in a nest of malaria. What if she
were the most plausible of little reprobates ? That
was no reason for her dying of the perniclosa. " How
long have you been 'fooling round* here ?" he asked
with conscious roughness.
Daisy, lovely in the sinister silver radiance, ap-
praised him a moment, roughness and all. "Well,
I guess all the evening." She answered with spirit
and, he could see even then, with exaggeration. "I
never saw anything so quaint."
"I J m afraid," he returned, "you '11 not think a bad
attack of Roman fever very quaint. This is the way
people catch it. I wonder," he added to Giovanelli,
"that you, a native Roman, should countenance such
extraordinary rashness."
"Ah," said this seasoned subject, "for myself I have
no fear."
"Neither have I for you!" Winterbourne re-
torted in French. " I 'm speaking for this young lady."
Giovanelli raised his well-shaped eyebrows and
showed his shining teeth, but took his critic's rebuke
with docility. "I assured Mademoiselle it was a grave
indiscretion, but when was Mademoiselle ever prud-
ent?"
87
DAISY MILLER
"I never was sick, and I don't mean to be ! " Made-
moiselle declared. "I don't look like much, but I'm
healthy ! I was bound to see the Colosseum by moon-
light I would n't have wanted to go home without
that; and we ? ve had the most beautiful time, have n't
we, Mr. Giovanelli ? If there has been any danger
Eugenio can give me some pills. Eugenio has got
some splendid pills."
"/ should advise you then," said Winterbourne,
"to drive home as fast as possible and take one!"
Giovanelli smiled as for the striking happy thought.
"What you say is very wise. I '11 go and make sure the
carriage is at hand." And he went forward rapidly.
Daisy followed with Winterbourne. He tried to
deny himself the small fine anguish of looking at her,
but his eyes themselves refused to spare him, and she
seemed moreover not in the least embarrassed. He
spoke no word ; Daisy chattered over the beauty of the
place: "Well, I have seen the Colosseum by moon-
light that's one thing I can rave about!" Then
noticing her companion's silence she asked him why
he was so stiff it had always been her great word.
He made no answer, but he felt his laugh an immense
negation of stiffness. They passed under one of the
dark archways ; Giovanelli was in front with the car-
riage. Here Daisy stopped a moment, looking at her
compatriot. "Did you believe I was engaged the
other day ? "
"It does n't matter now what I believed the other
day!" he replied with infinite point.
It was a wonder how she did n't wince for it. "Well,
what do you believe now ? "
DAISY MILLER
"I believe it makes very little difference whether
you 're engaged or not ! "
He felt her lighted eyes fairly penetrate the thick
gloom of the vaulted passage as if to seek some
access to him she had n't yet compassed. But Gio-
vanelli, with a graceful inconsequence, was at present
all for retreat. "Quick, quick; if we get in by mid-
night we 're quite safe ! "
Daisy took her seat in the carriage and the fortun-
ate Italian placed himself beside her. "Don't forget
Eugenio's pills ! " said Winterbourne as he lifted his
hat.
" I don't care," she unexpectedly cried out for this,
"whether I have Roman fever or not ! " On which the
cab-driver cracked his whip and they rolled across
the desultory patches of antique pavement.
Winterbourne to do him justice, as it were
mentioned to no one that he had encountered Miss
Miller at midnight in the Colosseum with a gentle-
man ; in spite of which deep discretion, however, the
fact of the scandalous adventure was known a couple
of days later, with a dozen vivid details, to every mem-
ber of the little American circle, and was commented
accordingly. Winterbourne judged thus that the
people about the hotel had been thoroughly empow-
ered to testify, and that after Daisy's return there
would have been an exchange of jokes between the
porter and the cab-driver. But the young man be-
came aware at the same moment of how thoroughly
it had ceased to ruffle him that the little American
flirt should be "talked about" by low-minded meni-
als. These sources of current criticism a day or two
DAISY MILLER
later abounded still further: the little American flirt
was alarmingly ill and the doctors now in possession
of the scene. Winterbourne, when the rumour came
to him, immediately went to the hotel for more news.
He found that two or three charitable friends had
preceded him and that they were being entertained
in Mrs. Miller's salon by the all-efficient Randolph.
"It's going round at night that way, you bet
that 's what has made her so sick. She 's always going
round at night. I should n't think she 'd want to
it's so plaguey dark over here. You can't see any-
thing over here without the moon 's right up. In
America they don't go round by the moon!" Mrs.
Miller meanwhile wholly surrendered to her genius
for unapparent uses; her salon knew her less than
ever, and she was presumably now at least giving her
daughter the advantage of her society. It was clear
that Daisy was dangerously ill.
Winterbourne constantly attended for news from
the sick-room, which reached him, however, but with
worrying indirectness, though he once had speech,
for a moment, of the poor girl's physician and once
saw Mrs. Miller, who, sharply alarmed, struck him
as thereby more happily inspired than he could have
conceived and indeed as the most noiseless and light-
handed of nurses. She invoked a good deal the re-
mote shade of Dr. Davis, but Winterbourne paid her
the compliment of taking her after all for less mon-
strous a goose. To this indulgence indeed something
she further said perhaps even more insidiously dis-
posed him. "Daisy spoke of you the other day quite
pleasantly. Half the time she does n't know what
90
DAISY MILLER
she's saying, but that time I think she did. She gave
me a message she told me to tell you. She wanted
you to know she never was engaged to that handsome
Italian who was always round. I 'm sure I *m very
glad ; Mr. Giovanelli has n't been near us since she
was taken ill. I thought he was so much of a gentle-
man, but I don't call that very polite ! A lady told
me he was afraid I had n't approved of his being
round with her so much evenings. Of course it ain't
as if their evenings were as pleasant as ours since
we don't seem to feel that way about the poison. I
guess I don't see the point now; but I suppose he
knows I 'm a lady and I 'd scorn to raise a fuss. Any-
way, she wants you to realise she ain't engaged. I
don't know why she makes so much of it, but she said
to me three times 'Mind you tell Mr. Winterbourne/
And then she told me to ask if you remembered the
time you went up to that castle in Switzerland. But
I said I would n't give any such messages as that.
Only if she ain't engaged I guess I 'm glad to realise
it too."
But, as Winterbourne had originally judged, the
truth on this question had small actual relevance. A
week after this the poor girl died ; it had been indeed
a terrible case of the perniciosa. A grave was found
for her in the little Protestant cemetery, by an angle
of the wall of imperial Rome, beneath the cypresses
and the thick spring-flowers. Winterbourne stood
there beside it with a number of other mourners ; a
number larger than the scandal excited by the young
lady's career might have made probable. Near him
stood Giovanelli, who came nearer still before Winter-
9*
DAISY MILLER
bourne turned away. Giovanelli, in decorous mourn-
ing, showed but a whiter face ; his button-hole lacked
its nosegay and he had visibly something urgent
and even to distress to say, which he scarce knew
how to "place." He decided at last to confide it with
a pale convulsion to Winterbourne. "She was the
most beautiful young lady I ever saw, and the most
amiable." To which he added in a moment: "Also
naturally ! the most innocent."
Winterbourne sounded him with hard dry eyes,
but presently repeated his words, "The most inno-
cent?"
"The most innocent!"
It came somehow so much too late that our friend
could only glare at its having come at all. "Why the
devil," he asked, "did you take her to that fatal
place?"
Giovanelli raised his neat shoulders and eyebrows
to within suspicion of a shrug. "For myself I had no
fear; and she she did what she liked."
Winterbourne's eyes attached themselves to the
ground. "She did what she liked!"
It determined on the part of poor Giovanelli a fur-
ther pious, a further candid, confidence. "If she
had lived I should have got nothing. She never would
have married me."
It had been spoken as if to attest, in all sincerity,
his disinterestedness, but Winterbourne scarce knew
what welcome to give it. He said, however, with a
grace inferior to his friend's : " I dare say not."
The latter was even by this not discouraged. "For
a moment I hoped so. But no. I 'm convinced."
92
DAISY MILLER
Winterbourne took it in ; he stood staring at the raw
protuberance among the April daisies. When he
turned round again his fellow mourner had stepped
back.
He almost immediately left Rome, but the follow-
ing summer he again met his aunt Mrs. Costello at
Vevey. Mrs. Costelio extracted from the charming
old hotel there a value that the Miller family had n't
mastered the secret of. In the interval Winterbourne
had often thought of the most interesting member
of that trio of her mystifying manners and her
queer adventure. One day he spoke of her to his
aunt said it was on his conscience he had done her
injustice.
"I'm sure I don't know" that lady showed
caution. "How did your injustice affect her?"
"She sent me a message before her death which
I did n't understand at the time. But I *ve under-
stood it since. She would have appreciated one's
esteem."
"She took an odd way to gain it! But do you
mean by what you say," Mrs. Costello asked, "that
she would have reciprocated one's affection ? "
As he made no answer to this she after a little looked
round at him he had n't been directly within sight;
but the effect of that was n't to make her repeat her
question. He spoke, however, after a while. "You
were right in that remark that you made last summer.
I was booked to make a mistake. I Ve lived too long
in foreign parts." And this time she herself said
nothing.
Nevertheless he soon went back to live at Geneva,
93
DAISY MILLER
whence there continue to come the most contradictory
accounts of his motives of sojourn : a report that he 's
"studying" hard an intimation that he's much
interested in a very clever foreign lady.
PANDORA
PANDORA
IT has long been the custom of the North German
Lloyd steamers, which convey passengers from
Bremen to New York, to anchor for several hours in
the pleasant port of Southampton, where their human
cargo receives many additions. An intelligent young
German, Count Otto Vogelstein, hardly knew a few
years ago whether to condemn this custom or approve
it. He leaned over the bulwarks of the Donau as the
American passengers crossed the plank the travel-
lers who embark at Southampton are mainly of that
nationality and curiously, indifferently, vaguely,
through the smoke of his cigar, saw them absorbed in
the huge capacity of the ship, where he had the agree-
able consciousness that his own nest was comfortably
made. To watch from such a point of vantage the
struggles of those less fortunate than ourselves of the
uninformed, the unprovided, the belated, the bewild-
ered is an occupation not devoid of sweetness, and
there was nothing to mitigate the complacency with
which our young friend gave himself up to it; nothing,
that is, save a natural benevolence which had not yet
been extinguished by the consciousness of official
greatness. For Count Vogelstein was official, as I
think you would have seen from the straightness of his
back, the lustre of his light elegant spectacles, and
97
PANDORA
something discreet and diplomatic in the curve of his
moustache, which looked as if it might well contribute
to the principal function, as cynics say, of the lips
the active concealment of thought. He had been ap-
pointed to the secretaryship of the German legation at
Washington and in these first days of the autumn was
about to take possession of his post. He was a model
character for such a purpose serious civil ceremoni-
ous curious stiff, stuffed with knowledge and con-
vinced that, as lately rearranged, the German Empire
places in the most striking light the highest of all the
possibilities of the greatest of all the peoples. He was
quite aware, however, of the claims to economic and
other consideration of the United States, and that this
quarter of the globe offered a vast field for study.
The process of enquiry had already begun for him,
in spite of his having as yet spoken to none of his fel-
low passengers; the case being that Vogelstein en-
quired not only with his tongue, but with his eyes
that is with his spectacles with his ears, with his
nose, with his palate, with all his senses and organs.
He was a highly upright young man, whose only fault
was that his sense of comedy, or of the humour of
things, had never been specifically disengaged from
his several other senses. He vaguely felt that some-
thing should be done about this, and in a general
manner proposed to do it, for he was on his way to
explore a society abounding in comic aspects. This
consciousness of a missing measure gave him a certain
mistrust of what might be said of him ; and if circum-
spection is the essence of diplomacy our young aspir-
ant promised well. His mind contained several mil-
PANDORA
lions of facts, packed too closely together for the light
breeze of the imagination to draw through the mass.
He was impatient to report himself to his superior in
Washington, and the loss of time in an English port
could only incommode him, inasmuch as the study of
English institutions was no part of his mission. On
the other hand the day was charming; the blue sea, in
Southampton Water, pricked all over with light, had
no movement but that of its infinite shimmer. More-
over he was by no means sure that he should be happy
in the United States, where doubtless he should find
himself soon enough disembarked. He knew that this
was not an important question and that happiness was
an unscientific term, such as a man of his education
should be ashamed to use even in the silence of his
thoughts. Lost none the less in the inconsiderate
crowd and feeling himself neither in his own country
nor in that to which he was in a manner accredited, he
was reduced to his mere personality; so that during
the hour, to save his importance, he cultivated such
ground as lay in sight for a judgement of this delay to
which the German steamer was subjected in English
waters. Might n't it be proved, facts, figures and doc-
uments or at least watch in hand, considerably
greater than the occasion demanded ?
Count Vogelstein was still young enough in diplom-
acy to think it necessary to have opinions. He had
a good many indeed which had been formed without
difficulty; they had been received ready-made from
a line of ancestors who knew what they liked. This
was of course and under pressure, being candid, he
would have admitted it an unscientific way of furn-
99
PANDORA
ishing one's mind. Our young man was a stiff con-
servative, a Junker of Junkers; he thought modern
democracy a temporary phase and expected to find
many arguments against it in the great Republic. In
regard to these things it was a pleasure to him to feel
that, with his complete training, he had been taught
thoroughly to appreciate the nature of evidence. The
ship was heavily laden with German emigrants, whose
mission in the United States differed considerably
from Count Otto's. They hung over the bulwarks,
densely grouped ; they leaned forward on their elbows
for hours, their shoulders kept on a level with their
ears; the men in furred caps, smoking long-bowled
pipes, the women with babies hidden in remarkably
ugly shawls. Some were yellow Germans and some
were black, and all looked greasy and matted with the
sea-damp. They were destined to swell still further
the huge current of the Western democracy; and
Count Vogelstein doubtless said to himself that they
would n't improve its quality. Their numbers, how-
ever, were striking, and I know not what he thought of
the nature of this particular evidence.
The passengers who came on board at Southampton
were not of the greasy class; they were for the most
part American families who had been spending the
summer, or a longer period, in Europe. They had a
great deal of luggage, innumerable bags and rugs and
hampers and sea-chairs, and were composed largely of
ladies of various ages, a little pale with anticipation,
wrapped also in striped shawls, though in prettier ones
than the nursing mothers of the steerage, and crowned
with very high hats and feathers. They darted to and
100
PANDORA
fro across the gangway, looking for each other and for
their scattered parcels; they separated and reunited,
they exclaimed and declared, they eyed with dismay
the occupants of the forward quarter, who seemed
numerous enough to sink the vessel, and their voices
sounded faint and far as they rose to Vogelstein's ear
over the latter's great tarred sides. He noticed that in
the new contingent there were many young girls, and
he remembered what a lady in Dresden had once said
to him that America was the country of the
Madchen. He wondered whether he should like that,
and reflected that it would be an aspect to study, like
everything else. He had known in Dresden an Ameri-
can family in which there were three daughters who
used to skate with the officers, and some of the ladies
now coming on board struck him as of that same
habit, except that in the Dresden days feathers
were n't worn quite so high.
At last the ship began to creak and slowly budge,
and the delay at Southampton came to an end. The
gangway was removed and the vessel indulged in the
awkward evolutions that were to detach her from
the land. Count Vogelstein had finished his cigar, and
he spent a long time in walking up and down the upper
deck. The charming English coast passed before him,
and he felt this to be the last of the old world. The
American coast also might be pretty he hardly
knew what one would expect of an American coast;
but he was sure it would be different. Differences,
however, were notoriously half the. charm of travel,
and perhaps even most when they could n't be ex-
pressed in figures, numbers, diagrams or the other
101
PANDORA
merely useful symbols. As yet indeed there were
very few among the objects presented to sight on the
steamer. Most of his fellow passengers appeared of
one and the same persuasion, and that persuasion the
least to be mistaken. They were Jews and commer-
cial to a man. And by this time they had lighted their
cigars and put on all manner of seafaring caps, some
of them with big ear-lappets which somehow had the
effect of bringing out their peculiar facial type. At
last the new voyagers began to emerge from below
and to look about them, vaguely, with that suspicious
expression of face always to be noted in the newly
embarked and which, as directed to the receding land,
resembles that of a person who begins to perceive him-
self the victim of a trick. Earth and ocean, in such
glances, are made the subject of a sweeping objection,
and many travellers, in the general plight, have an
air at once duped and superior, which seems to say
that they could easily go ashore if they would.
It still wanted two hours of dinner, and by the time
Vogelstein's long legs had measured three or four
miles on the deck he was ready to settle himself in
his sea-chair and draw from his pocket a Tauchnitz
novel by an American author whose pages, he had
been assured, would help to prepare him for some of
the oddities. On the back of his chair his name was
painted in rather large letters, this being a precaution
taken at the recommendation of a friend who had told
him that on the American steamers the passengers
especially the ladies thought nothing of pilfering
one's little comforts. His friend had even hinted at the
correct reproduction of his coronet. This marked man
102
PANDORA
of the world had added that the Americans are greatly
impressed by a coronet. I know not whether it was
scepticism or modesty, but Count Vogelstein had
omitted every pictured plea for his rank; there were
others of which he might have made use. The
precious piece of furniture which on the Atlantic
voyage is trusted never to flinch among universal con-
cussions was emblazoned simply with his title and
name. It happened, however, that the blazonry was
huge; the back of the chair was covered with enorm-
ous German characters. This time there can be no
doubt: it was modesty that caused the secretary of
legation, in placing himself, to turn this portion of his
seat outward, away from the eyes of his companions
to present it to the balustrade of the deck. The
ship was passing the Needles the beautiful utter-
most point of the Isle of Wight. Certain tall white
cones of rock rose out of the purple sea ; they flushed
in the afternoon light and their vague rosiness gave
them a human expression in face of the cold expanse
toward which the prow was turned; they seemed to
say farewell, to be the last note of a peopled world.
Vogelstein saw them very comfortably from his place
and after a while turned his eyes to the other quarter,
where the elements of air and water managed to make
between them so comparatively poor an opposition.
Even his American novelist was more amusing than
that, and he prepared to return to this author. In the
great curve which it described, however, his glance was
arrested by the figure of a young lady who had just
ascended to the deck and who paused at the mouth of
the companionway.
103
PANDORA
This was not in itself an extraordinary phenome-
non ; but what attracted Vogelstein's attention was the
fact that the young person appeared to have fixed her
eyes on him. She was slim, brightly dressed, rather
pretty; Vogelstein remembered in a moment that he
had noticed her among the people on the wharf at
Southampton. She was soon aware he had observed
her; whereupon she began to move along the deck
with a step that seemed to indicate a purpose of
approaching him. Vogelstein had time to wonder
whether she could be one of the girls he had known at
Dresden; but he presently reflected that they would
now be much older than that. It was true they were
apt to advance, like this one, straight upon their vic-
tim. Yet the present specimen was no longer looking
at him, and though she passed near him it was now
tolerably clear she had come above but to take a gen-
eral survey. She was a quick handsome competent
girl, and she simply wanted to see what one could
think of the ship, of the weather, of the appearance
of England, from such a position as that; possibly
even of one's fellow passengers. She satisfied herself
promptly on these points, and then she looked about,
while she walked, as if in keen search of a missing
object ; so that Vogelstein finally arrived at a convic-
tion of her real motive. She passed near him again
and this time almost stopped, her eyes bent upon him
attentively. He thought her conduct remarkable even
after he had gathered that it was not at his face, with
its yellow moustache, she was looking, but at the chair
on which he was seated. Then those words of his
friend came back to him the speech about the
104
PANDORA
tendency of the people, especially of the ladies, on the
American steamers to take to themselves one's little
belongings. Especially the ladies, he might well say;
for here was one who apparently wished to pull from
under him the very chair he was sitting on. He was
afraid she would ask him for it, so he pretended to
read, systematically avoiding her eye. He was con-
scious she hovered near him, and was moreover curi-
ous to see what she would do. It seemed to him
strange that such a nice-looking girl for her appear-
ance was really charming should endeavour by arts
so flagrant to work upon the quiet dignity of a secre-
tary of legation. At last it stood out that she was trying
to look round a corner, as it were trying to see what
was written on the back of his chair. " She wants to
find out my name ; she wants to see who I am ! " This
reflexion passed through his mind and caused him to
raise his eyes. They rested on her own which for an
appreciable moment she did n't withdraw. The latter
were brilliant and expressive, and surmounted a deli-
cate aquiline nose, which, though pretty, was perhaps
just a trifle too hawk-like. It was the oddest coincid-
ence in the world; the story Vogelstein had taken up
treated of a flighty forward little American girl who
plants herself in front of a young man in the garden of
an hotel. Was n't the conduct of this young lady a
testimony to the truthfulness of the tale, and was n't
Vogelstein himself in the position of the young man in
the garden ? That young man though with more,
in such connexions in general, to go upon ended by
addressing himself to his aggressor, as she might be
called, and after a very short hesitation Vogelstein
105
PANDORA
followed his example. "If she wants to know who I
am she 's welcome," he said to himself; and he got out
of the chair, seized it by the back and, turning it
round, exhibited the superscription to the girl. She
coloured slightly, but smiled and read his name, while
Vogelstein raised his hat.
"I'm much obliged to you. That's all right/' she
remarked as if the discovery had made her very happy.
It affected him indeed as all right that he should
be Count Otto Vogelstein ; this appeared even rather
a flippant mode of disposing of the fact. By way of
rejoinder he asked her if she desired of him the sur-
render of his seat.
"I'm much obliged to you; of course not. I
thought you had one of our chairs, and I did n't like
to ask you. It looks exactly like one of ours; not so
much now as when you sit in it. Please sit down again.
I don't want to trouble you. We 've lost one of ours,
and I 've been looking for it everywhere. They look
so much alike; you can't tell till you see the back. Of
course I see there will be no mistake about yours," the
young lady went on with a smile of which the serenity
matched her other abundance. " But we 've got such
a small name you can scarcely see it," she added
with the same friendly intention. "Our name's just
Day you might n't think it was a name, might you ?
if we did n't make the most of it. If you see that on
anything, I'd be so obliged if you'd tell me. It is n't
for myself, it 's for my mother; she 's so dependent on
her chair, and that one I 'm looking for pulls out so
beautifully. Now that you sit down again and hide
the lower part it does look just like ours. Well, it must
106
PANDORA
be somewhere. You must excuse me; I would n't dis-
turb you."
This was a long and even confidential speech for
a young woman, presumably unmarried, to make to a
perfect stranger; but Miss Day acquitted herself of
it with perfect simplicity and self-possession. She held
up her head and stepped away, and Vogelstein could
see that the foot she pressed upon the clean smooth
deck was slender and shapely. He watched her disap-
pear through the trap by which she had ascended, and
he felt more than ever like the young man in his Amer-
ican tale. The girl in the present case was older and
not so pretty, as he could easily judge, for the image
of her smiling eyes and speaking lips still hovered
before him. He went back to his book with the feeling
that it would give him some information about her.
This was rather illogical, but it indicated a certain
amount of curiosity on the part of Count Vogelstein.
The girl in the book had a mother, it appeared, and so
had this young lady; the former had also a brother,
and he now remembered that he had noticed a young
man on the wharf a young man in a high hat and a
white overcoat who seemed united to Miss Day by
this natural tie. And there was some one else too, as
he gradually recollected, an older man, also in a high
hat, but in a black overcoat in black altogether
who completed the group and who was presumably the
head of the family. These reflexions would indicate
that Count Vogelstein read his volume of Tauchnitz
rather interruptedly. Moreover they represented but
the loosest economy of consciousness; for was n't he
to be afloat in an oblong box for ten days with such
107
PANDORA
people, and could it be doubted he should see at least
enough of them ?
It may as well be written without delay that he saw
a great deal of them. I have sketched in some detail
the conditions in which he made the acquaintance of
Miss Day, because the event had a certain importance
for this fair square Teuton; but I must pass briefly
over the incidents that immediately followed it. He
wondered what it was open to him, after such an in-
troduction, to do in relation to her, and he determined
he would push through his American tale and discover
what the hero did. But he satisfied himself in a very
short time that Miss Day had nothing in common
with the heroine of that work save certain signs of
habitat and climate and save, further, the fact that
the male sex was n't terrible to her. The local stamp
sharply, as he gathered, impressed upon her he esti-
mated indeed rather in a borrowed than in a natural
light, for if she was native to a small town in the
interior of the American continent one of their fellow
passengers, a lady from New York with whom he had
a good deal of conversation, pronounced her " atro-
ciously" provincial. How the lady arrived at this
certitude did n't appear, for Vogelstein observed that
she held no communication with the girl. It was true
she gave it the support of her laying down that certain
Americans could tell immediately who other Ameri-
cans were, leaving him to judge whether or no she
herself belonged to the critical or only to the criticised
half of the nation. Mrs. Dangerfield was a handsome
confidential insinuating woman, with whom Vogel-
stein felt his talk take a very wide range indeed. She
108
PANDORA
convinced him rather effectually that even in a great
democracy there are human differences, and that
American life was full of social distinctions, of delicate
shades, which foreigners often lack the intelligence to
perceive. Did he suppose every one knew every one
else in the biggest country in the world, and that one
was n't as free to choose one's company there as in
the most monarchical and most exclusive societies ?
She laughed such delusions to scorn as Vogelstein
tucked her beautiful furred coverlet they reclined
together a great deal in their elongated chairs well
over her feet. How free an American lady was to
choose her company she abundantly proved by not
knowing any one on the steamer but Count Otto.
He could see for himself that Mr. and Mrs. Day
had not at all her grand air. They were fat plain seri-
ous people who sat side by side on the deck for hours
and looked straight before them. Mrs. Day had a
white face, large cheeks and small eyes; her forehead
was surrounded with a multitude of little tight black
curls; her lips moved as if she had always a lozenge in
her mouth. She wore entwined about her head an
article which Mrs. Dangerfield spoke of as a "nuby,"
a knitted pink scarf concealing her hair, encircling
her neck and having among its convolutions a hole
for her perfectly expressionless face. Her hands were
folded on her stomach, and in her still, swathed figure
her little bead-like eyes, which occasionally changed
their direction, alone represented life. Her husband
had a stiff grey beard on his chin and a bare spacious
upper lip, to which constant shaving had imparted a
hard glaze. His eyebrows were thick and his nostrils
109
PANDORA
wide, and when he was uncovered, in the saloon, it
was visible that his grizzled hair was dense and per-
pendicular. He might have looked rather grim and
truculent had n't it been for the mild familiar accom-
modating gaze with which his large light-coloured
pupils the leisurely eyes of a silent man ap-
peared to consider surrounding objects. He was evi-
dently more friendly than fierce, but he was more dif-
fident than friendly. He liked to have you in sight, but
would n't have pretended to understand you much or
to classify you, and would have been sorry it should
put you under an obligation. He and his wife spoke
sometimes, but seldom talked, and there was some-
thing vague and patient in them, as if they had become
victims of a wrought spell. The spell however was of
no sinister cast; it was the fascination of prosperity,
the confidence of security, which sometimes makes
people arrogant, but which had had such a different
effect on this simple satisfied pair, in whom further
development of every kind appeared to have been
happily arrested.
Mrs. Dangerfield made it known to Count Otto that
every morning after breakfast, the hour at which he
wrote his journal in his cabin, the old couple were
guided upstairs and installed in their customary
corner by Pandora. This she had learned to be the
name of their elder daughter, and she was immensely
amused by her discovery. " Pandora " that was in
the highest degree typical; it placed them in the social
scale if other evidence had been wanting; you could
tell that a girl was from the interior, the mysterious
interior about which Vogelstein's imagination was
no
PANDORA
now quite excited, when she had such a name as that.
This young lady managed the whole family, even a
little the small beflounced sister, who, with bold
pretty innocent eyes, a torrent of fair silky hair, a
crimson fez, such as is worn by male Turks, very
much askew on top of it, and a way of galloping and
straddling about the ship in any company she could
pick up she had long thin legs, very short skirts and
stockings of every tint was going home, in elegant
French clothes, to resume an interrupted education.
Pandora overlooked and directed her relatives; Vogel-
stein could see this for himself, could see she was very
active and decided, that she had in a high degree the
sentiment of responsibility, settling on the spot most
of the questions that could come up for a family from
the interior.
The voyage was remarkably fine, and day after day
it was possible to sit there under the salt sky and feel
one's self rounding the great curves of the globe. The
long deck made a white spot in the sharp black circle
of the ocean and in the intense sea-light, while the
shadow of the smoke-streamers trembled on the
familiar floor, the shoes of fellow passengers, distinct-
ive now, and in some cases irritating, passed and
repassed, accompanied, in the air so tremendously
"open," that rendered all voices weak and most
remarks rather flat, by fragments of opinion on the
run of the ship. Vogelstein by this time had finished
his little American story and now definitely judged
that Pandora Day was not at all like the heroine. She
was of quite another type; much more serious and
strenuous, and not at all keen, as he had supposed,
in
PANDORA
and there was at last an irresistible appeal for Vogel-
stein in this quick bright silent girl who could smile
and turn vocal in an instant, who imparted a rare
originality to the filial character and whose profile
was delicate as she bent it over a volume which she
cut as she read, or presented it in musing attitudes,
at the side of the ship, to the horizon they had left
behind. But he felt it to be a pity, as regards a pos-
sible acquaintance with her, that her parents should
be heavy little burghers, that her brother should not
correspond to his conception of a young man of the
upper class and that her sister should be a Daisy
Miller en berbe. Repeatedly admonished by Mrs.
Dangerfield, the young diplomatist was doubly care-
ful as to the relations he might form at the beginning
of his sojourn in the United States. That lady re-
minded him, and he had himself made the observa-
tion in other capitals, that the first year, and even the
second, is the time for prudence. One was ignorant of
proportions and values ; one was exposed to mistakes
and thankful for attention, and one might give one's
self away to people who would afterwards be as a
millstone round one's neck : Mrs. Dangerfield struck
and sustained that note, which resounded in the young
man's imagination. She assured him that if he did n't
"look out" he would be committing himself to some
American girl with an impossible family. In America,
when one committed one's self there was nothing to do
but march to the altar, and what should he say for
instance to finding himself a near relation of Mr. and
Mrs. P. W. Day ? since such were the initials in-
scribed on the back of the two chairs of that couple,
114
PANDORA
Count Otto felt the peril, for he could immediately
think of a dozen men he knew who had married Amer-
ican girls. There appeared now to be a constant dan-
ger of marrying the American girl; it was something
one had to reckon with, like the railway, the telegraph,
the discovery of dynamite, the Chassepot rifle, the
Socialistic spirit: it was one of the complications of
modern life.
It would doubtless be too much to say that he
feared being carried away by a passion for a young
woman who was not strikingly beautiful and with
whom he had talked, in all, but ten minutes. But, as
we recognise, he went so far as to wish that the human
belongings of a person whose high spirit appeared to
have no taint either of fastness, as they said in Eng-
land, or of subversive opinion, and whose mouth had
charming lines, should not be a little more distin-
guished. There was an effect of drollery in her be-
haviour to these subjects of her zeal, whom she seemed
to regard as a care, but not as an interest; it was
as if they had been entrusted to her honour and she
had engaged to convey them safe to a certain point;
she was detached and inadvertent, and then suddenly
remembered, repented and came back to tuck them
into their blankets, to alter the position of her mother's
umbrella, to tell them something about the run of the
ship. These little offices were usually performed
deftly, rapidly, with the minimum of words, and when
their daughter drew near them Mr. and Mrs. Day
closed their eyes after the fashion of a pair of house-
hold dogs who expect to be scratched.
One morning she brought up the Captain of the
PANDORA
ship to present to them ; she appeared to have a priv-
ate and independent acquaintance with this officer,
and the introduction to her parents had the air of a
sudden happy thought. It was n't so much an intro-
duction as an exhibition, as if she were saying to him :
"This is what they look like; see how comfortable I
make them. Aren't they rather queer and rather
dear little people ? But they leave me perfectly free.
Oh I can assure you of that. Besides, you must see
it for yourself." Mr. and Mrs. Day looked up at the
high functionary who thus unbent to them with very
little change of countenance; then looked at each
other in the same way. He saluted, he inclined him-
self a moment; but Pandora shook her head, she
seemed to be answering for them; she made little
gestures as if in explanation to the good Captain of
some of their peculiarities, as for instance that he
need n't expect them to speak. They closed their eyes
at last; she appeared to have a kind of mesmeric
influence on them, and Miss Day walked away with
the important friend, who treated her with evident
consideration, bowing very low, for all his import-
ance, when the two presently after separated. Vogel-
stein could see she was capable of making an im-
pression ; and the moral of our little matter is that
in spite of Mrs. Dangerfield, in spite of the resolu-
tions of his prudence, in spite of the limits of such
acquaintance as he had momentarily made with her,
in spite of Mr. and Mrs. Day and the young man in
the smoking-room, she had fixed his attention.
It was in the course of the evening after the scene
with the Captain that he joined her, awkwardly,
116
PANDORA
abruptly, irresistibly, on the deck, where she was pac-
ing to and fro alone, the hour being auspiciously mild
and the stars remarkably fine. There were scattered
talkers and smokers and couples, unrecogniseable, that
moved quickly through the gloom. The vessel dipped
with long regular pulsations; vague and spectral
under the low stars, its swaying pinnacles spotted
here and there with lights, it seemed to rush through
the darkness faster than by day. Count Otto had
come up to walk, and as the girl brushed past him
he distinguished Pandora's face with Mrs. Danger-
field he always spoke of her as Pandora under the
veil worn to protect it from the sea-damp. He stopped,
turned, hurried after her, threw away his cigar
then asked her if she would do him the honour to
accept his arm. She declined his arm but accepted
his company, and he allowed her to enjoy it for an
hour. They had a great deal of talk, and he was to
remember afterwards some of the things she had said.
There was now a certainty of the ship's getting into
dock the next morning but one, and this prospect
afforded an obvious topic. Some of Miss Day's ex-
pressions struck him as singular, but of course, as
he was aware, his knowledge of English was not nice
enough to give him a perfect measure.
"I'm not in ajiurry to arrive; I'm very happy
here," she said. " I 'm afraid I shall have such a time
putting my people through."
"Putting them through V 9
"Through the Custom-House. We've made so
many purchases. Well, I've written to a friend to
come down, and perhaps he can help us. He *s very
117
PANDORA
well acquainted with the head. Once I'm chalked
I don't care. I feel like a kind of blackboard by this
rime anyway. We found them awful in Germany."
Count Otto wondered if the friend she had written
to were her lover and if they had plighted their troth,
especially when she alluded to him again as "that
gentleman who *s coming down." He asked her about
her travels, her impressions, whether she had been
long in Europe and what she liked best, and she put
it to him that they had gone abroad, she and her
family, for a little fresh experience. Though he found
her very intelligent he suspected she gave this as a
reason because he was a German and she had heard
the Germans were rich in culture. He wondered
what form of culture Mr. and Mrs. Day had brought
back from Italy, Greece and Palestine they had
travelled for two years and been everywhere espe-
cially when their daughter said: "I wanted father
and mother to see the best things. I kept them three
hours on the Acropolis. I guess they won't forget
that ! " Perhaps it was of Phidias and Pericles they
were thinking, Vogelstein reflected, as they sat rumin-
ating in their rugs. Pandora remarked also that she
wanted to show her little sister everything while she
was comparatively unformed ("comparatively!" he
mutely gasped); remarkable sights made so much
more impression when the mind was fresh : she had
read something of that sort somewhere in Goethe.
She had wanted to come herself when she was her
sister's age; but her father was in business then and
they could n't leave Utica. The young man thought
of the little sister frisking over the Parthenon and the
118
PANDORA
Mount of Olives and sharing for two years, the years
of the school-room, this extraordinary pilgrimage of
her parents ; he wondered whether Goethe's dictum
had been justified in this case. He asked Pandora if
Utica were the seat of her family, if it were an im-
portant or typical place, if it would be an interesting
city for him, as a stranger, to see. His companion
replied frankly that this was a big question, but
added that all the same she would ask him to "come
and visit us at our home," if it were n't that they
should probably soon leave it.
"Ah you 're going to live elsewhere ?" Vogelstein
asked as if that fact too would be typical.
"Well, I 'm working for New York. I flatter my-
self I 've loosened them while we Ve been away,"
the girl went on. "They won't find in Utica the same
charm ; that was my idea. I want a big place, and of
course Utica ! " She broke off as before a complex
statement.
" I suppose Utica is inferior ? " Vogelstein seemed
to see his way to suggest.
"Well no, I guess I can't have you call Utica in-
ferior. It is n't supreme that's what's the matter
with it, and I hate anything middling," said Pandora
Day. She gave a light dry laugh, tossing back her
head a little as she made this declaration. And look-
ing at her askance in the dusk, as she trod the deck
that vaguely swayed, he recognised something in her
air and port that matched such a pronouncement.
"What 's her social position ? " he enquired of Mrs.
Dangerfield the next day. "I can't make it out at all
it's so contradictory. She strikes me as having
119
PANDORA
much cultivation and much spirit. Her appearance,
too, is very neat. Yet her parents are complete little
burghers. That's easily seen/*
"Oh social position," and Mrs. Dangerfield nodded
two or three times portentously. "What big expres-
sions you use ! Do you think everybody in the world
has a social position ? That 's reserved for an infinitely
small majority of mankind. You can't have a social po-
sition at Utica any more than you can have an opera-
box. Pandora hasn't got one; where, if you please,
should she have got it ? Poor girl, it is n't fair of you
to make her the subject of such questions as that/'
"Well," said Vogelstein, "if she's of the lower class
it seems to me very very " And he paused a
moment, as he often paused in speaking English,
looking for his word.
"Very what, dear Count ?"
"Very significant, very representative."
"Oh dear, she is n't of the lower class," Mrs. Dang-
erfield returned with an irritated sense of wasted
wisdom. She liked to explain her country, but that
somehow always required two persons.
"What is she then?"
"Well, I'm bound to admit that since I was at
home last she 's a novelty. A girl like that with such
people it i V a new type."
"I like novelties" and Count Otto smiled with
an air of considerable resolution. He could n't how-
ever be satisfied with a demonstration that only
begged the question ; and when they disembarked in
New York he felt, even amid the confusion of the
wharf and the heaps of disembowelled baggage, a
120
PANDORA
certain acuteness of regret at the idea that Pandora
and her family were about to vanish into the unknown.
He had a consolation however : it was apparent that
for some reason or other illness or absence from
town the gentleman to whom she had written had
not, as she said, come down. Vogelstein was glad
he could n't have told you why that this sym-
pathetic person had failed her; even though without
him Pandora had to engage single-handed with the
United States Custom-House. Our young man's first
impression of the Western world was received on the
landing-place of the German steamers at Jersey City
a huge wooden shed covering a wooden wharf
which resounded under the feet, an expanse palisaded
with rough-hewn piles that leaned this way and that,
and bestrewn with masses of heterogeneous luggage.
At one end, toward the town, was a row of tall painted
palings, behind which he could distinguish a press of
hackney-coachmen, who brandished their whips and
awaited their victims, while their voices rose, incess-
ant, with a sharp strange sound, a challenge at once
fierce and familiar. The whole place, behind the
fence, appeared to bristle and resound. Out there
was America, Count Otto said to himself, and he
looked toward it with a sense that he should have to
muster resolution. On the wharf people were rushing
about amid their trunks, pulling their things together,
trying to unite their scattered parcels. They were
heated and angry, or else quite bewildered and dis-
couraged. The few that had succeeded in collecting
their battered boxes had an air of flushed indifference
to the efforts of their neighbours, not even looking at
121
PANDORA
people with whom they had been fondly intimate on
the steamer. A detachment of the officers of the
Customs was in attendance, and energetic passengers
were engaged in attempts to drag them toward their
luggage or to drag heavy pieces toward them. These
functionaries were good-natured and taciturn, except
when occasionally they remarked to a passenger
whose open trunk stared up at them, eloquent, im-
ploring, that they were afraid the voyage had been
"rather glassy." They had a friendly leisurely specu-
lative way of discharging their duty, and if they per-
ceived a victim's name written on the portmanteau
they addressed him by it in a tone of old acquaintance.
Vogelstein found however that if they were familiar
they were n't indiscreet. He had heard that in Amer-
ica all public functionaries were the same, that there
was n't a different tenue, as they said in France, for
different positions, and he wondered whether at Wash-
ington the President and ministers, whom he expected
to see to have to see a good deal of, would be
like that.
He was diverted from these speculations by the
sight of Mr. and Mrs. Day seated side by side upon
a trunk and encompassed apparently by the accumu-
lations of their tour. Their faces expressed more con-
sciousness of surrounding objects than he had hitherto
recognised, and there was an air of placid expansion
in the mysterious couple which suggested that this
consciousness was agreeable. Mr. and Mrs. Day were,
as they would have said, real glad to get back. At a
little distance, on the edge of the dock, our observer
remarked their son, who had found a place where,
122
PANDORA
between the sides of two big ships, he could see the
ferry-boats pass; the large pyramidal low-laden ferry-
boats of American waters. He stood there, patient
and considering, with his small neat foot on a coil of
rope, his back to everything that had been disem-
barked, his neck elongated in its polished cylinder,
while the fragrance of his big cigar mingled with the
odour of the rotting piles and his little sister, beside
him, hugged a huge post and tried to see how far she
could crane over the water without falling in. Vogel-
stein's servant was off in search of an examiner;
Count Otto himself had got his things together and
was waiting to be released, fully expecting that for a
person of his importance the ceremony would be brief.
Before it began he said a word to young Mr. Day,
raising his hat at the same time to the little girl, whom
he had not yet greeted and who dodged his salute by
swinging herself boldly outward to the dangerous side
of the pier. She was indeed still unformed, but was
evidently as light as a feather.
"I see you're kept waiting like me. It's very tire-
some," Count Otto said.
The young American answered without looking be-
hind him. "As soon as we 're started we '11 go all right.
My sister has written to a gentleman to come down."
" I 've looked for Miss Day to bid her good-bye,"
Vogelstein went on; "but I don't see her."
" I guess she has gone to meet that gentleman ; he *s
a great friend of hers."
"I guess he's her lover!" the little girl broke out.
"She was always writing to him in Europe/'
Her brother puffed his cigar in silence a moment.
123
PANDORA
"That was only for this. I'll tell on you, sis," he
presently added.
But the younger Miss Day gave no heed to his
menace; she addressed herself only, though with all
freedom, to Vogelstein. "This is New York; I like
it better than Utica."
He had no time to reply, for his servant had arrived
with one of the dispensers of fortune; but as he
turned away he wondered, in the light of the child's
preference, about the towns of the interior. He was
naturally exempt from the common doom. The officer
who took him in hand and who had a large straw hat
and a diamond breastpin, was quite a man of the
world and in reply to the Count's formal declarations
only said "Well, I guess it 's all right; I guess I '11 just
pass you"; distributing chalk-marks as if they had
been so many love-pats. The servant had done some
superfluous unlocking and unbuckling, and while he
closed the pieces the officer stood there wiping his
forehead and conversing with Vogelstein. " First visit
to our country, sir ? quite alone no ladies ? Of
course the ladies are what we're most after." It was
in this manner he expressed himself while the young
diplomatist wondered what he was waiting for and
whether he ought to slip something into his palm.
But this representative of order left our friend only a
moment in suspense; he presently turned away with
the remark, quite paternally uttered, that he hoped
the Count would make quite a stay; upon which the
young man saw how wrong he should have been to
offer a tip. It was simply the American manner, which
had a finish of its own after all. Vogelstein's serv-
124
PANDORA
ant had secured a porter with a truck, and he was
about to leave the place when he saw Pandora Day
dart out of the crowd and address herself with much
eagerness to the functionary who had just liberated
him. She had an open letter in her hand which she
gave him to read and over which he cast his eyes,
thoughtfully stroking his beard. Then she led him
away to where her parents sat on their luggage. Count
Otto sent off his servant with the porter and followed
Pandora, to whom he really wished to address a word
of farewell. The last thing they had said to each other
on the ship was that they should meet again on shore.
It seemed improbable however that the meeting
would occur anywhere but just here on the dock;
inasmuch as Pandora was decidedly not in society,
where Vogelstein would be of course, and as, if Utica
he had her sharp little sister's word for it was
worse than what was about him there, he 'd be hanged
if he'd go to Utica. He overtook Pandora quickly;
she was in the act of introducing the representative
of order to her parents, quite in the same manner in
which she had introduced the Captain of the ship.
Mr. and Mrs. Day got up and shook hands with him
and they evidently all prepared to have a little talk.
"I should like to introduce you to my brother and
sister/' he heard the girl say, and he saw her look
about for these appendages. He caught her eye as
she did so, and advanced with his hand outstretched,
reflecting the while that evidently the Americans,
whom he had always heard described as silent and
practical, rejoiced to extravagance in the social graces.
They dawdled and chattered like so many Neapolitans.
125
PANDORA
"Good-bye, Count Vogelstein," said Pandora, who
was a little flushed with her various exertions but
did n't look the worse for it. "I hope you 11 have a
splendid time and appreciate our country/*
" I hope you 'II get through all right," Vogelstein
answered, smiling and feeling himself already more
idiomatic.
"That gentleman's sick that I wrote to," she re-
joined; "is n't it too bad ? But he sent me down a let-
ter to a friend of his one of the examiners and
I guess we won't have any trouble. Mr. Lansing, let
me make you acquainted with Count Vogelstein,"
she went on, presenting to her fellow passenger the
wearer of the straw hat and the breastpin, who shook
hands with the young German as if he had never seen
him before. Vogelstein's heart rose for an instant to
his throat ; he thanked his stars he had n't offered a tip
to the friend of a gentleman who had often been men-
tioned to him and who had also been described by
a member of Pandora's family as Pandora's lover.
"It's a case of ladies this time," Mr. Lansing
remarked to him with a smile which seemed to con-
fess surreptitiously, and as if neither party could be
eager, to recognition.
"Well, Mr. Bellamy says you'll do anything for
him" Pandora said, smiling very sweetly at Mr.
Lansing. "We haven't got much; we've been gone
only two years."
Mr. Lansing scratched his head a little behind,
with a movement that sent his straw hat forward in
the direction of his nose. "I don't know as I'd do
anything for him that I would n't do for you," he
126
PANDORA
responded with an equal geniality. "I guess you'd
better open that one " and he gave a little affection-
ate kick to one of the trunks.
"Oh mother, is n't he lovely ? It's only your sea-
things," Pandora cried, stooping over the coffer with
the key in her hand.
"I don't know as I like showing them," Mrs. Day
modestly murmured.
Vogelstein made his German salutation to the com-
pany in general, and to Pandora he offered an audible
good-bye, which she returned in a bright friendly
voice, but without looking round as she fumbled at
the lock of her trunk.
"We'll try another, if you like," said Mr. Lansing
good-humouredly.
"Oh no, it has got to be this one ! Good-bye, Count
Vogelstein. I hope you '11 judge us correctly ! "
The young man went his way and passed the
barrier of the dock. Here he was met by his English
valet with a face of consternation which led him to
ask if a cab were n't forthcoming.
"They call 'em *acks 'ere, sir," said the man, "and
they 're beyond everything. He wants thirty shillings
to take you to the inn.'*
Vogelstein hesitated a moment. "Could n't you
find a German ? "
" By the way he talks he is a German ! " said the
man ; and in a moment Count Otto began his career
in America by discussing the tariff of hackney-coaches
in the language of the fatherland.
II
HE went wherever he was asked, on principle, partly
to study American society and partly because in
Washington pastimes seemed to him not so numerous
that one could afford to neglect occasions. At the end
of two winters he had naturally had a good many of
various kinds his study of American society had
yielded considerable fruit. When, however, in April,
during the second year of his residence, he presented
himself at a large party given by Mrs. Bonnycastle
and of which it was believed that it would be the last
serious affair of the season, his being there (and still
more his looking very fresh and talkative) was not the
consequence of a rule of conduct. He went to Mrs.
Bonnycastle's simply because he liked the lady, whose
receptions were the pleasantest in Washington, and
because if he did n't go there he did n't know what he
should do ; that absence of alternatives having become
familiar to him by the waters of the Potomac. There
were a great many things he did because if he did n't
do them he did n't know what he should do. It must
be added that in this case even if there had been an
alternative he would still have decided to go to Mrs.
Bonnycastle's. If her house was n't the pleasantest
there it was at least difficult to say which was pleas-
anter; and the complaint sometimes made of it that it
was too limited, that it left out, on the whole, more
people than it took in, applied with much less force
when it was thrown open for a general party. Toward
128
PANDORA
the end of the social year, in those soft scented days
of the Washington spring when the air began to show
a southern glow and the Squares and Circles (to
which the wide empty avenues converged according
to a plan so ingenious, yet so bewildering) to flush with
pink blossom and to make one wish to sit on benches
under this magic of expansion and condonation
Mrs. Bonnycastle, who during the winter had been
a good deal on the defensive, relaxed her vigilance a
little, became whimsically wilful, vernally reckless, as
it were, and ceased to calculate the consequences of
an hospitality which a reference to the back files or
even to the morning's issue of the newspapers might
easily prove a mistake. But Washington life, to Count
Otto's apprehension, was paved with mistakes; he
felt himself in a society founded on fundamental
fallacies and triumphant blunders. Little addicted as
he was to the sportive view of existence, he had said
to himself at an early stage of his sojourn that the only
way to enjoy the great Republic would be to burn
one's standards and warm one's self at the blaze.
Such were the reflexions of a theoretic Teuton who
now walked for the most part amid the ashes of his
prejudices.
Mrs. Bonnycastle had endeavoured more than once
to explain to him the principles on which she received
certain people and ignored certain others; but it was
with difficulty that he entered into her discrimina-
tions. American promiscuity, goodness knew, had
been strange to him, but it was nothing to the queer-
ness of American criticism. This lady would discourse
to him a perte de vue on differences where he only saw
129
PANDORA
resemblances, and both the merits and the defects of
a good many members of Washington society, as this
society was interpreted to him by Mrs. Bonnycastle,
he was often at a loss to understand. Fortunately she
had a fund of good humour which, as I have intimated,
was apt to come uppermost with the April blossoms
and which made the people she did n't invite to her
house almost as amusing to her as those she did. Her
husband was not in politics, though politics were
much in him; but the couple had taken upon them-
selves the responsibilities of an active patriotism ; they
thought it right to live in America, differing therein
from many of their acquaintances who only, with some
grimness, thought it inevitable. They had that bur-
densome heritage of foreign reminiscence with which
so many Americans were saddled ; but they carried it
more easily than most of their country-people, and
one knew they had lived in Europe only by their pre-
sent exultation, never in the least by their regrets.
Their regrets, that is, were only for their ever having
lived there, as Mrs. Bonnycastle once told the wife
of a foreign minister. They solved all their problems
successfully, including those of knowing none of the
people they did n't wish to, and of finding plenty faff
occupation in a society supposed to be meagrely pro-
vided with resources for that body which Vogelstein
was to hear invoked, again and again, with the mix-
ture of desire and of deprecation that might have
attended the mention of a secret vice, under the name
of a leisure-class. When as the warm weather ap-
proached they opened both the wings of their house-
door, it was because they thought it would entertain
130
PANDORA
them and not because they were conscious of a press-
ure. Alfred Bonnycastle all winter indeed chafed
a little at the definiteness of some of his wife's reserves ;
it struck him that for Washington their society was
really a little too good. Vogelstein still remembered
the puzzled feeling it had cleared up somewhat
now with which, more than a year before, he had
heard Mr. Bonnycastle exclaim one evening, after a
dinner in his own house, when every guest but the
German secretary (who often sat late with the pair)
had departed : "Hang it, there's only a month left; let
us be vulgar and have some fun let us invite the
President."
This was Mrs. Bonnycastle's carnival, and on the
occasion to which I began my chapter by referring
the President had not only been invited but had
signified his intention of being present. I hasten to
add that this was not the same august ruler to whom
Alfred Bonnycastle's irreverent allusion had been
made. The White House had received a new tenant
the old one was then just leaving it and Count
Otto had had the advantage, during the first eighteen
months of his stay in America, of seeing an electoral
campaign, a presidential inauguration and a distribu-
tion of spoils. He had been bewildered during those
first weeks by finding that at the national capital, in
tlje houses he supposed to be the best, the head of the
State was not a coveted guest; for this could be the
only explanation of Mr. Bonnycastle's whimsical sug-
gestion of their inviting him, as it were, in carnival.
His successor went out a good deal for a President.
The legislative session was over, but this made little
PANDORA
difference in the aspect of Mrs. Bonnycastle's rooms,
which even at the height of the congressional season
could scarce be said to overflow with the represent-
atives of the people. They were garnished with an
occasional Senator, whose movements and utterances
often appeared to be regarded with a mixture of alarm
and indulgence, as if they would be disappointing if
they were n't rather odd and yet might be dangerous
if not carefully watched. Our young man had come
to entertain a kindness for these conscript fathers of
invisible families, who had something of the toga in
the voluminous folds of their conversation, but were
otherwise rather bare and bald, with stony wrinkles
in their faces, like busts and statues of ancient law-
givers. There seemed to him something chill and ex-
posed in their being at once so exalted and so naked ;
there were frequent lonesome glances in their eyes,
as if in the social world their legislative consciousness
longed for the warmth of a few comfortable laws
ready-made. Members of the House were very rare,
and when Washington was new to the enquiring secre-
tary he used sometimes to mistake them, in the halls
and on the staircases where he met them, for the
functionaries engaged, under stress, to usher in guests
and wait at supper. It was only a little later that he
perceived these latter public characters almost always
to be impressive and of that rich racial hue which of
itself served as a livery. At present, however, such
confounding figures were much less to be met than
during the months of winter, and indeed they were
never frequent at Mrs. Bonnycastle's. At present the
social vistas of Washington, like the vast fresh flatness
132
PANDORA
of the lettered and numbered streets, which at this
season seemed to Vogelstein more spacious and vague
than ever, suggested but a paucity of political phe-
nomena. Count Otto that evening knew every one or
almost every one. There were often enquiring strang-
ers, expecting great things, from New York and
Boston, and to them, in the friendly Washington way,
the young German was promptly introduced. It was
a society in which familiarity reigned and in which
people were liable to meet three times a day, so that
their ultimate essence really became a matter of
importance.
"I've got three new girls/* Mrs. Bonnycastle said.
"You must talk to them all."
" All at once ? " Vogelstein asked, reversing in fancy
a position not at all unknown to him. He had so
repeatedly heard himself addressed in even more
than triple simultaneity.
"Oh no; you must have something different for
each; you can't get off that way. Have n't you dis-
covered that the American girl expects something
especially adapted to herself? It's very well for
Europe to have a few phrases that will do for any
girl. The American girl is n't any girl ; she 's a remark-
able specimen in a remarkable species. But you must
keep the best this evening for Miss Day."
" For Miss Day ! " and Vogelstein had a stare of
intelligence. "Do you mean for Pandora?"
Mrs. Bonnycastle broke on her side into free amuse-
ment. "One would think you had been looking for
her over the globe ! So you know her already and
you call her by her pet name?"
133
PANDORA
"Oh no, I don't know her; that is I have n't seen
her or thought of her from that day to this. We came
to America in the same ship."
" Is n't she an American then ? "
"Oh yes; she lives at Utica in the interior/'
" In the interior of Utica ? You can't mean my
young woman then, who lives in New York, where
she 's a great beauty and a great belle and has been
immensely admired this winter."
"After all," said Count Otto, considering and a little
disappointed, "the name 's not so uncommon ; it 's per-
haps another. But has she rather strange eyes, a little
yellow, but very pretty, and a nose a little arched ? "
" I can't tell you all that ; I have n't seen her. She *s
staying with Mrs. Steuben. She only came a day or
two ago, and Mrs. Steuben 's to bring her. When she
wrote to me to ask leave she told me what I tell you.
They have n't come yet."
Vogelstein felt a quick hope that the subject of this
correspondence might indeed be the young lady he
had parted from on the dock at New York, but the
indications seemed to point another way, and he had
no wish to cherish an illusion. It did n't seem to him
probable that the energetic girl who had introduced
him to Mr. Lansing would have the entree of the best
house in Washington; besides, Mrs. Bonnycastle's
guest was described as a beauty and belonging to the
brilliant city.
"What's the social position of Mrs. Steuben?" it
occurred to him to ask while he meditated. He had an
earnest artless literal way of putting such a question as
that; you could see from it that he was very thorough.
PANDORA
Mrs. Bonnycastle met it, however, but with mock-
ing laughter. "I'm sure I don't know! What's your
own ? " and she left him to turn to her other guests,
to several of whom she repeated his question. Could
they tell her what was the social position of Mrs.
Steuben ? There was Count Vogelstein who wanted
to know. He instantly became aware of course that
he ought n't so to have expressed himself. Was n't the
lady's place in the scale sufficiently indicated by Mrs
Bonnycastle's acquaintance with her? Still there
were fine degrees, and he felt a little unduly snubbed.
It was perfectly true, as he told his hostess, that with
the quick wave of new impressions that had rolled
over him after his arrival in America the image of
Pandora was almost completely effaced; he had seen
innumerable things that were quite as remarkable in
their way as the heroine of the Donau, but at the
touch of the idea that he might see her and hear her
again at any moment she became as vivid in his mind
as if they had parted the day before : he remembered
the exact shade of the eyes he had described to Mrs.
Bonnycastle as yellow, the tone of her voice when at
the last she expressed the hope he might judge Amer-
ica correctly. Had he judged America correctly ? If
he were to meet her again she doubtless would try to
ascertain. It would be going much too far to say that
the idea of such an ordeal was terrible to Count Otto ;
but it may at least be said that the thought of meeting
Pandora Day made him nervous. The fact is cer-
tainly singular, but I shall not take on myself to ex-
plain it; there are some things that even the most
philosophic historian is n't bound to account for.
135
PANDORA
He wandered into another room, and there, at the
end of five minutes, he was introduced by Mrs. Bonny-
castle to one of the young ladies of whom she had
spoken. This was a very intelligent girl who came
from Boston and showed much acquaintance with
Spielhagen's novels. "Do you like them?" Vogel-
stein asked rather vaguely, not taking much interest
in the matter, as he read works of fiction only in case
of a sea- voyage. The young lady from Boston looked
pensive and concentrated ; then she answered that she
liked some of them very much, but that there were
others she did n't like and she enumerated the
works that came under each of these heads. Spiel-
hagen is a voluminous writer, and such a catalogue
took some time; at the end of it moreover Vogelstein's
question was not answered, for he could n't have told
us whether she liked Spielhagen or not.
On the next topic, however, there was no doubt
about her feelings. They talked about Washington as
people talk only in the place itself, revolving about
the subject in widening and narrowing circles, perch-
ing successively on its many branches, considering
it from every point of view. Our young man had
been long enough in America to discover that after
half a century of social neglect Washington had
become the fashion and enjoyed the great advantage
of being a new resource in conversation. This was
especially the case in the months of spring, when
the inhabitants of the commercial cities came so far
southward to escape, after the long winter, that final
affront. They were all agreed that Washington was
fascinating, and none of them were better prepared
136
PANDORA
to talk it over than the Bostonians. Vogelstein origin-
ally had been rather out of step with them ; he had
n't seized their point of view, had n't known with
what they compared this object of their infatuation.
But now he knew everything; he had settled down to
the pace ; there was n't a possible phase of the dis-
cussion that could find him at a loss. There was a
kind of Hegelian element in it; in the light of these
considerations the American capital took on the
semblance of a monstrous mystical infinite Werden.
But they fatigued Vogelstein a little, and it was his
preference, as a general thing, not to engage the same
evening with more than one new-comer, one visitor
in the freshness of initiation. This was why Mrs.
Bonnycastle's expression of a wish to introduce him
to three young ladies had startled him a little; he saw
a certain process, in which he flattered himself that he
had become proficient, but which was after all toler-
ably exhausting, repeated for each of the damsels.
After separating from his judicious Bostonian he
rather evaded Mrs. Bonnycastle, contenting himself
with the conversation of old friends, pitched for the
most part in a lower and easier key.
At last he heard it mentioned that the President
had arrived, had been some half-hour in the house,
and he went in search of the illustrious guest, whose
whereabouts at Washington parties was never indi-
cated by a cluster of courtiers. He made it a point,
whenever he found himself in company with the Pre-
sident, to pay him his respects, and he had not been
discouraged by the fact that there was no association
of ideas in the eye of the great man as he put out his
137
PANDORA
hand presidentially and said "Happy to meet you,
sir/* Count Otto felt himself taken for a mere loyal
subject, possibly for an office-seeker; and he used to
reflect at such moments that the monarchical form
had its merits : it provided a line of heredity for the
faculty of quick recognition. He had now some dif-
ficulty in finding the chief magistrate, and ended by
learning that he was in the tea-room, a small apart-
ment devoted to light refection near the entrance of
the house. Here our young man presently perceived
him seated on a sofa and in conversation with a lady.
There were a number of people about the table, eat-
ing, drinking, talking; and the couple on the sofa,
which was not near it but against the wall, in a shal-
low recess, looked a little withdrawn, as if they had
sought seclusion and were disposed to profit by the
diverted attention of the others. The President leaned
back; his gloved hands, resting on either knee, made
large white spots. He looked eminent, but he looked
relaxed, and the lady beside him ministered freely and
without scruple, it was clear, to this effect of his com-
fortably unbending. Vogelstein caught her voice as
he approached. He heard her say "Well now, remem-
ber; I consider it a promise/* She was beautifully
dressed, in rose-colour; her hands were clasped in her
lap and her eyes attached to the presidential profile.
"Well, madam, in that case it's about the fiftieth
promise I Ve given to-day/*
It was just as he heard these words, uttered by her
companion in reply, that Count Otto checked him-
self, turned away and pretended to be looking for a
cup of tea. It was n't usual to disturb the President,
138
PANDORA
even simply to shake hands, when he was sitting on
a sofa with a lady, and the young secretary felt it in
this case less possible than ever to break the rule, for
the lady on the sofa was none othei than Pandora
Day. He had recognised her without her appearing
to see him, and even with half an eye, as they said,
had taken in that she was now a person to be reckoned
with. She had an air of elation, of success; she shone,
to intensity, in her rose-coloured dress; she was
extracting promises from the ruler of fifty millions of
people. What an odd place to meet her, her old ship-
mate thought, and how little one could tell, after all,
in America, who people were ! He did n't want to
speak to her yet; he wanted to wait a little and learn
more; but meanwhile there was something attractive
in the fact that she was just behind him, a few yards
off, that if he should turn he might see her again. It
was she Mrs. Bonnycastle had meant, it was she who
was so much admired in New York. Her face was the
same, yet he had made out in a moment that she was
vaguely prettier; he had recognised the arch of her
nose, which suggested a fine ambition. He took some
tea, which he had n't desired, in order not to go away.
He remembered her entourage on the steamer; her
father and mother, the silent senseless burghers, so
little "of the world," her infant sister, so much of it,
her humorous brother with his tall hat and his influ-
ence in the smoking-room. He remembered Mrs.
Dangerfield's warnings yet her perplexities too
and the letter from Mr. Bellamy, and the introduction
to Mr. Lansing, and the way Pandora had stooped
down on the dirty dock, laughing and talking, mistress
139
PANDORA
of the situation, to open her trunk for the Customs.
He was pretty sure she had paid no duties that day;
this would naturally have been the purpose of Mr.
Bellamy's letter. Was she still in correspondence with
that gentleman, and had he got over the sickness
interfering with their reunion ? These images and
these questions coursed through Count Otto's mind,
and he saw it must be quite in Pandora's line to be
mistress of the situation, for there was evidently
nothing on the present occasion that could call itself
her master. He drank his tea and as he put down
his cup heard the President, behind him, say : "Well,
I guess my wife will wonder why I don't come home."
"Why did n't you bring her with you ?" Pandora
benevolently asked.
"Well, she does n't go out much. Then she has
got her sister staying with her Mrs. Runkle, from
Natchez. She 's a good deal of an invalid, and my
wife does n't like to leave her."
"She must be a very kind woman" and there
was a high mature competence in the way the girl
sounded the note of approval.
"Well, I guess she is n't spoiled yet."
"I should like very much to come and see her,"
said Pandora.
" Do come round. Could n't you come some night ? "
the great man responded.
"Well, I'll come some time. And I shall remind
you of your promise."
"All right. There's nothing like keeping it up.
Well," said the President, "I must bid good-bye to
these bright folks."
140
PANDORA
Vogelstein heard him rise from the sofa with his
companion ; after which he gave the pair time to pass
out of the room before him. They did it with a certain
impressive deliberation, people making way for the
ruler of fifty millions and looking with a certain curi-
osity at the striking pink person at his side. When
a little later he followed them across the hall, into one
of the other rooms, he saw the host and hostess accom-
pany the President to the door and two foreign minis-
ters and a judge of the Supreme Court address them-
selves to Pandora Day. He resisted the impulse to
join this circle : if he should speak to her at all he
would somehow wish it to be in more privacy. She
continued nevertheless to occupy him, and when Mrs.
Bonnycastle came back from the hall he immediately
approached her with an appeal. " I wish you 'd tell
me something more about that girl that one op-
posite and in pink."
"The lovely Day that's what they call her, I
believe ? I wanted you to talk with her."
"I find she is the one I've met. But she seems to
be so different here. I can't make it out," said Count
Otto.
There was something in his expression that again
moved Mrs. Bonnycastle to mirth. "How we do
puzzle you Europeans! You look quite bewild-
ered."
"I'm sorry I look so I try to hide it. But of
course we 're very simple. Let me ask then a simple
earnest childlike question. Are her parents also in
society ? "
"Parents in society ? D'ou tombez-vous ? Did you
141
PANDORA
ever hear of the parents of a triumphant girl in rose-
colour, with a nose all her own, in society ? "
" Is she then all alone ? " he went on with a strain
of melancholy in his voice.
Mrs. Bonnycastle launched at him all her laughter.
"You're too pathetic. Don't you know what she is ?
I supposed of course you knew."
"It's exactly what I'm asking you."
"Why she's the new type. It has only come up
lately. They have had articles about it in the papers.
That's the reason I told Mrs. Steuben to bring her."
"The new type? What new type, Mrs. Bonny-
castle ? " he returned pleadingly so conscious was
he that all types in America were new.
Her laughter checked her reply a moment, and by
the time she had recovered herself the young lady from
Boston, with whom Vogelstein had been talking,
stood there to take leave. This, for an American
type, was an old one, he was sure; and the process
of parting between the guest and her hostess had an
ancient elaboration. Count Otto waited a little; then
he turned away and walked up to Pandora Day, whose
group of interlocutors had now been re-enforced
by a gentleman who had held an important place in
the cabinet of the late occupant of the presidential
chair. He had asked Mrs. Bonnycastle if she were
"all alone"; but there was nothing in her present
situation to show her for solitary. She was n't suf-
ficiently alone for our friend's taste; but he was im-
patient and he hoped she 'd give him a few words to
himself. She recognised him without a moment's
hesitation and with the sweetest smile, a smile match-
142
PANDORA
ing to a shade the tone in which she said: "I was
watching you. I wondered if you were n't going to
speak to me."
"Miss Day was watching him !" one of the foreign
ministers exclaimed; "and we flattered ourselves that
her attention was all with us."
"I mean before," said the girl, "while I was talk-
ing with the President."
At which the gentlemen began to laugh, one of
them remarking that this was the way the absent were
sacrificed, even the great; while another put on record
that he hoped Vogelstein was duly flattered.
"Oh I was watching the President too," said Pan-
dora. " I ' ve got to watch him. He has promised me
something."
"It must be the mission to England," the judge of
the Supreme Court suggested. "A good position for
a lady; they've got a lady at the head over there."
" I wish they would send you to my country," one
of the foreign ministers suggested. "I'd immediately
get recalled."
"Why perhaps in your country I wouldn't speak
to you ! It 's only because you 're here," the ex-heroine
of the Donau returned with a gay familiarity which
evidently ranked with her but as one of the arts of
defence. " You '11 see what mission it is when it comes
out. But I '11 speak to Count Vogelstein anywhere,"
she went on. "He's an older friend than any right
here. I 've known him in difficult days."
"Oh yes, on the great ocean," the young man
smiled. "On the watery waste, in the tempest!"
"Oh I don't mean that so much; we had a beauti-
H3
PANDORA
ful voyage and there was n't any tempest. I mean
when I was living in Utica. That 's a watery waste
if you like, and a tempest there would have been a
pleasant variety/'
"Your parents seemed to me so peaceful!" her
associate in the other memories sighed with a vague
wish to say something sympathetic.
"Oh you haven't seen them ashore! At Utica
they were very lively. But that 's no longer our nat-
ural home. Don't you remember I told you I was
working for New York ? Well, I worked I had
to work hard. But we've moved."
Count Otto clung to his interest. "And I hope
they're happy."
"My father and mother ? Oh they will be, in time.
I must give them time. They 're very young yet,
they've years before them. And you've been always
in Washington?" Pandora continued. "I suppose
you 've found out everything about everything."
"Oh no there are some things I cant find out."
"Come and see me and perhaps I can help you.
I 'm very different from what I was in that phase.
I 've advanced a great deal since then."
"Oh how was Miss Day in that phase?" asked a
cabinet minister of the last administration.
"She was delightful of course," Count Otto said.
"He's very flattering; I did n't open my mouth!"
Pandora cried. "Here comes Mrs. Steuben to take
me to some other place. I believe it 's a literary party
near the Capitol. Everything seems so separate in
Washington. Mrs. Steuben 's going to read a poem.
I wish she 'd read it here; would n't it do as well ?"
144
PANDORA
This lady, arriving, signified to her young friend
the necessity of their moving on. But Miss Day's com-
panions had various things to say to her before giving
her up. She had a vivid answer for each, and it was
brought home to Vogelstein while he listened that this
would be indeed, in her development, as she said,
another phase. Daughter of small burghers as she
might be she was really brilliant. He turned away
a little and while Mrs. Steuben waited put her a
question. He had made her half an hour before the
subject of that enquiry to which Mrs. Bonnycastle
returned so ambiguous an answer ; but this was n't
because he failed of all direct acquaintance with the
amiable woman or of any general idea of the esteem
in which she was held. He had met her in various
places and had been at her house. She was the widow
of a commodore, was a handsome mild soft swaying
person, whom every one liked, with glossy bands of
black hair and a little ringlet depending behind each
ear. Some one had said that she looked like the vieux
feu idea of the queen in "Hamlet." She had written
verses which were admired in the South, wore a full-
length portrait of the commodore on her bosom and
spoke with the accent of Savannah. She had about
her a positive strong odour of Washington. It had
certainly been very superfluous in our young man to
question Mrs. Bonnycastle about her social position.
"Do kindly tell me," he said, lowering his voice,
"what 's the type to which that young lady belongs ?
Mrs. Bonnycastle tells me it's a new one."
Mrs. Steuben for a moment fixed her liquid eyes
on the secretary of legation. She always seemed to
145
PANDORA
be translating the prose of your speech into the finer
rhythms with which her own mind was familiar. " Do
you think anything 's really new ?" she then began to
flute. "I'm very fond of the old; you know that's
a weakness of we Southerners." The poor lady, it
will be observed, had another weakness as well.
"What we often take to be the new is simply the old
under some novel form. Were there not remarkable
natures in the past ? If you doubt it you should visit
the South, where the past still lingers."
Vogelstein had been struck before this with Mrs.
Steuben's pronunciation of the word by which her
native latitudes were designated; transcribing it from
her lips you would have written it (as the nearest
approach) the Sooth. But at present he scarce heeded
this peculiarity; he was wondering rather how a
woman could be at once so copious and so uninform-
ing. What did he care about the past or even about
the Sooth ? He was afraid of starting her again. He
looked at her, discouraged and helpless, as bewildered
almost as Mrs. Bonnycastle had found him half an
hour before; looked also at the commodore, who, on
her bosom, seemed to breathe again with his widow's
respirations. "Call it an old type then if you like,"
he said in a moment. "All I want to know is what
type it is! It seems impossible," he gasped, "to find
out."
"You can find out in the newspapers. They've
had articles about it. They write about everything
now. But it is n't true about Miss Day. It's one of
the first families. Her great-grandfather was in the
Revolution." Pandora by this time had given her
146
PANDORA
attention again to Mrs. Steuben. She seemed to sig-
nify that she was ready to move on. "Was n't your
great-grandfather in the Revolution ? " the elder lady
asked. "I'm telling Count Vogelstein about him."
"Why are you asking about my ancestors ?" the
girl demanded of the young German with untempered
brightness. " Is that the thing you said just now that
you can't find out ? Well, if Mrs. Steuben will only be
quiet you never will."
Mrs. Steuben shook her head rather dreamily.
"Well, it's no trouble for we of the Sooth to be quiet.
There's a kind of languor in our blood. Besides, we
have to be to-day. But I 've got to show some energy
to-night. I *ve got to get you to the end of Pennsyl-
vania Avenue."
Pandora gave her hand to Count Otto and asked
him if he thought they should meet again. He an-
swered that in Washington people were always meet-
ing again and that at any rate he should n't fail to
wait upon her. Hereupon, just as the two ladies were
detaching themselves, Mrs. Steuben remarked that if
the Count and Miss Day wished to meet again the pic-
nic would be a good chance the picnic she was get-
ting up for the following Thursday. It was to consist
of about twenty bright people, and they 'd go down the
Potomac to Mount Vernon. The Count answered
that if Mrs. Steuben thought him bright enough he
should be delighted to join the party; and he was told
the hour for which the tryst was taken.
He remained at Mrs. Bonnycastie's after every one
had gone, and then he informed this lady of his reason
for waiting. Would she have mercy on him and let
H7
PANDORA
him know, in a single word, before he went to rest
for without it rest would be impossible what was
this famous type to which Pandora Day belonged ?
"Gracious, you don't mean to say you've not
found out that type yet!" Mrs. Bonnycastle ex-
claimed with a return of her hilarity. "What have
you been doing all the evening ? You Germans may
be thorough, but you certainly are not quick ! "
It was Alfred Bonnycastle who at last took pity on
him. "My dear Vogelstein, she's the latest freshest
fruit of our great American evolution. She's the self-
made girl ! "
Count Otto gazed a moment. "The fruit of the
great American Revolution ? Yes, Mrs. Steuben told
me her great-grandfather " but the rest of his sent-
ence was lost in a renewed explosion of Mrs. Bonny-
castle's sense of the ridiculous. He bravely pushed his
advantage, such as it was, however, and, desiring his
host's definition to be defined, enquired what the self-
made girl might be.
"Sit down and we'll tell you all about it," Mrs.
Bonnycastle said. "I like talking this way, after a
party's over. You can smoke if you like, and Alfred
will open another window. Well, to begin with, the
self-made girl's a new feature. That, however, you
know. In the second place she is n't self-made at all.
We all help to make her we take such an interest in
her."
"That's only after she's made!" Alfred Bonny-
castle broke in. "But it's Vogelstein that takes an
interest. What on earth has started you up so on the
subject of Miss Day ?"
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PANDORA
The visitor explained as well as he could that it was
merely the accident of his having crossed the ocean in
the steamer with her; but he felt the inadequacy of
this account of the matter, felt it more than his hosts,
who could know neither how little actual contact he
had had with her on the ship, how much he had been
affected by Mrs. Dangerfield's warnings, nor how
much observation at the same time he had lavished on
her. He sat there half an hour, and the warm dead
stillness of the Washington night nowhere are the
nights so silent came in at the open window, min-
gled with a soft sweet earthy smell, the smell of grow-
ing things and in particular, as he thought, of Mrs.
Steuben's Sooth. Before he went away he had heard
all about the self-made girl, and there was something
in the picture that strongly impressed him. She was
possible doubtless only in America ; American life had
smoothed the way for her. She was not fast, nor
emancipated, nor crude, nor loud, and there was n't
in her, of necessity at least, a grain of the stuff of which
the adventuress is made. She was simply very success-
ful, and her success was entirely personal. She had n't
been born with the silver spoon of social opportunity;
she had grasped it by honest exertion. You knew her
by many different signs, but chiefly, infallibly, by the
appearance of her parents. It was her parents who
told her story; you always saw how little her parents
could have made her. Her attitude with regard to
them might vary in different ways. As the great fact
on her own side was that she had lifted herself from a
lower social plane, done it all herself, and done it by
the simple lever of her personality, it was naturally to
149
PANDORA
be expected that she would leave the authors of her
mere material being in the shade. Sometimes she had
them in her wake, lost in the bubbles and the foam
that showed where she had passed; sometimes, as
Alfred Bonnycastle said, she let them slide altogether;
sometimes she kept them in close confinement, resort-
ing to them under cover of night and with every pre-
caution ; sometimes she exhibited them to the public in
discreet glimpses, in prearranged attitudes. But the
general characteristic of the self-made girl was that,
though it was frequently understood that she was
privately devoted to her kindred, she never attempted
to impose them on society, and it was striking that,
though in some of her manifestations a bore, she was
at her worst less of a bore than they. They were almost
always solemn and portentous, and they were for the
most part of a deathly respectability. She was n't
necessarily snobbish, unless it was snobbish to want
the best. She did n't cringe, she did n't make herself
smaller than she was; she took on the contrary a
stand of her own and attracted things to herself. Nat-
urally she was possible only in America only in a
country where whole ranges of competition and com-
parison were absent. The natural history of this inter-
esting creature was at last completely laid bare to the
earnest stranger, who, as he sat there in the animated
stillness, with the fragrant breath of the Western world
in his nostrils, was convinced of what he had already
suspected, that conversation in the great Republic was
more yearningly, not to say gropingly, psychological
than elsewhere. Another thing, as he learnod, that
you knew the self-made girl by was her culture, which
150
PANDORA
was perhaps a little too restless and obvious. She had
usually got into society more or less by reading, and
her conversation was apt to be garnished with literary
allusions, even with familiar quotations. Vogelstein
had n't had time to observe this element as a devel-
oped form in Pandora Day; but Alfred Bonnycastle
hinted that he would n't trust her to keep it under in a
tete-a-tete. It was needless to say that these young per-
sons had always been to Europe; that was usually the
first place they got to. By such arts they sometimes
entered society on the other side before they did so at
home ; it was to be added at the same time that this
resource was less and less valuable, for Europe, in the
American world, had less and less prestige and people
in the Western hemisphere now kept a watch on that
roundabout road. All of which quite applied to Pan-
dora Day the journey to Europe, the culture (as
exemplified in the books she read on the ship), the
relegation, the effacement, of the family. The only
thing that was exceptional was the rapidity of her
march ; for the jump she had taken since he left her in
the hands of Mr. Lansing struck Vogelstein, even after
he had made all allowance for the abnormal homo-
geneity of the American mass, as really considerable.
It took all her cleverness to account for such things.
When she "moved" from Utica mobilised her
commissariat the battle appeared virtually to have
been gained.
Count Otto called the next day, and Mrs. Steuben's
blackamoor informed him, in the communicative
manner of his race, that the ladies had gone out to pay
some visits and look at the Capitol. Pandora appar-
PANDORA
ently had not hitherto examined this monument, and
our young man wished he had known, the evening
before, of her omission, so that he might have offered
to be her initiator. There is too obvious a connexion
for us to fail of catching it between his regret and the
fact that in leaving Mrs. Steuben's door he reminded
himself that he wanted a good walk, and that he there-
upon took his way along Pennsylvania Avenue. His
walk had become fairly good by the time he reached
the great white edifice that unfolds its repeated col-
onnades and uplifts its isolated dome at the end of
a long vista of saloons and tobacco-shops. He slowly
climbed the great steps, hesitating a little, even won-
dering why he had come. The superficial reason was
obvious enough, but there was a real one behind it
that struck him as rather wanting in the solidity which
should characterise the motives of an emissary of
Prince Bismarck. The superficial reason was a belief
that Mrs. Steuben would pay her visit first it was
probably only a question of leaving cards and bring
her young friend to the Capitol at the hour when the
yellow afternoon light would give a tone to the blank-
ness of its marble walls. The Capitol was a splendid
building, but it was rather wanting in tone. Vogel-
stein's curiosity about Pandora Day had been much
more quickened than checked by the revelations made
to him in Mrs. Bonnycastle's drawing-room. It was a
relief to have the creature classified ; but he had a de-
sire, of which he had not been conscious before, to see
really to the end how well, in other words how com-
pletely and artistically, a girl could make herself. His
calculations had been just, and he had wandered about
152
PANDORA
the rotunda for only ten minutes, looking again at
the paintings, commemorative of the national annals,
which occupy its lower spaces, and at the simulated
sculptures, so touchingly characteristic of early Amer-
ican taste, which adorn its upper reaches, when the
charming women he had been counting on presented
themselves in charge of a licensed guide. He went to
meet them and did n't conceal from them that he had
marked them for his very own. The encounter was
happy on both sides, and he accompanied them
through the queer and endless interior, through laby-
rinths of bleak bare development, into legislative and
judicial halls. He thought it a hideous place; he had
seen it all before and asked himself what senseless
game he was playing. In the lower House were certain
bedaubed walls, in the basest style of imitation, which
made him feel faintly sick, not to speak of a lobby
adorned with artless prints and photographs of emin-
ent defunct Congressmen that was all too serious for
a joke and too comic for a Valhalla. But Pandora was
greatly interested; she thought the Capitol very fine;
it was easy to criticise the details, but as a whole it was
the most impressive building she had ever seen. She
proved a charming fellow tourist; she had constantly
something to say, but never said it too much ; it was
impossible to drag in the wake of a cicerone less of a
lengthening or an irritating chain. Vogelstein could
see too that she wished to improve her mind; she
looked at the historical pictures, at the uncanny
statues of local worthies, presented by the different
States they were of different sizes, as if they had
been "numbered," in a shop she asked questions
153
PANDORA
of the guide and in the chamber of the Senate re-
quested him to show her the chairs of the gentlemen
from New York. She sat down in one of them, though
Mrs. Steuben told her that Senator (she mistook the
chair, dropping into another State) was a horrid old
thing.
Throughout the hour he spent with her Vogelstein
seemed to see how it was she had made herself. They
walked about afterwards on the splendid terrace that
surrounds the Capitol, the great marble floor on
which it stands, and made vague remarks Pandora's
were the most definite about the yellow sheen of
the Potomac, the hazy hills of Virginia, the far-
gleaming pediment of Arlington, the raw confused-
looking country. Washington was beneath them,
bristling and geometrical; the long lines of its avenues
seemed to stretch into national futures. Pandora asked
Count Otto if he had ever been to Athens and, on his
admitting so much, sought to know whether the emin-
ence on which they stood did n't give him an idea of
the Acropolis in its prime. Vogelstein deferred the
satisfaction of this appeal to their next meeting; he
was glad in spite of the appeal to make pretexts
for seeing her again. He did so on the morrow; Mrs.
Steuben's picnic was still three days distant. He
called on Pandora a second time, also met her each
evening in the Washington world. It took very little of
this to remind him that he was forgetting both Mrs.
Dangerfield's warnings and the admonitions long
familiar to him of his own conscience. Was he in
peril of love ? Was he to be sacrificed on the altar of
the American girl, an altar at which those other poor
PANDORA
fellows had poured out some of the bluest blood in
Germany and he had himself taken oath he would
never seriously worship ? He decided that he was n't
in real danger, that he had rather clinched his pre-
cautions. It was true that a young person who had
succeeded so well for herself might be a great help to
her husband; but this diplomatic aspirant preferred
on the whole that his success should be his own: it
would n't please him to have the air of being pushed
by his wife. Such a wife as that would wish to push
him, and he could hardly admit to himself that this
was what fate had in reserve for him to be pro-
pelled in his career by a young lady who would per-
haps attempt to talk to the Kaiser as he had heard her
the other night talk to the President. Would she con-
sent to discontinue relations with her family, or would
she wish still to borrow plastic relief from that domes-
tic background ? That her family was so impossible
was to a certain extent an advantage ; for if they had
been a little better the question of a rupture would be
less easy. He turned over these questions in spite of
his security, or perhaps indeed because of it. The
security made them speculative and disinterested.
They haunted him during the excursion to Mount
Vernon, which took place according to traditions long
established. Mrs. Steuben's confederates assembled
on the steamer and were set afloat on the big brown
stream which had already seemed to our special
traveller to have too much bosom and too little bank.
Here and there, however, he became conscious of a
shore where there was something to look at, even
though conscious at the same time that he had of old
PANDORA
lost great opportunities of an idyllic cast in not having
managed to be more "thrown with" a certain young
lady on the deck of the North German Lloyd. The
two turned round together to hang over Alexandria,
which for Pandora, as she declared, was a picture of
Old Virginia. She told Vogelstein that she was
always hearing about it during the Civil War, ages
before. Little girl as she had been at the time she
remembered all the names that were on people's lips
during those years of reiteration. This historic spot
had a touch of the romance of rich decay, a reference
to older things, to a dramatic past. The past of Alex-
andria appeared in the vista of three or four short
streets sloping up a hill and lined with poor brick
warehouses erected for merchandise that had ceased
to come or go. It looked hot and blank and sleepy,
down to the shabby waterside where tattered darkies
dangled their bare feet from the edge of rotting
wharves. Pandora was even more interested in
Mount Vernon when at last its wooded bluff began
to command the river than she had been in the
Capitol, and after they had disembarked and ascended
to the celebrated mansion she insisted on going into
every room it contained. She "claimed for it," as she
said some of her turns were so characteristic both
of her nationality and her own style the finest situa-
tion in the world, and was distinct as to the shame of
their not giving it to the President for his country-seat.
Most of her companions had seen the house often, and
were now coupling themselves in the grounds accord-
ing to their sympathies, so that it was easy for Vogel-
stein to offer the benefit of his own experience to
156
PANDORA
the most inquisitive member of the party. They were
not to lunch for another hour, and in the interval
the young man roamed with his first and fairest
acquaintance. The breath of the Potomac, on the
boat, had been a little harsh, but on the softly-curving
lawn, beneath the clustered trees, with the river rele-
gated to a mere shining presence far below and in the
distance, the day gave out nothing but its mildness,
the whole scene became noble and genial.
Count Otto could joke a little on great occasions,
and the present one was worthy of his humour. He
maintained to his companion that the shallow painted
mansion resembled a false house, a "wing " or structure
of daubed canvas, on the stage ; but she answered him
so well with certain economical palaces she had seen
in Germany, where, as she said, there was nothing but
china stoves and stuffed birds, that he was obliged to
allow the home of Washington to be after all really
gemuthlich. What he found so in fact was the soft
texture of the day, his personal situation, the sweetness
of his suspense. For suspense had decidedly become
his portion ; he was under a charm that made him feel
he was watching his own life and that his susceptibil-
ities were beyond his control. It hung over him that
things might take a turn, from one hour to the other,
which would make them ^ 7 ery different from what they
had been yet; and his heart certainly beat a little faster
as he wondered what that turn might be. Why did he
come to picnics on fragrant April days with Ameri-
can girls who might lead him too far ? Would n't such
girls be glad to marry a Pomeranian count ? And
would they, after all, talk that way to the Kaiser ? If
157
PANDORA
he were to marry one of them he should have to give
her several thorough lessons.
In their little tour of the house our young friend and
his companion had had a great many fellow visitors,
who had also arrived by the steamer and who had
hitherto not left them an ideal privacy. But the others
gradually dispersed; they circled about a kind of
showman who was the authorised guide, a big slow
genial vulgar heavily-bearded man, with a whimsical
edifying patronising tone, a tone that had immense
success when he stopped here and there to make his
points to pass his eyes over his listening flock, then
fix them quite above it with a meditative look and
bring out some ancient pleasantry as if it were a sud-
den inspiration. He made a cheerful thing, an echo of
the platform before the booth of a country fair, even
of a visit to the tomb of the pater patnce. It is en-
shrined in a kind of grotto in the grounds, and Vogel-
stein remarked to Pandora that he was a good man
for the place, but was too familiar. "Oh he'd have
been familiar with Washington," said the girl with the
bright dryness with which she often uttered amusing
things. Vogelstein looked at her a moment, and it
came over him, as he smiled, that she herself probably
would n't have been abashed even by the hero with
whom history has taken fewest liberties. "You look
as if you could hardly believe that," Pandora went on.
"You Germans are always in such awe of great peo-
ple." And it occurred to her critic that perhaps after
all Washington would have liked her manner, which
was wonderfully fresh and natural. The man with the
beard was an ideal minister to American shrines; he
158
PANDORA
played on the curiosity of his little band with the touch
of a master, drawing them at the right moment away
to see the classic ice-house where the old lady had been
found weeping in the belief it was Washington's grave.
While this monument was under inspection our inter-
esting couple had the house to themselves, and they
spent some time on a pretty terrace where certain
windows of the second floor opened a little roofless
verandah which overhung, in a manner, obliquely, all
the magnificence of the view; the immense sweep of
the river, the artistic plantations, the last-century gar-
den with its big box hedges and remains of old espa-
liers. They lingered here for nearly half an hour, and
it was in this retirement that Vogelstein enjoyed the
only approach to intimate conversation appointed for
him, as was to 'appear, with a young woman in whom
he had been unable to persuade himself that he was
not absorbed. It's not necessary, and it's not pos-
sible, that I should reproduce this colloquy; but I may
mention that it began as they leaned against the
parapet of the terrace and heard the cheerful voice of
the showman wafted up to them from a distance
with his saying to her rather abruptly that he could n't
make out why they had n't had more talk together
when they crossed the Atlantic.
" Well, I can if you can't," said Pandora. "I'd have
talked quick enough if you had spoken to me. I spoke
to you first."
"Yes, I remember that" and it affected him
awkwardly.
"You listened too much to Mrs. Dangerfield."
He feigned a vagueness. "To Mrs. Dangerfield ?"
159
PANDORA
"That woman you were always sitting with; she
told you not to speak to me. I Ve seen her in New
York; she speaks to me now herself. She recom-
mended you to have nothing to do with me."
" Oh how can you say such dreadful things ? "
Count Otto cried with a very becoming blush.
"You know you can't deny it. You weren't at-
tracted by my family. They're charming people
when you know them. I don't have a better time any-
where than I have at home," the girl went on loyally.
" But what does it matter ? My family are very happy.
They 're getting quite used to New York. Mrs. Dan-
gerfield's a vulgar wretch next winter she'll call
on me."
"You are unlike any Madchen I've ever seen I
don't understand you," said poor Vogelstein with the
colour still in his face.
"Well, you never will understand me probably;
but what difference does it make ? "
He attempted to tell her what difference, but I Ve
no space to follow him here. It's known that when
the German mind attempts to explain things it does n't
always reduce them to simplicity, and Pandora was
first mystified, then amused, by some of the Count's
revelations. At last I think she was a little frightened,
for she remarked irrelevantly, with some decision,
that luncheon would be ready and that they ought to
join Mrs. Steuben. Her companion walked slowly, on
purpose, as they left the house together, for he knew
the pang of a vague sense that he was losing her.
"And shall you be in Washington many days yet ? "
he appealed as they went.
1 60
PANDORA
" It will all depend. I *m expecting important news.
What I shall do will be influenced by that."
The way she talked about expecting news and
important ! made him feel somehow that she had
a career, that she was active and independent, so that
he could scarcely hope to stop her as she passed. It
was certainly true that he had never seen any girl like
her. It would have occurred to him that the news she
was expecting might have reference to the favour she
had begged of the President, if he had n't already
made up his mind in the calm of meditation after
that talk with the Bonnycastles that this favour
must be a pleasantry. What she had said to him had a
discouraging, a somewhat chilling effect; nevertheless
it was not without a certain ardour that he enquired
of her whether, so long as she stayed in Washington,
he might n't pay her certain respectful attentions.
"As many as you like and as respectful ones ; but
you won't keep them up for ever ! "
"You try to torment me," said Count Otto.
She waited to explain. "I mean that I may have
some of my family."
"I shall be delighted to see them again."
Again she just hung fire. "There are some you've
never seen."
In the afternoon, returning to Washington on the
steamer, Vogelstein received a warning. It came from
Mrs. Bonnycastle and constituted, oddly enough, the
second juncture at which an officious female friend
had, while sociably afloat with him, advised him on
the subject of Pandora Day.
"There 's one thing we forgot to tell you the other
161
PANDORA
night about the self-made girl," said the lady of infinite
mirth. "It's never safe to fix your affections on her,
because she has almost always an impediment some-
where in the background/'
He looked at her askance, but smiled and said : " I
should understand your information for which I 'm
so much obliged a little better if I knew what you
mean by an impediment/'
"Oh I mean she's always engaged to some young
man who belongs to her earlier phase/'
"Her earlier phase?"
"The time before she had made herself when she
lived unconscious of her powers. A young man from
Utica, say. They usually have to wait; he 's probably
in a store. It 's a long engagement."
Count Otto somehow preferred to understand as
little as possible. " Do you mean a betrothal to
take effect?"
"I don't mean anything German and moonstruck.
I mean that piece of peculiarly American enterprise
a premature engagement to take effect, ^ut too
complacently, at the end of time."
Vogelstein very properly reflected that it was no use
his having entered the diplomatic career if he were n't
able to bear himself as if this interesting generalisation
had no particular message for him. He did Mrs.
Bonnycastle moreover the justice to believe that she
would n't have approached the question with such
levity if she had supposed she should make him
wince. The whole thing was, like everything else, but
for her to laugh at, and the betrayal moreover of a
good intention. " I see, I see the self-made girl has
162
PANDORA
of course always had a past. Yes, and the young man
in the store from Utica is part of her past."
"You express it perfectly," said Mrs, Bonnycastle.
"I could n't say it better myself."
"But with her present, with her future, when they
change like this young lady's, I suppose everything
else changes. How do you say it in America ? She
lets him slide."
"We don't say it at all!" Mrs. Bonnycastle cried.
"She does nothing of the sort; for what do you take
her ? She sticks to him ; that at least is what we expect
her to do," she added with less assurance. "As I tell
you, the type's new and the case under consideration.
We have n't yet had time for complete study."
"Oh of course I hope she sticks to him," Vogelstein
declared simply and with his German accent more
audible, as it always was when he was slightly agi-
tated.
For the rest of the trip he was rather restless. He
wandered about the boat, talking little with the return-
ing picnickers. Toward the last, as they drew near
Washington and the white dome of the Capitol hung
aloft before them, looking as simple as a suspended
snowball, he found himself, on the deck, in proximity
to Mrs. Steuben. He reproached himself with having
rather neglected her during an entertainment for
which he was indebted to her bounty, and he sought
to repair his omission by a proper deference. But the
only act of homage that occurred to him was to ask her
as by chance whether Miss Day were, to her know-
ledge, engaged.
Mrs. Steuben turned her Southern eyes upon him
163
PANDORA
with a look of almost romantic compassion. "To my
knowledge? Why of course I'd know! I should think
you 'd know too. Did n't you know she was engaged ?
Why she has been engaged since she was sixteen."
Count Otto gazed at the dome of the Capitol. "To
a gentleman from Utica ? "
"Yes, a native of her place. She's expecting him
soon."
"I 'm so very glad to hear it," said Vogelstein, who
decidedly, for his career, had promise. "And is she
going to marry him ? "
"Why what do people fall in love with each other
for? I presume they'll marry when she gets round to
it. Ah if she had only been from the Sooth ! "
At this he broke quickly in : " But why have they
never brought it off, as you say, in so many years ? "
"Well, at first she was too young, and then she
thought her family ought to see Europe of course
they could see it better with her and they spent
some time there. And then Mr. Bellamy had some
business difficulties that made him feel as if he did n't
want to marry just then. But he has given up busi-
ness and I presume feels more free. Of course it 's
rather long, but all the while they 've been engaged.
It's a true, true love," said Mrs. Steuben, whose sound
of the adjective was that of a feeble flute.
" Is his name Mr. Bellamy ? " the Count asked with
his haunting reminiscence. "D. F. Bellamy, so ? And
has he been in a store ? "
" I don't know what kind of business it was : it was
some kind of business in Utica. I think he had a
branch in New York. He 's one of the leading gentie-
164
PANDORA
men of Utica and very highly educated. He's a good
deal older than Miss Day. He's a very fine man I
presume a college man. He stands very high in Utica.
I don't know why you look as if you doubted it."
Vogelstein assured Mrs. Steuben that he doubted
nothing, and indeed what she told him was prob-
ably the more credible for seeming to him eminently
strange. Bellamy had been the name of the gentle-
man who, a year and a half before, was to have met
Pandora on the arrival of the German steamer; it was
in Bellamy's name that she had addressed herself with
such effusion to Bellamy's friend, the man in the straw
hat who was about to fumble in her mother's old
clothes. This was a fact that seemed to Count Otto
to finish the picture of her contradictions ; it wanted at
present no touch to be complete. Yet even as it hung
there before him it continued to fascinate him, and he
stared at it, detached from surrounding things and
feeling a little as if he had been pitched out of an over-
turned vehicle, till the boat bumped against one of the
outstanding piles of the wharf at which Mrs. Steuben's
party was to disembark. There was some delay in get-
ting the steamer adjusted to the dock, during which
the passengers watched the process over its side and
extracted what entertainment they might from the
appearance of the various persons collected to receive
it. There were darkies and loafers and hackmen, and
also vague individuals, the loosest and blankest he had
ever seen anywhere, with tufts on their chins, tooth-
picks in their mouths, hands in their pockets, rumina-
tion in their jaws and diamond pins in their shirt-
fronts, who looked as if they had sauntered over from
165
PANDORA
Pennsylvania Avenue to while away half an hour, for-
saking for that interval their various slanting postures
in the porticoes of the hotels and the doorways of the
saloons.
"Oh I 'm so glad! How sweet of you to come
down ! " It was a voice close to Count Otto's shoulder
that spoke these words, and he had no need to turn to
see from whom it proceeded. It had been in his ears
the greater part of the day, though, as he now per-
ceived, without the fullest richness of expression of
which it was capable. Still less was he obliged to turn
to discover to whom it was addressed, for the few
simple words I have quoted had been flung across the
narrowing interval of water, and a gentleman who had
stepped to the edge of the dock without our young
man's observing him tossed back an immediate reply.
" I got here by the three o'clock train. They told
me in K Street where you were, and I thought I 'd
come down and meet you."
"Charming attention!" said Pandora Day with
the laugh that seemed always to invite the whole of
any company to partake in it; though for some mo-
ments after this she and her interlocutor appeared to
continue the conversation only with their eyes. Mean-
while Vogelstein's also were not idle. He looked at her
visitor from head to foot, and he was aware that she
was quite unconscious of his own proximity. The gen-
tleman before him was tall, good-looking, well-dressed ;
evidently he would stand well not only at Utica, but,
judging from the way he had planted himself on the
dock, in any position that circumstances might com-
pel him to take up. He was about forty years old ; he
166
PANDORA
had a black moustache and he seemed to look at the
world over some counter-like expanse on which he
invited it all warily and pleasantly to put down first
its idea of the terms of a transaction. He waved a
gloved hand at Pandora as if, when she exclaimed
" Gracious, ain't they long ! " to urge her to be patient.
She was patient several seconds and then asked him
if he had any news. He looked at her briefly, in
silence, smiling, after which he drew from his pocket
a large letter with an official-looking seal and shook it
jocosely above his head. This was discreetly, covertly
done. No one but our young man appeared aware of
how much was taking place and poor Count Otto
mainly felt it in the air. The boat was touching the
wharf and the space between the pair inconsiderable.
"Department of State ?" Pandora very prettily and
soundlessly mouthed across at him.
"That's what they call it."
"Well, what country?"
"What's your opinion of the Dutch ?" the gentle-
man asked for answer.
"Oh gracious!" cried Pandora.
"Well, are you going to wait for the return trip ?"
said the gentleman.
Our silent sufferer turned away, and presently Mrs.
Steuben and her companion disembarked together.
When this lady entered a carriage with Miss Day the
gentleman who had spoken to the girl followed them ;
the others scattered, and Vbgelstein, declining with
thanks a "lift" from Mrs. Bonnycastle, walked home
alone and in some intensity of meditation. Two days
later he saw in a newspaper an announcement that
PANDORA
the President had offered the post of Minister to
Holland to Mr. D. F. Bellamy of Utica ; and in the
course of a month he heard from Mrs. Steuben that
Pandora, a thousand other duties performed, had
finally "got round" to the altar of her own nuptials.
He communicated this news to Mrs. Bonnycastle,
who had not heard it but who, shrieking at the queer
face he showed her, met it with the remark that there
was now ground for a new induction as to the self-
made girl.
THE PATAGONIA
THE PATAGONIA
THE houses were dark in the August night and the
perspective of Beacon Street, with its double chain
of lamps, was a foreshortened desert. The club on
the hill alone, from its semi-cylindrical front, pro-
jected a glow upon the dusky vagueness of the Com-
mon, and as I passed it I heard in the hot stillness the
click of a pair of billiard-balls. As "every one" was
out of town perhaps the servants, in the extravagance
of their leisure, were profaning the tables. The heat
was insufferable and I thought with joy of the mor-
row, of the deck of the steamer, the freshening breeze,
the sense of getting out to sea. I was even glad of
what I had learned in the afternoon at the office of
the company that at the eleventh hour an old ship
with a lower standard of speed had been put on in
place of the vessel in which I had taken my passage.
America was roasting, England might very well be
stuffy, and a slow passage (which at that season of
the year would probably also be a fine one) was a
guarantee of ten or twelve days of fresh air.
I strolled down the hill without meeting a creature,
though I could see through the palings of the Com-
mon that that recreative expanse was peopled with
dim forms. I remembered Mrs. Nettlepoint's house
she lived in those days (they are not so distant, but
THE PATAGONIA
there have been changes) on the water-side, a little
way beyond the spot at which the Public Garden
terminates ; and I reflected that like myself she would
be spending the night in Boston if it were true that,
as had been mentioned to me a few days before at
Mount Desert, she was to embark on the morrow for
Liverpool. I presently saw this appearance confirmed
by a light above her door and in two or three of her
windows, and I determined to ask for her, having
nothing to do till bedtime. I had come out simply
to pass an hour, leaving my hotel to the blaze of its
gas and the perspiration of its porters; but it occurred
to me that my old friend might very well not know of
the substitution of the Patagonia for the Scandinavia,
so that I should be doing her a service to prepare her
mind. Besides, I could offer to help her, to look after
her in the morning : lone women are grateful for sup-
port in taking ship for far countries.
It came to me indeed as I stood on her door-step
that as she had a son she might not after all be so
lone; yet I remembered at the same time that Jasper
Nettlepoint was not quite a young man to lean upon,
having as I at least supposed a life of his own
and tastes and habits which had long since diverted
him from the maternal side. If he did happen just
now to be at home my solicitude would of course
seem officious; for in his many wanderings I be-
lieved he had roamed all over the globe he would
certainly have learned how to manage. None the less,
in fine, I was very glad to show Mrs. Nettlepoint I
thought of her. With my long absence I had lost sight
of her; but I had liked her of old, she had been a
172
THE PATAGONIA
good friend to my sisters, and I had in regard to her
that sense which is pleasant to those who in general
have gone astray or got detached, the sense that she
at least knew all about me. I could trust her at
any time to tell people I was respectable. Perhaps I
was conscious of how little I deserved this indulgence
when it came over me that I had n't been near her
for ages. The measure of that neglect was given by
my vagueness of mind about Jasper. However, I
really belonged nowaday? to a different generation;
I was more the mother's contemporary than the son's.
Mrs. Nettlepoint was at home: I found her in her
back drawing-room, where the wide windows opened
to the water. The room was dusky it was too hot
for lamps and she sat slowly moving her fan and
looking out on the little arm of the sea which is so
pretty at night, reflecting the lights of Cambridgeport
and Charlestown. I supposed she was musing on the
loved ones she was to leave behind, her married
daughters, her grandchildren ; but she struck a note
more specifically Bostonian as she said to me, pointing
with her fan to the Back Bay : " I shall see nothing
more charming than that over there, you know ! "
She made me very welcome, but her son had told her
about the Patagonia, for which she was sorry, as this
would mean a longer voyage. She was a poor creature
in any boat and mainly confined to her cabin even in
weather extravagantly termed fine as if any
weather could be fine at sea.
"Ah then your son's going with you V I asked.
"Here he comes, he'll tell you for himself much
better than I can pretend to." Jasper Nettlepoint at
173
THE PAJAGONIA
that moment joined us, dressed in white flannel and
carrying a large fan. "Well, my dear, have you de-
cided ? " his mother continued with no scant irony.
"He has n't yet made up his mind, and we sail at ten
o'clock!"
"What does it matter when my things are put up ? "
the young man said. "There's no crowd at this
moment; there will be cabins to spare. I'm waiting
for a telegram that will settle it. I just walked up
to the club to see if it was come they '11 send it there
because they suppose this house unoccupied. Not
yet, but I shall go back in twenty minutes."
"Mercy, how you rush about in this temperature ! "
the poor lady exclaimed while I reflected that it was
perhaps his billiard-balls I had heard ten minutes
before. I was sure he was fond of billiards.
" Rush ? not in the least. I take it uncommon easy."
"Ah I'm bound to say you do!" Mrs. Nettlepoint
returned with inconsequence. I guessed at a certain
tension between the pair and a want of consideration
on the young man's part, arising perhaps from selfish-
ness. His mother was nervous, in suspense, wanting
to be at rest as to whether she should have his com-
pany on the voyage or be obliged to struggle alone.
But as he stood there smiling and slowly moving his
fan he struck me somehow as a person on whom this
fact would n't sit too heavily. He was of the type of
those whom other people worry about, not of those
who worry about other people. Tall and strong, he
had a handsome face, with a round head and close-
curling hair; the whites of his eyes and the enamel
of his teeth, under his brown moustache, gleamed
174
THE PATAGONIA
vaguely in the lights of the Back Bay. I made out
that he was sunburnt, as if he lived much in the open
air, and that he looked intelligent but also slightly
brutal, though not in a morose way. His brutality,
if he had any, was bright and finished. I had to tell
him who I was, but even then I saw how little he
placed me and that my explanations gave me in his
mind no great identity or at any rate no great import-
ance. I foresaw that he would in intercourse make me
feel sometimes very young and sometimes very old,
caring himself but little which. He mentioned, as if
to show our companion that he might safely be left
to his own devices, that he had once started from
London to Bombay at three quarters of an hour's
notice.
"Yes, and it must have been pleasant for the people
you were with ! "
"Oh the people I was with I" he returned; and
his tone appeared to signify that such people would
always have to come off as they could. He asked if
there were no cold drinks in the house, no lemonade,
no iced syrups ; in such weather something of that sort
ought always to be kept going. When his mother
remarked that surely at the club they were kept going
he went on: "Oh yes, I had various things there;
but you know I Ve walked down the hill since. One
should have something at either end. May I ring and
see ? " He rang while Mrs. Nettlepoint observed that
with the people they had in the house, an establish-
ment reduced naturally at such a moment to its sim-
plest expression they were burning up candle-ends
and there were no luxuries she would n't answer
175
THE PATAGONIA
for the service. The matter ended in her leaving the
room in quest of cordials with the female domestic
who had arrived in response to the bell and in whom
Jasper's appeal aroused no visible intelligence.
She remained away some time and I talked with
her son, who was sociable but desultory and kept
moving over the place, always with his fan, as if he
were properly impatient. Sometimes he seated him-
self an instant on the window-sill, and then I made
him out in fact thoroughly good-looking a fine
brown clean young athlete. He failed to tell me on
what special contingency his decision depended; he
only alluded familiarly to an expected telegram, and
I saw he was probably fond at no time of the trouble
of explanations. His mother's absence was a sign
that when it might be a question of gratifying him she
had grown used to spare no pains, and I fancied her
rummaging in some close storeroom, among old pre-
serve-pots, while the dull maid-servant held the candle
awry. I don't know whether this same vision was in
his own eyes; at all events it did n't prevent his saying
suddenly, as he looked at his watch, that I must excuse
him he should have to go back to the club. He
would return in half an hour or in less. He walked
away and I sat there alone, conscious, on the dark
dismantled simplified scene, in the deep silence that
rests on American towns during the hot season
there was now and then a far cry or a plash in the
water, and at intervals the tinkle of the bells of the
horse-cars on the long bridge, slow in the suffocating
night of the strange influence, half-sweet, half-sad,
that abides in houses uninhabited or about to become
THE PATAGONIA
so, in places muffled and bereaved, where the un-
heeded sofas and patient belittered tables seem (like
the disconcerted dogs, to whom everything is alike
sinister) to recognise the eve of a journey.
After a while I heard the sound of voices, of steps,
the rustle of dresses, and I looked round, supposing
these things to denote the return of Mrs. Nettlepoint
and her handmaiden with the refection prepared for
her son. What I saw however was two other female
forms, visitors apparently just admitted, and now
ushered into the room. They were not announced
the servant turned her back on them and rambled
off to our hostess. They advanced in a wavering
tentative unintroduced way partly, I could see,
because the place was dark and partly because their
visit was in its nature experimental, a flight of imag-
ination or a stretch of confidence. One of the ladies
was stout and the other slim, and I made sure in a
moment that one was talkative and the other re-
served. It was further to be discerned that one was
elderly and the other young, as well as that the fact
of their unlikeness did n't prevent their being mother
and daughter. Mrs. Nettlepoint reappeared in a very
few minutes, but the interval had sufficed to establish
a communication really copious for the occasion
between the strangers and tie unknown gentleman
whom they found in possession, hat and stick in
hand. This was not my doing for what had I to
go upon ? and still less was it the doing of the
younger and the more indifferent, or less courageous,
lady. She spoke but once when her companion
informed me that she was going out to Europe the
177
THE PATAGONIA
next day to be married. Then she protested "Oh
mother!" in a tone that struck me in the darkness as
doubly odd, exciting my curiosity to see her face.
It had taken the elder woman but a moment to
come to that, and to various other things, after I had
explained that I myself was waiting for Mrs. Nettle-
point, who would doubtless soon come back.
"Well, she won't know me I guess she hasn't
ever heard much about me," the good lady said;
" but I 've come from Mrs. Allen and I guess that will
make it all right. I presume you know Mrs. Allen ? "
I was unacquainted with this influential person-
age, but I assented vaguely to the proposition. Mrs.
Allen's emissary was good-humoured and familiar,
but rather appealing than insistent (she remarked
that if her friend had found time to come in the after-
noon she had so much to do, being just up for the
day, that she could n't be sure it would be all
right) ; and somehow even before she mentioned Mer-
rimac Avenue (they had come all the way from there)
my imagination had associated her with that indefinite
social limbo known to the properly-constituted Boston
mind as the South End a nebulous region which
condenses here and there into a pretty face, in which
the daughters are an " improvement " on the mothers
and are sometimes acquainted with gentlemen more
gloriously domiciled, gentlemen whose wives and
sisters are in turn not acquainted with them.
When at last Mrs. Nettlepoint came in, accom-
panied by candles and by a tray laden with glasses of
coloured fluid which emitted a cool tinkling, I was in
a position to officiate as master of the ceremonies, to
178
THE PATAGONIA
introduce Mrs. Mavis and Miss Grace Mavis, to
represent that Mrs. Allen had recommended them
nay, had urged them just to come that way, in-
formally and without fear; Mrs. Allen who had been
prevented only by the pressure of occupations so char-
acteristic of her (especially when up from Mattapoisett
for a few hours' desperate shopping) from herself call-
ing in the course of the day to explain who they were
and what was the favour they had to ask of her bene-
volent friend. Good-natured women understand each
other even when so divided as to sit residentially above
and below the salt, as who should say ; by which token
our hostess had quickly mastered the main facts : Mrs.
Allen's visit that morning in Merrimac Avenue to
talk of Mrs. Amber's great idea, the classes at the pub-
lic schools in vacation (she was interested with an
equal charity to that of Mrs. Mavis even in such
weather ! in those of the South End) for games and
exercises and music, to keep the poor unoccupied child-
ren out of the streets ; then the revelation that it had
suddenly been settled almost from one hour to the
other that Grace should sail for Liverpool, Mr. Porter-
field at last being ready. He was taking a little holiday ;
his mother was with him, they had come over from
Paris to see some of the celebrated old buildings in
England, and he had telegraphed to say that if Grace
would start right off they would just finish it up and
be married. It often happened that when things had
dragged on that way for years they were all huddled
up at the end. Of course in such a case she, Mrs.
Mavis, had had to fly round. Her daughter's passage
was taken, but it seemed too dreadful she should make
THE PATAGONIA
her journey all alone, the first time she had ever been
at sea, without any companion or escort. She could n't
go Mr. Mavis was too sick : she had n't even been
able to get him off to the seaside.
"Well, Mrs. Nettlepoint '$ going in that ship," Mrs.
Allen had said ; and she had represented that nothing
was simpler than to give her the girl in charge. When
Mrs. Mavis had replied that this was all very well but
that she did n't know the lady, Mrs. Allen had de-
clared that that did n't make a speck of difference, for
Mrs. Nettlepoint was kind enough for anything. It
was easy enough to know her, if that was all the trou-
ble ! All Mrs. Mavis would have to do would be to go
right up to her next morning, when she took her
daughter to the ship (she would see her there on the
deck with her party) and tell her fair and square what
she wanted. Mrs. Nettlepoint had daughters herself
and would easily understand. Very likely she'd even
look after Grace a little on i:he other side, in such a
queer situation, going out alone to the gentleman she
was engaged to: she'd just help her, like a good
Samaritan, to turn round before she was married.
Mr. Porterfield seemed to think they would n't wait
long, once she was there : they would have it right over
at the American consul's. Mrs. Allen had said it
would perhaps be better still to go and see Mrs. Net-
tlepoint beforehand, that day, to tell her what they
wanted : then they would n't seem to spring it on her
just as she was leaving. She herself (Mrs. Allen)
would call and say a word for them if she could save
ten minutes before catching her train. If she had n't
come it was because she had n't saved her ten min-
180
THE PATAGONIA
utes ; but she had made them feel that they must come
all the same. Mrs. Mavis liked that better, because
on the ship in the morning there would be such a con-
fusion. She did n't think her daughter would be any
trouble conscientiously she did n't. It was just to
have some one to speak to her and not sally forth like
a servant-girl going to a situation.
"I see, I'm to act as a sort of bridesmaid and to
give her away," Mrs. Nettlepoint obligingly said.
Kind enough in fact for anything, she showed on this
occasion that it was easy enough to know her. There
is notoriously nothing less desirable than an imposed
aggravation of effort at sea, but she accepted without
betrayed dismay the burden of the young lady's de-
pendence and allowed her, as Mrs. Mavis said, to
hook herself on. She evidently had the habit of pa-
tience, and her reception of her visitors' story re-
minded me afresh I was reminded of it whenever I
returned to my native land that my dear compa-
triots are the people in the world who most freely take
mutual accommodation for granted. They have
always had to help themselves, and have rather mag-
nanimously failed to learn just where helping others
is distinguishable from that. In no country are there
fewer forms and more reciprocities.
It was doubtless not singular that the ladies from
Merrimac Avenue should n't feel they were importun-
ate: what was striking was that Mrs. Nettlepoint
did n't appear to suspect it. However, she would in
any case have thought it inhuman to show this
though I could see that under the surface she was
amused at everything the more expressive of the pil-
181
THE PATAGONIA
grims from the South End took for granted. I scarce
know whether the attitude of the younger visitor
added or not to the merit of her good nature. Mr.
Porterfield's intended took no part in the demonstra-
tion, scarcely spoke, sat looking at the Back Bay and
the lights on the long bridge. She declined the lemon-
ade and the other mixtures which, at Mrs. Nettle-
point's request, I offered her, while her mother par-
took freely of everything and I reflected for I as
freely drained a glass or two in which the ice tinkled
that Mr. Jasper had better hurry back if he wished
to enjoy these luxuries.
Was the effect of the young woman's reserve mean-
while ungracious, or was it only natural that in her
particular situation she should n't have a flow of com-
pliment at her command ? I noticed that Mrs. Nettle-
point looked at her often, and certainly though she
was undemonstrative Miss Mavis was interesting.
The candle-light enabled me to see that though not in
the very first flower of her youth she was still fresh and
handsome. Her eyes and hair were dark, her face was
pale, and she held up her head as if, with its thick
braids and everything else involved in it, it were an
appurtenance she was n't ashamed of. If her mother
was excellent and common she was not common
not at least flagrantly so and perhaps also not ex-
cellent. At all events she would n't be, in appearance
at least, a dreary appendage; which in the case of a
person "hooking on" was always something gained.
Was it because something of a romantic or pathetic
interest usually attaches to a good creature who has
been the victim of a "long engagement" that this
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THE PATAGONIA
young lady made an impression on me from the first
favoured as I had been so quickly with this glimpse
of her history ? I could charge her certainly with no
positive appeal; she only held her tongue and smiled,
and her smile corrected whatever suggestion might
have forced itself upon me that the spirit within her
was dead the spirit of that promise of which she
found herself doomed to carry out the letter.
What corrected it less, I must add, was an odd
recollection which gathered vividness as I listened to
it a mental association evoked by the name of Mr.
Porterfield. Surely I had a personal impression, over-
smeared and confused, of the gentleman who was
waiting at Liverpool, or who presently would be, for
Mrs. Nettlepoint's protegee. I had met him, known
him, some time, somewhere, somehow, on the other
side. Wasn't he studying something, very hard,
somewhere probably in Paris ten years before,
and did n't he make extraordinarily neat drawings,
linear and architectural ? Did n't he go to a table
d'hote, at two francs twenty-five, in the Rue Bona-
parte, which I then frequented, and did n't he wear
spectacles and a Scotch plaid arranged in a manner
which seemed to say "I've trustworthy information
that that 's the way they do it in the Highlands " ?
Was n't he exemplary to positive irritation, and very
poor, poor to positive oppression, so that I supposed
he had no overcoat and his tartan would be what he
slept under at night ? Was n't he working very hard
still, and would n't he be, in the natural course, not
yet satisfied that he had found his feet or knew enough
to launch out ? He would be a man of long prepara-
THE PATAGONIA
tions Miss Mavis's white face seemed to speak to
one of that. It struck me that if I had been in love
with her I should n't have needed to lay such a train
for the closer approach. Architecture was his line and
he was a pupil of the Ecole des Beaux Arts. This
reminiscence grew so much more vivid with me that
at the end often minutes I had an odd sense of know-
ing by implication a good deal about the young
lady.
Even after it was settled that Mrs. Nettlepoint
would do everything possible for her the other visitor
sat sipping our iced liquid and telling how "low " Mr.
Mavis had been. At this period the girl's silence struck
me as still more conscious, partly perhaps because she
deprecated her mother's free flow she was enough
of an "improvement" to measure that and partly
because she was too distressed by the idea of leaving
her infirm, her perhaps dying father. It was n't in-
distinguishable that they were poor and that she
would take out a very small purse for her trousseau.
For Mr. Porterfield to make up the sum his own case
would have had moreover greatly to change. If he had
enriched himself by the successful practice of his pro-
fession I had encountered no edifice he had reared
his reputation had n't come to my ears.
Mrs. Nettlepoint notified her new friends that she
was a very inactive person at sea : she was prepared to
suffer to the full with Miss Mavis, but not prepared to
pace the deck with her, to struggle with her, to accom-
pany her to meals. To this the girl replied that she
would trouble her little, she was sure : she was con-
vinced she should prove a wretched sailor and spend
184
THE PATAGONIA
the voyage on her back. Her mother scoffed at this
picture, prophesying perfect weather and a lovely time,
and I interposed to the effect that if I might be
trusted, as a tame bachelor fairly sea-seasoned, I
should be delighted to give the new member of our
party an arm or any other countenance whenever she
should require it. Both the ladies thanked me for this
taking my professions with no sort of abatement
and the elder one declared that we were evidently
going to be such a sociable group that it was too bad
to have to stay at home. She asked Mrs. Nettlepoint
if there were any one else in our party, and when our
hostess mentioned her son there was a chance of his
embarking but (was n't it absurd ?) he had n't decided
yet she returned with extraordinary candour: "Oh
dear, I do hope he '11 go : that would be so lovely for
Grace."
Somehow the words made me think of poor Mr.
Porterfield's tartan, especially as Jasper Nettlepoint
strolled in again at that moment. His mother at once
challenged him : it was ten o'clock ; had he by chance
made up his great mind ? Apparently he failed to hear
her, being in the first place surprised at the strange
ladies and then struck with the fact that one of them
was n't strange. The young man, after a slight hesi-
tation, greeted Miss Mavis with a handshake and a
"Oh good-evening, how do you do?" He didn't
utter her name which I could see he must have for-
gotten; but she immediately pronounced his, availing
herself of the American girl's discretion to " present "
him to her mother.
"Well, you might have told me you knew him all
185
THE PATAGONIA
this time ! " that lady jovially cried. Then she had an
equal confidence for Mrs. Nettlepoint. " It would have
saved me a worry an acquaintance already begun."
"Ah my son's acquaintances 1" our hostess
murmured.
"Yes, and my daughter's too!" Mrs. Mavis gaily
echoed. "Mrs. Allen did n't tell us you were going,"
she continued to the young man.
"She 'd have been clever if she had been able to ! "
Mrs. Nettlepoint sighed.
"Dear mother, I have my telegram," Jasper re-
marked, looking at Grace Mavis.
"I know you very little," the girl said, returning his
observation.
"I've danced with you at some ball for some
sufferers by something or other."
"I think it was an inundation or a big fire," she a
little languidly smiled. " But it was a long time ago
and I have n't seen you since."
"I 've been in far countries to my loss. I should
have said it was a big fire."
"It was at the Horticultural Hall. I did n't remem-
ber your name," said Grace Mavis.
"That's very unkind of you, when I recall vividly
that you had a pink dress."
"Oh I remember that dress your strawberry
tarletan : you looked lovely in it ! " Mrs. Mavis broke
out. "You must get another just like it on the
other side."
"Yes, your daughter looked charming in it/' said
Jasper Nettlepoint. Then he added to the girl : "Yet
you mentioned my name to your mother."
186
THE PATAGONIA
"It came back to me seeing you here. I had no
idea this was your home."
"Well, I confess it is n't, much. Oh there are some
drinks ! " he approached the tray and its glasses.
"Indeed there are and quite delicious" Mrs.
Mavis largely wiped her mouth.
"Won't you have another then ? a pink one, like
your daughter's gown."
"With pleasure, sir. Oh do see them over," Mrs.
Mavis continued, accepting from the young man's
hand a third tumbler.
"My mother and that gentleman ? Surely they can
take care of themselves," he freely pleaded.
"Then my daughter she has a claim as an old
friend."
But his mother had by this time interposed. "Jas-
per, what does your telegram say ? "
He paid her no heed : he stood there with his glass
in his hand, looking from Mrs. Mavis to Miss Grace.
"Ah leave her to me, madam; I'm quite compet-
ent," I said to Mrs. Mavis.
Then the young man gave me his attention. The
next minute he asked of the girl: "Do you mean
you 're going to Europe ? "
"Yes, to-morrow. In the same ship as your
mother."
"That 's what we 've come here for, to see all about
it," said Mrs. Mavis.
"My son, take pity on me and tell me what light
your telegram throws," Mrs. Nettlepoint went on.
"I will, dearest, when I've quenched my thirst."
And he slowly drained his glass.
187
THE PATAGONIA
"Well, I declare you're worse than Grade," Mrs.
Mavis commented. " She was first one thing and then
the other but only about up to three o'clock yes-
terday."
"Excuse me won't you take something ?" Jasper
enquired of Gracie; who however still declined, as if
to make up for her mother's copious consommation.
I found myself quite aware that the two ladies would
do well to take leave, the question of Mrs. Nettle-
point's good will being so satisfactorily settled and the
meeting of the morrow at the ship so near at hand ;
and I went so far as to judge that their protracted
stay, with their hostess visibly in a fidget, gave the
last proof of their want of breeding. Miss Grace after
all then was not such an improvement on her mother,
for she easily might have taken the initiative of de-
parture, in spite of Mrs. Mavis's evident "game"
of making her own absorption of refreshment last as
long as possible. I watched the girl with increasing
interest; I could n't help asking myself a question or
two about her and even perceiving already (in a dim
and general way) that rather marked embarrassment,
or at least anxiety attended her. Was n't it compli-
cating that she should have needed, by remaining
long enough, to assuage a certain suspense, to learn
whether or no Jasper were going to sail ? Had n't
something particular passed between them on the
occasion or at the period to which we had caught
their allusion, and did n't she really not know her
mother was bringing her to his mother's, though she
apparently had thought it well not to betray know-
ledge ? Such things were symptomatic though in-
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deed one scarce knew of what on the part of a
young lady betrothed to that curious cross-barred
phantom of a Mr. Porterfield. But I am bound to
add that she gave me no further warrant for wonder
than was conveyed in her all tacitly and covertly
encouraging her mother to linger. Somehow I had a
sense that she was conscious of the indecency of this.
I got up myself to go, but Mrs. Nettlepoint detained
me after seeing that my movement would n't be taken
as a hint, and I felt she wished me not to leave my
fellow visitors on her hands. Jasper complained of
the closeness of the room, said that it was not a night
to sit in a room one ought to be out in the air, under
the sky. He denounced the windows that overlooked
the water for not opening upon a balcony or a terrace,
until his mother, whom he had n't yet satisfied about
his telegram, reminded him that there was a beautiful
balcony in front, with room for a dozen people. She
assured him we would go and sit there if it would
please him.
" It will be nice and cool to-morrow, when we steam
into the great ocean," said Miss Mavis, expressing
with more vivacity than she had yet thrown into any
of her utterances my own thought of half an hour
before. Mrs. Nettlepoint replied that it would prob-
ably be freezing cold, and her son murmured that he
would go and try the drawing-room balcony and
report upon it. Just as he was turning away he said,
smiling, to Miss Mavis: "Won't you come with me
and see if it J s pleasant ? "
"Oh well, we had better not stay all night!" her
mother exclaimed, but still without moving. The girl
180
THE PATAGONIA
moved, after a moment's hesitation; she rose and
accompanied Jasper to the other room. I saw how
her slim tallness showed to advantage as she walked
and that she looked well as she passed, with her head
thrown back, into the darkness of the other part of
the house. There was something rather marked,
rather surprising I scarcely knew why, for the act
in itself was simple enough in her acceptance of such
a plea, and perhaps it was our sense of this that held
the rest of us somewhat stiffly silent as she remained
away. I was waiting for Mrs. Mavis to go, so that I
myself might go; and Mrs. Nettlepoint was waiting
for her to go so that I might n't. This doubtless made
the young lady's absence appear to us longer than it
really was it was probably very brief. Her mother
moreover, I think, had now a vague lapse from ease.
Jasper Nettlepoint presently returned to the back
drawing-room to serve his companion with our lucent
syrup, and he took occasion to remark that it was
lovely on the balcony: one really got some air, the
breeze being from that quarter. I remembered, as
he went away with his tinkling tumbler, that from my
hand, a few minutes before, Miss Mavis had not been
willing to accept this innocent offering. A little later
Mrs. Nettlepoint said : "Well, if it 's so pleasant there
we had better go ourselves/' So we passed to the
front and in the other room met the two young people
coming in from the balcony. I was to wonder, in the
light of later things, exactly how long they had occu-
pied together a couple of the set of cane chairs gar-
nishing the place in summer. If it had been but five
minutes that only made subsequent events more curi-
190
THE PATAGONIA
ous. " We must go, mother/' Miss Mavis immediately
said; and a moment after, with a little renewal of
chatter as to our general meeting on the ship, the
visitors had taken leave. Jasper went down with them
to the door and as soon as they had got off Mrs.
Nettlepoint quite richly exhaled her impression. "Ah
but she '11 be a bore she '11 be a bore of bores ! "
"Not through talking too much, surely."
"An affectation of silence is as bad. I hate that
particular pose; it's coming up very much now; an
imitation of the English, like everything else. A girl
who tries to be statuesque at sea that will act on
one's nerves ! "
" I don't know what she tries to be, but she succeeds
in being very handsome."
" So much the better for you. I '11 leave her to you,
for I shall be shut up. I like her being placed under
my 'care'!" my friend cried.
"She'll be under Jasper's," I remarked.
"Ah he won't go," she wailed "I want it too
much!"
" But I did n't see it that way. I have an idea he '11
go"
"Why did n't he tell me so then when he came
in?"
"He was diverted by that young woman a
beautiful unexpected girl sitting there."
"Diverted from his mother and her fond hope ?
his mother trembling for his decision ? "
"Well" I pieced it together "she's an old
friend, older than we know. It was a meeting after
a long separation."
191
THE PATAGONIA
"Yes, such a lot of them as he does know!" Mrs.
Nettlepoint sighed.
"Such a lot of them?"
"He has so many female friends in the most
varied circles."
"Well, we can close round her then," I returned;
"for I on my side know, or used to know, her young
man."
"Her intended?" she had a light of relief for
this.
"The very one she 's going out to. He can't, by the
way," it occurred to me, "be very young now."
"How odd it sounds her muddling after him!"
said Mrs. Nettlepoint.
I was going to reply that it was n't odd if you knew
Mr. Porterfield, but I reflected that that perhaps only
made it odder. I told my companion briefly who he
was that I had met him in the old Paris days, when
I believed for a fleeting hour that I could learn to paint,
when I lived with the jeunesse des ecoles; and her com-
ment on this was simply: "Well, he had better have
come out for her ! "
"Perhaps so. She looked to me as she sat there as
if she might change her mind at the last moment."
"About her marriage?"
"About sailing. But she won't change now."
Jasper came back, and his mother instantly chal-
lenged him. "Well, are you going?"
"Yes, I shall go " he was finally at peace about
it. " I 've got my telegram."
"Oh your telegram ! " I ventured a little to jeer.
"That charming girl's your telegram."
192
THE PATAGONIA
He gave me a look, but in the dusk I could n't
make out very well what it conveyed. Then he bent
over his mother, kissing her. "My news isn't par-
ticularly satisfactory. I 'm going for you"
"Oh you humbug! "she replied. But she was of
course delighted.
II
PEOPLE usually spend the first hours of a voyage in
squeezing themselves into their cabins, taking their
little precautions, either so excessive or so inadequate,
wondering how they can pass so many days in such
a hole and asking idiotic questions of the stewards,
who appear in comparison rare men of the world.
My own initiations were rapid, as became an old
sailor, and so, it seemed, were Miss Mavis's, for when
I mounted to the deck at the end of half an hour I
found her there alone, in the stern of the ship, her
eyes on the dwindling continent. It dwindled very
fast for so big a place. I accosted her, having had no
conversation with her amid the crowd of leave-takers
and the muddle of farewells before we put off; we
talked a little about the boat, our fellow passengers
and our prospects, and then I said: "I think you
mentioned last night a name I know that of Mr.
Porterfield."
"Oh no I didn't!" she answered very straight
while she smiled at me through her closely-drawn
veil.
"Then it was your mother."
"Very likely it was my mother." And she continued
to smile as if I ought to have known the difference.
" I venture to allude to him because I Ve an idea
I used to know him," I went on.
"Oh I see." And beyond this remark she appeared
194
THE PATAGONIA
to take no interest; she left it to me to make any con-
nexion.
"That is if it's the same one." It struck me as
feeble to say nothing more; so I added "My Mr.
Porterfield was called David."
"Well, so is ours." "Ours" affected me as clever.
" I suppose I shall see him again if he 's to meet you
at Liverpool," I continued.
"Well, it will be bad if he doesn't."
It was too soon for me to have the idea that it would
be bad if he did : that only came later. So I remarked
that, not having seen him for so many years, it was
very possible I should n't know him.
"Well, I've not seen him for a considerable time,
but I expect I shall know him all the same."
"Oh with you it's different," I returned with harm-
lessly bright significance. " Has n't he been back since
those days ? "
"I don't know," she sturdily professed, "what days
you mean."
"When I knew him in Paris ages ago. He was a
pupil of the Ecole des Beaux Arts. He was studying
architecture."
"Well, he 's studying it still," said Grace Mavis.
"Has n't he learned it yet ?"
"I don't know what he has learned. I shall see."
Then she added for the benefit of my perhaps undue
levity: "Architecture's very difficult and he's tre-
mendously thorough."
"Oh yes, I remember that. He was an admirable
worker. But he must have become quite a foreigner
if it's so many years since he has been at home."
195
THE PATAGONIA
She seemed to regard this proposition at first as
complicated ; but she did what she could for me. "Oh
he's not changeable. If he were changeable "
Then, however, she paused. I dare say she had been
going to observe that if he were changeable he would
long ago have given her up. After an instant she went
on: "He wouldn't have stuck so to his profession.
You can't make much by it."
I sought to attenuate her rather odd maidenly grim-
ness. "It depends on what you call much/'
"It does n't make you rich."
"Oh of course you've got to practise it and to
practise it long."
"Yes so Mr. Porterfield says."
Something in the way she uttered these words
made me laugh they were so calm an implication
that the gentleman in question did n't live up to his
principles. But I checked myself, asking her if she
expected to remain in Europe long to what one
might call settle.
"Well, it will be a good while if it takes me as long
to come back as it has taken me to go out."
"And I think your mother said last night that it
was your first visit."
Miss Mavis, in her deliberate way, met my eyes.
"Did n't mother talk!"
"It was all very interesting."
She continued to look at me. "You don't think
that," she then simply stated.
"What have I to gain then by saying it ? "
"Oh men have always something to gain."
"You make me in that case feel a terrible failure!
196
THE PATAGONIA
I hope at any rate that it gives you pleasure/' I went
on, "the idea of seeing foreign lands."
"Mercy I should think so!"
This was almost genial, and it cheered me propor-
tionately. "It's a pity our ship's not one of the fast
ones, if you're impatient."
She was silent a little; after which she brought out :
"Oh I guess it 'ill be fast enough!"
That evening I went in to see Mrs. Nettlepoint and
sat on her sea-trunk, which was pulled out from under
the berth to accommodate me. It was nine o'clock
but not quite dark, as our northward course had
already taken us into the latitude of the longer days.
She had made her nest admirably and now rested
from her labours ; she lay upon her sofa in a dressing-
gown and a cap that became her. It was her regular
practice to spend the voyage in her cabin, which smelt
positively good such was the refinement of her art;
and she had a secret peculiar to herself for keeping
her port open without shipping seas. She hated what
she called the mess of the ship and the idea, if she
should go above, of meeting stewards with plates of
supererogatory food. She professed to be content with
her situation we promised to lend each other books
and I assured her familiarly that I should be in and
out of her room a dozen times a day pitying me for
having to mingle in society. She judged this a limited
privilege, for on the deck before we left the wharf she
had taken a view of our fellow passengers.
"Oh I'm an inveterate, almost a professional ob-
server," I replied, "and with that vice I'm as well
occupied as an old woman in the sun with her knit-
197
THE PATAGONIA
ring. It makes me, in any situation, just inordinately
and submissively see things. I shall see them even here
and shall come down very often and tell you about
them. You 're not interested to-day, but you will be
to-morrow, for a ship 's a great school of gossip. You
won't believe the number of researches and problems
you'll be engaged in by the middle of the voyage."
"I ? Never in the world ! lying here with my nose
in a book and not caring a straw/'
"You'll participate at second hand. You'll see
through my eyes, hang upon my lips, take sides, feel
passions, all sorts of sympathies and indignations.
I *ve an idea," I further developed, "that your young
lady 's the person on board who will interest me most."
"'Mine' indeed! She has n't been near me since
we left the dock."
"There you are you do feel she owes you some-
thing. Well," I added, "she's very curious."
"You've such cold-blooded terms!" Mrs. Nettle-
point wailed. " Elle ne sait pas se conduire; she ought
to have come to ask about me."
"Yes, since you *re under her care," I laughed. "As
for her not knowing how to behave well, that 's ex-
actly what we shall see."
"You will, but not I ! I wash my hands of her."
"Don't say that don't say that."
Mrs. Nettlepoint looked at me a moment. "Why do
you speak so solemnly ? "
In return I considered her. "I *11 tell you before we
land. And have you seen much of your son ? "
"Oh yes, he has come in several times. He seems
very much pleased. He has got a cabin to himself."
THE PATAGONIA
"That 's great luck," I said, "but I 've an idea he 's
always in luck. I was sure I should have to offer him
the second berth in my room."
"And you would n't have enjoyed that, because you
don't like him," she took upon herself to say.
"What put that into your head ?"
" It is n't in my head it 's in my heart, my cceur de
mere. We guess those things. You think he's selfish.
I could see it last night."
"Dear lady," I contrived promptly enough to reply,
" I 've no general ideas about him at all. He 's just one
of the phenomena I am going to observe. He seems
to me a very fine young man. However," I added,
"since you've mentioned last night I'll admit that
I thought he rather tantalised you. He played with
your suspense."
"Why he came at the last just to please me," said
Mrs. Nettlepoint.
I was silent a little. "Are you sure it was for
your sake ? "
"Ah, perhaps it was for yours!"
I bore up, however, against this thrust, character-
istic of perfidious woman when you presume to side
with her against a fond tormentor. "When he went
out on the balcony with that girl," I found assurance
to suggest, "perhaps she asked him to come for hers. 9 '
" Perhaps she did. But why should he do every-
thing she asks him such as she is ? "
"I don't know yet, but perhaps I shall know later.
Not that he'll tell me for he'll never tell me any-
thing: he's not," I consistently opined, "one of those
who tell."
199
THE PATAGONIA
"If she did n't ask him, what you say is a great
wrong to her/' said Mrs. Nettlepoint.
"Yes, if she did n't. But you say that to protect
Jasper not to protect her," I smiled.
"You are cold-blooded it's uncanny!" my friend
exclaimed.
"Ah this is nothing yet ! Wait a while you '11 see.
At sea in general I 'm awful I exceed the limits.
If I 've outraged her in thought I '11 jump overboard.
There are ways of asking a man does n't need to
tell a woman that without the crude words."
"I don't know what you imagine between them,"
said Mrs. Nettlepoint.
"Well, nothing," I allowed, " but what was visible
on the surface. It transpired, as the newspapers say,
that they were old friends."
"He met her at some promiscuous party I asked
him about it afterwards. She 's not a person " my
hostess was confident "whom he could ever think
of seriously."
"That's exactly what I believe."
"You don't observe you know you imagine,"
Mrs. Nettlepoint continued to argue. "How do you
reconcile her laying a trap for Jasper with her going
out to Liverpool on an errand of love ? "
Oh I was n't to be caught that way ! " I don't for an
instant suppose she laid a trap; I believe she acted on
the impulse of the moment. She 's going out to Liver-
pool on an errand of marriage; that's not necessarily
the same thing as an errand of love, especially for one
who happens to have had a personal impression of the
gentleman she's engaged to."
200
THE PATAGONIA
"Well, there are certain decencies which in such a
situation the most abandoned of her sex would still
observe. You apparently judge her capable on no
evidence of violating them."
"Ah you don't understand the shades of things/' I
returned. "Decencies and violations, dear lady
there 's no need for such heavy artillery ! I can per-
fectly imagine that without the least immodesty she
should have said to Jasper on the balcony, in fact if
not in words : * I 'm in dreadful spirits, but if you come
I shall feel better, and that will be pleasant for you
too/"
"And why is she in dreadful spirits ?"
"She is n't l" I replied, laughing.
My poor friend wondered. "What then is she
doing?"
"She's walking with your son."
Mrs. Nettlepoint for a moment said nothing; then
she treated me to another inconsequence. "Ah she's
horrid!"
"No, she's charming!" I protested.
"You mean she's 'curious'?"
"Well, for me it's the same thing!"
This led my friend of course to declare once more
that I was cold-blooded. On the afternoon of the
morrow we had another talk, and she told me that in
the morning Miss Mavis had paid her a long visit.
She knew nothing, poor creature, about anything, but
her intentions were good and she was evidently in her
own eyes conscientious and decorous. And Mrs.
Nettlepoint concluded these remarks with the sigh:
"Unfortunate person ! "
201
THE PATAGONIA
"You think she's a good deal to be pitied then ?"
"Well, her story sounds dreary she told me a
good deal of it. She fell to talking little by little
and went from one thing to another. She's in that
situation when a girl must open herself to some
woman."
"Hasn't she got Jasper?" I asked.
"He is n't a woman. You strike me as jealous of
him," my companion added.
"I dare say be thinks so or will before the end.
Ah no ah no ! " And I asked Mrs. Nettlepoint if
our young lady struck her as, very grossly, a flirt. She
gave me no answer, but went on to remark that she
found it odd and interesting to see the way a girl like
Grace Mavis resembled the girls of the kind she her-
self knew better, the girls of "society," at the same
time that she differed from them; and the way the dif-
ferences and resemblances were so mixed up that on
certain questions you could n't tell where you 'd find
her. You 'd think she 'd feel as you did because you
had found her feeling so, and then suddenly, in regard
to some other matter which was yet quite the same
she'd be utterly wanting. Mrs. Nettlepoint pro-
ceeded to observe to such idle speculations does the
vacancy of sea-hours give encouragement that she
wondered whether it were better to be an ordinary girl
very well brought up or an extraordinary girl not
brought up at all.
"Oh I go in for the extraordinary girl under all cir-
cumstances."
" It 's true that if you 're very well brought up you
*re not, you can't be, ordinary," said Mrs. Nettlepoint,
202
THE PATAGONIA
smelling her strong salts. "You're a lady, at any
rate."
"And Miss Mavis is fifty miles out is that what
you mean ? "
"Well you've seen her mother."
"Yes, but I think your contention would be that
among such people the mother does n't count/*
"Precisely, and that's bad."
"I see what you mean. But is n't it rather hard ?
If your mother does n't know anything it 's better you
should be independent of her, and yet if you are that
constitutes a bad note/' I added that Mrs. Mavis had
appeared to count sufficiently two nights before. She
had said and done everything she wanted, while the
girl sat silent and respectful. Grace's attitude, so far as
her parent was concerned, had been eminently decent.
"Yes, but she 'squirmed' for her," said Mrs. Net-
tlepoint.
"Ah if you know it I may confess she has told me
as much."
My friend stared. "Told^ow? There's one of the
things they do ! "
"Well, it was only a word. Won't you let me know
whether you do think her a flirt?"
"Try her yourself that's better than asking an-
other woman; especially as you pretend to study
folk."
"Oh your judgement wouldn't probably at all
determine mine. It's as bearing on you I ask it."
Which, however, demanded explanation, so that I was
duly frank; confessing myself curious as to how far
maternal immorality would go.
203
THE PATAGONIA
It made her at first but repeat my words. "Mater-
nal immorality ? "
"You desire your son to have every possible dis-
traction on his voyage, and if you can make up your
mind in the sense I refer to that will make it all right.
He'll have no responsibility/'
"Heavens, how you analyse!" she cried. "I
have n't in the least your passion for making up my
mind."
"Then if you chance it," I returned, "you'll be
more immoral still."
"Your reasoning's strange," said Mrs. Nettle-
point; "when it was you who tried to put into my
head yesterday that she had asked him to come."
"Yes, but in good faith."
"What do you mean, in such a case, by that ?"
"Why, as girls of that sort do. Their allowance and
measure in such matters," I expounded, "is much
larger than that of young persons who have been, as
you say, very well brought up; and yet I'm not sure
that on the whole I don't think them thereby the more
innocent. Miss Mavis is engaged, and she's to be
married next week, but it's an old old story, and
there 's no more romance in it than if she were going to
be photographed. So her usual life proceeds, and her
usual life consists and that of ces demoiselles in gen-
eral in having plenty of gentlemen's society. Hav-
ing it I mean without having any harm from it."
Mrs. Nettlepoint had given me due attention,
"Well, if there 's no harm from it what are you talking
about and why am I immoral ? "
I hesitated, laughing. "I retract you're sane
204
THE PATAGONIA
and clear. I 'm sure she thinks there won't be any
harm," I added. "That's the great point."
"The great point?"
"To be settled, I mean/'
"Mercy, we're not trying them!" cried my friend.
"How can we settle it?"
"I mean of course in our minds. There will be no-
thing more interesting these next ten days for our
minds to exercise themselves upon."
"Then they'll get terribly tired of it," said Mrs.
Nettlepoint.
"No, no because the interest will increase and
the plot will thicken. It simply can't not" I insisted.
She looked at me as if she thought me more than
Mephistophelean, and I went back to something she
had lately mentioned, "So she told you everything in
her life was dreary ? "
"Not everything, but most things. And she did n't
tell me so much as I guessed it. She 'II tell me more the
next time. She '11 behave properly now about coming
in to see me; I told her she ought to."
" I 'm glad of that," I said. "Keep her with you as
much as possible/'
"I don't follow you closely," Mrs. Nettlepoint
replied, " but so far as I do I don't think your remarks
in the best taste."
"Well, I'm too excited, I lose my head in these
sports," I had to recognise "cold-blooded as you
think me. Does n't she like Mr. Porterfield ?"
"Yes, that's the worst of it."
I kept making her stare. "The worst of it ?"
"He 's so good there 's no fault to be found with
205
THE PATAGONIA
him. Otherwise she 'd have thrown it all up. It has
dragged on since she was eighteen : she became en-
gaged to him before he went abroad to study. It was
one of those very young and perfectly needless blun-
ders that parents in America might make so much
less possible than they do. The thing is to insist on
one's daughter's waiting, on the engagement's being
long; and then, after you 've got that started, to take it
on every occasion as little seriously as possible to
make it die out. You can easily tire it to death," Mrs.
Nettlepoint competently stated. " However," she con-
cluded, "Mr. Porterfield has taken this one seriously
for some years. He has done his part to keep it alive.
She says he adores her."
"His part? Surely his part would have been to
marry her by this time."
"He has really no money." My friend was even
more confidently able to report it than I had been.
"He ought to have got some, in seven years," I
audibly reflected.
"So I think she thinks. There are some sorts of
helplessness that are contemptible. However, a small
difference has taken place. That 's why he won't wait
any longer. His mother has come out, she has some-
thing a little and she's able to assist him.
She'll live with them and bear some of the expenses,
and after her death the son will have what there is."
"How old is she?" I cynically asked.
"I have n't the least idea. But it does n't, on his
part, sound very heroic or very inspiring for our
friend here. He has n't been to America since he first
went out."
206
THE PATAGONIA
"That's an odd way of adoring her," I observed.
" I made that objection mentally, but I did n't ex-
press it to her. She met it indeed a little by telling me
that he had had other chances to marry."
"That surprises me," I remarked. "But did she
say," I asked, "that she had had ?"
"No, and that's one of the things I thought nice in
her; for she must have had. She did n't try to make
out that he had spoiled her life. She has three other
sisters and there 's very little money at home. She has
tried to make money; she has written little things and
painted little things and dreadful little things they
must have been; too bad to think of. Her father has
had a long illness and has lost his place he was in
receipt of a salary in connexion with some waterworks
and one of her sisters has lately become a widow,
with children and without means. And so as in fact
she never has married any one else, whatever oppor-
tunities she may have encountered, she appears to
have just made up her mind to go out to Mr. Porter-
field as the least of her evils. But it is n't very amus-
ing."
"Well," I judged after all, "that only makes her
doing it the more honourable. She '11 go through with
it, whatever it costs, rather than disappoint him after
he has waited so long. It's true," I continued, "that
when a woman acts from a sense of honour !"
"Well, when she does ?" said Mrs. Nettlepoint, for
I hung back perceptibly.
"It's often so extravagant and unnatural a pro-
ceeding as to entail heavy costs on some one."
"You're very impertinent. We all have to pay for
207
THE PATAGONIA
each other all the while; and for each other's virtues as
well as vices."
"That's precisely why I shall be sorry for Mr. Por-
terfield when she steps off the ship with her little bill.
I mean with her teeth clenched."
"Her teeth are not in the least clenched. She's
quite at her ease now" Mrs. Nettlepoint could
answer for that.
" Well, we must try and keep her so," I said. "You
must take care that Jasper neglects nothing."
I scarce know what reflexions this innocent pleas-
antry of mine provoked on the good lady's part; the
upshot of them at all events w#s to make her say :
"Well, I never asked her to come; I'm very glad of
that. It's all their own doing."
"* Their' own you mean Jasper's and hers ?"
" No indeed. I mean her mother's and Mrs. Allen's ;
the girl's too of course. They put themselves on us by
main force."
"Oh yes, I can testify to that. Therefore 1 'm glad
too. We should have missed it, I think."
"How seriously you take it!" Mrs. Nettlepoint
amusedly cried.
"Ah wait a few days ! " and I got up to leave her.
Ill
THE Patagonia was slow, but spacious and comfort-
able, and there was a motherly decency in her long
nursing rock and her rustling old-fashioned gait, the
multitudinous swish, in her wake, as of a thousand
proper petticoats. It was as if she wished not to pre-
sent herself in port with the splashed eagerness of a
young creature. We were n't numerous enough quite
to elbow each other and yet were n't too few to sup-
port with that familiarity and relief which figures
and objects acquire on the great bare field of the
ocean and under the great bright glass of the sky. I
had never liked the sea so much before, indeed I had
never liked it at all ; but now I had a revelation of how
in a midsummer mood it could please. It was darkly
and magnificently blue and imperturbably quiet
save for the great regular swell of its heart-beats, the
pulse of its life; and there grew to be something so
agreeable in the sense of floating there in infinite isola-
tion and leisure that it was a positive godsend the
Patagonia was no racer. One had never thought of
the sea as the great place of safety, but now it came
over one that there *s no place so safe from the land.
When it does n't confer trouble it takes trouble away
takes away letters and telegrams and newspapers
and visits and duties and efforts, all the complications,
all the superfluities and superstitions that we have
stuffed into our terrene life. The simple absence of the
209
THE PATAGONIA
post, when the particular conditions enable you to
enjoy the great fact by which it 's produced, becomes
in itself a positive bliss, and the clean boards of the
deck turn to the stage of a play that amuses, the per-
sonal drama of the voyage, the movement and inter-
action, in the strong sea-light, of figures that end by
representing something something moreover of
which the interest is never, even in its keenness, too
great to suffer you to slumber. I at any rate dozed to
excess, stretched on my rug with a French novel, and
when I opened my eyes I generally saw Jasper Nettle-
point pass with the young woman confided to his
mother's care on his arm. Somehow at these moments,
between sleeping and waking, I inconsequently felt
that my French novel had set them in motion. Per-
haps this was because I had fallen into the trick, at
the start, of regarding Grace Mavis almost as a mar-
ried woman, which, as every one knows, is the nec-
essary status of the heroine of such a work. Every
revolution of our engine at any rate would contribute
to the effect of making her one.
In the saloon, at meals, my neighbour on the right
was a certain little Mrs. Peck, a very short and very
round person whose head was enveloped in a "cloud "
(a cloud of dirty white wool) and who promptly let me
know that she was going to Europe for the education
of her children. I had already perceived an hour
after we left the dock that some energetic measure
was required in their interest, but as we were not in
Europe yet the redemption of the four little Pecks was
stayed. Enjoying untrammelled leisure they swarmed
about the ship as if they had been pirates boarding
210
THE PATAGONIA
her, and their mother was as powerless to check their
licence as if she had been gagged and stowed away in
the hold. They were especially to be trusted to di\e
between the legs of the stewards when these attend-
ants arrived with bowls of soup for the languid ladies.
Their mother was too busy counting over to her fel-
low passengers all the years Miss Mavis had been en-
gaged. In the blank of our common detachment things
that were nobody's business very soon became every-
body's, and this was just one of those facts that are
propagated with mysterious and ridiculous speed.
The whisper that carries them is very small, in the
great scale of things, of air and space and progress, but
it's also very safe, for there's no compression, no
sounding-board, to make speakers responsible. And
then repetition at sea is somehow not repetition;
monotony is in the air, the mind is flat and everything
recurs the bells, the meals, the stewards' faces, the
romp of children, the walk, the clothes, the very shoes
and buttons of passengers taking their exercise. These
things finally grow at once so circumstantial and so
arid that, in comparison, lights on the personal history
of one's companions become a substitute for the
friendly flicker of the lost fireside.
Jasper Nettlepoint sat on my left hand when he was
not upstairs seeing that Miss Mavis had her repast
comfortably on deck. His mother's place would have
been next mine had she shown herself, and then that
of the young lady under her care. These companions,
in other words, would have been between us, Jasper
marking the limit of the party in that quarter. Miss
Mavis was present at luncheon the first day, but din-
211
THE PATAGONIA
ner passed without her coming in, and when it was
half over Jasper remarked that he would go up and
look after her.
"Is n't that young lady coming the one who was
here to lunch ?" Mrs. Peck asked of me as he left the
saloon.
"Apparently not. My friend tells me she does n't
like the saloon/*
"You don't mean to say she's sick, do you?"
"Oh no, not in this weather. But she likes to be
above."
"And is that gentleman gone up to her?"
"Yes, she's under his mother's care."
"And is his mother up there, too?" asked Mrs.
Peck, whose processes were homely and direct.
"No, she remains in her cabin. People have differ-
ent tastes. Perhaps that 9 s one reason why Miss Mavis
does n't come to table," I added " her chaperon not
being able to accompany her."
"Her chaperon ?" my fellow passenger echoed.
"Mrs. Nettlepoint the lady under whose protec-
tion she happens to be."
"Protection ?" Mrs. Peck stared at me a moment,
moving some valued morsel in her mouth; then she
exclaimed familiarly " Pshaw ! " I was struck with this
and was on the point of asking her what she meant by
it when she continued: "Ain't we going to see Mrs.
Nettlepoint?"
"I 'm afraid not. She vows she won't stir from her
sofa."
"Pshaw!" said Mrs. Peck again. "That's quite a
disappointment."
212
THE PATAGONIA
"Do you know her then ?"
"No, but I know all about her." Then my compan-
ion added: "You don't mean to say she's any real
relation ? "
" Do you mean to me ? "
"No, to Grace Mavis/'
"None at all. They're very new friends, as I hap-
pen to know. Then you 're acquainted with our young
lady ? " I had n't noticed the passage of any recogni-
tion between them at luncheon.
"Is she your young lady too?" asked Mrs. Peck
with high significance.
"Ah when people are in the same boat literally
they belong a little to each other/*
"That's so," said Mrs. Peck. "I don't know Miss
Mavis, but I know all about her I live opposite to
her on Merrimac Avenue. I don't know whether you
know that part."
"Oh yes it's very beautiful."
The consequence of this remark was another
"Pshaw!" But Mrs. Peck went on: "When you've
lived opposite to people like that for a long time you
feel as if you had some rights in them tit for tat !
But she did n't take it up to-day; she did n't speak to
me. She knows who I am as well as she knows her
own mother."
"You had better speak to her first she's consti-
tutionally shy," I remarked.
"Shy? She's constitutionally tough! Why she's
thirty years old," cried my neighbour. " I suppose you
know where she *s going."
"Oh yes we all take an interest in that."
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THE PATAGONIA
"That young man, I suppose, particularly." And
then as I feigned a vagueness: "The handsome one
who sits there. Did n't you tell me he's Mrs. Nettle-
point's son ? "
"Oh yes he acts as her deputy. No doubt he
does all he can to carry out her function."
Mrs. Peck briefly brooded. I had spoken jocosely,
but she took it with a serious face. "Well, she might
let him eat his dinner in peace ! " she presently put
forth.
"Oh he 'II come back ! " I said, glancing at his place.
The repast continued and when it was finished I
screwed my chair round to leave the table. Mrs. Peck
performed the same movement and we quitted the
saloon together. Outside of it was the usual vestibule,
with several seats, from which you could descend to
the lower cabins or mount to the promenade-deck.
Mrs. Peck appeared to hesitate as to her course and
then solved the problem by going neither way. She
dropped on one of the benches and looked up at me.
" I thought you said he M come back."
"Young Nettlepoint? Yes, I see he didn't. Miss
Mavis then has given him half her dinner."
"It's very kind of her! She has been engaged half
her life."
"Yes, but that will soon be over."
"So I suppose as quick as ever we land. Every
one knows it on Merrimac Avenue," Mrs. Peck pur-
sued. "Every one there takes a great interest in it."
"Ah of course a girl like that has many friends."
But my informant discriminated. "I mean even
people who don't know her."
214
THE PATAGONIA
"I see," I went on: "she's so handsome that she
attracts attention people enter into her affairs."
Mrs. Peck spoke as from the commanding centre of
these. " She used to be pretty, but I can't say I think
she 9 s anything remarkable to-day. Anyhow, if she
attracts attention she ought to be all the more careful
what she does. You had better tell her that."
"Oh it 's none of my business ! " I easily made out,
leaving the terrible little woman and going above.
This profession, I grant, was not perfectly attuned to
my real idea, or rather my real idea was not quite in
harmony with my profession. The very first thing I
did on reaching the deck was to notice that Miss
Mavis was pacing it on Jasper Nettlepoint's arm and
that whatever beauty she might have lost, according
to Mrs. Peck's insinuation, she still kept enough to
make one's eyes follow her. She had put on a crimson
hood, which was very becoming to her and which she
wore for the rest of the voyage. She walked very well,
with long steps, and I remember that at this moment
the sea had a gentle evening swell which made the
great ship dip slowly, rhythmically, giving a move-
ment that was graceful to graceful pedestrians and a
more awkward one to the awkward. It was the loveli-
est hour of a fine day, the clear early evening, with the
glow of the sunset in the air and a purple colour on
the deep. It was always present to me that so the
waters ploughed by the Homeric heroes must have
looked. I became conscious on this particular occa-
sion moreover that Grace Mavis would for the rest of
the voyage be the most visible thing in one's range, the
figure that would count most in the composition of
215
THE PATAGONIA
groups. She could n't help it, poor girl ; nature had
made her conspicuous important, as the painters
say. She paid for it by the corresponding exposure,
the danger that people would, as I had said to Mrs.
Peck, enter into her affairs.
Jasper Nettlepoint went down at certain times to
see his mother, and I watched for one of these occa-
sions on the third day out and took advantage
of it to go and sit by Miss Mavis. She wore a light
blue veil drawn tightly over her face, so that if the
smile with which she greeted me rather lacked intens-
ity I could account for it partly by that.
"Well, we 're getting on we 're getting on," I said
cheerfully, looking at the friendly twinkling sea.
"Are we going very fast ? "
"Not fast, but steadily. Obne Hast, ohne Rast
do you know German ? "
"Well, I've studied it some."
"It will be useful to you over there when you
travel."
"Well yes, if we do. But I don't suppose we shall
much. Mr. Nettlepoint says we ought," my young
woman added in a moment.
"Ah of course he thinks so. He has been all over
the world."
"Yes, he has described some of the places. They
must be wonderful. I did n't know I should like it so
much."
"But it isn't 'Europe* yet!" I laughed.
Well, she did n't care if it was n't. "I mean going
on this way. I could go on for ever for ever and
ever."
216
THE PATAGONIA
"Ah you know it 9 s not always like this/ 5 1 hastened
to mention.
"Well, it's better than Boston/'
" It is n't so good as Paris," I still more portentously
noted.
"Oh I know all about Paris. There's no fresh-
ness in that. I feel as if I had been there all the
time."
"You mean you've heard so much of it ?"
"Oh yes, nothing else for ten years."
I had come to talk with Miss Mavis because she
was attractive, but I had been rather conscious of the
absence of a good topic, not feeling at liberty to revert
to Mr. Porterfield. She had n't encouraged me, when
I spoke to her as we were leaving Boston, to go on
with the history of my acquaintance with this gentle-
man; and yet now, unexpectedly, she appeared to
imply it was doubtless one of the disparities men-
tioned by Mrs. Nettlepoint that he might be
glanced at without indelicacy.
" I see you mean by letters," I remarked.
"We won't live in a good part. I know enough to
know that," she went on.
"Well, it is n't as if there were any very bad ones,"
I answered reassuringly.
"Why Mr. Nettlepoint says it's regular mean."
"And to what does he apply that expression ?"
She eyed me a moment as if I were elegant at her
expense, but she answered my question. "Up there
in the Batignolles. I seem to make out it's worse
than Merrimac Avenue."
"Worse in what way ? "
217
THE PATAGONIA
"Why, even less where the nice people live."
"He ought n't to say that," I returned. And I vent-
ured to back it up. "Don't you call Mr. Porterfield
a nice person ? "
"Oh it does n't make any difference." She watched
me again a moment through her veil, the texture of
which gave her look a suffused prettiness. "Do you
know him very little ? " she asked.
"Mr. Porterfield?"
"No, Mr. Nettlepoint."
"Ah very little. He 's very considerably my junior,
you see."
She had a fresh pause, as if almost again for my
elegance; but she went on: "He's younger than me
too." I don't know what effect of the comic there
could have been in it, but the turn was unexpected
and it made me laugh. Neither do I know whether
Miss Mavis took offence at my sensibility on this
head, though I remember thinking at the moment
with compunction that it had brought a flush to her
cheek. At all events she got up, gathering her
shawl and her books into her arm. " I 'm going down
I'm tired."
"Tired of me, 1 5 m afraid."
"No, not yet."
"I'm like you," I confessed. "I should like it to
go on and on."
She had begun to walk along the deck to the
companionway and I went with her. "Well, I guess
/ would n't, after all ! "
I had taken her shawl from her to carry it, but at
the top of the steps that led down to the cabins I had
218
THE PATAGONIA
to give it back. "Your mother would be glad if she
could know," I observed as we parted.
But she was proof against my graces. " If she could
know what ? "
"How well you 're getting on." I refused to be dis-
couraged. "And that good Mrs. Allen."
"Oh mother, mother! She made me come, she
pushed me off." And almost as if not to say more
she went quickly below.
I paid Mrs. Nettlepoint a morning visit after lunch-
eon and another in the evening, before she "turned
in." That same day, in the evening, she said to me
suddenly: "Do you know what I've done? I've
asked Jasper."
"Asked him what?"
"Why, if she asked him, you understand."
I wondered. "Do I understand ?"
" If you don't it 's because you * regular ' won't, as
she says. If that girl really asked him on the bal-
cony to sail with us."
"My dear lady, do you suppose that if she did he'd
tell you?"
She had to recognise my acuteness. "That's just
what he says. But he says she did n't."
"And do you consider the statement valuable?"
I asked, laughing out. "You had better ask your
young friend herself."
Mrs. Nettlepoint stared. " I could n't do that."
On which I was the more amused that I had to ex-
plain I was only amused. " What does it signify now ? "
"I thought you thought everything signified. You
were so full," she cried, "of signification!"
219
THE PATAGONIA
"Yes, but we're further out now, and somehow in
mid-ocean everything becomes absolute."
"What else can he do with decency ? " Mrs. Nettle-
point went on. "If, as my son, he were never to
speak to her it would be very rude and you 'd think
that stranger still. Then you would do what he does,
and where would be the difference ? "
" How do you know what he does ? I have n't men-
tioned him for twenty-four hours."
"Why, she told me herself. She came in this after-
noon."
"What an odd thing to tell you!" I commented.
" Not as she says it. She says he 's full of attention,
perfectly devoted looks after her all the time. She
seems to want me to know it, so that I may approve
him for it."
"That's charming; it shows her good conscience."
"Yes, or her great cleverness."
Something in the tone in which Mrs. Nettlepoint
said this caused me to return in real surprise: "Why
what do you suppose she has in her mind ? "
"To get hold of him, to make him go so far he can't
retreat. To marry him perhaps."
"To marry him ? And what will she do with Mr.
Porterfield?"
"She'll ask me just to make it all right to him
or perhaps you."
"Yes, as an old friend!" and for a moment I
felt it awkwardly possible. But I put to her seriously :
"Do you see Jasper caught like that?"
"Well, he's only a boy he's younger at least
than she."
220
THE PATAGONIA
"Precisely; she regards him as a child. She re-
marked to me herself to-day, that is, that he 's so much
younger."
Mrs. Nettlepoint took this in. "Does she talk of
it with you ? That shows she has a plan, that she has
thought it over ! "
I 've sufficiently expressed for the interest of my
anecdote that I found an oddity in one of our
young companions, but I was far from judging her
capable of laying a trap for the other. Moreover my
reading of Jasper was n't in the least that he was
catchable could be made to do a thing if he did n't
want to do it. Of course it was n't impossible that he
might be inclined, that he might take it or already
have taken it into his head to go further with his
mother's charge ; but to believe this I should require
still more proof than his always being with her. He
wanted at most to "take up with her " for the voyage.
" If you 've questioned him perhaps you 've tried to
make him feel responsible," I said to my fellow
critic.
"A little, but it 's very difficult. Interference makes
him perverse. One has to go gently. Besides, it 's too
absurd think of her age. If she can't take care of
herself!" cried Mrs. Nettlepoint.
"Yes, let us keep thinking of her age, though it's
not so prodigious. And if things get very bad you 've
one resource left," I added.
She wondered. "To lock her up in her
cabin?"
"No to come out of yours."
"Ah never, never ! If it takes that to save her she
221
THE PATAGONIA
must be lost. Besides, what good would it do ? If I
were to go above she could come below."
"Yes, but you could keep Jasper with you."
"Could I?" Mrs. Nettlepoint demanded in the
manner of a woman who knew her son.
In the saloon the next day, after dinner, over the
red cloth of the tables, beneath the swinging lamps
and the racks of tumblers, decanters and wine-glasses,
we sat down to whist, Mrs. Peck, to oblige, taking a
hand in the game. She played very badly and talked
too much, and when the rubber was over assuaged
her discomfiture (though not mine we had been
partners) with a Welsh rabbit and a tumbler of some-
thing hot. We had done with the cards, but while she
waited for this refreshment she sat with her elbows
on the table shuffling a pack.
" She has n't spoken to me yet she won't do it,"
she remarked in a moment.
"Is it possible there's any one on the ship who
has n't spoken to you ? "
"Not that girl she knows too well ! " Mrs. Peck
looked round our little circle with a smile of intel-
ligence she had familiar communicative eyes. Sev-
eral of our company had assembled, according to the
wont, the last thing in the evening, of those who are
cheerful at sea, for the consumption of grilled sardines
and devilled bones.
"What then does she know?"
"Oh she knows 7 know."
"Well, we know what Mrs. Peck knows," one of
the ladies of the group observed to me with an air
of privilege.
222
THE PATAGONIA
"Well, you would n't know if I had n't told you
from the way she acts/ 5 said our friend with a laugh
of small charm.
"She's going out to a gentleman who lives over
there he 's waiting there to marry her," the other
lady went on, in the tone of authentic information.
I remember that her name was Mrs. Gotch and that
her mouth looked always as if she were whistling.
"Oh he knows I 've told him," said Mrs. Peck.
"Well, I presume every one knows/' Mrs. Gotch
contributed.
"Dear madam, is it every one's business ?" I asked.
"Why, don't you think it 's a peculiar way to act ?"
and Mrs. Gotch was evidently surprised at my
little protest.
"Why it's right there straight in front of you,
like a play at the theatre as if you had paid to see
it/' said Mrs. Peck. "If you don't call it public !"
"Are n't you mixing things up ? What do you call
public?"
"Why the way they go on. They're up there now."
"They cuddle up there half the night," said Mrs.
Gotch. "I don't know when they come down. Any
hour they like. When all the lights are out they're
up there still."
"Oh you can't tire them out. They don't want
relief like the ship's watch!" laughed one of the
gentlemen.
"Well, if they enjoy each other's society what *s the
harm?" another asked. "They'd do just the same
on land."
"They would n't do it on the public streets, I pre-
223
THE PATAGONIA
sume," said Mrs. Peck. "And they would n't do it
if Mr. Porterfield was round ! "
" Is n't that just where your confusion comes in ?"
I made answer. " It 's public enough that Miss Mavis
and Mr. Nettlepoint are always together, but it is n't
in the least public that she 's going to be married/'
"Why how can you say when the very sailors
know it ! The Captain knows it and all the officers
know it. They see them there, especially at night,
when they 're sailing the ship."
" I thought there was some rule ! " submitted
Mrs. Gotch.
" Well, there is that you 've got to behave your-
self," Mrs. Peck explained. "So the Captain told me
he said they have some rule. He said they have
to have, when people are too undignified."
" Is that the term he used ? " I enquired.
"Well, he may have said when they attract too
much attention."
I ventured to discriminate. "It's we who attract
the attention by talking about what does n't con-
cern us and about what we really don't know."
"She said the Captain said he'd tell on her as soon
as ever we arrive," Mrs. Gotch none the less serenely
pursued.
"She said ?" I repeated, bewildered.
"Well, he did say so, that he'd think it his duty
to inform Mr. Porterfield when he comes on to meet
her if they keep it up in the same way," said Mrs.
Peck.
"Oh they'll keep it up, don't you fear ! " one of the
gentlemen exclaimed.
224
THE PATAGONIA
"Dear madam, the Captain's having his joke on
you," was, however, my own congruous reply.
"No, he ain't he's right down scandalised. He
says he regards us all as a real family and wants the
family not to be downright coarse." I felt Mrs. Peck
irritated by my controversial tone : she challenged me
with considerable spirit. "How can you say I don't
know it when all the street knows it and has known
it for years for years and years ?" She spoke as if
the girl had been engaged at least for twenty. "What 9 s
she going out for if not to marry him ? "
"Perhaps she's going to see how he looks," sug-
gested one of the gentlemen.
"He'd look queer if he knew."
"Well, I guess he'll know," said Mrs. Gotch.
"She 'd tell him herself she would n't be afraid,"
the gentleman went on.
"Well she might as well kill him. He *11 jump over-
board," Mrs. Peck could foretell.
"Jump overboard?" cried Mrs. Gotch as if she
hoped then that Mr. Porterfield would be told.
"He has just been waiting for this for long, long
years," said Mrs. Peck.
"Do you happen to know him ?" I asked.
She replied at her convenience. "No, but I know a
lady who does. Are you going up ? "
I had risen from my place I had not ordered sup-
per. "I 'm going to take a turn before going to bed."
"Well then you '11 see!"
Outside the saloon I hesitated, for Mrs. Peck's ad-
monition made me feel for a moment that if I went up
I should have entered in a manner into her little con-
225
THE PATAGONIA
spiracy. But the night was so warm and splendid that
I had been intending to smoke a cigar in the air before
going below, and I did n't see why I should deprive
myself of this pleasure in order to seem not to mind
Mrs. Peck. I mounted accordingly and saw a few
figures sitting or moving about in the darkness. The
ocean looked black and small, as it is apt to do at
night, and the long mass of the ship, with its vague
dim wings, seemed to take up a great part of it. There
were more stars than one saw on land and the heavens
struck one more than ever as larger than the earth.
Grace Mavis and her companion were not, so far as I
perceived at first, among the few passengers who
lingered late, and I was glad, because I hated to hear
her talked about in the manner of the gossips I had
left at supper. I wished there had been some way to
prevent it, but I could think of none but to recommend
her privately to reconsider her rule of discretion. That
would be a very delicate business, and perhaps it
would be better to begin with Jasper, though that
would be delicate too. At any rate one might let him
know, in a friendly spirit, to how much remark he ex-
posed the young lady leaving this revelation to
work its way upon him. Unfortunately I could n't al-
together believe that the pair were unconscious of the
observation and the opinion of the passengers. They
were n't boy and girl; they had a certain social per-
spective in their eye. I was meanwhile at any rate in
no possession of the details of that behaviour which
had made them according to the version of my
good friends in the saloon a scandal to the ship ; for
though I had taken due note of them, as will already
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THE PATAGONIA
have been gathered, I had taken really no such fero-
cious, or at least such competent, note as Mrs. Peck.
Nevertheless the probability was that they knew what
was thought of them what naturally would be
and simply did n't care. That made our heroine out
rather perverse and even rather shameless; and yet
somehow if these were her leanings I did n't dislike her
for them. I don't know what strange secret excuses I
found for her. I presently indeed encountered, on the
spot, a need for any I might have at call, since, just as I
was on the point of going below again, after several
restless turns and within the limit where smoking
was allowed as many puffs at a cigar as I cared for,
I became aware of a couple of figures settled together
behind one of the lifeboats that rested on the deck.
They were so placed as to be visible only to a person
going close to the rail and peering a little sidewise. I
don't think I peered, but as I stood a moment beside
the rail my eye was attracted by a dusky object that
protruded beyond the boat and that I saw at a sec-
ond glance to be the tail of a lady's dress. I bent for-
ward an instant, but even then I saw very little more ;
that scarcely mattered however, as I easily concluded
that the persons tucked away in so snug a corner were
Jasper Nettlepoint and Mr. Porterfi eld's intended.
Tucked away was the odious right expression, and I
deplored the fact so betrayed for the pitiful bad taste in
it. I immediately turned away, and the next moment
found myself face to face with our vessel's skipper.
I had already had some conversation with him he
had been so good as to invite me, as he had invited
Mrs. Nettlepoint and her son and the young lady
227
THE PATAGONIA
travelling with them, and also Mrs. Peck, to sit at his
table and had observed with pleasure that his sea-
manship had the grace, not universal on the Atlantic
liners, of a fine-weather manner.
"They don't waste much time your friends in
there/* he said, nodding in the direction in which he
had seen me looking.
"Ah well, they have n't much to lose."
"That's what I mean. I'm told she has n't."
I wanted to say something exculpatory, but scarcely
knew what note to strike. I could only look vaguely
about me at the starry darkness and the sea that
seemed to sleep. "Well, with these splendid nights
and this perfect air people are beguiled into late
hours."
"Yes, we want a bit of a blow," the Captain said.
I demurred. "How much of one?"
"Enough to clear the decks!"
He was after all rather dry and he went about his
business. He had made me uneasy, and instead of
going below I took a few turns more. The other walk-
ers dropped off pair by pair they were all men
till at last I was alone. Then after a little I quitted the
field. Jasper and his companion were still behind their
lifeboat. Personally I greatly preferred our actual
conditions, but as I went down I found myself vaguely
wishing, in the interest of I scarcely knew what, unless
it had been a mere superstitious delicacy, that we
might have half a gale.
Miss Mavis turned out, in sea-phrase, early; for the
next morning I saw her come up only a short time
after I had finished my breakfast, a ceremony over
228
IJtllL JfAlAUUiNJLA
which I contrived not to dawdle. She was alone and
Jasper Nettlepoint, by a rare accident, was not on
deck to help her. I went to meet her she was en-
cumbered as usual with her shawl, her sun-umbrella
and a book and laid my hands on her chair, placing
it near the stern of the ship, where she liked best to be.
But I proposed to her to walk a little before she sat
down, and she took my arm after I had put her access-
ories into the chair. The deck was clear at that hour
and the morning light gay; one had an extravagant
sense of good omens and propitious airs. I forget what
we spoke of first, but it was because I felt these things
pleasantly, and not to torment my companion nor to
test her, that I could n't help exclaiming cheerfully
after a moment, as I have mentioned having done the
first day : " Well, we 're getting on, we *re getting on ! "
"Oh yes, I count every hour."
"The last days always go quicker/* I said, "and the
last hours ! "
"Well, the last hours?" she asked; for I had in-
stinctively checked myself.
" Oh one 5 s so glad then that it 5 s almost the same as
if one had arrived. Yet we ought to be grateful when
the elements have been so kind to us," I added. "I
hope you *11 have enjoyed the voyage."
She hesitated ever so little. "Yes, much more than I
expected."
"Did you think it would be very bad ?"
"Horrible, horrible!"
The tone of these words was strange, but I had n't
much time to reflect upon it, for turning round at that
moment I saw Jasper Nettlepoint come toward us.
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THE PATAGONIA
He was still distant by the expanse of the white deck,
and I could n't help taking him in from head to foot as
he drew nearer. I don't know what rendered me on
this occasion particularly sensitive to the impression,
but it struck me that I saw him as I had never seen
him before, saw him, thanks to the intense sea-light,
inside and out, in his personal, his moral totality. It
was a quick, a vivid revelation; if it only lasted a mo-
ment it had a simplifying certifying effect. He was
intrinsically a pleasing apparition, with his handsome
young face and that marked absence of any drop in
his personal arrangements which, more than any one
I *ve ever seen, he managed to exhibit on shipboard.
He had none of the appearance of wearing out old
clothes that usually prevails there, but dressed quite
straight, as I heard some one say. This gave him an
assured, almost a triumphant air, as of a young man
who would come best out of any awkwardness. I ex-
pected to feel my companion's hand loosen itself on
my arm, as an indication that now she must go to him,
and I was almost surprised she did n't drop me. We
stopped as we met and Jasper bade us a friendly good-
morning. Of course the remark that we had another
lovely day was already indicated, and it led him to ex-
claim, in the manner of one to whom criticism came
easily, "Yes, but with this sort of thing consider what
one of the others would do ! "
"One of the other ships ?"
"We should be there now, or at any rate to-mor-
row."
"Well then I 'm glad it is n't one of the others "
and I smiled at the young lady on my arm. My words
230
THE PATAGONIA
offered her a chance to say something appreciative,
and gave him one even more; but neither Jasper nor
Grace Mavis took advantage of the occasion. What
they did do, I noticed, was to look at each other rather
fixedly an instant; after which she turned her eyes
silently to the sea. She made no movement and ut-
tered no sound, contriving to give me the sense that
she had all at once become perfectly passive, that she
somehow declined responsibility. We remained stand-
ing there with Jvt-per in front of us, and if the contact
of her arm did n't suggest I should give her up, neither
did it intimate that we had better pass on. I had no
idea of giving her up, albeit one of the things I seemed
to read just then into Jasper's countenance was a fine
implication that she was his property. His eyes met
mine for a moment, and it was exactly as if he had said
to me " I know what you think, but I don't care a rap."
What I really thought was that he was selfish beyond
the limits : that was the substance of my little revela-
tion. Youth is almost always selfish, just as it is
almost always conceited, and, after all, when it *s com-
bined with health and good parts, good looks and good
spirits, it has a right to be, and I easily forgive it if it be
really youth. Still it's a question of degree, and what
stuck out of Jasper Nettlepoint if, of course, one
had the intelligence for it was that his egotism had
a hardness, his love of his own way an avidity. These
elements were jaunty and prosperous, they were accus-
tomed to prevail. He was fond, very fond, of women;
they were necessary to him that was in his type;
but he was n't in the least in love with Grace Mavis.
Among the reflexions I quickly made this was the one
231
THE PATAGONIA
that was most to the point. There was a degree of
awkwardness, after a minute, in the way we were
planted there, though the apprehension of it was
doubtless not in the least with himself. To dissimu-
late my own share in it, at any rate, I asked him how
his mother might be.
His answer was unexpected. "You had better go
down and see."
"Not till Miss Mavis is tired of me."
She said nothing to this and I made her walk again.
For some minutes she failed to speak; then, rather
abruptly, she began : " I Ve seen you talking to that
lady who sits at our table the one who has so many
children."
" Mrs. Peck ? Oh yes, one has inevitably talked with
Mrs. Peck."
"Do you know her very well ?"
"Only as one knows people at sea. An acquaint-
ance makes itself. It does n't mean very much."
"She doesn't speak to me she might if she
wanted."
"That's just what she says of you that you
might speak to her."
"Oh if she's waiting for that !" said my com-
panion with a laugh. Then she added : "She lives in
our street, nearly opposite."
"Precisely. That's the reason why she thinks you
coy or haughty. She has seen you so often and seems
to know so much about you."
"What does she know about me?"
"Ah you must ask her I can't tell you !"
" I don't care what she knows/' said my young lady.
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THE PATAGONIA
After a moment she went on : " She must have seen I
ain't very sociable." And then, "What are you laugh-
ing at?" she asked.
"Well" my amusement was difficult to explain
"you're not very sociable, and yet somehow you
are. Mrs. Peck is, at any rate, and thought that ought
to make it easy for you to enter into conversation with
her."
"Oh I don't care for her conversation I know
what it amounts to." I made no reply I scarcely
knew what reply to make and the girl went on :
"I know what she thinks and I know what she
says." Still I was silent, but the next moment I saw
my discretion had been wasted, for Miss Mavis put to
me straight : "Does she make out that she knows Mr.
Porterfield?"
"No, she only claims she knows a lady who knows
him."
" Yes, that *s it Mrs. Jeremie. Mrs. Jeremie 's an
idiot ! " I was n't in a position to controvert this, and
presently my young lady said she would sit down. I left
her in her chair I saw that she preferred it and
wandered to a distance. A few minutes later I met
Jasper again, and he stopped of his own accord to say :
"We shall be in about six in the evening of our
eleventh day they promise it."
"If nothing happens, of course."
"Well, what's going to happen?"
"That 's just what I 'm wondering ! " And I turned
away and went below with the foolish but innocent
satisfaction of thinking I had mystified him.
IV
"I DON'T know what to do, and you must help me,"
Mrs. Xettlepofnt said to me, that evening, as soon as
I looked in.
"I'll do what I can but what's the matter ?"
"She has been crying here and going on she has
quite upset me."
"Crying ? She does n't look like that."
" Exactly, and that 's what startled me. She came
in to see me this afternoon, as she has done before,
and we talked of the weather and the run of the ship
and the manners of the stewardess and other such
trifles, and then suddenly, in the midst of it, as she
sat there, on no visible pretext, she burst into tears.
I asked her what ailed her and tried to comfort her,
but she did n't explain; she said it was nothing, the
effect of the sea, of the monotony, of the excitement,
of leaving home. I asked her if it had anything to do
with her prospects, with her marriage; whether she
finds as this draws near that her heart is n't in it.
I told her she must n't be nervous, that I could enter
into that in short I said what I could. All she
replied was that she is nervous, very nervous, but
that it was already over; and then she jumped up and
kissed me and went away. Does she look as if she
has been crying ? " Mrs. Nettlepoint wound up.
"How can I tell, when she never quits that horrid
veil ? It *s as if she were ashamed to show her face."
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THE PATAGONIA
"She's keeping it for Liverpool. But I don't like
such incidents," said Mrs. Nettlepoint. "I think I
ought to go above/'
"And is that where you want me to help you ?"
"Oh with your arm and that sort of thing, yes. But
I may have to look to you for something more. I feel
as if something were going to happen."
"That 's exactly what I said to Jasper this morning."
"And what did he say?"
"He only looked innocent as if he thought I
meant a fog or a storm,"
" Heaven forbid it is n't that ! I shall never be
good-natured again," Mrs. Nettlepoint went on;
"never have a girl put on me that way. You always
pay for it there are always tiresome complications.
What I 'm afraid of is after we get there. She '11 throw
up her engagement; there will be dreadful scenes; I
shall be mixed up with them and have to look after
her and keep her with me. I shall have to stay there
with her till she can be sent back, or even take her up
to London. Do you see all that ? "
I listened respectfully; after which I observed:
"You're afraid of your son."
She also had a pause. "It depends on how you
mean it."
"There are things you might say to him and
with your manner; because you have one, you know,
when you choose."
"Very likely, but what's my manner to his ? Be-
sides, I have said everything to him. That is I 've said
the great thing that he's making her immensely
talked about."
235
THE PATAGONIA
"And of course in answer to that he has asked you
how you know, and you 've told him you have it from
me."'
" I 've had to tell him ; and he says it 9 s none of your
business."
"I wish he'd say that," I remarked, "to my face."
"He'll do so perfectly if you give him a chance.
That 's where you can help me. Quarrel with him
he's rather good at a quarrel; and that will divert
him and draw him off."
"Then Pm ready," I returned, "to discuss the
matter with him for the rest of the voyage."
"Very well; I count on you. But he'll ask you, as
he asks me, what the deuce you want him to do."
"To go to bed!" and I'm afraid I laughed.
"Oh it is n't a joke."
I did n't want to be irritating, but I made my point.
"That's exactly what I told you at first."
"Yes, but don't exult; I hate people who exult.
Jasper asks of me," she went on, "why he should
mind her being talked about if she does n't mind it
herself."
"I '11 tell him why," I replied; and Mrs. Nettlepoint
said she should be exceedingly obliged to me and
repeated that she would indeed take the field.
I looked for Jasper above that same evening, but
circumstances did n't favour my quest. I found him
that is I gathered he was again ensconced behind
the lifeboat with Miss Mavis ; but there was a needless
violence in breaking into their communion, and I put
off our interview till the next day. Then I took the
first opportunity, at breakfast, to make sure of it. He
236
THE PATAGONIA
was in the saloon when I went in and was preparing
to leave the table; but I stopped him and asked if he
would give me a quarter of an hour on deck a little
later there was something particular I wanted to
say to him. He said "Oh yes, if you like" with
just a visible surprise, but I thought with plenty of
assurance. When I had finished my breakfast I found
him smoking on the forward-deck and I immediately
began : " I 'm going to say something you won't at all
like ; to ask you a question you 'II probably denounce
for impertinent."
" I certainly shall if I find it so," said Jasper Nettle-
point.
"Well, of course my warning has meant that I don't
care if you do. I 'm a good deal older than you and
I'm a friend of many years of your mother.
There 's nothing I like less than to be meddlesome,
but I think these things give me a certain right a
sort of privilege. Besides which my enquiry will speak
for itself."
"Why so many damned preliminaries ?" my young
man asked through his smoke.
We looked into each other's eyes a moment. What
indeed was his mother's manner her best manner
compared with his? "Are you prepared to be
responsible ? "
"To you?"
" Dear no to the young lady herself. I 'm speak-
ing of course of Miss Mavis."
"Ah yes, my mother tells me you have her greatly
on your mind."
"So has your mother herself now."
237
THE PATAGONIA
"She's so good as to say so to oblige you."
"She'd oblige me a great deal more by reassuring
me. I know perfectly of your knowing I 've told her
that Miss Mavis is greatly talked about."
"Yes, but what on earth does it matter?"
"It matters as a sign."
"A sign of what?"
"That she's in a false position."
Jasper puffed his cigar with his eyes on the horizon,
and I had, a little unexpectedly, the sense of produc-
ing a certain effect on him. "I don't know whether
it 's your business, what you 're attempting to discuss ;
but it really strikes me it's none of mine. What have
I to do with the tattle with which a pack of old women
console themselves for not being sea-sick ? "
" Do you call it tattle that Miss Mavis is in love with
you?"
"Drivelling."
"Then," I retorted, "you're very ungrateful. The
tattle of a pack of old women has this importance,
that she suspects, or she knows, it exists, and that
decent girls are for the most part very sensitive to that
sort of thing. To be prepared not to heed it in this
case she must have a reason, and the reason must be
the one I Ve taken the liberty to call your attention
to."
"In love with me in six days, just like that?"
and he still looked away through narrowed eyelids.
"There's no accounting for tastes, and six days at
sea are equivalent to sixty on land. I don't want to
make you too proud. Of course if you recognise your
responsibility it 's all right and I 've nothing to say."
238
IJtiJL
" I don't see what you mean/' he presently returned.
"Surely you ought to have thought of that by this
time. She 's engaged to be married, and the gentleman
she's engaged to is to meet her at Liverpool. The
whole ship knows it though / did n't tell them !
and the whole ship's watching her. It's impertinent
if you like, just as I am myself, but we make a little
world here together and we can't blink its conditions.
What I ask you is whether you *re prepared to allow
her to give up the gentleman I 've just mentioned for
your sake."
Jasper spoke in a moment as if he did n't under-
stand. " For my sake ? "
"To marry her if she breaks with him/*
He turned his eyes from the horizon to my own,
and I found a strange expression in them. " Has Miss
Mavis commissioned you to go into that ? "
"Not in the least."
"Well then, I don't quite see !"
" It is n't as from another I make it. Let it come
from yourself to yourself/'
" Lord, you must think I lead myself a life ! " he
cried as in compassion for my simplicity. "That's
a question the young lady may put to me any moment
it pleases her."
"Let me then express the hope that she will. But
what will you answer ? "
"My dear sir, it seems to me that in spite of all the
titles you 've enumerated you 've no reason to expect
I '11 tell you." He turned away, and I dedicated in
perfect sincerity a deep sore sigh to the thought of our
young woman. At this, under the impression of it,
239
THE PATAGONIA
he faced me again and, looking at me from head
to foot, demanded: "What is it you want me to
do?"
** I put it to your mother that you ought to go to
bed "
"You had better do that yourself!" he replied.
This time he walked off, and I reflected rather dole-
fully that the only clear result of my undertaking
would probably have been to make it vivid to him
that she was in love with him. Mrs. Nettlepoint came
up as she had announced, but the day was half over :
it was nearly three o'clock. She was accompanied by
her son, who established her on deck, arranged her
chair and her shawls, saw she was protected from sun
and wind, and for an hour was very properly attentive.
While this went on Grace Mavis was not visible, nor
did she reappear during the whole afternoon. I had
n't observed that she had as yet been absent from the
deck for so long a period. Jasper left his mother, but
came back at intervals to see how she got on, and when
she asked where Miss Mavis might be answered that
he had n't the least idea. I sat with my friend at her
particular request: she told me she knew that if I
did n't Mrs. Peck and Mrs. Gotch would make their
approach, so that I must act as a watch-dog. She was
flurried and fatigued with her migration, and I think
that Grace Mavis's choosing this occasion for retire-
ment suggested to her a little that she had been made
a fool of. She remarked that the girl's not being there
showed her for the barbarian she only could be, and
that she herself was really very good so to have put
herself out; her charge was a mere bore: that was
240
THE PATAGONIA
the end of it, I could see that my companion's advent
quickened the speculative activity of the other ladies ;
they watched her from the opposite side of the deck,
keeping their eyes fixed on her very much as the man
at the wheel kept his on the course of the ship. Mrs.
Peck plainly had designs, and it was from this danger
that Mrs. Nettlepoint averted her face.
" It 's just as we said, 5 ' she remarked to me as we
sat there, " It 's like the buckets in the well. When
I come up everything else goes down."
" No, not at all everything else since Jasper re-
mains here."
" Remains ? I don't see him."
" He comes and goes it 's the same thing."
"He goes more than he comes. But n'en parlons
plus; I have n't gained anything. I don't admire the
sea at all what is it but a magnified water-tank ?
I shan't come up again."
" I 've an idea she '11 stay in her cabin now," I said.
"She tells me she has one to herself." Mrs. Nettle-
point replied that she might do as she liked, and I
repeated to her the little conversation I had had with
Jasper.
She listened with interest, but "Marry her?
Mercy!" she exclaimed. "I like the fine freedom
with which you give my son away."
"You would n't accept that ? "
"Why in the world should I ?"
"Then I don't understand your position."
"Good heavens, I have none! It isn't a position
to be tired of the whole thing."
"You would n't accept it even in the case I put to
241
THE PATAGONIA
him that of her believing she had been encouraged
to throw over poor Porterfield ? "
" Not even not even. Who can know what she
believes?"
It brought me back to where we had started from.
"Then you do exactly what I said you would you
show me a fine example of maternal immorality/*
"Maternal fiddlesticks! It was she who began it."
"Then why did you come up to-day?" I asked.
"To keep you quiet."
Mrs. Nettlepoint's dinner was served on deck, but
I went into the saloon. Jasper was there, but not
Grace Mavis, as I had half-expected. I sought to
learn from him what had become of her, if she were
ill he must have thought I had an odious pertin-
acity and he replied that he knew nothing what-
ever about her. Mrs. Peck talked to me or tried
to of Mrs. Nettlepoint, expatiating on the great
interest it had been to see her; only it was a pity she
did n't seem more sociable. To this I made answer
that she was to be excused on the score of health.
"You don't mean to say she's sick on this pond ?"
"No, she's unwell in another way."
"I guess I know the way!" Mrs. Peck laughed.
And then she added : "I suppose she came up to look
after her pet."
"Her pet?" I set my face.
"Why Miss Mavis. We've talked enough about
that."
"Quite enough. I don't know what that has had
to do with it. Miss Mavis, so far as I've noticed,
has n't been above to-day."
242
THE PATAGONIA
"Oh it goes on all the same."
"It goes on?"
"Well, it's too late."
"Too late?"
"Well, you'll see. There'll be a row."
This was n't comforting, but I did n't repeat it on
deck. Mrs. Nettlepoint returned early to her cabin,
professing herself infinitely spent. I did n't know
what "went on," but Grace Mavis continued not to
show. I looked in late, for a good-night to my friend,
and learned from her that the girl had n't been to her.
She had sent the stewardess to her room for news, to
see if she were ill and needed assistance, and the
stewardess had come back with mere mention of her
not being there. I went above after this ; the night was
not quite so fair and the deck almost empty. In a mo-
ment Jasper Nettlepoint and our young lady moved
past me together. "I hope you're better!" I called
after her; and she tossed me over her shoulder
"Oh yes, I had a headache; but the air now does
me good ! "
I went down again I was the only person there
but they, and I wanted not to seem to dog their steps
and, returning to Mrs. Nettlepoint's room, found
(her door was open to the little passage) that she was
still sitting up.
"She's all right!" I said. "She's on the deck with
Jasper."
The good lady looked up at me from her book. " I
did n't know you called that all right."
"Well, it's better than something else."
"Than what else?"
243
THE PATAGONIA
"Something I was a little afraid of." Mrs. Nettle-
point continued to look at me; she asked again what
that might be. "I'll tell you when we're ashore," I
said.
The next day I waited on her at the usual hour of
my morning visit, and found her not a little dis-
traught. "The scenes have begun," she said; "you
know I told you I should n't get through without
them ! You made me nervous last night I have n't
the least idea what you meant; but you made me hor-
ribly nervous. She came in to see me an hour ago, and
I had the courage to say to her : 'I don't know why I
should n't tell you frankly that I 've been scolding my
son about you.' Of course she asked what I meant by
that, and I let her know. * It seems to me he drags you
about the ship too much for a girl in your position.
He has the air of not remembering that you belong to
some one else. There *s a want of taste and even a
want of respect in it/ That brought on an outbreak :
she became very violent/'
"Do you mean indignant?"
"Yes, indignant, and above all flustered and ex-
cited at my presuming to suppose her relations with
my son not the very simplest in the world. I might
scold him as much as I liked that was between our-
selves; but she did n't see why I should mention such
matters to herself. Did I think she allowed him to
treat her with disrespect ? That idea was n't much of
a compliment to either of them ! He had treated her
better and been kinder to her than most other people
there were very few on the ship who had n't been
insulting. She should be glad enough when she got off
244
THE PATAGONIA
it, to her own people, to some one whom nobody
would have a right to speak of. What was there in her
position that was n't perfectly natural ? what was the
idea of making a fuss about her position ? Did I mean
that she took it too easily that she did n't think as
much as she ought about Mr. Porterfield ? Did n't I
believe she was attached to him did n't I believe
she was just counting the hours till she saw him ?
That would be the happiest moment of her life. It
showed how little I knew her if I thought anything
else."
"All that must have been rather fine I should
have liked to hear it/' I said after quite hanging on
my friend's lips. "And what did you reply ?"
"Oh I grovelled ; I assured her that I accused her
as regards my son of nothing worse than an excess
of good nature. She helped him to pass his time he
ought to be immensely obliged. Also that it would be
a very happy moment for me too when I should hand
her over to Mr. Porterfield."
"And will you come up to-day ?"
"No indeed I think she'll do beautifully now."
I heaved this time a sigh of relief. "All *s well that
ends well!"
Jasper spent that day a great deal of time with his
mother. She had told me how much she had lacked
hitherto proper opportunity to talk over with him their
movements after disembarking. Everything changes a
little the last two or three days of a voyage; the spell
is broken and new combinations take place. Grace
Mavis was neither on deck nor at dinner, and I drew
Mrs. Peck's attention to the extreme propriety with
THE PATAGONIA
which she now conducted herself. She had spent the
day in meditation and judged it best to continue to
meditate
"Ah she's afraid/' said my implacable neigh-
bour.
"Afraid of what ?"
"Well, that we'll tell tales when we get there/'
" Whom do you mean by 'we' ?"
"Well, there are plenty on a ship like this/'
"Then I think," I returned, "we won't."
"Maybe we won't have the chance," said the
dreadful little woman.
"Oh at that moment" I spoke from a full ex-
perience "universal geniality reigns."
Mrs. Peck however knew little of any such law.
"I guess she's afraid all the same."
"So much the better!"
"Yes so much the better ! "
All the next day too the girl remained invisible, and
Mrs. Nettlepoint told me she had n't looked in. She
herself had accordingly enquired by the stewardess if
she might be received in Miss Mavis's own quarters,
and the young lady had replied that they were littered
up with things and unfit for visitors : she was packing
a trunk over. Jasper made up for his devotion to his
mother the day before by now spending a great deal of
his time in the smoking-room. I wanted to say to him
"This is much better," but I thought it wiser to hold
my tongue. Indeed I had begun to feel the emotion
of prospective arrival the sense of the return to
Europe always kept its intensity and had thereby
the less attention for other matters. It will doubtless
246
THE PATAGONIA
appear to the critical reader that my expenditure of
interest had been out of proportion to the vulgar ap-
pearances of which my story gives an account, but to
this I can only reply that the event was to justify me.
We sighted land, the dim yet rich coast of Ireland,
about sunset, and I leaned on the bulwark and took
it in. " It does n't look like much, does it ? " I heard a
voice say, beside me; whereupon, turning, I found
Grace Mavis at hand. Almost for the first time she
had her veil up, and I thought her very pale.
" It will be more to-morrow," I said.
"Oh yes, a great deal more."
"The first sight of land, at sea, changes every-
thing," I went on. " It always affects me as waking up
from a dream. It's a return to reality."
For a moment she made me no response; then she
said "It does n't look very real yet."
"No, and meanwhile, this lovely evening, one can
put it that the dream 9 s still present."
She looked up at the sky, which had a brightness,
though the light of the sun had left it and that of the
stars had n't begun. "It is a lovely evening."
"Oh yes, with this we shall do."
She stood some moments more, while the growing
dusk effaced the line of the land more rapidly than
our progress made it distinct. She said nothing more,
she only looked in front of her; but her very quietness
prompted me to something suggestive of sympathy
and service. It was difficult indeed to strike the right
note some things seemed too wide of the mark and
others too importunate. At last, unexpectedly, she
appeared to give me my chance. Irrelevantly, ab-
247
THE PATAGONIA
ruptly she broke out: "Did n't you tell me you knew
Mr. Porterfield?"
"Dear me, yes I used to see him. I've often
wanted to speak to you of him."
She turned her face on me and in the deepened
evening I imagined her more pale. "What good
would that do?"
"Why it would be a pleasure," I replied rather
foolishly.
" Do you mean for you ? "
"Well, yes call it that," I smiled.
"Did you know him so well ?"
My smile became a laugh and I lost a little my con-
fidence. "You 're not easy to make speeches to."
"I hate speeches ! " The words came from her lips
with a force that surprised me; they were loud and
hard. But before I had time to wonder she went on a
little differently. "Shall you know him when you see
him?"
"Perfectly, I think." Her manner was so strange
that I had to notice it in some way, and I judged the
best way was jocularly; so I added : "Shan't you ? "
"Oh perhaps you'll point him out!" And she
walked quickly away. As I looked after her there came
to me a perverse, rather a provoking consciousness
of having during the previous days, and especially in
speaking to Jasper Nettlepoint, interfered with her
situation in some degree to her loss. There was an odd
pang for me in seeing her move about alone; I felt
somehow responsible for it and asked myself why I
could n't have kept my hands off. I had seen Jasper
in the smoking-room more than once that day, as I
248
THE PATAGONIA
passed it, and half an hour before this had observed,
through the open door, that he was there. He had
been with her so much that without him she now
struck one as bereaved and forsaken. This was really
better, no doubt, but superficially it moved and I
admit with the last inconsequence one's pity.
Mrs. Peck would doubtless have assured me that their
separation was gammon : they did n't show together
on deck and in the saloon, but they made it up else-
where. The secret places on shipboard are not numer-
ous; Mrs. Peck's "elsewhere" would have been
vague, and I know not what licence her imagination
took. It was distinct that Jasper had fallen off, but of
course what had passed between them on this score
was n't so and could never be. Later on, through his
mother, I had bis version of that, but I may remark
that I gave it no credit. Poor Mrs. Nettlepoint, on the
other hand, was of course to give it all. I was almost
capable, after the girl had left me, of going to my
young man and saying: "After all r do return to her a
little, just rill we get in ! It won't make any difference
after we land." And I don't think it was the fear he
would tell me I was an idiot that prevented me. At
any rate the next time I passed the door of the smok-
ing-room I saw he had left it. I paid my usual visit to
Mrs. Nettlepoint that night, but I troubled her no
further about Miss Mavis. She had made up her mind
that everything was smooth and settled now, and it
seemed to me I had worried her, and that she had wor-
ried herself, in sufficiency. I left her to enjoy the deep-
ening foretaste of arrival, which had taken possession
of her mind. Before turning in I went above and
249
THE PATAGONIA
found more passengers on deck than I had ever seen
so late. Jasper moved about among them alone, but I
forbore to join him. The coast of Ireland had disap-
peared, but the night and the sea were perfect. On the
way to my cabin, when I came down, I met the stew-
ardess in one of the passages, and the idea entered my
head to say to her : " Do you happen to know where
Miss Mavis is ? "
"Why she's in her room, sir, at this hour."
" Do you suppose I could speak to her ? " It had
come into my mind to ask her why she had wanted to
know of me if I should recognise Mr. Porterfield.
"No sir," said the stewardess; "she has gone to
bed/'
"That's all right/' And I followed the young
lady's excellent example.
The next morning, while I dressed, the steward of
my side of the ship came to me as usual to see what I
wanted. Butthe first thing he said to me was : " Rather
a bad job, sir a passenger missing." And while I
took I scarce know what instant chill from it, "A
lady, sir," he went on "whom I think you knew.
Poor Miss Mavis, sir/'
"Missing?" I cried staring at him and horror-
stricken.
"She's not on the ship. They can't find her."
"Then where to God is she ?"
I recall his queer face. "Well sir, I suppose you
know that as well as I."
"Do you mean she has jumped overboard ?"
"Some time in the night, sir on the quiet. But
it's beyond every one, the way she escaped notice.
250
THE PATAGONIA
They usually sees "em, sir. It must have been about
half-past two. Lord, but she was sharp, sir. She
did n't so much as make a splash. They say she 'ad
come against her will, sir."
I had dropped upon my sofa I felt faint. The
man went on, liking to talk as persons of his class do
when they have something horrible to tell. She usu-
ally rang for the stewardess early, but this morning of
course there had been no ring. The stewardess had
gone in all the same about eight o'clock and found the
cabin empty. That was about an hour previous. Her
things were there in confusion the things she usu-
ally wore when she went above. The stewardess
thought she had been a bit odd the night before, but
had waited a little and then gone back. Miss Mavis
had n't turned up and she did n't turn up. The
stewardess began to look for her she had n't been
seen on deck or in the saloon. Besides, she was n't
dressed not to show herself; all her clothes were in
her room. There was another lady, an old lady, Mrs.
Nettlepoint I would know her that she was
sometimes with, but the stewardess had been with her
and knew Miss Mavis hadn't come near her that
morning. She had spoken to him and they had taken a
quiet look they had hunted everywhere. A ship's
a big place, but you did come to the end of it, and
if a person was n't there why there it was. In short
an hour had passed and the young lady was not ac-
counted for : from which I might judge if she ever
would be. The watch could n't account for her, but no
doubt the fishes in the sea could poor miserable
pitiful lady ! The stewardess and he had of course
251
THE PATAGONIA
thought it their duty to speak at once to the Doctor,
and the Doctor had spoken immediately to the Cap-
tain. The Captain didn't like it they never did,
but he 'd try to keep it quiet they always did.
By the time I succeeded in pulling myself together
and getting on, after a fashion, the rest of my clothes
I had learned that Mrs. Nettlepoint would n't yet have
been told, unless the stewardess had broken it to her
within the previous few minutes. Her son knew, the
young gentleman on the other side of the ship he
had the other steward; my man had seen him come
out of his cabin and rush above, just before he came
in to me. He had gone above, my man was sure; he
had n't gone to the old lady's cabin. I catch again the
sense of my dreadfully seeing something at that mo-
ment, catch the wild flash, under the steward's words,
of Jasper Nettlepoint leaping, with a mad compunc-
tion in his young agility, over the side of the ship.
I hasten to add, however, that no such incident was
destined to contribute its horror to poor Grace Mavis's
unwitnessed and unlighted tragic act. What followed
was miserable enough, but I can only glance at it.
When I got to Mrs. Nettlepoint 's door she was there
with a shawl about her; the stewardess had just told
her and she was dashing out to come to me. I made
her go back I said I would go for Jasper. I went for
him but I missed him, partly no doubt because it was
really at first the Captain I was after. I found this
personage and found him highly scandalised, but he
gave me no hope that we were in error, and his dis-
pleasure, expressed with seamanlike strength, was a
definite settlement of the question. From the deck,
252
THE PATAGONIA
where I merely turned round and looked, I saw the
light of another summer day, the coast of Ireland
green and near and the sea of a more charming colour
than it had shown at all. When I came below again
Jasper had passed back; he had gone to his cabin
and his mother had joined him there. He remained
there till we reached Liverpool I never saw him.
His mother, after a little, at his request, left him alone.
All the world went above to look at the land and chat-
ter about our tragedy, but the poor lady spent the
day, dismally enough, in her room. It seemed to me,
the dreadful day, intolerably long; I was thinking so
of vague, of inconceivable yet inevitable Porterfield,
and of my having to face him somehow on the mor-
row. Now of course I knew why she had asked me if
I should recognise him ; she had delegated to me men-
tally a certain pleasant office. I gave Mrs. Peck and
Mrs. Gotch a wide berth I could n't talk to them.
I could, or at least I did a little, to Mrs. Nettlepoint,
but with too many reserves for comfort on either side,
since I quite felt how little it would now make for ease
to mention Jasper to her. I was obliged to assume by
my silence that he had had nothing to do with what
had happened; and of course I never really ascer-
tained what he bad had to do. The secret of what
passed between him and the strange girl who would
have sacrificed her marriage to him on so short an
acquaintance remains shut up in his breast. His
mother, I know, went to his door from time to time,
but he refused her admission. That evening, to be
human at a venture, I requested the steward to go in
and ask him if he should care to see me, and the good
253
THE PATAGONIA
man returned with an answer which he candidly trans-
mitted. "Not in the least ! " Jasper apparently
was almost as scandalised as the Captain.
At Liverpool, at the dock, when we had touched,
twenty people came on board and I had already made
out Mr. Porterfield at a distance. He was looking up
at the side of the great vessel with disappointment
written for my strained eyes in his face; disap-
pointment at not seeing the woman he had so long
awaited lean over it and wave her handkerchief to
him. Every one was looking at him, every one but she
his identity flew about in a moment and I won-
dered if it did n't strike him. He used to be gaunt and
angular, but had grown almost fat and stooped a
little. The interval between us diminished he was
on the plank and then on the deck with the jostling
agents of the Customs; too soon for my equanimity.
I met him instantly, however, to save him from ex-
posure laid my hand on him and drew him away,
though I was sure he had no impression of having
seen me before. It was not till afterwards that I
thought this rather characteristically dull of him. I
drew him far away I was conscious of Mrs. Peck
and Mrs. Gotch, looking at us as we passed into
the empty stale smoking-room: he remained speech-
less, and that struck me as like him. I had to speak
first, he could n't even relieve me by saying " Is
anything the matter ? " I broke ground by putting
it, feebly, that she was ill. It was a dire moment.
THE MARRIAGES
THE MARRIAGES
"WON'T you stay a little longer I" the hostess asked
while she held the girl's hand and smiled. "It's too
early for every one to go it's too absurd." Mrs.
Churchley inclined her head to one side and looked
gracious ; she flourished about her face, in a vaguely
protecting sheltering way, an enormous fan of red
feathers. Everything in her composition, for Adela
Chart, was enormous. She had big eyes, big teeth,
big shoulders, big hands, big rings and bracelets, big
jewels of every sort and many of them. The train of
her crimson dress was longer than any other; her
house was huge; her drawing-room, especially now
that the company had left it, looked vast, and it
offered to the girl's eyes a collection of the largest
sofas and chairs, pictures, mirrors, clocks, that she
had ever beheld. Was Mrs. Churchley's fortune also
large, to account for so many immensities ? Of this
Adela could know nothing, but it struck her, while she
smiled sweetly back at their entertainer, that she had
better try to find out. Mrs. Churchley had at least a
high-hung carriage drawn by the tallest horses, and
in the Row she was to be seen perched on a mighty
hunter. She was high and extensive herself, though
not exactly fat; her bones were big, her limbs were
long, and her loud hurrying voice resembled the bell
of a steamboat. While she spoke to his daughter she
THE MARRIAGES
had the air of hiding from Colonel Chart, a little
shyly, behind the wide ostrich fan. But Colonel Chart
was not a man to be either ignored or eluded.
"Of course every one's going on to something
else," he said. "I believe there are a lot of things
to-night."
"And where are you going?" Mrs. Churchley
asked, dropping her fan and turning her bright hard
eyes on the Colonel.
"Oh I don't do that sort of thing!" he used a tone
of familiar resentment that fell with a certain effect
on his daughter's ear. She saw in it that he thought
Mrs. Churchley might have done him a little more
justice. But what made the honest soul suppose her
a person to look to for a perception of fine shades ?
Indeed the shade was one it might have been a little
difficult to seize the difference between "going on "
and coming to a dinner of twenty people. The pair
were in mourning; the second year had maintained
it for Adela, but the Colonel had n't objected to din-
ing with Mrs. Churchley, any more than he had
objected at Easter to going down to the Millwards',
where he had met her and where the girl had her rea-
sons for believing him to have known he should meet
her. Adela was n't clear about the occasion of their
original meeting, to which a certain mystery attached.
In Mrs. Churchley's exclamation now there was the
fullest concurrence in Colonel Chart's idea ; she did n't
say "Ah yes, dear friend, I understand ! " but this was
the note of sympathy she plainly wished to sound. It
immediately made Adela say to her "Surely you must
be going on somewhere yourself."
258
THE MARRIAGES
"Yes, you must have a lot of places," the Colonel
concurred, while his view of her shining raiment had
an invidious directness. Adela could read the tacit
implication: "You're not in sorrow, in desolation."
Mrs. Churchley turned away from her at this and
just waited before answering. The red fan was up
again, and this time it sheltered her from Adela. " I '11
give everything up for you" were the words that
issued from behind it. "Z)o stay a little. I always
think this is such a nice hour. One can really talk,"
Mrs. Churchley went on. The Colonel laughed; he
said it was n't fair. But their hostess pressed his
daughter. "Do sit down; it's the only time to have
any talk." The girl saw her father sit down, but she
wandered away, turning her back and pretending to
look at a picture. She was so far from agreeing with
Mrs. Churchley that it was an hour she particularly
disliked. She was conscious of the queerness, the
shyness, in London, of the gregarious flight of guests
after a dinner, the general sauve qtii peut and panic
fear of being left with the host and hostess. But per-
sonally she always felt the contagion, always con-
formed to the rush. Besides, she knew herself turn
red now, flushed with a conviction that had come over
her and that she wished not to show.
Her father sat down on one of the big sofas with
Mrs. Churchley; fortunately he was also a person
with a presence that could hold its own. Adela did n't
care to sit and watch them while they made love, as
she crudely imaged it, and she cared still less to join
in their strange commerce. She wandered further
away, went into another of the bright "handsome,"
259
THE MARRIAGES
rather nude rooms they were like women dressed
for a ball where the displaced chairs, at awkward
angles to each other, seemed to retain the attitudes of
bored talkers. Her heart beat as she had seldom
known it, but she continued to make a pretence of
looking at the pictures on the walls and the ornaments
on the tables, while she hoped that, as she preferred
it, it would be also the course her father would like
best. She hoped "awfully," as she would have said,
that he would n't think her rude. She was a person
of courage, and he was a kind, an intensely good-
natured man; nevertheless she went in some fear of
him. At home it had always been a religion with them
to be nice to the people he liked. How, in the old days,
her mother, her incomparable mother, so clever, so
unerring, so perfect, how in the precious days her
mother had practised that art ! Oh her mother, her
irrecoverable mother ! One of the pictures she was
looking at swam before her eyes. Mrs. Churchley, in
the natural course, would have begun immediately
to climb staircases. Adela could see the high bony
shoulders and the long crimson tail and the universal
coruscating nod wriggle their horribly practical way
through the rest of the night. Therefore she must
have had her reasons for detaining them. There were
mothers who thought every one wanted to marry their
eldest son, and the girl sought to be clear as to whether
she herself belonged to the class of daughters who
thought every one wanted to marry their father. Her
companions left her alone; and though she didn't
want to be near them it angered her that Mrs. Church-
ley did n't call her. That proved she was conscious
260
THE MARRIAGES
of the situation. She would have called her, only
Colonel Chart had perhaps dreadfully murmured
"Don't, love, don't/* This proved he also was con-
scious. The rime was really not long ten minutes
at the most elapsed when he cried out gaily, pleas-
antly, as if with a small jocular reproach, " I say,
Adela, we must release this dear lady ! " He spoke of
course as if it had been Adela's fault that they lingered.
When they took leave she gave Mrs. Churchley, with-
out intention and without defiance, but from the
simple sincerity of her pain, a longer look into the
eyes than she had ever given her before. Mrs. Church-
ley's onyx pupils reflected the question as distant dark
windows reflect the sunset; they seemed to say : "Yes,
I am, if that 's what you want to know ! "
What made the case worse, what made the girl more
sure, was the silence preserved by her companion in
the brougham on their way home. They rolled along
in the June darkness from Prince's Gate to Seymour
Street, each looking out of a window in conscious
prudence; watching but not seeing the hurry of the
London night, the flash of lamps, the quick roll on
the wood of hansoms and other broughams. Adela
had expected her father would say something about
Mrs. Churchley; but when he said nothing it affected
her, very oddly, still more as if he had spoken. In
Seymour Street he asked the footman if Mr. Godfrey
had come in, to which the servant replied that he had
come in early and gone straight to his room. Adela
had gathered as much, without saying so, from a
lighted window on the second floor; but she contrib-
uted no remark to the question. At the foot of the
261
THE MARRIAGES
stairs her father halted as if he had something on his
mind ; but what it amounted to seemed only the dry
"Good-night" with which he presently ascended.
It was the first time since her mother's death that he
had bidden her good-night without kissing her. They
were a kissing family, and after that dire event the
habit had taken a fresh spring. She had left behind
her such a general passion of regret that in kissing
each other they felt themselves a little to be kissing
her. Now, as, standing in the hall, with the stiff
watching footman she could have said to him
angrily "Go away!*' planted near her, she looked
with unspeakable pain at her father's back while he
mounted, the effect was of his having withheld from
another and a still more slighted cheek the touch of
his lips.
He was going to his room, and after a moment she
heard his door close. Then she said to the servant
"Shut up the house " she tried to do everything her
mother had done, to be a little of what she had been,
conscious only of falling woefully short and took
her own way upstairs. After she had reached her
room she waited, listening, shaken by the apprehen-
sion that she should hear her father come out again
and go up to Godfrey. He would go up to tell him,
to have it over without delay, precisely because it
would be so difficult. She asked herself indeed why
he should tell Godfrey when he had n't taken the
occasion their drive home being an occasion to
tell herself. However, she wanted no announcing, no
telling; there was such a horrible clearness in her
mind that what she now waited for was only to be
262
THE MARRIAGES
sure her father would n't proceed as she had imagined.
At the end of the minutes she saw this particular
danger was over, upon which she came out and made
her own way to her brother. Exactly what she wanted
to say to him first, if their parent counted on the boy's
greater indulgence, and before he could say anything,
was: "Don't forgive him; don't, don't!"
He was to go up for an examination, poor lad, and
during these weeks his lamp burned till the small
hours. It was for the Foreign Office, and there was
to be some frightful number of competitors ; but Adela
had great hopes of him she believed so in his
talents and saw with pity how hard he worked. This
would have made her spare him, not trouble his night,
his scanty rest, if anything less dreadful had been at
stake. It was a blessing however that one could count
on his coolness, young as he was his bright good-
looking discretion, the thing that already made him
half a man of the world. Moreover he was the one
who would care most. If Basil was the eldest son
he had as a matter of course gone into the army and
was in India, on the staff, by good luck, of a governor-
general it was exactly this that would make him
comparatively indifferent. His life was elsewhere,
and his father and he had been in a measure military
comrades, so that he would be deterred by a certain
delicacy from protesting; he would n't have liked any
such protest in an affair of bis. Beatrice and Muriel
would care, but they were too young to speak, and
this was just why her own responsibility was so great.
Godfrey was in working-gear shirt and trousers
and slippers and a beautiful silk jacket. His room
263
THE MARRIAGES
felt hot, though a window was open to the summer
night; the lamp on the table shed its studious light
over a formidable heap of text-books and papers, the
bed moreover showing how he had flung himself down
to think out a problem. As soon as she got in she
began. "Father's going to marry Mrs. Churchley,
you know."
She saw his poor pink face turn pale. " How do you
know?"
"I *ve seen with my eyes. We Ve been dining there
we've just come home. He's in love with her.
She's in love with him. They'll arrange it."
"Oh I say I" Godfrey exclaimed, incredulous.
"He will, he will, he will 1 " cried the girl; and with
it she burst into tears.
Godfrey, who had a cigarette in his hand, lighted it
at one of the candles on the mantelpiece as if he were
embarrassed. As Adela, who had dropped into his
armchair, continued to sob, he said after a moment :
"He ought n't to he ought n't to/'
"Oh think of mamma think of mamma!" she
wailed almost louder than was safe.
"Yes, he ought to think of mamma." With which
Godfrey looked at the tip of his cigarette.
"To such a woman as that after her!"
"Dear old mamma!" said Godfrey while he
smoked.
Adela rose again, drying her eyes. "It's like an in-
sult to her; it's as if he denied her." Now that she
spoke of it she felt herself rise to a height. " He rubs
out at a stroke all the years of their happiness."
"They were awfully happy," Godfrey agreed.
264
THE MARRIAGES
"Think what she was think how no one else will
ever again be like her ! " the girl went on.
"I suppose he 's not very happy now/' her brother
vaguely contributed.
"Of course he is n't, any more than you and I are;
and it *s dreadful of him to want to be."
"Well, don't make yourself miserable till you're
sure," the young man said.
But Adela showed him confidently that she was
sure, from the way the pair had behaved together and
from her father's attitude on the drive home. If God-
frey had been there he would have seen everything; it
could n't be explained, but he would have felt. When
he asked at what moment the girl had first had her
suspicion she replied that it had all come at once, that
evening; or that at least she had had no conscious fear
till then. There had been signs for two or three weeks,
but she had n't understood them ever since the day
Mrs. Churchley had dined in Seymour Street. Adela
had on that occasion thought it odd her father should
have wished to invite her, given the quiet way they
were living; she was a person they knew so little. He
had said something about her having been very civil
to him, and that evening, already, she had guessed
that he must have frequented their portentous guest
herself more than there had been signs of. To-night it
had come to her clearly that he would have called on
her every day since the time of her dining with them ;
every afternoon about the hour he was ostensibly at his
club. Mrs. Churchley was his club she was for all
the world just like one. At this Godfrey laughed; he
wanted to know what his sister knew about clubs. She
265
THE MARRIAGES
was slightly disappointed in his laugh, even wounded
by it, but she knew perfectly what she meant: she
meant that Mrs. Churchley was public and florid,
promiscuous and mannish.
"Oh I dare say she's all right," he said as if he
wanted to get on with his work. He looked at the
clock on the mantel-shelf; he would have to put in
another hour.
"All right to come and take darling mamma's place
to sit where she used to sit, to lay her horrible hands
on her things ? " Adela was appalled all the more
that she had n't expected it at her brother's appar-
ent acceptance of such a prospect.
He coloured ; there was something in her passionate
piety that scorched him. She glared at him with tragic
eyes he might have profaned an altar. " Oh I mean
that nothing will come of it."
"Not if we do our duty," said Adela. And then as
he looked as if he had n't an idea of what that could be :
"You must speak to him tell him how we feel ; that
we shall never forgive him, that we can't endure it."
"He'll think I'm cheeky," her brother returned,
looking down at his papers with his back to her and
his hands in his pockets.
"Cheeky to plead for her memory ?"
"He'll say it's none of my business."
"Then you believe he'll do it?" cried the girl.
"Not a bit. Go to bed!"
"/'// speak to him " she had turned as pale as a
young priestess.
"Don't cry out rill you're hurt; wait rill he speaks
to you."
266
THE MARRIAGES
"He won't, he won't!" she declared. "He'll do it
without telling us."
Her brother had faced round to her again; he
started a little at this, and again, at one of the candles,
lighted his cigarette, which had gone out. She looked
at him a moment; then he said something that sur-
prised her. "Is Mrs. Churchley very rich ?"
" I have n't the least idea. What on earth has that
to do with it?"
Godfrey puffed his cigarette. "Does she live as if
she were?"
"She has a lot of hideous showy things."
"Well, we must keep our eyes open," he concluded.
"And now you must let me get on." He kissed his vis-
itor as if to make up for dismissing her, or for his fail-
ure to take fire; and she held him a moment, burying
her head on his shoulder.
A wave of emotion surged through her, and again
she quavered out: "Ah why did she leave us ? Why
did she leave us ? "
"Yes, why indeed ?" the young man sighed, disen-
gaging himself with a movement of oppression.
II
ADELA was so far right as that by the end of the week,
though she remained certain, her father had still not
made the announcement she dreaded. What con-
vinced her was the sense of her changed relations with
him of there being between them something unex-
pressed, something she was aware of as she would
have been of an open wound. When she spoke of this
to Godfrey he said the change was of her own making
also that she was cruelly unjust to the governor.
She suffered even more from her brother's unexpected
perversity; she had had so different a theory about
him that her disappointment was almost an humilia-
tion and she needed all her fortitude to pitch her faith
lower. She wondered what had happened to him and
why he so failed her. She would have trusted him to
feel right about anything, above all about such a ques-
tion. Their worship of their mother's memory, their
recognition of her sacred place in their past, her ex-
quisite influence in their father's life, his fortune, his
career, in the whole history of the family and welfare
of the house accomplished clever gentle good
beautiful and capable as she had been, a woman whose
quiet distinction was universally admired, so that on
her death one of the Princesses, the most august of her
friends, had written Adela such a note about her as
princesses were understood very seldom to write : their
hushed tenderness over all this was like a religion, and
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was also an attributive honour, to fall away from
which was a form of treachery. This was n't the way
people usually felt in London, she knew; but strenu-
ous ardent observant girl as she was, with secrecies of
sentiment and dim originalities of attitude, she had
already made up her mind that London was no treas-
ure-house of delicacies. Remembrance there was
hammered thin to be faithful was to make society
gape. The patient dead were sacrificed ; they had no
shrines, for people were literally ashamed of mourning.
When they had hustled all sensibility out of their lives
they invented the fiction that they felt too much to
utter. Adela said nothing to her sisters ; this reticence
was part of the virtue it was her idea to practise for
them. She was to be their mother, a direct deputy and
representative. Before the vision of that other woman
parading in such a character she felt capable of in-
genuities, of deep diplomacies. The essence of these
indeed was just tremulously to watch her father. Five
days after they had dined together at Mrs. Church-
ley's he asked her if she had been to see that lady.
"No indeed, why should I ?" Adela knew that he
knew she had n't been, since Mrs. Churchley would
have told him.
"Don't you call on people after you dine with
them ? " said Colonel Chart.
"Yes, in the course of time. I don't rush off within
the week."
Her father looked at her, and his eyes were colder
than she had ever seen them, which was probably, she
reflected, just the way hers appeared to himself.
"Then you'll please rush off to-morrow* She's to
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dine with us on the I2th, and I shall expect your sis-
ters to come down/'
Adela stared. "To a dinner-party ?"
"It's not to be a dinner-party, I want them to
know Mrs. Churchley."
"Is there to be nobody else ?"
"Godfrey of course. A family party," he said with
an assurance before which she turned cold.
The girl asked her brother that evening if that
was n't tantamount to an announcement. He looked
at her queerly and then said : "I've been to see her."
"What on earth did you do that for?"
"Father told me he wished it."
"Then he bos told you?"
"Told me what ?" Godfrey asked while her heart
sank with the sense of his making difficulties for her.
"That they're engaged, of course. What else can
all this mean ? "
"He did n't tell me that, but I like her."
"Like her!" the girl shrieked.
"She's very kind, very good."
"To thrust herself upon us when we hate her ? Is
that what you call kind? Is that what you call
decent?"
"Oh 7 don't hate her" and he turned away as if
she bored him.
She called the next day on Mrs. Churchley, de-
signing to break out somehow, to plead, to appeal
"Oh spare us! have mercy on us! let him alone! go
away ! " But that was n't easy when they were face to
face. Mrs. Churchley had every intention of getting,
as she would have said she was perpetually using
270
THE MARRIAGES
the expression into touch ; but her good intentions
were as depressing as a tailor's misfits. She could
never understand that they had no place for her vulgar
charity, that their life was filled with a fragrance of
perfection for which she had no sense fine enough.
She was as undomestic as a shop-front and as out of
tune as a parrot. She would either make them live in
the streets or bring the streets into their life it was
the same thing. She had evidently never read a book,
and she used intonations that Adela had never heard,
as if she had been an Australian or an American. She
understood everything in a vulgar sense; speaking of
Godfrey's visit to her and praising him according to
her idea, saying horrid things about him that he
was awfully good-looking, a perfect gentleman, the
kind she liked. How could her father, who was after
all in everything else such a dear, listen to a woman, or
endure her, who thought she pleased him when she
called the son of his dead wife a perfect gentleman ?
What would he have been, pray ? Much she knew
about what any of them were ! When she told Adela
she wanted her to like her the girl thought for an in-
stant her opportunity had come the chance to plead
with her and beg her off. But she presented such
an impenetrable surface that it would have been like
giving a message to a varnished door. She was n't
a woman, said Adela ; she was an address.
When she dined in Seymour Street the "children,"
as the girl called the others, including Godfrey, liked
her. Beatrice and Muriel stared shyly and silently at
the wonders of her apparel (she was brutally over-
dressed) without of course guessing the danger that
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THE MARRIAGES
tainted the air. They supposed her in their innocence
to be amusing, and they did n't know, any more than
she did herself, how she patronised them. When she
was upstairs with them after dinner Adela could see
her look round the room at the things she meant to
alter their mother's things, not a bit like her own
and not good enough for her. After a quarter of an
hour of this our young lady felt sure she was deciding
that Seymour Street would n't do at all, the dear old
home that had done for their mother those twenty
years. Was she plotting to transport them all to her
horrible Prince's Gate ? Of one thing at any rate Adela
was certain : her father, at that moment alone in the
dining-room with Godfrey, pretending to drink an-
other glass of wine to make time, was coming to the
point, was telling the news. When they reappeared
they both, to her eyes, looked unnatural : the news had
been told.
She had it from Godfrey before Mrs. Churchley left
the house, when, after a brief interval, he followed her
out of the drawing-room on her taking her sisters to
bed. She was waiting for him at the door of her room.
Her father was then alone with his fiancee the word
was grotesque to Adela; it was already as if the place
were her home.
"What did you say to him ?*' our young woman
asked when her brother had told her.
"I said nothing. 5 ' Then he added, colouring the
expression of her face was such "There was no-
thing to say."
"Is that how it strikes you ?" and she stared at
the lamp.
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"He asked me to speak to her/' Godfrey went on.
"In what hideous sense?"
"To tell her I was glad."
"And did you?" Adela panted.
" I don't know. I said something. She kissed me."
"Oh how could you?" shuddered the girl, who
covered her face with her hands.
"He says she's very rich," her brother returned.
"Is that why you kissed her?"
"I did n't kiss her. Good-night." And the young
man, turning his back, went out.
When he had gone Adela locked herself in as with
the fear she should be overtaken or invaded, and dur-
ing a sleepless feverish memorable night she took
counsel of her uncompromising spirit. She saw things
as they were, in all the indignity of life. The levity, the
mockery, the infidelity, the ugliness, lay as plain as a
map before her; it was a world of gross practical jokes,
a world pour rire; but she cried about it all the same.
The morning dawned early, or rather it seemed to her
there had been no night, nothing but a sickly creeping
day. But by the time she heard the house stirring
again she had determined what to do. When she came
down to the breakfast-room her father was already in
his place with newspapers and letters; and she ex-
pected the first words he would utter to be a rebuke to
her for having disappeared the night before without
taking leave of Mrs. Churchley. Then she saw he
wished to be intensely kind, to make every allowance,
to conciliate and console her. He knew she had heard
from Godfrey, and he got up and kissed her. He told
her as quickly as possible, to have it over, stammering
273
THE MARRIAGES
a little, with an " I 've a piece of news for you that will
probably shock you/' yet looking even exaggeratedly
grave and rather pompous, to inspire the respect he
did n't deserve. When he kissed her she melted, she
burst into tears. He held her against him, kissing her
again and again, saying tenderly "Yes, yes, I know, I
know/* But he did n't know else he could n't have
done it. Beatrice and Muriel came in, frightened
when they saw her crying, and still more scared when
she turned to them with words and an air that were
terrible in their comfortable little lives : " Papa 's going
to be married ; he 's going to marry Mrs. Churchley ! "
After staring a moment and seeing their father look as
strange, on his side, as Adela, though in a different
way, the children also began to cry, so that when the
servants arrived with tea and boiled eggs these func-
tionaries were greatly embarrassed with their burden,
not knowing whether to come in or hang back. They
all scraped together a decorum, and as soon as the
things had been put on table the Colonel banished the
men with a glance. Then he made a little affectionate
speech to Beatrice and Muriel, in which he described
Mrs. Churchley as the kindest, the most delightful of
women, only wanting to make them happy, only want-
ing to make him happy, and convinced that he would
be if they were and that they would be if he was.
"What do such words mean ? " Adela asked herself.
She declared privately that they meant nothing, but
she was silent, and every one was silent, on account of
the advent of Miss Flynn the governess, before whom
Colonel Chart preferred not to discuss the situation.
Adela recognised on the spot that if things were to go
274
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as he wished his children would practically never again
be alone with him. He would spend all his time with
Mrs. Churchley till they were married, and then Mrs.
Churchley would spend all her time with him. Adela
was ashamed of him, and that was horrible all the
more that everyone else would be, all his other friends,
everyone who had known her mother. But the public
dishonour to that high memory should n't be enacted ;
he should n't do as he wished.
After breakfast her father remarked to her that it
would give him pleasure if in a day or two she would
take her sisters to see their friend, and she replied that
he should be obeyed. He held her hand a moment,
looking at her with an argument in his eyes which
presently hardened into sternness. He wanted to
know that she forgave him, but also wanted to assure
her that he expected her to mind what she did, to go
straight. She turned away her eyes; she was indeed
ashamed of him.
She waited three days and then conveyed her sisters
to the repaire, as she would have been ready to term
it, of the lioness. That queen of beasts was sur-
rounded with callers, as Adela knew she would be;
it was her " day " and the occasion the girl preferred.
Before this she had spent all her time with her com-
panions, talking to them about their mother, playing
on their memory of her, making them cry and making
them laugh, reminding them of blest hours of their
early childhood, telling them anecdotes of her own.
None the less she confided to them that she believed
there was no harm at all in Mrs. Churchley, and that
when the time should come she would probably take
275
THE MARRIAGES
them out immensely. She saw with smothered irrita-
tion that they enjoyed their visit at Prince's Gate;
they had never been at anything so "grown-up," nor
seen so many smart bonnets and brilliant complex-
ions. Moreover they were considered with interest,
quite as if, being minor elements, yet perceptible ones,
of Mrs. Churchley's new life, they had been described
in advance and were the heroines of the occasion.
There were so many ladies present that this person-
age did n't talk to them much ; she only called them
her "chicks " and asked them to hand about tea-cups
and bread and butter. All of which was highly agree-
able and indeed intensely exciting to Beatrice and
Muriel, who had little round red spots in their cheeks
when they came away. Adela quivered with the sense
that her mother's children were now Mrs. Churchley's
"chicks" and a part of the furniture of Mrs. Church-
ley's dreadful consciousness.
It was one thing to have made up her mind, how-
ever; it was another thing to make her attempt. It
was when she learned from Godfrey that the day was
fixed, the 2Oth of July, only six weeks removed, that
she felt the importance of prompt action. She learned
everything from Godfrey now, having decided it
would be hypocrisy to question her father. Even her
silence was hypocritical, but she could n't weep and
wail. Her father showed extreme tact; taking no
notice of her detachment, treating it as a moment
of louderie he was bound to allow her and that would
pout itself away. She debated much as to whether she
should take Godfrey into her confidence; she would
have done so without hesitation if he had n't disap-
276
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pointed her. He was so little what she might have
expected, and so perversely preoccupied that she could
explain it only by the high pressure at which he was
living, his anxiety about his "exam." He was in a
fidget, in a fever, putting on a spurt to come in first;
sceptical moreover about his success and cynical
about everything else. He appeared to agree to the
general axiom that they did n't want a strange woman
thrust into their life, but he found Mrs. Churchley
"very jolly as a person to know/* He had been to see
her by himself he had been to see her three times.
He in fact gave it out that he would make the most
of her now; he should probably be so little in Seymour
Street after these days. What Adela at last deter-
mined to give him was her assurance that the mar-
riage would never take place. When he asked what
she meant and who was to prevent it she replied that
the interesting couple would abandon the idea of
themselves, or that Mrs. Churchley at least would
after a week or two back out of it.
"That will be really horrid then/' Godfrey pro-
nounced. "The only respectable thing, at the point
they 've come to, is to put it through. Charming for
poor DaJ to have the air of being ' chucked'!"
This made her hesitate two days more, but she
found answers more valid than any objections. The
many- voiced answer to everything it was like the
autumn wind round the house was the affront
that fell back on her mother. Her mother was dead,
but it killed her again. So one morning at eleven
o'clock, when she knew her father was writing letters,
she went out quietly and, stopping the first hansom
277
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she met, drove to Prince's Gate. Mrs. Churchley was
at home, and she was shown into the drawing-room
with the request that she would wait five minutes.
She waited without the sense of breaking down at the
last, and the impulse to run away, which were what she
had expected to have. In the cab and at the door her
heart had beat terribly, but now suddenly, with the
game really to play, she found herself lucid and calm.
It was a joy to her to feel later that this was the way
Mrs. Churchley found her; not confused, not stam-
mering nor prevaricating, only a little amazed at her
own courage, conscious of the immense responsibility
of her step and wonderfully older than her years.
Her hostess sounded her at first with suspicious eyes,
but eventually, to Adela's surprise, burst into tears.
At this the girl herself cried, and with the secret hap-
piness of believing they were saved. Mrs. Churchley
said she would think over what she had been told, and
she promised her young friend, freely enough and
very firmly, not to betray the secret of the latter's step
to the Colonel. They were saved they were saved :
the words sung themselves in the girl's soul as she
came downstairs. When the door opened for her
she saw her brother on the step, and they looked at
each other in surprise, each finding it on the part of
the other an odd hour for Prince's Gate. Godfrey
remarked that Mrs. Churchley would have enough
of the family, and Adela answered that she would
perhaps have too much. None the less the young man
went in while his sister took her way home.
Ill
SHE saw nothing of him for nearly a week; he had
more and more his own times and hours, adjusted to
his tremendous responsibilities, and he spent whole
days at his crammer's. When she knocked at his door
late in the evening he was regularly not in his room.
It was known in the house how much he was worried ;
he was horribly nervous about his ordeal. It was to
begin on the 23d of June, and his father was as wor-
ried as himself. The wedding had been arranged in
relation to this; they wished poor Godfrey's fate
settled first, though they felt the nuptials would be
darkened if it should n't be settled right.
Ten days after that performance of her private
undertaking Adela began to sniff, as it were, a differ-
ence in the general air; but as yet she was afraid to
exult. It was n't in truth a difference for the better,
so that there might be still a great tension. Her
father, since the announcement of his intended mar-
riage, had been visibly pleased with himself, but that
pleasure now appeared to have undergone a check.
She had the impression known to the passengers on
a great steamer when, in the middle of the night, they
feel the engines stop. As this impression may easily
sharpen to the sense that something serious has hap-
pened, so the girl asked herself what had actually
occurred. She had expected something serious; but
it was as if she could n't keep still in her cabin she
279
THE MARRIAGES
wanted to go up and see. On the 20th, just before
breakfast, her maid brought her a message from her
brother. Mr. Godfrey would be obliged if she would
speak to him in his room. She went straight up to
him, dreading to find him ill, broken down on the eve
of his formidable week. This was not the case how-
ever he rather seemed already at work, to have
been at work since dawn. But he was very white and
his eyes had a strange and new expression. Her
beautiful young brother looked older; he looked hag-
gard and hard. He met her there as if he had been
waiting for her, and he said at once: "Please tell
me this, Adela what was the purpose of your visit
the other morning to Mrs. Churchley, the day I met
you at her door ? "
She stared she cast about. "The purpose ?
What's the matter? Why do you ask ?"
"They've put it off they've put it off a month/'
"Ah thank God!" said Adela.
"Why the devil do you thank God?" Godfrey
asked with a strange impatience.
She gave a strained intense smile. "You know I
think it all wrong."
He stood looking at her up and down. "What did
you do there ? How did you interfere ? "
"Who told you I interfered I" she returned with a
deep flush.
"You said something you did something. I knew
you had done it when I saw you come out."
"What I did was my own business."
"Damn your own business !" cried the young man.
She had never in her life been so spoken to, and in
280
THE MARRIAGES
advance, had she been given the choice, would have
said that she 'd rather die than be so handled by God-
frey. But her spirit was high, and for a moment she
was as angry as if she had been cut with a whip. She
escaped the blow but felt the insult. "And your busi-
ness then ?" she asked. "I wondered what that was
when I saw you"
He stood a moment longer scowling at her; then
with the exclamation " You 've made a pretty mess I"
he turned away from her and sat down to his books.
They had put it off, as he said; her father was dry
and stiff and official about it. " I suppose I had better
let you know we've thought it best to postpone our
marriage till the end of the summer Mrs. Church-
ley has so many arrangements to make " : he was not
more expansive than that. She neither knew nor
greatly cared whether she but vainly imagined or cor-
rectly observed him to watch her obliquely for some
measure of her receipt of these words. She flattered
herself that, thanks to Godfrey's forewarning, cruel
as the form of it had been, she was able to repress any
crude sign of elation. She had a perfectly good con-
science, for she could now judge what odious elements
Mrs. Churchley, whom she had not seen since the
morning in Prince's Gate, had already introduced
into their dealings. She gathered without difficulty
that her father had n't concurred in the postponement,
for he was more restless than before, more absent and
distinctly irritable. There was naturally still the ques-
tion of how much of this condition was to be attrib-
uted to his solicitude about Godfrey. That young man
took occasion to say a horrible thing to his sister:
281
THE MARRIAGES
"If I don't pass it will be your fault." These were
dreadful days for the girl, and she asked herself how
she could have borne them if the hovering spirit of
her mother had n't been at her side. Fortunately she
always felt it there, sustaining, commending, sancti-
fying. Suddenly her father announced to her that he
wished her to go immediately, with her sisters, down
to Brinton, where there was always part of a house-
hold and where for a few weeks they would manage
well enough. The only explanation he gave of this
desire was that he wanted them out of the way. " Out
of the way of what ? " she queried, since there were
to be for the time no preparations in Seymour Street.
She was willing to take it for out of the way of his
nerves.
She never needed urging however to go to Brinton,
the dearest old house in the world, where the happiest
days of her young life had been spent and the silent
nearness of her mother always seemed greatest. She
was happy again, with Beatrice and Muriel and Miss
Flynn, with the air of summer and the haunted rooms
and her mother's garden and the talking oaks and the
nightingales. She wrote briefly to her father, giving
him, as he had requested, an account of things ; and
he wrote back that since she was so contented she
did n't recognise having told him that she had bet-
ter not return to town at all. The fag-end of the Lon-
don season would be unimportant to her, and he was
getting on very well. He mentioned that Godfrey
had passed his tests, but, as she knew, there would
be a tiresome wait before news of results. The poor
chap was going abroad for a month with young Sher-
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THE MARRIAGES
ard he had earned a little rest and a little fun. He
went abroad without a word to Adela, but in his
beautiful little hand he took a chaffing leave of Bea-
trice. The child showed her sister the letter, of which
she was very proud and which contained no message
for any one else. This was the worst bitterness of the
whole crisis for that somebody its placing in so
strange a light the creature in the world whom, after
her mother, she had loved best.
Colonel Chart had said he would "run down 5 *
while his children were at Brinton, but they heard no
more about it. He only wrote two or three times to
Miss Flynn on matters in regard to which Adela was
surprised he should n't have communicated with her-
self. Muriel accomplished an upright little letter to
Mrs. Churchley her eldest sister neither fostered
nor discouraged the performance to which Mrs.
Churchley replied, after a fortnight, in a meagre and,
as Adela thought, illiterate fashion, making no allu-
sion to the approach of any closer tie. Evidently the
situation had changed ; the question of the marriage
was dropped, at any rate for the time. This idea gave
our young woman a singular and almost intoxicating
sense of power ; she felt as if she were riding a great
wave of confidence. She had decided and acted
the greatest could do no more than that. The grand
thing was to see one's results, and what else was she
doing ? These results were in big rich conspicuous
lives; the stage was large on which she moved her
figures. Such a vision was exciting, and as they had
the use of a couple of ponies at Brinton she worked
off her excitement by a long gallop. A day or two after
283
THE MARRIAGES
this however came news of which the effect was to
rekindle it. Godfrey had come back, the list had been
published, he had passed first. These happy tidings
proceeded from the young man himself; he announced
them by a telegram to Beatrice, who had never in her
life before received such a missive and was proportion-
ately inflated. Adela reflected that she herself ought
to have felt snubbed, but she was too happy. They
were free again, they were themselves, the nightmare
of the previous weeks was blown away, the unity and
dignity of her father's life restored, and, to round off
her sense of success, Godfrey had achieved his first
step toward high distinction. She wrote him the next
day as frankly and affectionately as if there had been
no estrangement between them, and besides telling
him how she rejoiced in his triumph begged him in
charity to let them know exactly how the case stood
with regard to Mrs. Churchley.
Late in the summer afternoon she walked through
the park to the village with her letter, posted it and
came back. Suddenly, at one of the turns of the ave-
nue, halfway to the house, she saw a young man
hover there as if awaiting her a young man who
proved to be Godfrey on his pedestrian progress over
from the station. He had seen her as he took his short
cut, and if he had come down to Brinton it was n't
apparently to avoid her. There was nevertheless none
of the joy of his triumph in his face as he came a very
few steps to meet her; and although, stiffly enough,
he let her kiss him and say "I'm so glad I'm so
glad!" she felt this tolerance as not quite the mere
calm of the rising diplomatist. He turned' toward the
284
THE MARRIAGES
house with her and walked on a short distance while
she uttered the hope that he had come to stay some
days.
"Only till to-morrow morning. They're sending
me straight to Madrid. I came down to say good-bye ;
there's a fellow bringing my bags/'
" To Madrid? How awfully nice ! And it 's awfully
nice of you to have come," she said as she passed her
hand into his arm.
The movement made him stop, and, stopping, he
turned on her in a flash a face of something more
than suspicion of passionate reprobation. "What
I really came for you might as well know without
more delay is to ask you a question."
"A question?" she echoed it with a beating
heart.
They stood there under the old trees in the linger-
ing light, and, young and fine and fair as they both
were, formed a complete superficial harmony with the
peaceful English scene. A near view, however, would
have shown that Godfrey Chart hadn't taken so
much trouble only to skim the surface. He looked
deep into his sister's eyes. " What was it you said that
morning to Mrs. Churchley?"
She fixed them on the ground a moment, but at
last met his own again. " If she has told you, why do
you ask ? "
"She has told me nothing. I've seen for myself.'*
"What have you seen?"
"She has broken it off. Everything's over. Fa-
ther's in the depths."
"In the depths ?" the girl quavered.
THE MARRIAGES
" Did you think it would make him jolly ? " he went
on.
She had to choose what to say. "He '11 get over it.
He'll be glad/'
"That remains to be seen. You interfered, you
invented something, you got round her. I insist on
knowing what you did."
Adela felt that if it was a question of obstinacy
there was something within her she could count on ;
in spite of which, while she stood looking down again
a moment, she said to herself "I could be dumb and
dogged if I chose, but I scorn to be." She was n't
ashamed of what she had done, but she wanted to
be clear. "Are you absolutely certain it's broken
off?"
"He is, and she is; so that's as good."
"What reason has she given ?"
"None at all or half a dozen ; it 's the same thing.
She has changed her mind she mistook her feelings
she can't part with her independence. Moreover
he has too many children/'
"Did he tell you this ?" the girl asked.
"Mrs. Churchley told me. She has gone abroad for
a year."
"And she did n't tell you what I said to her ? "
Godfrey showed an impatience. "Why should I take
this trouble if she had ?"
"You might have taken it to make me suffer," said
Adela. "That appears to be what you want to do."
"No, I leave that to you it's the good turn
you 've done me ! " cried the young man with hot tears
in his eyes.
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She stared, aghast with the perception that there
was some dreadful thing she did n't know; but he
walked on, dropping the question angrily and turning
his back to her as if he could n't trust himself. She
read his disgust in his averted face, in the way he
squared his shoulders and smote the ground with his
stick, and she hurried after him and presently over-
took him. She kept by him for a moment in silence;
then she broke out: "What do you mean ? What in
the world have I done to you ? "
"She would have helped me. She was all ready to
help me," Godfrey portentously said.
"Helped you in what?" She wondered what he
meant; if he had made debts that he was afraid to con-
fess to his father and of all horrible things had
been looking to Mrs. Churchley to pay. She turned
red with the mere apprehension of this and, on the
heels of her guess, exulted again at having perhaps
averted such a shame.
"Can't you just see I'm in trouble? Where are
your eyes, your senses, your sympathy, that you talk
so much about ? Have n't you seen these six months
that I've a curst worry in my life ?"
She seized his arm, made him stop, stood looking up
at him like a frightened little girl. "What's the mat-
ter, Godfrey ? what is the matter ? "
"You've gone against me so I could strangle
you ! " he growled. This image added nothing to her
dread ; her dread was that he had done some wrong,
was stained with some guilt. She uttered it to him
with clasped hands, begging him to tell her the worst;
but, still more passionately, he cut her short with his
THE MARRIAGES
own cry : " In God's name, satisfy me ! What infernal
thing did you do ? "
"It wasn't infernal it was right. I told her
mamma had been wretched," said Adela.
" Wretched? You told her such a lie?"
"It was the only way, and she believed me."
"Wretched how? wretched when? wretched
where?" the young man stammered.
"I told her papa had made her so, and that she
ought to know it. I told her the question troubled me
unspeakably, but that I had made up my mind it was
my duty to initiate her." Adela paused, the light of
bravado in her face, as if, though struck while the
words came with the monstrosity of what she had
done, she was incapable of abating a jot of it. " I noti-
fied her that he had faults and peculiarities that made
mamma's life a long worry a martyrdom that she
hid wonderfully from the world, but that we saw and
that I had often pitied. I told her what they were,
these faults and peculiarities; I put the dots on the z's.
I said it was n't fair to let another person marry him
without a warning. I warned her; I satisfied my con-
science. She could do as she liked. My responsibility
was over."
Godfrey gazed at her; he listened with parted lips,
incredulous and appalled. "You invented such a tis-
sue of falsities and calumnies, and you talk about your
conscience ? You stand there in your senses and pro-
claim your crime ? "
"I'd have committed any crime that would have
rescued us."
288
THE MARRIAGES
"You insult and blacken and ruin your own
father ? " Godfrey kept on.
"He'll never know it; she took a vow she would n't
tell him."
"Ah I '11 be damned if / won't tell him ! " he rang
out.
Adela felt sick at this, but she flamed up to resent
the treachery, as it struck her, of such a menace. " I
did right I did right!" she vehemently declared.
"I went down on my knees to pray for guidance, and
I saved mamma's memory from outrage. But if I
hadn't, if I hadn't" she faltered an instant
" I 'm not worse than you, and I 'm not so bad, for
you've done something that you're ashamed to tell
me."
He had taken out his watch; he looked at it with
quick intensity, as if not hearing nor heeding her.
Then, his calculating eyes raised, he fixed her long
enough to exclaim with unsurpassable horror and con-
tempt : "You raving maniac ! " He turned away from
her; he bounded down the avenue in the direction
from which they had come, and, while she watched
him, strode away, across the grass, toward the short
cut to the station.
IV
His bags, by the time she got home, had been brought
to the house, but Beatrice and Muriel, immediately
informed of this, waited for their brother in vain.
Their sister said nothing to them of her having seen
him, and she accepted after a little, with a calmness
that surprised herself, the idea that he had returned to
town to denounce her. She believed this would make
no difference now she had done what she had done.
She had somehow a stiff faith in Mrs. Churchley.
Once that so considerable mass had received its im-
petus it would n't, it could n't pull up. It represented
a heavy-footed person, incapable of further agility.
Adela recognised too how well it might have come over
her that there were too many children. Lastly the girl
fortified herself with the reflexion, grotesque in the
conditions and conducing to prove her sense of hu-
mour not high, that her father was after all not a man
to be played with. It seemed to her at any rate that if
she bad baffled his unholy purpose she could bear any-
thing bear imprisonment and bread and water,
bear lashes and torture, bear even his lifelong reproach.
What she could bear least was the wonder of the in-
convenience she had inflicted on Godfrey. She had
rime to turn this over, very vainly, for a succession of
days days more numerous than she had expected,
which passed without bringing her from London any
summons to come up and take her punishment. She
290
THE MARRIAGES
sounded the possible, she compared the degrees of the
probable; feeling however that as a cloistered girl she
was poorly equipped for speculation. She tried to im-
agine the calamitous things young men might do, and
could only feel that such things would naturally be
connected either with borrowed money or with bad
women. She became conscious that after all she knew
almost nothing about either of those interests. The
worst woman she knew was Mrs. Churchley herself.
Meanwhile there was no reverberation from Seymour
Street only a sultry silence.
At Brinton she spent hours in her mother's garden,
where she had grown up, where she considered that
she was training for old age, since she meant not to de-
pend on whist. She loved the place as, had she been a
good Catholic, she would have loved the smell of her
parish church ; and indeed there was in her passion for
flowers something of the respect of a religion. They
seemed to her the only things in the world that really
respected themselves, unless one made an exception
for Nutkins, who had been in command all through
her mother's time, with whom she had had a real
friendship and who had been affected by their pure
example. He was the person left in the world with
whom on the whole she could speak most intimately of
the dead. They never had to name her together
they only said "she"; and Nutkins freely conceded
that she had taught him everything he knew. When
Beatrice and Muriel said "she" they referred to Mrs.
Churchley. Adela had reason to believe she should
never marry, and that some day she should have about
a thousand a year. This made her see in the far future
291
THE MARRIAGES
a little garden of her own, under a hill, full of rare and
exquisite things, where she would spend most of her
old age on her knees with an apron and stout gloves,
with a pair of shears and a trowel, steeped in the com-
fort of being thought mad.
One morning ten days after her scene with Godfrey,
on coming back into the house shortly before lunch,
she was met by Miss Flynn with the notification that
a lady in the drawing-room had been waiting for her
for some minutes. "A lady" suggested immediately
Mrs. Churchley. It came over Adela that the form in
which her penalty was to descend would be a personal
explanation with that misdirected woman. The lady
had given no name, and Miss Flynn had n't seen Mrs.
Churchley; nevertheless the governess was certain
Adela's surmise was wrong.
"Is she big and dreadful ?" the girl asked.
Miss Flynn, who was circumspection itself, took her
time. " She 's dreadful, but she 's not big/' She added
that she was n't sure she ought to let Adela go in alone ;
but this young lady took herself throughout for a hero-
ine, and it was n't in a heroine to shrink from any en-
counter. Wasn't she every instant in transcendent
contact with her mother ? The visitor might have no
connexion whatever with the drama of her father's
frustrated marriage; but everything to-day for Adela
was part of that.
Miss Flynn's description had prepared her for a
considerable shock, but she was n't agitated by her
first glimpse of the person who awaited her. A young-
ish well-dressed woman stood there, and silence was
between them while they looked at each other. Before
292
THE MARRIAGES
either had spoken however Adela began to see what
Miss Flynn had intended. In the light of the drawing-
room window the lady was five-and-thirty years of age
and had vivid yellow hair. She also had a blue cloth
suit with brass buttons, a stick-up collar like a gentle-
man's, a necktie arranged in a sailor's knot, a golden
pin in the shape of a little lawn-tennis racket, and
pearl-grey gloves with big black stitchings. Adela's
second impression was that she was an actress, and her
third that no such person had ever before crossed that
threshold.
"I'll tell you what I've come for," said the ap-
parition. "I've come to ask you to intercede." She
wasn't an actress; an actress would have had a nicer
voice.
"To intercede ?" Adela was too bewildered to ask
her to sit down.
"With your father, you know. He does n't know,
but he'll have to." Her "have" sounded like "'ave."
She explained, with many more such sounds, that she
was Mrs. Godfrey, that they had been married seven
mortal months. If Godfrey was going abroad she
must go with him, and the only way she could go with
him would be for his father to do something. He was
afraid of his father that was clear; he was afraid
even to tell him. What she had come down for was to
see some other member of the family face to face
"fice to fice" Mrs. Godfrey called it and try if he
could n't be approached by another side. If no one
else would act then she would just have to act herself.
The Colonel would have to do something that was
the only way out of it.
293
THE MARRIAGES
What really happened Adela never quite under-
stood; what seemed to be happening was that the
room went round and round. Through the blur of per-
ception accompanying this effect the sharp stabs of her
visitor's revelation came to her like the words heard by
a patient "going off" under ether. She afterwards
denied passionately even to herself that she had done
anything so abject as to faint; but there was a lapse in
her consciousness on the score of Miss Flynn's inter-
vention. This intervention had evidently been active,
for when they talked the matter over, later in the day,
with bated breath and infinite dissimulation for the
school-room quarter, the governess had more lurid
truths, and still more, to impart than to receive. She
was at any rate under the impression that she had
athletically contended, in the drawing-room, with the
yellow hair this after removing Adela from the
scene and before inducing Mrs. Godfrey to withdraw.
Miss Flynn had never known a more thrilling day, for
all the rest of it too was pervaded with agitations and
conversations, precautions and alarms. It was given
out to Beatrice and Muriel that their sister had been
taken suddenly ill, and the governess ministered to her
in her room. Indeed Adela had never found herself
less at ease, for this time she had received a blow that
she could n't return. There was nothing to do but to
take it, to endure the humiliation of her wound.
At first she declined to take it having, as might
appear, the much more attractive resource of regard-
ing her visitant as a mere masquerading person, an
impudent impostor. On the face of the matter more-
over it was n't fair to believe till one heard; and to
294
THE MARRIAGES
hear in such a case was to hear Godfrey himself.
Whatever she had tried to imagine about him she
had n't arrived at anything so belittling as an idiotic
secret marriage with a dyed and painted hag. Adela
repeated this last word as if it gave her comfort; and
indeed where everything was so bad fifteen years of
seniority made the case little worse. Miss Flynn was
portentous, for Miss Flynn had had it out with the
wretch. She had cross-questioned her and had not
broken her down. This was the most uplifted hour of
Miss Flynn's life; for whereas she usually had to con-
tent herself with being humbly and gloomily in the
right she could now be magnanimously and showily
so. Her only perplexity was as to what she ought to do
write to Colonel Chart or go up to town to see him.
She bloomed with alternatives she resembled some
dull garden-path which under a copious downpour has
begun to flaunt with colour. Toward evening Adela
was obliged to recognise that her brother's worry, of
which he had spoken to her, had appeared bad
enough to consist even of a low wife, and to remember
that, so far from its being inconceivable a young man
in his position should clandestinely take one, she had
been present, years before, during her mother's life-
time, when Lady Molesley declared gaily, over a cup
of tea, that this was precisely what she expected of her
eldest son. The next morning it was the worst possi-
bilities that seemed clearest; the only thing left with a
tatter of dusky comfort being the ambiguity of God-
frey's charge that her own action had "done " for him.
That was a matter by itself, and she racked her brains
for a connecting link between Mrs. Churchley and
295
THE MARRIAGES
Mrs. Godfrey. At last she made up her mind that they
were related by blood; very likely, though differing in
fortune, they were cousins or even sisters. But even
then what did the wretched boy mean ?
Arrested by the unnatural fascination of opportun-
ity, Miss Flynn received before lunch a telegram from
Colonel Chart an order for dinner and a vehicle; he
and Godfrey were to arrive at six o'clock. Adela had
plenty of occupation for the interval, since she was
phying her father when she was n't rejoicing that her
mother had gone too soon to know. She flattered her-
self she made out the providential reason of that
cruelty now. She found time however still to wonder
for what purpose, given the situation, Godfrey was to
be brought down. She was n't unconscious indeed
that she had little general knowledge of what usually
was done with young men in that predicament. One
talked about the situation, but the situation was an
abyss. She felt this still more when she found, on her
father's arrival, that nothing apparently was to hap-
pen as she had taken for granted it would. There was
an inviolable hush over the whole affair, but no
tragedy, no publicity, nothing ugly. The tragedy had
been in town the faces of the two men spoke of it
in spite of their other perfunctory aspects; and at
present there was only a family dinner, with Beatrice
and Muriel and the governess with almost a com-
pany tone too, the result of the desire to avoid pub-
licity. Adela admired her father; she knew what he
was feeling if Mrs. Godfrey had been at him, and yet
she saw him positively gallant. He was mildly austere,
or rather even what was it? august; just as,
296
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coldly equivocal, he never looked at his son, so that
at moments he struck her as almost sick with sad-
ness. Godfrey was equally inscrutable and therefore
wholly different from what he had been as he stood
before her in the park. If he was to start on his career
(with such a wife ! would n't she utterly blight it ?)
he was already professional enough to know how to
wear a mask.
Before they rose from table she felt herself wholly
bewildered, so little were such large causes traceable
in their effects. She had nerved herself for a great
ordeal, but the air was as sweet as an anodyne. It was
perfectly plain to her that her father was deadly sore
as pathetic as a person betrayed. He was broken, but
he showed no resentment; there was a weight on his
heart, but he had lightened it by dressing as immacu-
lately as usual for dinner. She asked herself what im-
mensity of a row there could have been in town to have
left his anger so spent. He went through everything,
even to sitting with his son after dinner. When they
came out together he invited Beatrice and Muriel to
the billiard-room, and as Miss Flynn discreetly with-
drew Adela was left alone with Godfrey, who was com-
pletely changed and not now in the least of a rage. He
was broken too, but not so pathetic as his father. He
was only very correct and apologetic; he said to his
sister : " I 'm awfully sorry you were annoyed it was
something I never dreamed of."
She could n't think immediately what he meant;
then she grasped the reference to her extraordinary
invader. She was uncertain, however, what tone to
take; perhaps his father had arranged with him that
297
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they were to make the best of it. But she spoke her
own despair in the way she murmured "Oh Godfrey,
Godfrey, is it true ? "
" I 've been the most unutterable donkey you can
say what you like to me. You can't say anything
worse than I 've said to myself."
"My brother, my brother!" his words made her
wail it out. He hushed her with a movement and she
asked : "What has father said ?"
He looked very high over her head. "He '11 give her
six hundred a year."
"Ah the angel!" it was too splendid.
"On condition" Godfrey scarce blinked "she
never comes near me. She has solemnly promised,
and she '11 probably leave me alone to get the money.
If she does n't in diplomacy I 'm lost." He had
been turning his eyes vaguely about, this way and that,
to avoid meeting hers; but after another instant he
gave up the effort and she had the miserable confes-
sion of his glance. " I 've been living in hell."
"My brother, my brother!" she yearningly re-
peated.
" I 'm not an idiot ; yet for her I 've behaved like one.
Don't ask me you must n't know. It was all done
in a day, and since then fancy my condition; fancy
my work in such a torment; fancy my coming through
at all."
"Thank God you passed!" she cried. "You were
wonderful ! "
"I 'd have shot myself if I had n't been. I had
an awful day yesterday with the governor; it was late
at night before it was over. I leave England next
298
THE MARRIAGES
week. He brought me down here for it to look well
so that the children shan't know/*
"He's wonderful too!" Adela murmured.
"Wonderful too!" Godfrey echoed.
" Did she tell him ? " the girl went on.
"She came straight to Seymour Street from here.
She saw him alone first; then he called me in. That
luxury lasted about an hour."
"Poor, poor father!" Adela moaned at this; on
which her brother remained silent. Then after he had
alluded to it as the scene he had lived in terror of all
through his cramming, and she had sighed forth again
her pity and admiration for such a mixture of anxie-
ties and such a triumph of talent, she pursued : "Have
you told him ? "
"Told him what?"
"What you said you would what / did."
Godfrey turned away as if at present he had very
little interest in that inferior tribulation. " I was angry
with you, but I cooled off. I held my tongue."
She clasped her hands. " You thought of mamma ! "
" Oh don't speak of mamma ! " he cried as in rueful
tenderness.
It was indeed not a happy moment, and she mur-
mured: "No; if you had thought of her !"
This made Godfrey face her again with a small
flare in his eyes. "Oh then it didn't prevent. I
thought that woman really good. I believed in
her."
"Is she wry bad?"
"I shall never mention her to you again," he re-
turned with dignity.
299
THE MARRIAGES
"You may believe / won't speak of her! So father
does n't know ? " the girl added.
"Does n't know what ?"
"That I said what I did to Mrs. Churchley."
He had a momentary pause. "I don't think so, but
you must find out for yourself."
" I shall find out," said Adela. " But what had Mrs.
Churchley to do with it ? "
"With my misery? I told her. I had to tell some
one/'
"Why did n't you tell me?"
He appeared though but after an instant to
know exactly why. "Oh you take things so beastly
hard you make such rows/' Adela covered her
face with her hands and he went on : "What I wanted
was comfort not to be lashed up. I thought I
should go mad. I wanted Mrs. Churchley to break
it to father, to intercede for me and help him to meet
it. She was awfully kind to me, she listened and she
understood; she could fancy how it had happened.
Without her I should n't have pulled through. She
liked me, you know," he further explained, and
as if it were quite worth mentioning all the more
that it was pleasant to him. "She said she 'd do what
she could for me. She was full of sympathy and re-
source. I really leaned on her. But when you cut in
of course it spoiled everything. That 's why I was
so furious with you. She could n't do anything
then/'
Adela dropped her hands, staring; she felt she
had walked in darkness. "So that he had to meet it
alone?"
300
THE MARRIAGES
"Dame!" said Godfrey, who had got up his French
tremendously.
Muriel came to the door to say papa wished the two
others to join them, and the next day Godfrey re-
turned to town. His father remained at Brinton,
without an intermission, the rest of the summer and
the whole of the autumn, and Adela had a chance to
find out, as she had said, whether he knew she had
interfered. But in spite of her chance she never found
out. He knew Mrs. Churchley had thrown him over
and he knew his daughter rejoiced in it, but he ap-
peared not to have divined the relation between the
two facts. It was strange that one of the matters
he was clearest about Adela's secret triumph
should have been just the thing which from this time
on justified less and less such a confidence. She was
too sorry for him to be consistently glad. She watched
his attempts to wind himself up on the subject of
shorthorns and drainage, and she favoured to the
utmost of her ability his intermittent disposition to
make a figure in orchids. She wondered whether they
might n't have a few people at Brinton; but when she
mentioned the idea he asked what in the world there
would be to attract them. It was a confoundedly
stupid house, he remarked with all respect to her
cleverness. Beatrice and Muriel were mystified; the
prospect of going out immensely had faded so utterly
away. They were apparently not to go out at all.
Colonel Chart was aimless and bored ; he paced up
and down and went back to smoking, which was bad
for him, and looked drearily out of windows as if on
the bare chance that something might arrive. Did
301
THE MARRIAGES
he expect Mrs. Churchley to arrive, did he expect her
to relent on finding she could n't live without him ?
It was Adela's belief that she gave no sign. But the
girl thought it really remarkable of her not to have
betrayed her ingenious young visitor. Adela's judge-
ment of human nature was perhaps harsh, but she
believed that most women, given the various facts,
would n't have been so forbearing. This lady's con-
ception of the point of honour placed her there in a
finer and purer light than had at all originally pro-
mised to shine about her.
She meanwhile herself could well judge how heavy
her father found the burden of Godfrey's folly and
how he was incommoded at having to pay the horrible
woman six hundred a j r ear. Doubtless he was having
dreadful letters from her; doubtless she threatened
them all with hideous exposure. If the matter should
be bruited Godfrey's prospects would collapse on
the spot. He thought Madrid very charming and
curious, but Mrs. Godfrey was in England, so that
his father had to face the music. Adela took a dolor-
ous comfort in her mother's being out of that it
would have killed her; but this did n't blind her to
the fact that the comfort for her father would perhaps
have been greater if he had had some one to talk to
about his trouble. He never dreamed of doing so to
her, and she felt she could n't ask him. In the family
life he wanted utter silence about it. Early in the
winter he went abroad for ten weeks, leaving her with
her sisters in the country, where it was not to be denied
that at this time existence had very little savour. She
half-expected her sister-in-law would again descend
302
THE MARRIAGES
on her; but the fear was n't justified, and the quiet-
ude of the awful creature seemed really to vibrate
with the ring of gold-pieces. There were sure to be
extras. Adela winced at the extras. Colonel Chart
went to Paris and to Monte Carlo and then to Madrid
to see his boy. His daughter had the vision of his
perhaps meeting Mrs. Churchley somewhere, since,
if she had gone for a year, she would still be on the
Continent. If he should meet her perhaps the affair
would come on again : she caught herself musing over
this. But he brought back no such appearance, and,
seeing him after an interval, she was struck afresh
with his jilted and wasted air. She did n't like it
she resented it. A little more and she would have said
that that was no way to treat so faithful a man.
They all went up to town in March, and on one of
the first days of April she saw Mrs. Churchley in the
Park. She herself remained apparently invisible to
that lady she herself and Beatrice and Muriel,
who sat with her in their mother's old bottle-green
landau. Mrs. Churchley, perched higher than ever,
rode by without a recognition; but this did n't prevent
Adela's going to her before the month was over. As
on her great previous occasion she went in the morn-
ing, and she again had the good fortune to be ad-
mitted. This time, however, her visit was shorter,
and a week after making it the week was a deso-
lation she addressed to her brother at Madrid
a letter containing these words : " I could endure it
no longer I confessed and retracted; I explained
to her as well as I could the falsity of what I said
to her ten months ago and the benighted purity of
33
THE MARRIAGES
my motives for saying it. I besought her to regard
it as unsaid, to forgive me, not to despise me too
much, to take pity on poor perfect papa and come
back to him. She was more good-natured than you
might have expected indeed she laughed extrava-
gantly. She had never believed me it was too
absurd ; she had only, at the time, disliked me. She
found me utterly false she was very frank with me
about this and she told papa she really thought
me horrid. She said she could never live with such
a girl, and as I would certainly never marry I must
be sent away in short she quite loathed me. Papa
defended me, he refused to sacrifice me, and this
led practically to their rupture. Papa gave her up,
as it were, for me. Fancy the angel, and fancy what
I must try to be to him for the rest of his life ! Mrs.
Churchley can never come back she's going to
marry Lord Dovedale."
THE REAL THING
THE REAL THING
I
WHEN the porter's wife, who used to answer the
house-bell, announced "A gentleman and a lady, sir/'
I had, as I often had in those days the wish being
father to the thought an immediate vision of sitters.
Sitters my visitors in this case proved to be; but not
in the sense I should have preferred. There was
nothing at first however to indicate that they might n't
have come for a portrait. The gentleman, a man of
fifty, very high and very straight, with a moustache
slightly grizzled and a dark grey walking-coat admir-
ably fitted, both of which I noted professionally
I don't mean as a barber or yet as a tailor would
have struck me as a celebrity if celebrities often were
striking. It was a truth of which I had for some time
been conscious that a figure with a good deal of front-
age was, as one might say, almost never a public
institution. A glance at the lady helped to remind me
of this paradoxical law : she also looked too distin-
guished to be a "personality." Moreover one would
scarcely come across two variations together.
Neither of the pair immediately spoke they only
prolonged the preliminary gaze suggesting that each
wished to give the other a chance. They were visibly
shy; they stood there letting me take them in
which, as I afterwards perceived, was the most prac-
37
THE REAL THING
tical thing they could have done. In this way their
embarrassment served their cause. I had seen people
painfully reluctant to mention that they desired any-
thing so gross as to be represented on canvas ; but the
scruples of my new friends appeared almost insur-
mountable. Yet the gentleman might have said "I
should like a portrait of my wife," and the lady might
have said "I should like a portrait of my husband/'
Perhaps they were n't husband and wife this nat-
urally would make the matter more delicate. Per-
haps they wished to be done together in which case
they ought to have brought a third person to break the
news.
"We come from Mr. Rivet," the lady finally said
with a dim smile that had the effect of a moist sponge
passed over a "sunk" piece of painting, as well as
of a vague allusion to vanished beauty. She was as
tall and straight, in her degree, as her companion, and
with ten years less to carry. She looked as sad as a
woman could look whose face was not charged with
expression ; that is her tinted oval mask showed waste
as an exposed surface shows friction. The hand of
time had played over her freely, but to an effect of
elimination. She was slim and stiff, and so well-
dressed, in dark blue cloth, with lappets and pockets
and buttons, that it was clear she employed the same
tailor as her husband. The couple had an indefinable
air of prosperous thrift they evidently got a good
deal of luxury for their money. If I was to be one of
their luxuries it would behove me to consider my
terms.
"Ah Claude Rivet recommended me?" I echoed;
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and I added that it was very kind of him, though I
could reflect that, as he only painted landscape, this
was n't a sacrifice.
The lady looked very hard at the gentleman, and
the gentleman looked round the room. Then staring
at the floor a moment and stroking his moustache,
he rested his pleasant eyes on me with the remark :
"He said you were the right one/*
" I try to be, when people want to sit."
"Yes, we should like to/* said the lady anxiously.
"Do you mean together ?"
My visitors exchanged a glance. " If you could do
anything with me I suppose it would be double," the
gentleman stammered.
"Oh yes, there's naturally a higher charge for two
figures than for one."
"We should like to make it pay," the husband con-
fessed.
"That's very good of you," I returned, appreciat-
ing so unwonted a sympathy for I supposed he
meant pay the artist.
A sense of strangeness seemed to dawn on the lady.
"We mean for the illustrations Mr. Rivet said you
might put one in."
"Put in an illustration?" I was equally con-
fused.
"Sketch her off, you know," said the gentleman,
colouring.
It was only then that I understood the service
Claude Rivet had rendered me; he had told them how
I worked in black-and-white, for magazines, for story-
books, for sketches of contemporary life, and conse-
39
THE REAL THING
quently had copious employment for models. These
things were true, but it was not less true I may
confess it now; whether because the aspiration was to
lead to everything or to nothing I leave the reader
to guess that I could n't get the honours, to say
nothing of the emoluments, of a great painter of por-
traits out of my head. My "illustrations 5 * were my
pot-boilers; I looked to a different branch of art
far and away the most interesting it had always
seemed to me to perpetuate my fame. There was
no shame in looking to it also to make my fortune;
but that fortune was by so much further from being
made from the moment my visitors wished to be
"done" for nothing. I was disappointed; for in the
pictorial sense I had immediately seen them. I had
seized their type I had already settled what I would
do with it. Something that would n't absolutely have
pleased them, I afterwards reflected.
"Ah you're you're a ?" I began as soon
as I had mastered my surprise. I could n't bring out
the dingy word "models " : it seemed so little to fit the
case.
"We haven't had much practice," said the lady.
"We've got to do something, and we've thought
that an artist in your line might perhaps make some-
thing of us," her husband threw off. He further men-
tioned that they did n't know many artists and that
they had gone first, on the off-chance he painted
views of course, but sometimes put in figures ; per-
haps I remembered to Mr. Rivet, whom they had
met a few years before at a place in Norfolk where
he was sketching.
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THE REAL THING
"We used to sketch a little ourselves," the lady
hinted.
"It's very awkward, but we absolutely must do
something/' her husband went on.
"Of course we're not so very young," she admitted
with a wan smile.
With the remark that I might as well know some-
thing more about them the husband had handed me
a card extracted from a neat new pocket-book their
appurtenances were all of the freshest and in-
scribed with the words "Major Monarch." Impress-
ive as these words were they did n't carry my know-
ledge much further; but my visitor presently added:
" I 've left the army and we 've had the misfortune to
lose our money. In fact our means are dreadfully
small."
"It's awfully trying a regular strain," said Mrs.
Monarch.
They evidently wished to be discreet to take care
not to swagger because they were gentlefolk. I felt
them willing to recognise this as something of a draw-
back, at the same time that I guessed at an underlying
sense their consolation in adversity that they bad
their points. They certainly had; but these advant-
ages struck me as preponderantly social; such for
instance as would help to make a drawing-room look
well. However, a drawing-room was always, or ought
to be, a picture.
In consequence of his wife's allusion to their age
Major Monarch observed: "Naturally it's more for
the figure that we thought of going in. We can still
hold ourselves up." On the instant I saw that the
3 11
THE REAL THING
figure was indeed their strong point. His "naturally "
did n't sound vain, but it lighted up the question.
"She has the best one/' he continued, nodding at his
wife with a pleasant after-dinner absence of circumlo-
cution. I could only reply, as if we were in fact sitting
over our wine, that this did n't prevent his own from
being very good ; which led him in turn to make an-
swer : "We thought that if you ever have to do people
like us we might be something like it. She particularly
for a lady in a book, you know/'
I was so amused by them that, to get more of it, I
did my best to take their point of view; and though it
was an embarrassment to find myself appraising phy-
sically, as if they were animals on hire or useful blacks,
a pair whom I should have expected to meet only in
one of the relations in which criticism is tacit, I looked
at Mrs. Monarch judicially enough to be able to ex-
claim after a moment with conviction : "Oh yes, a lady
in a book ! " She was singularly like a bad illustration.
"We'll stand up, if you like," said the Major; and
he raised himself before me with a really grand air.
I could take his measure at a glance he was six
feet two and a perfect gentleman. It would have paid
any club in process of formation and in want of a
stamp to engage him at a salary to stand in the princi-
pal window. What struck me at once was that in com-
ing to me they had rather missed their vocation; they
could surely have been turned to better account for
advertising purposes. I could n't of course see the
thing in detail, but I could see them make somebody's
fortune I don't mean their own. There was some-
thing in them for a waistcoat-maker, an hotel-keeper
312
THE REAL THING
or a soap-vendor. I could imagine " We always use it "
pinned on their bosoms with the greatest effect; I had
a vision of the brilliancy with which they would launch
a table d'hote.
Mrs. Monarch sat still, not from pride but from
shyness, and presently her husband said to her: "Get
up, my dear, and show how smart you are/* She
obeyed, but she had no need to get up to show it. She
walked to the end of the studio and then came back
blushing, her fluttered eyes on the partner of her ap-
peal. I was reminded of an incident I had accidentally
had a glimpse of in Paris being with a friend there,
a dramatist about to produce a play, when an actress
came to him to ask to be entrusted with a part. She
went through her paces before him, walked up and
down as Mrs. Monarch was doing. Mrs. Monarch did
it quite as well, but I abstained from applauding. It
was very odd to see such people apply for such poor
pay. She looked as if she had ten thousand a year.
Her husband had used the word that described her :
she was in the London current jargon essentially and
typically "smart." Her figure was, in the same order
of ideas, conspicuously and irreproachably "good."
For a woman of her age her waist was surprisingly
small; her elbow moreover had the orthodox crook.
She held her head at the conventional angle, but why
did she come to me? She ought to have tried on jack-
ets at a big shop. I feared my visitors were not only
destitute but "artistic" which would be a great
complication. When she sat down again I thanked
her, observing that what a draughtsman most valued
in his model was the faculty of keeping quiet.
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THE REAL THING
"Oh she can keep quiet/' said Major Monarch.
Then he added jocosely: "I've always kept her
quiet."
"Fm not a nasty fidget, am I ?" It was going to
wring tears from me, I felt, the way she hid her head,
ostrich-like, in the other broad bosom.
The owner of this expanse addressed his answer to
me. " Perhaps it is n't out of place to mention be-
cause we ought to be quite business-like, ought n't we ?
that when I married her she was known as the
Beautiful Statue/'
"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Monarch ruefully.
"Of course I should want a certain amount of
expression," I rejoined.
"Of course!" and I had never heard such unan-
imity.
"And then I suppose you know that you'll get
awfully tired."
"Oh we never get tired!" they eagerly cried.
"Have you had any kind of practice?"
They hesitated they looked at each other.
"We've been photographed immensely" said Mrs.
Monarch.
" She means the fellows have asked us themselves,"
added the Major.
" I see because you 're so good-looking."
"I don't know what they thought, but they were
always after us."
"We always got our photographs for nothing,"
smiled Mrs. Monarch.
"We might have brought some, my dear," her hus-
band remarked.
3H
THE REAL THING
" I 'm not sure we have any left. We Ve given quan-
tities away," she explained to me.
"With our autographs and that sort of thing," said
the Maj 
